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If Be a Man! Samurai School works as a spoof of the typical troubled teen stories, then Crows Zero is a more straightforward entry in the genre. While it doesn't deviate too much―or at all―from the usual formula in these type of movies, there's something admirable, or amicable, about the glorification of violence and delinquency here. Takashi Miike has made plenty of movies about the yakuza/crime life. Sometimes sympathetically, often derogatorily; portraying them as little more than perverted animals in movies like Fudoh, Ichi the Killer and Dead or Alive. This, however, certainly falls into the former.

While based on the Crows manga series by Hiroshi Takahashi, Crows Zero is not an adaptation. It in in fact a prequel with (as far as I know) original main characters. Not that that matters any. All you have to know is that it's about two kids duking it out for the top spot as the ruler of the school. Genji (Oguri Shun) is the son of a yakuza boss who must conquer his dad's alma mater before he can be a successor in the clan. His biggest rival is Serizawa (Yamada Takayuki), the boy closest to ruling the school. Slowly but surely, these two recruit other hopefuls, dividing the school into two big factions.

Contrary to the gross-out ultraviolent style more known to Miike's Western fans (the man has, in fact, directed everything from intimate dramas to family friendly fantasy movies), Crows Zero doesn't have over-the-top gore in its abundance of violent scenes. The action is fierce and feral, but relatively bloodless, emphasizing on brawls. Of course, Miike can't avoid occasionally spicing up the fights with over-the-top moves, especially in the excellent rainsoaked finale where the two opposing teams war on the schoolyard; he finds a way to make hardly distinguishable students punching each other look dynamic. Even though you know the battle is going to whittle into a one-on-one between the leaders, it's still exciting to watch.

Miike can be an odd cat to follow, because he doesn't always switch tones between movies; he'd often do it within a movie. Here, typical of Japanese comics, slapstick farce would sometimes break up the serious tone. One minute there's a tense yakuza confrontation, and the next we see Serizawa kicking a gigantic metal ball to play human bowling with freshmen. It doesn't reduce the gravity of the interpersonal drama that the movies focuses on, though.

Knowing that it's a story about bad boys with bad ambitions, Miike wisely paints no hero or villain in either Genji or Serizawa, drumming up sympathy for both sides. The two fighters have the same somewhat honorable reasons to fight: holding up a promise to make proud a good friend who's sacrificed for them to reach the top. It's a heavy-handed shortcut to make them relatable, but Miike's steady handling and the two very charismatic leads really sell it. Rooting for either Genji or Serizawa is valid, and that's why the build-up to the final fight is so charged.

Crows Zero plays like a rock song (hence the film appropriately opening and closing with punk concerts). It's about kicking ass and only kicking ass. It's rebellious and abrasive, jejune yet refined. It has macho power chords, powerful build-up and exhilarating riffs. It even has a sad ballad to sink you in before it hits its loudest notes. Catchy, too, because I'd like to replay this one again a couple more times before I'm satisfied.