Matt Cooper Films

A Girl in My Room (2022) by Natsuki Takahashi

After breaking up with his girlfriend of two years, Yo (Riku Hagiwara) is surprised to find another young woman (Shiori Kubo) in his room. However, his new guest turns out to be the ghost of a previous tenant who died there and whose spirit is tied to that apartment. Unable ot remember her own name, Yo names her Aisuke. After attempting to speak to the realtor about this unexpected turn of events, Yo finally comes to accept Aisuke’s presence and the two begin hanging out together. Yo’s co-worker suggests employing her aunt, a psychic, to perform a rite to drive Aisuke out of the apartment. But Yo’s burgeoning feelings for Aisuke leave him conflicted.

Written and directed by Natsuki Takahashi and based on the manga by Chugaku Yamammoto, “A Girl in My Room” is a charming, light-hearted supernatural romantic comedy, setting up a perfect odd couple in Yo and Aisuke. There is a poignancy to their relationship, seperated as they are by the line between life and death, but the similarity in age means that for the most part we have a conventional love story. We see Aisuke advising Yo on where he went wrong in his last relationship, while Yo tries desperately to come up with a solution to this unexpected occurance. The two actors have great chemistry together, with their spirited conversations being a highlight of the film. Riku Hagiwara’s hapless romantic lead learns to care for Aisuke in a way that he was never able to with his previous girlfriend. He also has some great comic moments with the realtor (Shohei Uno) as he attempts to explain his situation. Shiori Kubo (a member of girl-group Nogizaka 46) is charismatic and entertaining as Aisuke, with her regional dialect and casual manner. The plot develops in a familiar way, but with the lingering sense of unease about Aisuke’s eventual fate.

As romantic ghost stories go, “A Girl in My Room” provides us with plenty of heart and laughs. It sticks close to the two protagonists as we see them grow closer to one another, learning what it means to care for someone. The film was shot on location in Onomichi, highlighting the charm of this city in Hiroshima prefecture. Essentially a twist on a traditional romantic comedy, with two characters thrown together by circumstance, the film’s casual, understated tone makes it a relaxing watch for fans of the genre.

Matt Cooper Films

Blue Lake Woman (1986) by Akio Jissoji

Artist Nagare (Ryo Tamura) lives with the guilt of his fomer lover Mizue’s (Yoko Yamamoto) death after he backed out of a suicide pact. Five years after the ill-fated attempt at joint self-destruction, Nagare is invited back to the house by the swamp in which Mizue drowned by Mizue’s former husband, Takigawa. Nagare is surprised to see Takigawa’s new wife, Ameko, looks identically to the dead woman (Ameko is also played by Yamamoto), while Mizue’s ghost begins appearing to him, calling him back to the site of their attempted suicide.

Based on a novel by Izumi Kyoka, “Blue Lake Woman” is a melodramatic ghost story complete with over-the-top performances and a script packed with unbelievable twists. The final third of the film takes several wild turns, becoming almost laughable as one bizarre coincidence and shocking revelation after another are thrown into the mix. Shigeaki Saegusa’s score fully embraces this high-camp atmosphere with theatrical orchestration knocking the viewer over the head with the eerie mystery chimes. It should be mentioned that this is a made-for-television drama and the low-budget is in evidence in everything from stage sets to the small cast and schlocky effects such as the handheld camera swirling around a medium attempting to contact Mizue’s ghost. Director Jissoji, most famous for his more art-house Buddhist Trilogy, does his best to overcome these budget constraints with creativity in lighting and use of close-ups, and a few moments of beautiful cinematography from Masao Nakabori throughout. They never quite elevate the film above the pot-boiler source material, but there are a few interesting elements included such as the background ticking of clocks and the array of time-pieces that make regular appearances, lending weight to the themes of time and mortality.

“Blue Lake Woman” is a traditional ghost story playing on ideas of guilt and revenge. The constant ticking of clocks, shown also in the film, is an excellent representation of how Nagare is haunted by his continued existence. He feels deeply the guilt that he survived while he left his lover to drown in the swamp. The film is not without it’s charm if you can get beyond some of the sillier elements; and occasionally surpasses the limitations of a television movie in attempting to tell a more intelligent story than the surface narrative suggests. Perhaps the film’s worst sin is in neglecting some of these more unique thematic elements, abandoning them completely in its finale in favour of wrapping everything up in a rather trite ending that undermines some of the tension that preceded it.

Matt Cooper Films

Lovesick Dead (2001) by Kazuyuki Shibuya

Midori (Risa Goto) is a high-schooler troubled by a recurring dream of a roadside shrine and the ancient practice of Tsuruji, where a person stands by the shrine and asks the first passer-by whether they will find love or not. Midori’s dream always ends with the appearance of a dark figure. On her first day at a new school she meets Suzue, whose friends relate several other eerie stories involving Tsuruji. Two of the students meet a gruesome end after trying Tsuruji, lending credence to these rumours. Midori also meets an old friend called Ryusuke who she hasn’t seen for 10 years. Meanwhile, Midori’s mother begins to break down, continually scrubbing mold off the walls of their apartment.

Based on a Junji Ito manga, with a script by Naoyuki Tomomatsu, “Lovesick Dead” (also known as “Love Ghost”, brings together three ghost stories disguised as a high-school romance. The first concerns the Tsuruji shrine and the violent fates awaiting the girls who attempt to discover their futures; the second revolves around Midori and Ryusuke’s relationship; and a third is centred on Midori’s mother and the disappearance of her father 10 years prior. The film spends a long time setting up Midori’s high-school classmates, who are then jettisoned in the final third as the story comes to focus on the story of Ryusuke. The three story threads can be largely seen as distinct plots, as they mostly function without reference or relevance to the others. When we reach the moment of revelation, the film does provide an intriguing twist, throwing in a new element to the story and slowly beginning to untangle the various mysteries established earlier on. There are plot holes and inexplicable moments that undermine the entire story of the school and Midori’s new classmates, but it is a satisfactory, if unsurprising, conclusion. There are flashes of brilliance in the direction and storytelling here, isolating characters with clever framing, and setting up certain elements of the twist beforehand so it doesn’t feel like you have been misled. The acting is largely melodramatic and the cast have little to do, with an emotional range from slightly concerned to seriously worried. Aside from two suicides, the film’s horror elements are confined to the creepy ghost stories, with a comfortably traditional feel. The soundtrack does an excellent job in complementing the gothic romance.

As with many films dealing with the idea of fate or premonition, “Lovesick Dead” presents us with the dangers of discovering your own fate. As this doom is always inescapable it is unwise to search too keenly for it. The film also poses the intriguing logical question of a self-fulfilling prophecy, whereby the recipient of this preternatural warning becomes the agent of their own destruction, therefore fulfilling what was foretold. The Tsuruji plotline is the most interesting part of the film, bringing a traditional tale to a modern audience it offers a unique take on the dark fate awaiting horror victims. In contrast, Midori’s own story with Ryusuke is a more typical ghost story with psychological elements; and Midori’s mother’s tale is one of guilt and despair. These two stories suffer a little due to a lack of serious character work. There is a lot to explore in this atypical “mother-daughter” relationship and the way that their pasts are impacting their present, but the film wraps up relatively quickly after we discover what has happened, giving little time for such an emotional denouement. “Lovesick Dead” draws together several traditional high-school horror elements in a film that moves quickly and doesn’t outstay its welcome. It is unlikely to offer genuine shocks, but if you are looking for a mildly chilling tale you will enjoy it.

Matt Cooper Films

Sweet Home (1989) by Kiyoshi Kurosawa

A film crew head to the mysterious country mansion of a deceased artist to uncover his lost paintings, only to be terrorized by the ghost of his wife. Film director Kazuo (Shingo Yamashiro), his daughter Emi (Nokko), producer Akiko (Nobuko Miyamoto), reporter and host Asuka (Fukumi Kuroda), and crewman Taguchi (Ichiro Furutachi) enter the mansion in the woods unsuspecting of their fate. They are delighted to discover a never-before-seen mural depicting a mother with child, but soon things begin to take a sinister turn. Asuka begins speaking in tongues and digs up the coffin of an infant outside. The crew come to realise that the house is haunted, or ‘cursed’ as they are later told by elderly gas station manager Yamamura (Juzo Itami) who comes to their aid. The terrifying backstory of the Mamiya family is brought to light and the crew find themselves in a fight for survival against the violent spirit of Lady Mamiya.

“Sweet Home”, written and directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, was released alongside a videogame of the same name. This video game was one of the primary inspirations behind the original “Resident Evil” game, which has since gone on to spawn numerous sequels and a film series of its own. Kurosawa’s film is based on a simple premise, a cursed house that the group must survive, one that allows the characters and outrageous action to take precedence. In many ways the reason for them being at the mansion is insignificant, the central story is of what happened to the Mamiyas and how they are going to escape with their lives. Lady Mamiya’s backstory is a gothic, gruesome tale; mostly told in exposition it nevertheless provokes a shudder. The film varies in tone from knockabout comedy, such as when Taguchi nearly accidentally decapitates Kazuo with a hefty axe he found in a shed, to some increidble gore effects in the latter half that stand alongside the best in the splatter film genre. The mix of simple effects, CG effects, and audacious practical monster effects make for an enjoyable watch for fans of fantastical horror. The cast do a great job, both in the lighthearted comedy and the horror action. The relationships between the widower Kazuo and his daughter, and Kazuo and Akiko, are engaging and provide a solid secondary plot thread through the shocks and scares of the main story. Kurosawa’s direction makes the most of the locations, filling them with dark shadows, and making the mansion come alive. It treads several well-worn tropes (the eerie mansion, the local who warns them of danger, the group dynamics of comedic and serious characters), but the skill of the director is in creating something that is fun and engaging even with that familiar premise.

Themes of family run strongly through the film, with Kazuo and Emi having lost a wife and mother, and the story of Lady Mamiya revolving around the loss of her own child in horrifying circumstances. The relationship between Kazuo and Emi is the reverse of Mamiya who lost a child. The loss of his wife has left Kazuo unsure of how to raise his daughter and unable to form new relationships, for example with Akiko. Likewise, Emi seems to be missing her mother, though in subtler ways, perhasp the reason she wants her father to remarry. Their drama is at odds with the events that occur at the Mamiya mansion, almost a completely separate narrative about trying to rediscover love and rebuild a relationship with a bereaved child. However, it is this juxtaposition that makes the film exciting. “Sweet Home” has a knack for turning on a sixpence from chilling to funny to poignant, switching emotional register without skipping a beat. The disparate elements create something that is hugely entertaining, with moments to please horror fans of all kinds.

Matt Cooper Television

Ju-On Origins (2020)

Since its release “Ju-On” (Takashi Shimizu, 2001) has established itself as a classic horror, spawning sequels, remakes and a crossover with “Ring” (Sadako vs. Kiyoko, Koji Shiraishi, 2016). This mini-drama, six half-hour episodes, first takes us back to 1988. Yasuo Odajima (Yoshiyoshi Arakawa) is a paranormal investigator who is introduced to the story of the mysterious house by a co-presenter, Haruka Honjo (Yuina Kuroshima), whose partner recently visited the place while house hunting. Certain spirits that inhabit the house haunt many people who come into contact with it, often terrifying them to death or causing some violent or fatal misfortune. Around the same time a schoolgirl, Kiyomi (Ririka), is tricked by her classmates into visiting the house and there subjected to sexual abuse. The series then moves forward, to 1995 and 1998, as occurences at the house and in the lives of people connected with it become more gruesome and bizarre.

Written by Hiroshi Takahashi and Takashige Ichise, and directed by Sho Miyake, “Ju-On Origins” creates several interwoven stories that all converge on this same ill-fated residence. The short half-hour episodes and multiple narratives mean it is fast-paced, moving swiftly from one story to another, often more of a detective drama that straight horror. The mystery of what is happening in the house twinned with genuine concern for the characters makes it gripping from start to finish. For fans of the original films there is also interest in seeing these new characters and revisiting the cursed residence. The scares are a mixture of bloody body horror, more visceral and shocking than anything in the original films, and the more familiar creepy moments. These subtler moments are often more effective, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere from often simple things: mewling cats, ringing telephones, small details in the background. However, when it does go for more disturbingly graphic scares, it hits the mark, reinventing and exploring the more gruesome aspects of the “Ju-On” myth, including spousal and child murder, and sexual assault. The direction uses some of the techniques of the original film, off-kilter angles, holding on a scene until the audience realises there’s a figure in the background, but also features great use of light and colour, with scenes shifting from light to dark. There are more special effects involved in this series, which can be hit and miss, but are nevertheless audaciously extreme. The cast all do a great job in bringing the curse of the house to life, creating real characters in an unreal situation. In particular Yoshiyoshi Arakawa in a rare serious role, and Ririka whose complex character is one of the most intriguing.

One of the things that makes “Juon Origins” interesting is the meta reading of the film. In several episodes we hear or see news reports of real-life crimes and tragedies, two very high-profile murders, the Sarin Gas Attack, and the Kobe Earthquake. These add a disturbing aspect to the film, almost drawing horror from these true crimes into the narrative, providing an uncomfortable reminder that horror and evil exist in our own world. Odajima, one of the first characters we are introduced to and one whose story is intricately linked with the house, is asked on a number of occasions why he is writing a book on the paranormal; and this question could also be asked not only of this film, but horror films in general. The question of human fascination with evil, whether real-world or supernatural, is a pertinent one, especially considering the inclusion of the genuine stories mentioned above. The idea of the cursed house, spirits calling for revenge, unsatisfied rage, anger, despair, are things that are seen as resulting from the violence and abuse that took place there. In part, the series is not questioning the origin of this cursed house, but the origin of the film “Ju-On”, and indirectly all horror. That is, why do writers, artists, and film-makers, make disturbing works. It does not spring from some imagined fear, but from the horrors they see in the world. Whether this is a form of escapism or an attempt to explain our relationship with evil is up for debate. “Ju-On: Origins” is a series that takes it’s subject matter seriously, creating a potent dread that is as much to do with our own fears as the supernatural horror.