Matt Cooper Films

Original Sin (1992) by Takashi Ishii

A young man begins a deadly affair with a married woman in this relationship thriller. Makoto Hirano (Masatoshi Nagase) accidentally bumps into Nami (Shinobu Otake) as he is getting off the train, following the woman to her work at a property rental agency, which she runs with her husband Hideki (Hideo Murota). Nagase asks for a job and proves himself an effective communicator. Hideki is oblivious to the new recruits designs on his wife however. At first led entirely by Makoto, Nami begins to develop feelings for him, enjoying the attention while her husband frequents bars with younger women. When Hideki discovers their illicit relationship, Makoto realises that in order to have the woman he desires he may have to kill her husband.

Based on a novel by Bo Nishimura and directed by Takashi Ishii, “Original Sin” delivers a tale of high drama as Makoto and Nami’s secret is threatened and the stakes are raised as what appeared to be a casual affair takes on terrifying new possibilities. The film takes its time to build up the three main characters before delivering a shocking final act as emotions that have lain buried come frothing to the surface. It plays out as a modern day tragedy, with Makoto and Nami’s first innocuous meeting at the train station taking on a horrific significance as it marks the first step on their doomed paths. The main cast do a stunning job with the characters; Masatoshi Nagase slowly evolves Makoto’s easy charm into something more sinister; Shinobu Otake’s masks Nami’s deeper passions with a veneer of naivete; and Hideo Murota delivers a heartbreaking performance of a man whose betrayal at the hands of his wife feel sickeningly real. The simple beauty of Takashi Ishii’s direction is perfect for a film in which the everyday nature of the love triangle belies the depth of emotion it represents and the psychological pain inflicted through infidelity and unrequited love. In two sequences between Makoto and Nami, one in which they walk alongside moored boats at sunset and another in which they share a conversation by an open window, Ishii manages to capture their relationship perfectly, the subtle manoevering, the feints and gambits of their dialogue, and the passions that threaten to overwhelm them entirely.

“Original Sin” is a must-see for fans of emotional thrillers. A simple plot that is perfectly executed, the film draws you in with its tale of forbidden love before turning to something much darker as it progresses. Both the acting and direction succeed in maintaining tension as the three players are drawn into an unavoidable tragedy.

Matt Cooper Films

Liverleaf (2018) by Eisuke Naito

A bullied high-school girl exacts bloody revenge in this violent thriller. Haruka Nozaki (Anna Yamada) has moved from Tokyo to a small rural town, where she is bullied by her classmates. The ringleader Taeko (Rinka Otani) holds a grudge against Haruka after she becomes popular with Mitsuru Aiba (Hiroya Shimizu), a quiet, yet resolute male classmate. The bullying spills over to Haruka’s family, leading eventually to the gang, along with Rumi (Rena Otsuka), a victim-cum-perpetrator who they manipulate into their schemes, burning Haruka’s family alive in their home. Haruka’s parents die in the blaze, but her sister Shouko survives on a respirator. Despite some feeling remorse for what they have done, Haruka shows no mercy as she brutally executes her tormentors.

“Liverleaf”, based on the manga by Rensuke Oshikiri and directed by Eisuke Naito, is a dark, brutal, film that shows the horror of bullying and the damage that it causes, exaggerating in part its literal effects to expose the true hatred and fury it can provoke. The opening forty minutes are hard to watch as Haruka is repeatedly picked on by her classmates, and we have instant sympathy for her as we watch her struggle. The film changes tone abruptly following the death of her parents, ramping up the violence with punctured eyeballs, severed fingers, and blood-spattered kills. Given what has come before, we are completely on Haruka’s side and the film is aware of how over-the-top the response is, infusing the brutality with dark humour. The kills are largely matter-of-fact and happen almost on a whim for Haruka. It feels as if she is simply following a set path without giving too much though to how she will take her revenge. The gore does begin to become more gratuitous as the film progresses and it is hard to fully grasp whether there is a deeper message about generational violence, or the harms of bullying, particlarly when considering the character of Aiba. Haruka’s potential love-interest has a character change that seems out of place, and done primarily to shock the audience. It leaves Haruka feeling completely isolated and makes the film an unremittingly pessimistic experience. Similarly, teacher Minami (Aki Morita) has her own issues that are largely explored in a single outburst to parents but which has little impact on the story. These characters are no doubt intended to add more colour to the straightforward revenge plot, but result in creating confusion.

The cinematography is exceptional, capturing the wintery landscapes of the small rural town, the icy woods, and snow-carpeted streets. We feel the bitter cold as keenly as the frigid morality of the protagongists. There are interesting visual clues too such as Haruka’s red coat and lipstick reflecting her bloody enterprise. “Liverleaf” is an entertaining revenge thriller, full of heart-wrenching moments and gloriously extreme violence, however some may wish for a more meaningful conclusion.

Matt Cooper Films

Branded to Kill (1967) by Seijun Suzuki

Hanada (Joe Shishido) is the #3 Killer in Japan, a ruthless gunman hired to take out individuals with no questions asked. His cool demeanour is shaken when he meets the stunning femme-fatale Misako (Annu Mari) and he finds himself in the crosshairs of a shadowy organization involving the legendary #1 Killer. With kinetic action sequences and stylish direction, “Branded to Kill” captures an effortless cool, shifting gears from tense, emotional drama to violent shootouts and sensuous romance. The jazz score reflects this jaunty, off-beat, occasionally unpredictable tone.

“Branded to Kill” is a sleek thriller that wastes little time on exposition. We discover that Hanada is the #3 Killer through his conversation with a man charged with driving him and a client to Nagano, under Hanada’s protection. This ranking of the top 10 hitmen in the country is never fully explained, but adds and element of intrigue about both Hanada’s past and the oft-referenced, ghost-like, occupant of the numeber one position. Joe Shishido is stylishly stoic as the outsider, living on the fringes of society due to his job he spends the majority of his free-time either in bed with his wife or drinking. His relationship with Misako, built on lust for the dangerous beauty, is unbelievable but fascinating, the two drawn together by their closeness to death, reflecting the sex and death drives of humanity in their torrid affair.

Suzuki’s film is a straightforward action film on the surface, expending little energy in its sparse plot, which is largely immaterial. Instead we are treated to a viceral exploration of the human condition: lust, paranoia, anger, ego, and betrayal. Hanada’s calm exterior disguises a man who is in emotional turmoil. Likewise, Misako’s morbid fascination with dead butterflies and birds suggests a devastating awareness of the proximity and inevitability of death. Suzuki uses visual artistry, the pouring rain that lashes down on Misako, the final confrontation in a boxing ring, to draw out these deeper themes of human passion and weakness, and the inescapable fight for survival. Worth a watch for fans of noir thrillers, with fun action sequences and superb direction making for a fantastic experience.

Matt Cooper Anime, Films

Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade (1999) by Hiroyuki Okiura

In the years following the Second World War Japan suffers a series of economic and social crises. With violence on the streets the government establishes an elite Capitol Police, heavily armed and armoured to counter the threats from various terrorist groups. Among these groups the most dangerous are the Sect, a band of revolutionaries. Kazuki Fuse (Yoshikatsu Fujiki), a member of the Capitol Police, runs down a young girl with a bomb yet refuses to shoot her. The girl detonates the bomb, killing herself and injuring Fuse. As he recovers after this narrow escape, Fuse’s superiors question him about the incident and force him to re-train. Fuse later meets Kei (Sumi Muto) at the grave of the young woman, who tells him that she is the girl’s sister. Kei and Fuse’s relationship develops, with both harbouring secrets that if revealed could jeopardize their safety.

“Jin-Roh” is part of a larger franchise including films, radio plays, and manga, devised by writer Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell). An exposition heavy preamble means that those unfamiliar with the rest of the series will easily follow the story, and “Jin-Roh” can be enjoyed as a stand-alone film. It takes place in an alternate history, one in which the Third Reich won the Second World War and occupied Japan. This is evident in the authoritarian designs and naming of the Panzer Corps. The film does a great job of depicting this alternative 1950’s, with a bleak cityscape infused with post-war noir aesthetics. The grimy streets and subdued colour palette create a sense of deprivation drawing on real-world environments but with anachronistic twists, such as the black, science-fiction inspired design of the Kerberous division. While Oshii clearly delights in world-building, and includes background about the political and judicial organization of this society, the central plot is a strikingly human affair. The relationship between Fuse and Kei is motivated by genuine emotion and believable threats based on their beliefs. There are occasional bursts of bloody violence, with bullets tearing through people, and the militarised police raiding terrorist hideouts, but for the most part it is a quiet, contemplative drama focussed on the turmoil that our protagonist is going through.

“Jin-Roh” questions the morality of its characters, putting their actions under the microscope and asking the audience to consider carefully their own notions of right and wrong. There is no black and white in the Capitol Police and the terrorists, and the film deliberately blurs the lines between their actions, with plotting on both sides. The second strand of the film concerns human nature, in particular the character of Fuse. Fuse’s vision of wolves viciously tearing a person apart seems to be an echo of his underlying nature, a violent individual further dehumanised in this dog-eat-dog society. The film’s bleak assessment is that he is not able to shake this predatory inclination. Whether it is society that has made him a monster, or simply that the society finds value in these latent atavistic tendencies, it makes for a uniquely interesting lead. A fantastic alternate history noir thriller with genuine depth of character and theme.

Matt Cooper Films

Blind Beast (1969) by Yasuzo Masumura

A kidnapping victim begins to sympathise with her captor in this tale of moral degeneracy and sado-masochistic lust. Aki Shima (Mako Midori) is a model who has recently found fame as the subject of an exhibition of erotic photography and sculpture by a famous artist. While visiting the gallery she sees a blind man running his hands over the statue of her, an eerie sight that causes to her to flee. She is later abducted by this man, Michio (Eiji Funakoshi) and his mother (Noriko Sengoku), and taken to a remote warehouse. This warehouse is Michio’s studio, where he sculpts body parts. Born without sight, he intends to use Aki as a model for a new work of art, one born of the sense of touch. After a few failed escape attempts, Aki finally gives in to Michio and the two later begin a sado-masochistic physical relationship that grows increasingly violent as they attempt to push the boundaries of pleasure and pain.

Based on a story by the master of skin-crawling horror Edogawa Rampo, “Blind Beast” is a film that confronts the audience with a creepy, and subtly terrifying scenario. When we see Michio caressing the statue, and later Aki herself, there is something unseemly about it, making real the metaphorical objectification of the female form. The story is pared back to provide a simple yet effective horror tale, featuring only three actors and largely taking place in the same large warehouse studio. Mako Midori’s Aki Shima is a sympathetic heroine, making attempts to flee, wilful and yet drawn irresistably into the moral void of Micho’s world. Eiji Funakoshi is a sinister villain, playing the unassuming psychopath role with unnerving charm. The main setting of the film, the warehouse-cum-studio is an almost fantastical space, the walls hung with large sculpted noses, eyes, and limbs, and the floor taken up with a giant model of a naked woman. This focus on the body and human form makes us aware of every itch and tingle, every spine-chilling or toe-curling moment emphasised by the fact we are trapped in Michio’s world of physical touch. This is helped by the excellent direction of Yasuzo Masumura, utilising shifts into deep black to depict both Michio’s blindness and depravity. Hikaru Hayashi’s score is features strangely romantic melodies that make us question what is happening between the protagonists as they sink into debauchery and violence. “Blind Beast” avoids graphic depictions of what is happening, cutting away from the worst moments, while at the same time blending the emotional and the physical to the extent that the audience has no choice but to feel each cut as they begin their journey of sado-masochistic excess.

Michio is a typical horror villain, sexual repression leading to deviancy, his Oedipal relationship with his mother, and apparently preternatural abilities to hunt his quarry by smell and sound. However, Michio can also be seen as a stand-in for male lust and moral degeneracy in general. His single minded pursuit of Aki, his attempts to capture her and reproduce her form, to contain her, provide metaphorical potential for those looking to draw societal messages from the film. Likewise, Aki is a symbol of female emancipation, turning her body to her own financial gain, strong-willed, independent, and cautious, she is far from a helpless heroine. In its final third the film begins to delve into far more Freudian territory, moving fully away from a sense of realism as Aki loses her sight and becomes a counterpart to Michio, engaging in acts of hedonistic abandon and mutual destruction. “Blind Beast” questions human desire and posits an inevitable tendency towards violence and death, drawing out timeless themes of Eros and Thanatos in a film that creates a powerful atmosphere through stunning acting and direction. There is something mythological about the horrifying finale that will stay with you long after the film is over.