In the pantheon of modern Japanese
horror directors of the new millennia dabbling in the now aptly named J-Horror
subgenre dealing with superstition, the supernatural or the just plain violent
slasher thriller, directors such as Hideo Nakata with Ringu, Takashi Shimizu with Ju-On
and Takashi Miike with Audition carved
out their niche in world cinema as formidable purveyors of the macabre with an
emphasis on Kabuki and noh theater acting.
Often characterized by slow moving long haired ghostly entities slowly
moving towards the camera, J-horror is decidedly less dependent on jump scares,
instead evoking existential dread with notions of the uncanny slowly creeping
into the viewer’s comfort zone.
Most of these are sheer
visceral thrills while others seem steeped in folklore. They also have an obvious grip on Western
horror audiences, as many of these films saw theatrical releases overseas as
well as a bevy of vastly inferior English language remakes. After already experiencing the likes of Onibaba, Jigoku and Kwaidan and
recently seeing Three Extremes in a
rare theatrical booking, it was only a matter of time before what is probably
the single greatest Japanese horror film of our modern age would finally make
it’s splash in US theaters: Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse. Though it only played
for one week in 35mm at the Main Art Theater, the impression it’s corroded,
grainy and desaturated images left on me seared themselves into my psyche for
all time.
Originally titled Kairo (Circuit) in 2001 before spawning a forgettable 2006 English
language remake, Kurosawa’s apocalyptic and disturbing tale of the spirit
dimension spilling over into the real world via the internet and social media while
threatening to eradicate mankind from the face of the Earth is a sustained
waking nightmare of choking existential horror.
Pushing heavily beyond old fashioned thriller chiller scares into an
abyss of loneliness and despair that only plunges further into Hell before you
or the characters realize how far you’ve sunk, Kurosawa’s vision of an
overcast, decaying and increasingly isolated Japan is that rare beast of
Japanese horror with the capacity to make one’s hair stand on end just thinking
about it.
Divided into two disparate
chapters which gradually converge over the course of the movie, Michi (Kumiko
Aso) and Ryosuke (Haruhiko Kato) will inevitably cross paths as a mysterious
internet virus akin to a hacker slowly creeps out of the confines of their
network terminals before friends and family begin disappearing into shadows on
the walls beside mysterious doors covered in red masking tape. The logic of the story doesn’t always make
complete sense but then again we only know as much as these poor souls trapped
in a world slowly going to Hell.
Much like the Japanese
director’s equally unnerving and apocalyptic Cure, the film portrays a Japan in ruin where people go about their
lives one minute before dying a shocking and horrible death the next in the
blink of an eye. Thanks to Junichiro
Hayashi’s bleak and moody cinematography, equally downbeat score by Takefumi
Haketa, Pulse is a film that doesn’t
aim for loud jump scares or screams but rather a slow, gradual burn into your
soul which will only make you sink into your seat as you’re watching the
horrors unfold.
As a social critique, Pulse predicted the divisive and often
destructive grip of social media communication more than a decade before
programs such as Facebook, Instagram and Twitter took hold of the world at
large. The idea of technology inadvertently
opening a gateway into the underworld, ala science gone awry, is a timeless
one, but I can’t think of another film that so accurately reflects the
increasing loneliness exacerbated by social media than this one. What’s more, Kurosawa’s film seems to suggest
we aren’t headed towards our own demise so much as we’re already there without realizing
the pit of our making we’ve trapped ourselves in.
Even if you come away from Pulse feeling Kurosawa’s fable doesn’t
always achieve logical clarity, there’s no denying the series of abstract
visceral Kabuki-like images of ghostly figures slowly careening towards the
camera in a demonic fashion will affect your ability to sleep at night. Thematically however, what Pulse means to say about Japan’s social
state in the wake of technological advancement is as plain as day. As a horror film, Pulse doesn’t offer up the typical fun slumber party spooky chills
but hard and uncompromising horrors concerning mankind’s own dependence on the
world wide web and how that very labyrinthine alternate universe ultimately can
and likely will only further alienation rather than unification. There aren’t many Japanese horror films out
there with the ability to scare the Hell out of you while leaving you with much
to ponder well after the end credits have rolled. What’s more, the moment you begin to reflect
on Kurosawa’s film and what it means for our social media driven culture today
is arguably when the real horror begins.
Score:
- Andrew Kotwicki