Philbert Dy’s review published on Letterboxd:
A man is not a warrior because he carries a sword. And he is no less a warrior if his weapon is made of bamboo. Seppuku is supposed to be an act of honor: a final bit of courage for the disgraced samurai, a way to maintain some semblance of status that they once held. But this assumes, of course, that the world around them is honorable, that everyone is playing by the rules.
The warriors tell their tales, and they imagine a world of honor. They worship an empty suit of armor, a memory of things past. They boast of their lineage, of their swordfighting schools and the worth of their estates. They cannot imagine the dire straits that a man may be in. They cannot imagine that this world of honor might have ever been unjust to somebody else. If they're poor, it must be because they deserved it.
And so they laugh at a man who cut into his guts with a bamboo sword. They visit his home, and they don't see the suffering that he must have endured. They ridicule him for biting off his tongue, for finding some way to fulfill a promise that he was forced into keeping.
A man tells another tale, but it's real this time. It's not about a world of honor, but one that's inherently unjust. And he's happy to leave this world and join those that went before him. But he was a warrior once, and he's got all these stories to tell.