Bilocation (2013)

Bilocation is the supernatural phenomenon whereby an individual appears in two places at the same time. Artist Shinobu (Asami Mizukawa) is hard at work trying to finish a painting of the view from her balcony when the doorbell to her apartment rings. The man at the door is Masaru (Yosuke Asari), a blind man who has just moved into her block. After meeting Shinobu the two get married. It is at this point Shinobu’s life changes course, she explains, and we are soon to find out that is in more ways than one. On a trip to the supermarket she is brought up by the check-out staff who tell her that not only was she there 10 minutes prior, but is attempting to use an identical bank note to pay. Suspecting fraud they call in the police. The policeman turns out to be part of a group investigating bilocation and invites Shinobu to their group. Each member is suffering the same problem with a mysterious double appearing at intervals and interfering with their lives. These doppelgangers grow increasingly dangerous as the group works to understand them and then to stop them.

“Bilocation” is based on a novel by Haruka Hojo, with a screenplay by director Mari Asato. It is an intriguing concept on which to base a supernatural horror, with the eerie sense of being followed and the secondary fear of having another being living out your life providing ample chills. The film blends the best elements of creepy ghost stories and mystery dramas, relying heavily on a sense of foreboding and the occasional shock tactics as one of the bilocations appears suddenly. There are several plot turns layered so that even if one is obvious it is unlikely audiences will fully unravel the mystery until the end. There are a few moments that require some suspension of disbelief in order to sustain the conceit, but the film’s greatest strength is in using the central idea of bilocation to explore more primal fears and take a look at the psychology of the individuals affected. Asami Mizukawa gives a great central performance as Shinobu, whose journey from baffled to worried to outraged gives the audience much to enjoy. The film in a similar way shifts gears from suspense to action, constantly wrongfooting the audience. The camerawork in the film shows a deep understanding of horror conventions. A particularly standout scene comes early in the film when the camera drifts from Shinobu to an empty hallway, the importance of this shot only becoming clear later.

The phenomenon of bilocation almost predetermines themes of identity and duality. For Shinobu the true horror of having this double is her loss of self. She becomes increasingly annoyed at the thought of someone else taking her place. There is a deeper significance to this, made apparent by the use of reflections in mirrors and pools of water, which is the notion of self as a constructed reality. What Shinobu sees in the mirror is what everyone around her sees and recognizes as “Shinobu”, but that is far from a complete picture of who she is as a person. There is a horror of the loss of individuality and the idea that you could be easily replaced that will resonate with most people. Through the side characters other themes are explored that hinge on this. The mother whose double takes her sickly child from the hospital, or the man whose bilocation assaults a co-worker losing him his job. This plays to a fear of loss on a more tangible level than Shinobu’s loss of self-image, but helps to emphasise the significance of what is happening. A secondary reading of the film is that the bilocations are representative of something that is kept hidden within the individual. This is most apparent in the police officer Kano (Kenichi Takito), whose double seems to be an expression of his ego, or base instincts, lashing out indiscriminately. Beneath the veneer of civilised society there are atavistic ulterior characters lurking in everyone. A simple yet brilliant concept that lends itself to various psychological interpretations.

Strange Circus (2005)

A twisted horror story about incest, rape, trauma and revenge. 12 year old Mitsuko is forced into a cello case by her father and made to watch him have sex with her mother. He later begins abusing his own daughter. When her mother becomes aware of this it leads to a breakdown in their relationship. Mitsuko begins to believe they are in some respect switching places, with her taking the place of her mother. After she pushes her down the stairs and kills her things get even more bizarre. We are then introduced to Taeko, a woman who is writing the story we have until this point being watching. It is clear that Taeko is also somewhat disturbed. The film suggests that this may be the grown-up Mitsuko, or a version of her shattered psyche (both are played by the same actress). As the plot unfolds we are confronted with several horrifying revelations.

Director Sion Sono is no stranger to gory horror and sexual violence. Though you get the sense here, as in other films (Suicide Club, Noriko’s Dinner Table), that the shocks are far from gratuitous, instead serving to emphasise much deeper and more terrifying themes. The opening scene of the film takes place in a cabaret club with all manner of bizarre characters. It is a metaphysical space of nightmares with a carnival atmosphere, part burlesque, part house of horrors. A guillotine is brought onto the stage and a willing volunteer for decapitation coaxed from the audience. This is Mitsuko. This opening is a perfect example of Sono’s unconventional style of storytelling. Not everything that happens in the film is to be taken too literally. Instead he would rather you focus on the emotional content, finding truth and significance beyond the merely factual. In its closing scenes the film, until that point a dizzying spiral of insanity, does tie everything neatly together in some regard, but leaves room for interpretation. The intercuts to the Ferris Wheel, Mitsuko’s school walls morphing into bloody flesh, and the blurring of the lines between various characters, help to give the film a sense of paranoia and uneasiness that is in keeping with the protagonists own feelings. This is a film that succeeds in making you feel disgusted at what is being perpetrated on these women. The music is likewise a creepy, lilting carnival score, with the off-key blast of accordion further enhancing the unsettling atmosphere. The actors all do a magnificent job, especially Masumi Miyazaki as Mitsuko and Taeko.

Strange Circus is a film that deals with themes of incest and sexual violence. It is an experiential film in places. That is to say its intent is to make you fully empathise with the characters sense of repulsion, isolation and confusion. You are meant to feel as Mitsuko feels, that her abuse is at once incomprehensible but undeniably grotesque. Her view of the world is completely distorted by what she endured and as the film progresses you realise that both Mitsuko and Taeko are unreliable narrators. I would definitely recommend the film for fans of Sion Sono’s other horror films, with much the same aesthetic and themes here.  

Cure (1997)

Detective Takage (Koji Yakusho) is investigating a mysterious string of murders. Despite the killers having no personal connection to one another, each crime displays an eerie similarity. The murderers all claim personal responsibility, but are unable to answer questioning about the circumstances of the incidents. All cut an X into their victims throat. Takage soon comes face to face with a former psychology student known as Mamiya (Masato Hagiwara) who seems to be hypnotising these individuals into committing murder. Mamiya is unable or unwilling to answer questions, apparently suffering from amnesia, and instead insists on questioning his interrogators. Takage’s wife (Anna Nakagawa) is suffering from a form of dementia and his frustrations with his wife’s illness seem to spill over into anger at Mamiya’s crimes.

“Cure” styles itself as a detective drama with strong horror elements, though never quite gives itself over entirely to the tropes of genre cinema. Writer director Kiyoshi Kurosawa does a fantastic job of creating tension and much of the horror remains psychological, with no clear motivation established for Mamiya’s actions. The settings of decrepit hospital buildings and crumbling city streets help to build the sense that everything is falling apart, mirroring Takage’s mental deterioration. A flickering light in an underpass, abandoned buildings, and suburban decay augment the imperfections of humanity that the film explores. Kurosawa weaves together the story of the killer and the detective in an interesting way, with Takage’s suffering and quest for understanding becoming an unjust mockery when compared to Mamiya’s cold detachment and lack of responsibility. Kurosawa manages to give the audience enough hints to keep the mystery engaging while never fully letting us into its most tempting secrets. In the final scenes of the film this lack of a complete picture makes for a uniquely terrifying experience. Koji Yakusho plays Takage as the world-weary detective, weighed down by personal struggle as well as the seriousness of his professional duty. Masato Hagiwara engenders feelings of hatred and anger, with Mamiya’s lack of social grace, impertinence and dead-eyed psychopathy getting under the skin in a way that is irritating and makes Takage sympathetic. Tsuyoshi Ujiki plays Takage’s psychologist friend Sakuma and is a good balance to Takage’s seriousness. Likewise, Anna Nakagawa’s role is small but pivotal in understanding Takage, and she gives a sympathetic portrayal of a character with their own mental health issues.

The horror of “Cure” is not in the violence of the murders, which are shown as terrifyingly commonplace, nor gory effects, which are used sparingly, but in allowing us to confront our own lack of comprehension when it comes to such things. Detective Takage states early on that he wants to find the words to describe what is happening. His ultimate realisation that some things are inexplicable is more horrifying than a serial killer with a well-documented backstory. The film’s ending leave both Takage and Mamiya’s thoughts and morality ambiguous. The credits, with partially broken and missing names, give a hint that this ambiguity is intentional. Life is imperfect, humanity is imperfect, and attempts to create meaning may be futile. Death and madness are natural, and by contrast rationalising such things may prove to be ironically irrational. Throughout the film explanations for the murders range from demonic possession to hypnotism and psychosis, but the film leaves the audience with this fundamental questions unanswered. We are left to speculate on the causes of crime and the reason for suffering in the world, and led to an increasingly distressing conclusion. “Cure” is a thrilling drama that will appeal to any fans of thought-provoking horror or detective dramas with a psychological twist.

Kotoko (2011)

Kotoko is a woman suffering from a peculiar condition that makes her see two versions of people and is often attacked or threatened by the mysterious doppelgangers that appear. The only way she is able to stop these visions is by singing. She also self-harms, not to kill herself, as she explains, but to test if she is still allowed to live. Kotoko lives alone with her infant son, Daigoro, who is the only thing she cares for in the world, wearing a ring only to keep men away from her. Following a series of anxiety attacks and breakdowns, Kotoko’s son is taken from her to live with her sister in Okinawa. A man who catches sight of Kotoko singing on the bus decides to try and help her. He turns out to be a famous novelist Tanaka, and soon he is dragged into her inexplicable and destructive world.

Shinya Tsukamoto uses his creative directorial style to bring us inside the mind of a woman who is unhinged. From the opening scenes of duplicate people, the use of hand-held camera, off-kilter angles and constant movement gives an authentic sense of a disordered mind that few films covering mental illness manage to achieve. Tsukamoto is one of the few directors who makes the camera an integral part of his filmmaking. His belief in the power of the moving image itself to tell a story is also on display. The film opens with a girl dancing on a beach, the tumult of the waves behind, before being broken by a piercing scream. This is only one example of the vague, artistic way that much of the story is presented and lends itself to numerous interpretations of meaning. The film is straightforward in a narrative sense and largely does away with any semblance of plot or structure. Various things happen to Kotoko, but the heart of the film is an experiential collage of her instability. Her family, the author Tanaka, and Daigoro, are static points with which to contrast Kotoko’s own behaviour. The central performance by Cocco is mesmerising as she lets herself become fully immersed in the role. She is sympathetic if not relatable and as the film progresses we see a number of sides to her. Shinya Tsukamoto plays Tanaka as a somewhat naïve martyr to Kotoko’s darker impulses. His kindness in allowing Kotoko to vent her rage on him make for some of the most powerful scenes of the film.

The film hints at a childhood trauma that led Kotoko to her current mental state. The lack of an explicit cause helps the audience relate to Kotoko as we feel the same sense of alienation from that inciting incident. It is clear that she does not understand why she should be suffering this condition, and that unease and anxiety is presented to the viewer as fragmented memories and subtle references. Likewise, her seeing double can be seen as a metaphor for a psyche that has been split asunder by some unspeakable suffering. The film is not an easy watch, its difficult subject matter and experimental style may be off-putting for some. Without a conventional plot structure it can also feel stretched as it is never quite clear where everything is leading. However, fans of Shinya Tsukamoto’s other films will enjoy this as it is the director at his most creative with an incredible performance from the lead actress. The downbeat finale of the film gives an uneasy resolution to the story and almost prompts you to go back to look for clues in the drama to what happened, challenging you as the viewer to engage with the subject matter.

Antiporno (2016)

When our heroine Kyoko wakes up in a mysterious room, painted bright yellow with an adjoining red bathroom, it is not immediately apparent whether this is reality or a dream. This sense of unease continues throughout a plot that moves rapidly from sequence to sequence following its own ‘dream-logic’ that intertwines flashbacks, hallucinations, fourth-wall breaking, and heartfelt soliloquising from Kyoko. The film revolves around Kyoko (Ami Tomite), an author who paints out her characters on large canvasses before writing her novels. Kyoko spends the majority of the film in this unreal space, met by her assistant, journalist, camera woman, and the film is as much about what is going on in her head as in the real world. The plot is hard to explain without giving away the more enjoyable twists and turns of this psychological drama.

Writer and director Sion Sono creates an unsettling yet compelling world that is constantly surprising the audience. The stylish sets help create an intriguing theatre-like space along with the classical score giving the whole film the feeling of a performance. Antiporno is a reflection on soft-core pornography, and it takes its subject seriously, unpacking various issues associated with pornography in society. The characters are intended more as archetypes than with any real backstory. Ami Tomite gives a stunning performance as Kyoko, whose shifting character evokes sympathy and revulsion in equal measure. She is the only character who is given a backstory, that further adds to the impression that this whole film is taking place at least in part inside her head. Everything is beautifully shot and frames with Sono showing a mastery of his craft.

Circling the central subject of sex and pornography, the film presents a plethora of ideas. You can almost imagine that this is the result of a brainstorming exercise, and the film itself jumps from one idea to another. Some of the issues raised are the pressures put on women to fulfil two competing roles for men, that of the whore and the virgin, and how this relates to a woman’s idea of herself and her worth to society. We see the intersection of sex and violence, the emptiness at the heart of consuming pornography. Despite some difficult themes the film never feels like a morality tale. The film emphasizes the naturalness of sex and rails against the shame so often associated with it. It understands that intelligent debate on the subject, rather than moral panic, is the best way to tackle issues. I would highly recommend this film as an intelligent psycho-drama about sex, with a stunning central performance, excellent direction, and a story that forces you to consider any preconceptions you might have about sex, pornography and society.