Tornado

John Maclean makes Westerns that feel like they were dreamt up by someone who fell asleep reading a history book and woke up halfway through a Kurosawa marathon. His 2015 debut, Slow West, was a lean, whimsical subversion of frontier myths, and a decade later, he’s returned with Tornado to prove that his grip on the genre has only grown tighter and more eccentric. In an era where "Western" usually translates to a three-hour slog about brooding ranchers, Maclean delivers a 91-minute jolt of adrenaline that replaces the typical cowboy swagger with the delicate, deadly grace of a puppet samurai show.

I watched the screener for this while my neighbor was power-washing their driveway, and the rhythmic, abrasive drone actually synced up weirdly well with Jed Kurzel’s industrial-folk score. It’s that kind of movie—tactile, percussive, and intensely physical.

The Art of the Puppet and the Pistol

The premise is pure pulp: Kōki stars as the titular Tornado, a young woman traveling with her father’s puppet samurai troupe. When a gang led by the delightfully named Sugarman (Tim Roth) and Little Sugar (Jack Lowden) ambushes them, the stage is set for a revenge tale. But Maclean doesn't just give us a standard "girl with a gun" story. He weaves the artistry of the puppets into the very fabric of the action.

Kōki is a revelation here. As the daughter of Japanese icon Takuya Kimura, she carries a heavy legacy, but she commands the screen with a silent, simmering intensity that reminded me of the great lone-swordsman archetypes of the 70s. When she finally decides to reclaim her father’s gold, she isn't just a victim fighting back; she’s an artist reclaiming her medium. It’s basically 'John Wick' if John Wick had a thing for traditional Japanese folk arts and a much smaller budget for ammo.

The chemistry between Tim Roth and Jack Lowden provides the film’s dark, comedic heart. Roth plays Sugarman with a weary, predatory charisma, while Lowden plays the "Little" counterpart with a twitchy insecurity that makes him genuinely unpredictable. They represent the "Evil" the tagline promises, but they feel like real, sweat-stained people rather than cardboard villains.

Action with Weight and Whimsy

The action choreography in Tornado is where the film truly earns its keep. Maclean and his team avoid the "shaky-cam" chaos that plagues so many modern mid-budget thrillers. Instead, the fight sequences are staged with a puppet-like precision—deliberate, geometric, and sudden. There’s a shootout in a cramped, wooden structure mid-way through the film that relies on sound design as much as visuals. You hear the creak of the floorboards and the heavy thud of lead hitting timber before you see the muzzle flashes.

Robbie Ryan’s cinematography captures the landscape not as a sweeping postcard, but as a claustrophobic trap. The colors are muted—greys, browns, and the startling crimson of the puppets—which makes the sudden bursts of violence feel even more impactful. There’s a particular stunt involving a horse-drawn wagon and a steep embankment that looked terrifyingly practical. In a world of digital doubles, seeing the actual physics of a wooden cart shattering against a rock adds a level of stakes that CGI just can’t replicate.

The pacing is relentless. At 91 minutes, there isn’t a single ounce of fat on this film. It moves with the momentum of its namesake, building from a quiet, tragic opening to a climactic confrontation that feels earned rather than obligatory. Takehiro Hira, as the father Fujin, anchors the emotional stakes early on, ensuring that Tornado’s quest for vengeance feels like a necessity rather than a hobby.

Why This "Tornado" Barely Made a Sound

Despite the pedigree and the execution, Tornado arrived in theaters with the impact of a falling feather, grossing just over $213,000. It’s a classic case of the "streaming dump" syndrome. Released in a crowded window where franchise blockbusters hogged the IMAX screens, HanWay and Tea Shop seemed to lose their nerve, pivoting to a limited release that barely gave audiences a chance to find it.

It’s a shame, because this is exactly the kind of "original IP" that people claim to want. It engages with the current cultural conversation about representation by placing a Japanese lead at the center of a Western without making it feel like a cynical box-ticking exercise. It’s a creative choice that pays off because it adds a new visual language to a genre that often feels exhausted.

The film also benefits from a lack of "universe-building." It doesn't want to set up a sequel or a spin-off; it just wants to tell a story about a girl, some gold, and a whole lot of gunpowder. For contemporary audiences exhausted by three-hour runtimes and post-credit teasers, Tornado is a refreshing pallet cleanser. It’s a small, fierce film that knows exactly what it is and doesn't apologize for its oddity.

Tornado is a reminder that the Western genre still has plenty of life left in it, provided you’re willing to let a few puppets into the mix. It’s a lean, stylish, and surprisingly emotional revenge thriller that showcases Kōki as a legitimate action star in the making. While it may have vanished from theaters in a heartbeat, I suspect this one is going to find a very long second life on the cult circuit. Seek it out, turn the sound up, and watch the dust fly.