Matt Cooper Films

The Black House (1999) by Yoshimitsu Morita

An investigation into potential insurance fraud turns into something far more sinister in this crime thriller. Wakatsuki (Seiyo Uchino), working at an insurance firm, receives a call from a woman named Sachiko (Shinobu Otake) asking if she would receive a payout in the case of suicide. When he goes to the house he finds her strange husband, Shigeru (Masahiko Nishimura), and discovers their son, Kazuya, hanging in the next room. Shocked by the discovery the firm begin an investigation into the family, with Wakatsuki suspecting foul play. Things turn deadly as bodies start to pile up and suspicion falls on Sachiko, who seems surrounded by cases of disability and death leading to insurance claims.

“The Black House” is based on the book of the same name by Yusuke Kishi and directed by Yoshimitsu Morita. The film starts off in a seemingly casual manner, soft jazz score and the somewhat mundane day-to-day work of Wakatsuki’s insurance company. The mild-mannered investigators and bright settings, makes the reveal of Kazuya’s body in a shockingly matter-of-fact manner, all the more terrifying. As the film goes on it plays with this discrepancy in tone; the horror influences becoming more apparent as Wakatsuki’s investigation proceeds. It is hard to know if the tonal inconsistencies are entirely intentional, with the film varying wildly in style and atmosphere. Perhaps the most egregious example is the scene in a girl’s bar with a scantily clad dancer accompanied by rave music, fitting uncomfortably with everything before and after. The film’s genteel investigation is constantly being disrupted by harsh, graphic violence more reminiscent of a gritty crime thriller; the run-of-the-mill daytime soap-opera tone of the investigation providing a counterbalance and stark relief to the horror. That being said, once the main investigation into Sachiko’s family gets underway it keeps up a pace with twists and turns in the plot and this lurking dread that something monstrous is about to be uncovered. The use of colour, in particular Sachiko’s yellow clothing, the flashing coloured lights of the investigation room, and the gaudy single-colour cuts between some scenes, reflects the psychological element of the film, and the film-maker’s seem to play with the audiences expectations and experience in other ways, such as the aforementioned tonal shifts, the wild swings in the score from melodic to harsh screeches or dark industrial resonance.

“The Black House” does a great job at building up its horror incrementally, at first only hinting at the sinister, nihilistic outlook of its central villain, before racing towards a blood-soaked finale. Through the characters of psychiatrist Kaneishi (Kenichi Katsura) and Wakatsuki’s girlfriend Megumi (Misato Tanaka), we are treated to discussions of Jungian dream analysis and descriptions of psychopathic traits. While the antagonists are clearly unhinged, their behaviour is not so unbelievable as to not be chilling. With its blend of crime drama and horror, “The Black House” has something for fans of either genre, with a strong story and idiosyncratic style making for a gripping watch.

Matt Cooper Films

Drive into Night (2022) by Dai Sako

Workers at a scrap-metal plant become involved in a police investigation in this multi-layered, psychological crime drama. Akimoto (Tomomitsu Adachi), spends his days driving around trying to secure scrap iron for his company. One night while out drinking with his co-worker Taniguchi (Reo Tamaoki), the two meet a saleswoman who was at their company earlier in the day and has been for a drink with the foreman Hongo (Tsutomu Takahashi). Following an incident that we don’t see much detail of, the woman disappears and suspicion falls on the company. Akimoto and Taniguchi succeed in placing the blame on Hongo, who must deal with the police enquiries, while the two men involved in the disappearance deal with their guilt over what happened.

The first half of “Drive into Night” is a sleek crime thriller, setting up several everyman characters, complete with their quotidian neuroses, extra-marital affairs, and their mundane, interminable work-life cycle. None of them appear particularly villainous, which makes what happens to the woman all the more shocking. After her disappearance, the film splits in two with one strand following Hongo and Taniguchi as they cover for their crimes and try to understand what is happening; and the other part following Akimoto as he becomes involved with a bizarre organization that claim to be able to create a new life for their followers. Akimoto’s relationship with a Filipino hostess, and entanglements with the Yakuza, suggest that the writer and director would be comfortable making a conventional crime drama, but are choosing to go off-piste and make something far more compelling and thought-provoking. The religious overtones, references to the devil, the ‘rebirth’ of Akimoto, ideas of sin and guilt, come together with the more traditional fare of hidden bodies, an underworld of clubs operated by gangsters, and cheating wives to create a film that is operating on more than one level, a knotted narrative that requires some work to untangle. The pared-back electric guitar of the detective story growls with heavy distortion when we reach moments of psychological trauma, further establishing the film as a bi-partite treatise on both the emotional and physical nature of humanity.

Dai Sako’s stylish direction, with outstanding cinematography by Yasutaka Watanabe, carries the film forward and offers a key to what is truly happening with the characters and the themes. The ultra-modern visual style matches the up-to-the-minute references to coronavirus and a sign proudly proclaiming the beginning of the Reiwa era. The mystery at the heart of the film soon becomes immaterial as we follow its effects on the characters involved, or implicated in the death of the woman. “Drive into Night” succeeds in telling several thematically and tonally diverse stories, which come together to create a fascinating if discordant whole.

Matt Cooper Films

Organ (1996) by Kei Fujiwara

Police officers, Numata (Kenji Nasa) and his partner Tosaka (Takaaki Yoshimoto), are undercover investigating an organ harvesting gang. When their cover is blown, Numata manages to escape the ensuing gunfight while Tosaka is captured. The organ thieves, Saeki (Kimihiko Hasegawa) and Yoko (Kei Fujiwara) continue their murderous activities, evading capture by the police and repercussions from the criminal gang who are unhappy with their operation being discovered. Tosaka’s whereabouts are being investigated by Numata and Tosaka’s own identical twin brother.

Written and directed by Kei Fujimoto, who also stars as Yoko, “Organ” is a gruesome blend of police action and body horror. The visually grotesque sequences of organ harvesting and transformation, reminiscent of Tsukamoto’s “Tetsuo” (which Fujiwara acted in), are effective in establishing the depraved criminality of the antagonists; and highlighting human vulnerability and mortality. The special effects, helped by close-up, handheld camerawork and lighting, are stomach-churning, bringing even the more outrageous concepts to sickening life. The film’s direction is often disorienting, packed with close-ups in cramped quarters, the editing intercutting between sequences, and the blending together of three subplots that rarely overlap. This gives the whole film the feel of a Frankenstein’s monster, dissected and reassembled from parts; a story that becomes easier to understand the more we see of it. The inclusion of flashbacks showing Junichi and Yoko’s troubled childhood are a good example of a scene that seems to be spliced in, but without which much of the emotional connection to the characters would be lost.

As the film progresses, the plot becomes clearer and the characters more well-defined, but “Organ” remains a film that works best on an experiential or metaphorical level. In one of the weirder sequences we see a humanoid figure emerging from a cocoon. It comes from nowhere and is not apparently referencing anything literal in the film. We see Junichi struggling with some strange condition, turning into a monster before our eyes, perhaps a nod to the idea of his sins manifesting physically. The strength of the film is in what it says about human frailty, and what constitutes morality when we live in such a fragile state, at the mercy of disease that is as ruthless as the criminals in the film. “Organ” also delves into psychology with the notion that Junichi and Yoko’s past may have forced them down this path of destruction, or at least taught them not to value human life. A curious film that works as a simple action-horror, but contains darker truths if you scratch beneath the surface.

Matt Cooper Films

Hell Dogs (2022) by Masato Harada

Goro Idezaki (Junichi Okada) is working his first shift as a patrol officer when five people are gunned down in an armed robbery. Believing he was to blame he sets out to kill the members of the Chinese gang responsible. He is later picked up by the chief of the undercover crime squad and asked to infiltrate the Toshokai yakuza group. Under the name of Kanetaka he pairs with another yakuza hitman called Muroka (Kentaro Sakaguchi). The two are assigned to protect the new head of the family, Toake (Miyavi). As he gets closer to bringing down the group, Kentaro must ensure that his cover is not blown.

Based on a comic book by Akio Fukamachi and directed by Masato Harada, who also wrote the script, “Hell Dogs” is a stylish crime thriller with flashes of nihilistic violence. The story will be familiar to fans of the genre, with an undercover cop; various double-crosses; sexual liaisons that threaten to undermine the operation; and gangster in sharp suits. The array of characters creates a sense of realism, with bosses and capos, enforcers, the mob wife, the police chief, the love interest, an assassin, call girls, and more enlivening the world, although due to the constrictions of film many are little more than plot drivers. The central relationship between Kanetaka and Muroka is well-done, although there is never any real sense that Kanetaka has conflicted loyalties, which seems like a missed opportunity to create some tension. Several side characters, in particular Noriko (Shinobu Otake) suffer from this lack of time, with their backstories largely brushed over. That being said the star-studded cast is firing on all cylinders, bringing these archetypes to life with charisma to spare. The action sequences are well-done, leaving no doubt about the brutality of these criminal regimes, though they occasionally tip into the ludicrous, such as when two people miss each other several times from point-blank range. These moments occur often enough to be considered the film’s ironic humour, or a sideways comment on genre conventions, as when a character comments on never having seen a female assassin before.

Idezaki’s redemption arc sets him on a hero’s path, journeying through hell to make amends for his past mistakes. Although he is not personally to blame for the initial crime, his determination to set things rights displays a lex talionis sense of justice. A question arises as to whether Idezaki is driven by a sense of justice, or something darker, hate, drive to dominate, or pure aggression. Bosses on both sides of the criminal divide point Idezaki at a target, which begs the question of how different they are and whether Idezaki’s life is guided more by luck than free will. This comparison is brought up again, when Muroka relates Idezaki’s story, not knowing who he is, suggesting that ideas of honour, loyalty and justice are mirrored in the police and the yakuza. One side story that is given short shrift is that of Muroka’s ex-girlfriend, who has begun a survivors group for people who have lost loved ones to gang violence. It is one of several curious ideas thrown into the mix, another being the various undercover agents who are revealed throughout and the police force’s negligence in taking care of them. A complex crime thriller with enough interesting characters to breathe life into the well-worn story of a cop going undercover in the yakuza.

Matt Cooper Films

Somebody’s Flowers (2021) by Yusuke Okuda

A sombre drama about loss and dementia. Takaaki’s (Shinsuke Kato) is left to look after his elderly parents after his brother Kento dies in a car accident. His father Tadayoshi (Choei Takahashi) has dementia, often wandering off, calling Takaaki by his brother’s name, and forgetting what he is doing; while his wife Machi (Kazuko Yoshiyuki) does her best to care for him. When a new family, the Kusumotos, move into their apartment block, tragedy strikes when the father is fatally injured by a falling flower pot, leaving his wife, Akari (Misa Wada), and young son, Sota (Ruse Ota), to cope with his loss. Takaaki begins to suspect that it may have been Tadayoshi who dropped the flower pot, although his father shows no signs of remembering the incident. Takaaki attempts to protect his father by lying and terminating the contract of his home helper, Satomi (Honoka Murakami), who is also suspicious.

Written and directed by Yusuke Okuda, based on personal experience of a family member with dementia, “Somebody’s Flowers” is an often touching and tragic drama that looks at a serious social issue. The depiction of Tadayoshi’s condition is sensitive while tackling the strain it puts on his wife and son. Choei Takahashi’s performance as the elderly Tadayoshi, with unsure steps, repetitive statements, and absent expression, capture the peculiar vulnerability of those suffering memory loss. The rest of the cast, Kazuko Yoshiyuki as his loving wife, and Takaaki as his morally conflicted son, whose feelings towards his father move from exasperation to concern, do a fantastic job creating a sense of a family unit doing their best to carry on after the death of Kento and the deteriorating condition of Tadayoshi. The film’s inciting incident, the death of Akari and Sota’s father and husband, gives the film a semblance of plot, but for the most part it is a more documentary-like exploration of these characters and their experiences. The scenes at the grief councelling group consolidate this documentary style as the participants give their thoughts on bereavement. “Somebody’s Flowers” leaves the audience to decide where they stand on the issues presented, particularly concerning the guilt of Tadayoshi, while creating scenes that brim with emotionality. The direction and framing heighten the impact of each scene, with an emphasis on character viewpoints guiding the audience through and offering varied perspectives on what has happened. The minimalist score breaks in rarely to set the scene, but never undermines the realism of the story. A scene late in the film, in which Tadayoshi believes he is talking to his lost son Kento, and encourages Takaaki to speak with his brother, is effecting in its simplicity and again succeeds on the strength of the main cast, capturing the complex emotions of the characters.

“Somebody’s Flowers” is a film in the vein of Koji Fukada’s “Harmonium”, dealing with a difficult social issue, with a story that doesn’t attempt to sensationalise or rationalise on behalf of the characters. We are presented with a situation that engenders sympathy for the protagonists, struggling with dementia and taking care of someone with the condition. It asks difficult questions about guilt, blame and responsibility, loyalty, loss and forgiveness. In the case of Tadayoshi he is incapable of taking responsibility for his actions, almost childlike in his innocence and unconscious of his own actions. In the survivor’s group we see people still struggling to forgive the perpetrators of the accidents that took their loved ones; while Takaaki must contemplate the possibility that his father is a murderer (albeit unwittingly). “Somebody’s Flowers” creates a powerful emotional drama about death and dementia that asks the audience to consider their own feelings on the issues it raises.