His increasingly surreal style began to draw the ire of the studio in 1963 and culminated in his ultimate dismissal for what is now regarded as his magnum opus, Branded to Kill (1967), starring notable collaborator Joe Shishido.

As an independent filmmaker, he won critical acclaim and a Japanese Academy Award for his Taishō trilogy, Zigeunerweisen (1980), Kagero-za (1981) and Yumeji (1991).

His films remained widely unknown outside Japan until a series of theatrical retrospectives beginning in the mid-1980s, home video releases of key films such as Branded to Kill and Tokyo Drifter in the late 1990s and tributes by such acclaimed filmmakers as Jim Jarmusch, Takeshi Kitano, Wong Kar-wai and Quentin Tarantino signaled his international discovery.

After earning a degree at a Tokyo Trade School in 1941, Suzuki applied to the college of the Ministry of Agriculture, but failed the entrance exam due to poor marks in chemistry and physics.

He was shipwrecked twice throughout his military service; first the cargo ship that was to take him to the front was destroyed by an American submarine and he fled to the Philippines.

[5]He has also said that he often found the horrors of war comical,[6] such as men being hoisted on board his ship with ropes and being battered black and blue against the hull, or the bugler blasting his trumpet every time a coffin was thrown into the sea.

There he worked under directors Minora Shibuya, Yasushi Sasaki, Noboru Nakamura and Hideo Oniwa before joining the regular crew of Tsuruo Iwama.

At a large company such as Mitsui or Mitsubishi, these things would have led to my dismissal, especially in the old days, but as the studio as well as the assistant directors themselves were laboring under the strange misconception that they were brilliant artists, almost anything was tolerated, except arson, theft and murder.

It lured many assistant directors from the other major film studios with the promise of circumventing the usual long queue for promotion.

[14] Having enjoyed moderate success, his work began to draw more attention, especially among student audiences,[12] with 1963's Youth of the Beast which is considered his "breakthrough" by film scholars.

Tony Rayns explained, "In his own eyes, the visual and structural qualities of his '60s genre films sprang from a mixture of boredom ('All company scripts were so similar; if I found a single line that was original, I could see room to do something with it') and self-preservation ('Since all of us contract directors were working from identical scripts, it was important to find a way of standing out from the crowd').

Suzuki considered the production designer to be among the most important: The Bastard was the real turning-point in my career, more so than Youth of the Beast, which I made just before.

Gosho then issued a public declaration condemning Nikkatsu for breach of contract and violation of Suzuki's right to freedom of speech.

[20] On 7 June, after repeated attempts to reason with Nikkatsu, Suzuki took the studio to court, suing for breach of contract and personal damages amounting to ¥7 380 000.

[20] The Cine Club held a public demonstration on 12 June, which resulted in the formation of a joint committee supporting Suzuki against Nikkatsu.

[20] The Cine Club, and other similar groups, mobilized the public, holding panel discussions and leading mass demonstrations against the studio.

[20] Throughout the lawsuit, 19 witnesses were heard over a two and a half-year process including directors, newspaper reporters, film critics and two members of the film-going public.

He suggested dropping the script when the head of the studio told him he had to read it twice before he understood it, but the company directed him to make the film.

[20] Hori, known as a totalitarian figure, unaccustomed to retracting statements or granting requests, had made an example of Suzuki apparently on the basis of his dislike of the film.

Nikkatsu paid Suzuki　a fraction of his original claim, and Hori was forced to apologize for comments he made while serving as president.

In a separate agreement Nikkatsu donated Fighting Elegy and Branded to Kill to the Tokyo National Museum of Modern Art's Film Centre.

Hori's plans to restructure the company were unsuccessful and Nikkatsu was forced to liquidate studios and headquarter buildings.

It released two final films in August 1971 and by November began producing roman porno, softcore romantic pornography.

[3] To sustain himself during the trial and the blacklist years that followed, Suzuki published books of essays, and directed several television movies, series and commercials.

[3] The trial and protests had made him into a countercultural icon and his Nikkatsu films became quite popular at midnight screenings,[13] playing to "packed audiences who wildly applauded.

[22] Shochiku, the company that started him as an assistant director, produced his return to film direction in 1977, A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness, a golf expose cum psychological thriller penned by sports-oriented manga illustrator Ikki Kajiwara.

[11] Suzuki collaborated with producer Genjiro Arato in 1980 and made the first part of what would become his Taishō trilogy, Zigeunerweisen, a psychological, period, ghost story, named after a gramophone record of gypsy violin music by Pablo de Sarasate featured prominently in the film.

When exhibitors declined to show the film, Arato screened it himself in an inflatable mobile dome to great success.

[16]From 1978 to 1980, Suzuki served as a "chief director" (supervisor) on the popular anime series Lupin the Third Part II, itself influenced by his earlier films.

[33] Within this framework he had a greater degree of control than the A directors as the cheaper B productions drew a less watchful eye from the head office.