Sonatine exemplifies Kitano's singularity as a cult filmmaker. It’s a bold subversion of the yakuza genre, imbued with sentimentality, mischief and bursts of violence. The film’s aesthetic is seamlessly accentuated by clothing in the film. While in the city, the yakuza characters’ cool disposition is accentuated by their louche, dark suits, their greased back hair, sprawling tattoos and open collar shirts. At the seaside, floral camp shirts—similar to Prada’s “Hawaiian” shirts—mismatched with mute-toned trousers, show their more tender and playful manner

The film portrays Murakawa (played by Kitano) and his crew, who, having become too prosperous running their turf in Tokyo, are perceived as a threat by a more senior yakuza. To rid himself of this threat, the boss sends Murakawa and his crew to Okinawa on a moot errand, to mediate a dispute between two other yakuza clans. Murakawa, discovering that the quarrel is insignificant, meanders, pondering why he was sent to Okinawa. Meanwhile, his crew’s temporary headquarters is bombed in an ambush, which drives them to a seaside hideout.

The yakuza, synonymous with violence and stringent hierarchy aren’t an obvious choice for a contemplative, tranquil film such as Sonatine. In Kitano’s other films like Violent Cop (1989) and Hana-bi, central detective characters act as ciphers between the criminal world and the audience. In Sonatine the detectives are absent and the audience gains direct access to the world of the yakuza, albeit while they are ‘off-duty’.

Here, style and location introduce us to the world of the yakuza. At the seaside the yakuza’s rakish suits are replaced by floral camp shirts that are slightly boxy, with luxurious fabric that allows the shirts to sway and fall with the movement of the torso and the sea breeze. When worn by the yakuza, these seemingly ‘loud’ pieces become understated, emanating indifference and a menacing playfulness. Similar to the playfulness reflected in the designs of offbeat brands like Needles, which incorporate luxurious floral shirts into collections with track pants and men’s Mary-Jane shoes.

Murakawa’s clothing is slightly more formal, in a way you’d expect from a boss. Throughout the film he wears an open collar white shirt (a Kitano trademark)—with this iteration appearing as a boxy version with a square hemline. The casual white shirt softens Murakawa, presenting him in a redeeming light, despite his proclivity for gunplay. It is just this contrast of violence and contemplative softness, heightened through the casual luxury of the character’s clothing, that magnetises the audience.

Kitano’s his representation of the casual poise of yakuza style is one of his most significant style contributions. Always on the outside of societal conventions, the yakuza give the luxurious and “buttoned-up” garments they wear an aloof air, while (ironically) the louche and lazy floral rayon shirts paired with loosely tailored trousers exude a quiet confidence.

After winning the Golden Lion at the 54th Venice International Film Festival, Hana-bi crystallized Kitano’s reputation as an auteur. A seemingly straightforward detective film, Hana-bi synthesises Kitano’s two major themes, violence and sentimentality. The dialectic between the two is ultimately worked out in the protagonist Nishi’s (played by Kitano) final act (spoiler alert): the murder-suicide of his long-suffering wife and himself.

Hana-bi sketches a fragmented narrative, focusing on Nishi, a beleaguered ex-detective whose monochromatic, languid suits reflect his outsider temperament. As the film moves forward, the reasons for Nishi’s roguish attitude unfold in flashbacks. In addition to caring for his cancer-stricken wife, Nishi has been involved in a bloody incident that left two of his partners dead.

Unlike the abrupt moments of violence in Sonatine, the central moment of brutality in Hana-bi is protracted: three dully-dressed detectives enter a Tokyo underground station in measured pursuit of their suspect. As they attempt to apprehend him, blood flows and the muted grey and beige suits of Nishi’s partners soak with blood caused by fatal gunshots. After momentary bewilderment, Nishi strikes, pumping the assailant with bullets, which he continues to do long after it is clear he’s dead.

As with the majority of his films, Kitano’s use of his own body and face is central to the film’s aesthetic. Seemingly stoic, Kitano’s countenance rarely shows emotion, yet his face is still very striking—he’s somewhere between a Clint Eastwood and a Jacques Tati, with the pock-marked skin of Bill Murray. There’s a slight twitch in his eye, and his crooked grimace project a nearly malevolent mischievousness. Unlike other characters in his films, the clothing of the characters Kitano plays never stray from muted tones.

Through most of Hana-bi Nishi wears a dark suit with an open jacket and unbuttoned shirt. The fabric has a quintessential ‘90s sheen—a look that’s triumphantly returned with some of Martine Rose and Balenciaga’s pieces. Kitano’s stature is unremarkable, but cast in Yohji-esque tailoring and sheen fabric it becomes something of understated elegance, a quiet rebellion against conventional standards of masculinity and order. Contrary to the typical suit-and-tie uniform, Kitano’s trademark open collar shirt is a gesture that rebukes the formality and restriction of the tie.

Dolls is Kitano’s most visually astounding and painterly film. The rich, textural costumes designed by Yohji imbue the film with a warm depth. Unlike Sonatine and Hana-bi, the characters in Dolls aren’t aloof or violent. However, clothing still plays a major function in their characterization, which is aided by Yohji’s ability to weave narratives through clothing design.

A slow film with minimal dialogue, Dolls recounts the stories of three tormented couples in overlapping vignettes featuring a jilted bride, a maimed pop-idol and a woman who waits for a lover who abandoned her 30 years ago. In this melodramatic film, each couple has suffered a loss, yet their love persists.

Both the tragic story and Yohji’s striking costumes design draw influence from bunraku, traditional Japanese puppet theatre. In Dolls, Yohji recasts the costumes of bunraku theatre. Heavy, layered silk kimonos are deconstructed in the film; they traditionally allowed the body to move freely within layers of fabric, but Yohji uses these layers to bind characters’ bodies. There is tension between the restriction and security of the clothing, which plays out in each costume, particularly those of the two main protagonists—the couple are literally bound together by a thick, red silk rope.

In a memorable scene, the bound lovers stand amongst hues of crimson, amber and dark green foliage. Here, Kitano gravitates towards artifice, underscored by the extravagant costume design. The jilted bride, Sawako, is wrapped in a rich red, oversized wool sweater that conceals her hands and an immense skirt that shrouds the bottom half of her body. The asymmetrical silhouette hints at a sense of directionless movement. While her reluctant fiancé, Matsumoto wears a slightly mismatched and deconstructed boiled wool suit.
The roughly textured fabrics appear to be worn-down to softness, reflecting the way that their relationship has been shaped by trauma.

Yohji’s designs almost suggest impoverishment. Yet, in the elegance of his fabrication, intricate details and considered tailoring are well beyond everyday luxury. It’s as though the costumes have become characters themselves, narrating the story of their own construction, mirroring the psyches of the film’s characters.

Kitano’s attention to style and collaborative relationship with Yohji is emblematic of the two-way relationship between film and fashion. His films memorialize significant elements of Japanese fashion and are an index of style influence for contemporary designers and stylists. He provides a narrative to different styles, illustrating how divergent pieces of clothing are brought together to form a cohesive style moment. On the one hand, fashion influences the style of his character and on the other, film memorializes style moments and gives certain looks a persona, influencing future design.