Matt Cooper Films

964 Pinnochio (1991) by Shozin Fukui

A nightmarish near-future cyberpunk with a heady mix of sex and violence. An underground organization throw out one of the sex slaves they have created due to his inability to perform. Stripped of his memory, ability to communicate, and any sense of purpose, this man (Haji Suzuki) wanders aimless until he is picked up by a young woman, Himiko (Onn-chan). She is creating maps of the city for those who have lost their memories to allow people to live without their memories. Himiko takes in this unfortunate creation, whom she names Pinnochio (964 being a reference to his product number). Realising that Pinnochio is not dead as they had expected, those who created him set out to recover their product. Meanwhile, Himiko and Pinnochio both seem to be experiencing psychotic episodes as their realities collapse into a twisted maelstrom of torture.

Written and directed by Shozin Fukui, “964 Pinnochio” is a work that draws on horror, surreal arthouse moments, and earlier science-fiction tropes. Naming the creation Pinnochio is no coincidence as this is a man who has been cut loose from his narrowly defined role and left to find his own way. He is also reminiscent of Frankenstein’s monster as an abominable creation who nevertheless has some semblance of spirit that is trying to find release from his bodily prison. A fantastic example of the cyberpunk genre, with strobe lighting, stop motion, speeded up footage and extreme close-ups provoking that physical response that the best horror does. The film seems intent on making the audience squirm, with an extended sequence of vomiting, gory closeups that blur the line between eroticism and horror, and moments such as a character drooling into a bowl of cherries, all intended to cause revulsion. The film’s contemporary or near future setting, with little to visually distinguish it as in any way technologically advanced, nevertheless does a great job of making the familiar unfamiliar. The backdrop of industrial decay, bleak urban landscapes of concrete and smoke, creates an oppressive atmosphere that draws out the themes of dehumanisation. The sound design of buzzing strip lights and the hollow echo of these cold spaces similarly creates a feeling of anxiety and isolation; of the living characters being trapped in a world of uncaring technology and the slow yet inevitable entropy around them. The film will not be for everyone and while there is a lot to recommend it there are certainly moments that drag it down. Several scenes go on far longer than is necessary to get the point across. In particular the vomiting and a running sequence near the end of the film feel overlong. There is also a subplot involving an employee of the company adopting a child, and later kidnapping a young girl. This is given little time in the film and seems like an idea that would have been interesting to develop, in relation to Himiko and Pinnochio’s relationship, and ideas of care and control.

The film is rough around the edges which adds to its charm. The central story of a creation being cast out and finding out about itself and the world is a solid hook on which to hang the outrageous and provocative creativity of the director. While “964 Pinnochio” is full of shocking moments, this poignant journey of the protagonist is enough to keep the audience engaged and rooting for him. There is an interesting detail later in the film with Pinnochio chained to a large pyramidal object, perhaps representing something like Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and his search for self-actualisation above and beyond the base function of his programming; it also may be a metaphor for the psychological burden that he is dragging around with him. The scene in the scrapyard between Himiko and Pinnochio is an evocative moment, with the two characters literally thrown out from normal society. Like all good cyberpunk “964 Pinnochio” champions the underdog, the dregs of society, the apparently worthless and unloved. A prime example of the cyberpunk genre that hauls you through hell to deliver a deeper message on human suffering and the treatment of the lowest in society.

Matt Cooper Films

Rubber’s Lover (1996) Shozin Fukui

In a secret laboratory a team of scientists are experimenting on humans in an attempt to produce psychic abilities. Their experiments take the form of a Digital Direct Drive, a machine that plugs directly into the brain, and uses ‘ether’ to provoke a psychological response. Given the unreliability of their current operations their experiments are often more a form of torture leading to death than viable scientific enquiry. Motomiya (Sosuke Saito) injects his rival scientist Shimika (Yota Kawase) with ether in an attempt to steal his research. He is helped by another scientist Hitotsubashi (Norimizu Ameya) and lab assistant Akari (Mika Kunihiro). Kiku (Nao), who is auditing the company’s books, comes downstairs to see what is happening and is raped by Motomiya, who seems to have gone insane. Motomiya soon regrets his decision as it seems the high dose of ether given to Shimika and his connection with the machine have created a monster that he cannot control.

“Rubber’s Lover”, written and directed by Shozin Fukui, is a prime example of the cyberpunk and splatter-horror genres. Drawing heavily on traditional horror – the mad scientist working on a creature – and melding it with an industrial aesthetic, it creates a nightmarish world of flesh and metal that is emblematic of the wider movement. Shot on 16mm, the black and white square aspect ratio induces a sense of claustrophobia with the chiaroscuro lighting obscuring and enhancing the special effects by helping to inflame the imagination. The film uses shots of industrial buildings, inexplicable metallic constructs looming against a pale sky, to create an atmosphere of harsh modernity. The sets are dressed to create a confused technophobic tangle of wires and screens, with the addition of some interesting ideas, such as the monitors showing close-ups of eyeballs, or the giant equipment for injecting ether (akin to a pneumatic drill). Shozin Fukui’s direction shows a flair for the genre, with camera angles carefully chosen to create a sense of unease, or to keep things fresh and engaging. There is also a clear desire to create backgrounds with a sense of movement or mesmerizing imagery, either by including flickering monitors, animals, or the large post-modern artworks on the wall of Kiku’s office. The soundtrack to the film, provided by Tanizaki Tetora, is a mix of industrial scrapes and echoes, seeming to evolve naturally from the visuals of pipes and machinery. Later it also includes tribal drums that serve as a reminder of the atavistic nature of humanity, despite technological advancement.

The plot of “Rubber’s Lover” includes many interesting elements. Firstly, the concept of human experimentation, something that is a mainstay of horror cinema, and may have dark echoes of Japan’s own past in relation to war time atrocities. The film leans heavily on the notion of experimentation as torture, going so far as to have one victim’s head explode after being pumped with ether. The film also has themes of drug-use and abuse, with Shimika becoming addicted to the ether as it appears to expand his mental capacity. Such discussions around drugs are far from the mainstream, but absolutely in keeping with the anti-conservative agenda of the film. This is a film that emphasises the ‘punk’ in cyberpunk, outrageous in its depictions and brutal in its conclusions about corruption and where society is heading.