Kitao Sakurai directs an eclectic cast in a big-budget production that lacks a coherent plot, yet remains entertaining nonetheless.
Director: Kitao Sakurai
Writers: Kitao Sakurai, T.J. Fixman, Dalan Musson
Stars: Noah Centineo, Andrew Koji, Callina Liang
Success can also be found at the opposite end of the spectrum: by acknowledging that a game’s plot is of little consequence and instead crafting an original film that captures the essence of the gameplay experience (see: *Resident Evil*).
Kitao Sakurai’s take on *Street Fighter* falls somewhere between these two extremes; while it doesn’t fully leverage the strengths of either approach, it still delivers an unforgettable cinematic experience. The film remains true to the core narrative of the video games, focusing on Ryu (Andrew Koji) and Ken Masters (Noah Centineo)—two martial artists who grew up together and, as adults, strive to protect one another from their own personal demons. Ultimately, however, the viewing experience feels more like playing the original arcade game, which asks nothing of the audience other than to browse through a roster of cartoonishly styled fighters and select one to deliver a resounding, championship-level beatdown to an opponent. A mere glance at the cast is enough to evoke the feeling of navigating a "Choose Your Fighter" screen. We find Jason Momoa, his muscles enhanced by computer-generated imagery; 50 Cent playing a Tyson-esque boxer, sporting a hairline so geometric it couldn’t possibly be natural; WWE wrestlers Cody Rhodes and Roman Reigns; comedians from across the political spectrum, such as Eric Andre and Andrew Schulz; and gay music icon Orville Peck, brandishing Wolverine-style claws. And, as if that weren’t enough, the film also features appearances by David Dastmalchian and Kyle Mooney. In this cast, every viewer is likely to find someone they adore—and someone they detest—ensuring that, upon buying a ticket, no one truly knows what kind of roller coaster awaits them.
And what a roller coaster it is. By conventional narrative standards, this version of "Street Fighter" is an incoherent mess. Yet, there is hardly a single shot that fails to captivate: Sakurai bombards us with vibrant neon colors, surreal humor, and classic rock anthems, all complemented by costume and hair design that demonstrate an admirable commitment to recreating the aesthetic of 2D arcade video games. A cynic might describe "Street Fighter" as a film conceived from the outset to be broken down into nonsensical clips—better suited for bite-sized consumption on Reels than for a theatrical viewing experience. A more charitable interpretation, however, would praise its bold visual swings and hail it as a misunderstood masterpiece of expressionism. But, regardless of where your opinion falls on this spectrum, it seems the film is destined to fail upon its release, only to be later reclaimed as a cult classic over the next quarter-century.
Attempting to summarize the plot of "Street Fighter" is, in a way, like trying to "dance about architecture"—a somewhat futile task—but here goes: Ryu and Ken are adoptive brothers who grew up together and trained under the same master, who always warned them to protect one another—even from themselves. Both dreamed of competing in the prestigious "World Warrior" tournament, a *kumite*-style competition that brings together the best fighters from every discipline to determine who is the strongest. Ryu wins the first tournament, but the brothers eventually drift apart, become embroiled in a conflict with a demon named Akuna, and ultimately go their separate ways. Left without his brother, Ken loses his discipline; he rests on his laurels and spends his time chasing cheap commercial endorsements—until, six years later, a second "World Warrior" tournament is unexpectedly announced.Kitao Sakurai directs an eclectic cast in a big-budget production that lacks a coherent plot, yet remains entertaining nonetheless.
As film adaptations of video games improve—or, at the very least, gain in popularity—several models have emerged for adapting source material that once posed an insurmountable challenge for Hollywood. Some games develop their stories and mythologies so effectively that a faithful adaptation is all it takes to achieve success (a category ranging from *The Last of Us* to *Super Mario Galaxy*).
Success can also be found at the opposite end of the spectrum: by acknowledging that a game’s plot is of little consequence and instead crafting an original film that captures the essence of the gameplay experience (see: *Resident Evil*).
Kitao Sakurai’s take on *Street Fighter* falls somewhere between these two extremes; while it doesn’t fully leverage the strengths of either approach, it still delivers an unforgettable cinematic experience. The film remains true to the core narrative of the video games, focusing on Ryu (Andrew Koji) and Ken Masters (Noah Centineo)—two martial artists who grew up together and, as adults, strive to protect one another from their own personal demons. Ultimately, however, the viewing experience feels more like playing the original arcade game, which asks nothing of the audience other than to browse through a roster of cartoonishly styled fighters and select one to deliver a resounding, championship-level beatdown to an opponent. A mere glance at the cast is enough to evoke the feeling of navigating a "Choose Your Fighter" screen. We find Jason Momoa, his muscles enhanced by computer-generated imagery; 50 Cent playing a Tyson-esque boxer, sporting a hairline so geometric it couldn’t possibly be natural; WWE wrestlers Cody Rhodes and Roman Reigns; comedians from across the political spectrum, such as Eric Andre and Andrew Schulz; and gay music icon Orville Peck, brandishing Wolverine-style claws. And, as if that weren’t enough, the film also features appearances by David Dastmalchian and Kyle Mooney. In this cast, every viewer is likely to find someone they adore—and someone they detest—ensuring that, upon buying a ticket, no one truly knows what kind of roller coaster awaits them.
And what a roller coaster it is. By conventional narrative standards, this version of "Street Fighter" is an incoherent mess. Yet, there is hardly a single shot that fails to captivate: Sakurai bombards us with vibrant neon colors, surreal humor, and classic rock anthems, all complemented by costume and hair design that demonstrate an admirable commitment to recreating the aesthetic of 2D arcade video games. A cynic might describe "Street Fighter" as a film conceived from the outset to be broken down into nonsensical clips—better suited for bite-sized consumption on Reels than for a theatrical viewing experience. A more charitable interpretation, however, would praise its bold visual swings and hail it as a misunderstood masterpiece of expressionism. But, regardless of where your opinion falls on this spectrum, it seems the film is destined to fail upon its release, only to be later reclaimed as a cult classic over the next quarter-century.
Attempting to summarize the plot of "Street Fighter" is, in a way, like trying to "dance about architecture"—a somewhat futile task—but here goes: Ryu and Ken are adoptive brothers who grew up together and trained under the same master, who always warned them to protect one another—even from themselves. Both dreamed of competing in the prestigious "World Warrior" tournament, a *kumite*-style competition that brings together the best fighters from every discipline to determine who is the strongest. Ryu wins the first tournament, but the brothers eventually drift apart, become embroiled in a conflict with a demon named Akuna, and ultimately go their separate ways. Left without his brother, Ken loses his discipline; he rests on his laurels and spends his time chasing cheap commercial endorsements—until, six years later, a second "World Warrior" tournament is unexpectedly announced.
That barely scratches the surface of a film overflowing with a convoluted plot and jokes that land in a confusing way. But the greatest sin a film can commit is to bore its audience, and this installment of "Street Fighter" can certainly claim to be nowhere near doing that. Fans of the "Street Fighter" video games don’t typically spend much time reflecting on the overarching mythology of the series. The games function as a flashy vehicle for self-projection, allowing players to control martial artists, each with their own distinctive aesthetic. And, when all is said and done, this film offers exactly that. It is an emotional blank canvas whose value depends on what each viewer chooses to see in it—but, it must be said, it looks incredible!
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