Released on May 30, 2025, Tornado is Scottish director John Maclean’s long-awaited second feature, a genre-defying blend of samurai drama, revenge western, and coming-of-age thriller. The film stars Kōki as the titular Tornado, a teenage girl of British and Japanese descent, alongside Tim Roth as the ruthless outlaw Sugarman, Jack Lowden as his conflicted son Little Sugar, and Takehiro Hira as Fujin, Tornado’s samurai-trained puppeteer father. Set in the cold, untamed British countryside of the 1790s, the story follows Tornado as she flees a gang of violent thieves and seeks vengeance for her father’s death, all while confronting the cultural legacy she carries on her back. Produced by Tea Shop Productions and distributed by IFC Films and Shudder in North America, Tornado is a visually stunning, emotionally resonant hybrid that channels the spirits of Kurosawa, Leone, and Sergio Corbucci, but speaks with its own windswept voice.
Genre:Action, Drama, Thriller
A Wind-Blown Tale Begins in Chaos
Tornado opens in media res, with our heroine already running. Drenched in cold light and battered by Jed Kurzel’s brooding, percussion-heavy score, the film immediately sets a tone of dread and grit. Tornado (Kōki) dashes across the blustery Scottish moors with a young pickpocket in tow, pursued by Sugarman (Tim Roth) and his band of lawless highwaymen. Within minutes, the chase leads them to a remote manor where a simple hiding place threatens to spark catastrophe.
Why Tornado is running—and what secrets lie behind those weather-worn eyes—is initially a mystery, but the opening moments grip like a steel trap. Robbie Ryan’s cinematography bathes the landscapes in gray and green, every frame a postcard from a world on the brink of moral collapse. The bandits move slowly, deliberately. They don’t run because they don’t need to. Death, in Tornado, is patient.
A Flashback Into Fire and Family
The story soon rewinds to reveal Tornado’s past. We meet her as a restless teenager, chafing under the guidance of her father, Fujin (Takehiro Hira), a former samurai who now performs street puppet shows to survive. Their act, staged from a wooden wagon, features marionettes locked in bloody combat—stories of honor, betrayal, and revenge that mirror the path Tornado herself is destined to walk.
Kōki’s portrayal of Tornado is quietly magnetic. She’s fierce but unsure, caught between two worlds: British and Japanese, child and warrior, artist and avenger. Her resistance to her father's teachings—refusing to speak Japanese, mocking his rituals—adds depth to their relationship. It’s not until tragedy strikes that she fully embraces what he tried to instill in her.
That tragedy arrives courtesy of Sugarman and his gang. After a gold heist gone sideways, their stolen loot is lifted by a nimble-fingered boy (Nathan Malone) during one of Fujin’s shows. Tornado intervenes, the loot ends up in her hands, and chaos follows. Sugarman tracks the family down. Fujin is slain. Tornado flees into the woods, carrying the weight of her father’s sword and her guilt.
Fathers and Sons, Daughters and Destiny
A Battle of Bloodlines
The film cleverly contrasts two father-child relationships. While Fujin’s dynamic with Tornado is marked by quiet respect and unspoken love, Sugarman’s bond with Little Sugar (Jack Lowden) is corrosive, built on fear and manipulation. Little Sugar’s slow-breaking conscience eventually drives him to confront his father, a decision that ends in his own death.
Jack Lowden brings twitchy tension to Little Sugar, a man-child desperate to step out of his father’s shadow but too corrupted to fully break free. Tim Roth’s Sugarman, meanwhile, is a masterclass in slow-burn menace. There’s no theatrical villainy here—just a worn-down brute who murders without blinking and hunts like an old wolf with nothing left to lose.
Violence With a Blade’s Edge
If Tornado takes its time building tension, its payoff is worth the wait. The film’s final act explodes in a series of sharp, brutal set pieces. This is not flashy, stylized combat; this is muddy, desperate, close-quarters violence. Swords clash. Blood spurts. Men die in silence.
The highlight is Tornado’s one-woman crusade against the gang that destroyed her life. Using clever traps and precise strikes, she cuts them down one by one. A sword lodged in a tree becomes a decapitation device. A cabin door becomes a shield. It’s not choreography—it’s survival, delivered with grim elegance.
What’s most impressive is how Maclean balances action with tone. The violence never feels cathartic or triumphant. It’s weary, cold, and necessary. Tornado doesn’t kill for glory—she kills because she must.
Style That Serves Substance
From the stark naturalism of its locations to its East-meets-West costuming, Tornado is a film that lives in the margins of history. This isn’t a polished period piece—it’s a story of survivors, wanderers, and outcasts scraping through a dying era.
Robbie Ryan’s camera lingers on bleak landscapes, letting the environment breathe. Costumes by Kirsty Halliday reflect the characters’ paths: worn fabrics, layered textures, and muted colors. Jed Kurzel’s score is another standout—an eerie blend of traditional Japanese instrumentation and European orchestral dread.
Maclean’s direction leans heavily into atmosphere. Dialogue is sparse. Characters communicate with glances and gestures. It’s a film that trusts its visuals to carry meaning, and for the most part, they do. Some threads, like Tornado’s prior relationship with the circus or hints at Sugarman’s past, are left underexplored, but they don’t detract from the emotional throughline.
A Reflection on Identity, Survival, and Vengeance
At its core, Tornado is not just about revenge. It’s about identity—about choosing who you are when the world tries to erase you. Tornado, born between cultures, finds strength not in abandoning her heritage, but in embracing every part of it. She uses her father’s blade, his wisdom, and even his puppetry to tell her story in a land that barely acknowledges her existence.
The final scenes are elegiac. Tornado buries the pickpocket boy and her father side by side, then returns to the circus. Offered a chance to tell her tale on stage, she refuses. She doesn’t want applause—she wants peace. She vanishes into the hills, sword in hand, her legend beginning where the movie ends.
Verdict: A Quiet Storm with Blades Behind Its Eyes
Tornado may not be a typical blockbuster revenge thriller, but that’s exactly why it works. With echoes of Yojimbo and The Proposition, Maclean’s sophomore feature is moody, poetic, and refreshingly intimate. Kōki delivers a breakout performance as a heroine forged in grief and fire. Tim Roth is terrifyingly understated. And the visuals linger long after the final frame fades.
It’s a film that cuts slow but deep—like a wind that starts as a whisper and ends in a scream.
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)