For those familiar with the work of prolific Japanese director Takashi Miike, Rainy Dog may well come as something of a surprise. This will be especially true for those who have already born witness by the censor-baiting excesses of the first of his self-proclaimed Kuroshakai (Black Society) trilogy, Sinjuku Triad Society. Although the second part of this trilogy and also featuring a central character trying to forge an identity in a land that is not his own, Rainy Dog proves to be one of Miike's most understated and atmospheric works, and though the very subject matter demands a level of violence, it is handled in a matter-of-fact way that befits the story and situation and has none of the gleefully gratuitous nastiness of its predecessor.

Yuuji is an ex-yakuza now living in exile in the Taiwanese capital of Taipei, where he ekes out a living performing hits for a local crime boss. A coldly efficient killer, he has only one superstition - he believes it is bad luck to go out in the rain, and will even postpone a hit at the first sign of a cloudburst. One day a woman from his past unexpectedly appears, presents him with a mute young boy - Ah Chen - who she claims is his son, and abruptly departs. Initially frustrated, Yuuji carries on his normal day-to-day life and all but ignores the boy, who silently follows him around town and even sleeps outside in the alley when Yuuji is visiting prostitute Lily, who, like he, has a dislike for rainy days. His life is further complicated when the brother of one of his victims comes looking for revenge, and he could certainly do without the unexpectedly appearance of an old rival from Japan, for whom Yuuji's death represents his only way back to his homeland.

Let's be honest, Miike is not a director exactly known for his moody pieces, but it is this in particular that proves Rainy Dog's greatest asset. The scenes in Taipei back streets and market areas, often shot with a hand-held camera in unhurried takes, really capture the atmosphere of a particularly unglamorous corner of this metropolitan city, and Yuuji's constant melancholy is nicely reflected in the frequently pouring rain, which drags alleyways and rooms into semi-darkness and repeatedly keeps Yuuji prisoner while others outside are making moves against him. This sense of isolation is at least in part self-imposed, his superstition about rainfall no doubt enhanced by his casual drug habit and his failure to connect with a city that bears only a surface resemblance to the Tokyo of his past. This isn't his home, these aren't his people, this isn't even his language, and by retaining this sense of disconnection, it no doubt makes them easier to kill.

The arrival of his son initially fails to change this, and Yuuji's early refusal to even acknowledge his presence is in no doubt partially due to a to a refusal to let down this guard. One of the very few times he talks to him is to tell him "You're not a dog!" which is, of course, exactly what he behaves like, following his father across town no matter what the circumstances, sleeping outside in the rain and making friends with a genuine street canine, who kicks against expectations by refusing to accompany him when he leaves. Ah Chen becomes Yuuji's conscience, a constant, haunting reminder of a life he has lost, there every time he looks out of the window, every time he turns round in the street. It is the eventual recognition of this that prompts the first change in Yuuji: in an attempt to do two good deeds and take care of both Lily and his son he runs foul of circumstance and finds himself part of a makeshift family. For the first time he discovers a part of him that genuinely cares for the welfare of someone other than himself.

This is all very deftly handled by Miike, who seems happy for his audience to discover all of this without obvious signposting - the film's weakness are less to do with breadth than depth. Miike touches on a whole host of thematic issues but rarely explores them in any real detail, and with the characters and storyline a tad under-developed there is a sense that another half-hour spent expanding on some areas would have been welcome. The scene in which the three march along a beach and stop their escape to cheerfully dig up an old scooter, for example, has all the hallmarks of a Takeshi Kitano film - the beach setting, the odd-ball family unit consisting of killer, hooker and mute boy - but though very different film, Kitano's own (would-be) gangster/young boy tale Kikujiro crammed more character detail into fifteen minutes than Rainy Dog has in its entire running time, as did Luc Besson's US-based Leon and Pierre Salvadori's 1993 Cible émouvante (Wild Target), both of which dealt with similar subject matter and characters.

A sense of familiarity also dogs aspects of the film. Yuuji is a somewhat typical Hong-Kong style assassin, his studied moodiness, long white coat and dark glasses making him stand out spectacularly in any crowd, though Taipei seems to lack a police force - just minutes after carrying out a killing, Yuuji sits in the same clothes in full public view eating a meal with his old rival. Assassins only ever seem to feature as main characters in films in order to find redemption, and hit-men with odd quirks have appeared in any number of thrillers from Joe Don Baker's Molly and his fondness for herbal tea in Don Siegel's Charley Varrick (1973) to the aforementioned Leon and his pot plant obsession. Later on Miike chucks caution to the wind and throws a series of gun-battle clichés at the screen in quick succession, including the old "treasured object in the pocket stopping the bullet" gag, which has been piss-taken in everything from Under Fire (1983) to The Simpsons (though the incredulity of the character it happens to just about sells it). And I'm sorry, but almost from the moment I was told that Yuuji's son was mute, I just knew that that he was going to rediscover his voice at a crucial point of emotional bonding later in the film. Even the nicely laid-back guitar score has more than a hint of Ry Cooder, circa Paris, Texas, about it.

But if all this stops a good movie from becoming a great one, it doesn't seriously take away from the fact that Rainy Dog IS a good movie, an atmospheric and involving piece with dark edge and strong replay value, precisely because its principal pleasures do not lie in the area of narrative surprise. For newcomers to Miike's work this is as good as way in as any, and possibly one of the least potentially traumatic, and definitely benefits from being seen as part of the trilogy rather than a stand-alone piece.

It should be noted that this was actually filmed in Taipei in the Mandarin language, with occasional shifts to Japanese for certain lines. As subtitles are supplied for all dialogue (and are removable), an ear for shifts in the language is useful, as some of these moments are quite telling in character terms.

Sound and Vision