2006 ‘叫’ Directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa
A detective investigates a series of murders. A possible serial killer might be on a rampage, since they all are in the same vicinity and by the same method, but as the evidence points toward the detective as the prime suspect, a ghost in red follows him, and he begins to question his identity. His realization of what seems to have really happened results in something much more sinister and larger in scope, and it leaves his psyche scarred.
Koji Yakusho Manami Konishi Tsuyoshi Ihara Riona Hazuki Joe Odagiri Ryo Kase Hiroyuki Hirayama Kaoru Okunuki Ikuji Nakamura Hironobu Nomura Yôko Chôsokabe Kôhei Watanabe Kenkichi Watanabe Jin Muraki Hajime Inoue Naoko Miyake Takahiro Sato Kaoru Mizuki Sakiko Akiyoshi Ryo Tanaka Tadashi Suzuki Kazutoshi Sakamoto Ikuyo Ishii Itsuki Hoshi Takanori Hamachika Taiki Fujioka Hiroshi Inoue Ryô Matsumoto Naoya Mita Show All…
Takashige Ichise Yukie Kito Yasushi Kotani Nobuhiro Azuma Ryuhei Chiba Kazuya Hamana Yoshikazu Kenmochi
Los Fantasmas Que Nunca Olvidan, Shriek, J-Horror Theater Vol. 4, Sakebi, Alucinaciones del mal, Vítima de Uma Alucinação, Crimes Obscuros, 절규, Θεία Δίκη, 叫 さけび
Perhaps more than anything else, the scariest thing is what's already there. Retribution understands this and, like a low droning hum invading your home that you can never quite pinpoint where it comes from, works tirelessly to bore that fear into our minds until slowly, surely, we can no longer trust anyone nor feel safe in any place in fear that we'll find that which haunts us has always been alongside us.
From the very start there's something wrong with the case: a woman is drowned near the waterfront, but her lungs are full of seawater; other cases appear which have identical MOs; and each clue we find points to the detective, our protagonist, having been there. Our detective laughs,…
A haunted love story in the truest sense: a man worn down by life, a woman who doesn't want to be dead. In Kurosawa's frame, the supernatural is as matter-of-fact as domestic space, less startling than the earthquakes that periodically dismantle the still compositions. Palpable dread and mourning in every scene.
I love, so much, the way that Kurosawa explores space and isn't afraid to sporadically jump across planes of it to broaden the width of the grim worlds he builds, in order to increase the emptiness and unexplored regions, so that the horror is grander in scope while remaining so miniscule in the moment of its occurrence, due to the actions physically being so much smaller in size than the planes of space that envelop them, like ants tearing each other to shreds atop a mound along the ledge of an enormous canyon.
probably kurosawa's most expansive film - one can easily descant on the structuralist bias he's aiming for, however everything seems insufficient in comparison to the way he formally constructs each scene, not to mention the amount of semiotics in each frame. everything here looks absolutely stunning (special highlights for the sound design).
it's definitely a work on space, a tragic love story that is so inexorably associated to the architecture surrounding their characters that it's impossible to separate one from another. it's psychological dissociation through a foucaultian gaze: all these forgotten places and our relation to late capitalism real estate (post war north-american influences in japanese culture briefly mentioned with the speech about the sanitarium), imprinting a lévinas-like conception of totality, with the particularity that conscience works here as guilt. heidegger's dasein as raskolnikov would see it, the prominence in existing and being noticed among others. the prominence in not forgetting the space surrounding us.
That old pulp staple, the detective investigating himself, turned by Kiyoshi Kurosawa into a supernatural serial killer romance. One of his most disquiting films helped by Yakusho usual terrific performance and some of his most expressive use of external shots. The world’s truly weights here as Kurosawa produces a tableaux of haunted images.
The way this film almost imperceptibly shifts from an atmosphere of pure portending evil to something far more wistful and sad is remarkable - it's not a tonal shift, per se (the overwhelming sense of dread and mourning is sustained from the outset), but the film, like its protagonist, gradually comes to understand its own hauntedness, allowing it to settle into something more reflective, as tortured as it still may be. A simple summary of the film - easy enough to come to, I'd think - would give no indication of the complex emotional knot at the heart of this thing. In the end it doesn't so much as finish, rather it lets you go. Whether that results in a…
Kurosawa's main innovation on the Nakagawa vengeful ghost formula (think Black Cat Mansion, which also makes a concluding reference to proper burial) is an updating, first an foremost, of the imagery attendant. It's still rain and ruins, but abandoned sanitariums and empty lots instead of old castles or artificial villages. His urban montage brings Gothic brooding into a fresh space — a character may still take a cursed ferry ride, but now straight through the heart of a metropolis.
He also complicates the motivations in these formulas. The basic root is there — the ghost of a victim of violence haunting those of the present — but it gets integrated into Kurosawa's personal exploration of social decline, and his feelings…
Kiyoshi Kurosawa is very, very good at creating an atmosphere. He makes extremely creepy movies that cling to your brain for a long time, not resorting to shocks and gore to get his scares for the most part. In Retribution, the moments that work best are those that use the eeriness to good effect. When the ghost appears, subtly, in mirrors, in backgrounds, in shadows, it gives me shivers. When it pops out of nowhere in a flash, or slides forward with a pale aura and bug eyes, it just seems cheezy and dull.
Still, I think this is one of his better films--not the masterpiece that Pulse was, but still very good. The central mystery is relatively straight forward, but still intriguing. The urban decay on display sets an effective tone, and the performances are all just slightly off-kilter enough. It's saner than Doppelganger and Bright Future, and about as cold and metaphysically desaturated as Cure.
É incrível como Kiyoshi consegue manter o filme tão aberto, mesmo quando parece que finalmente um desfecho está próximo, ele insere muito bem novas situações que só atestam ainda mais esse seu constante interesse por uma temática, por uma estrutura possibilitadora, e não por um plot exatamente fechado e limitador. É um filme basicamente sobre a maldição de um espaço, um mundo pós-apocalíptico e paranormal que se desenvolve nesses subúrbios urbanos esquecidos, esses lugares que só existem pela sua qualidade de paisagem sombria anti-pragmática e são engolidos por uma lógica imobiliária funcional. Quase a vingança de um espaço sobre a memória da própria cidade e de seus habitante, que rejeitam aqueles áreas como se rejeita uma entidade de outro mundo.
It’s both hilarious and tremendously atmospheric how no one in Kurosawa films EVER turns a light on. Weird shit happens in the corners of rooms and no one ever reaches up toward a light switch. Are they all so desperate to save money on their electric bill that being killed by an evil spirit might be considered worth it just to save a few bucks? In all seriousness though, I love and will likely always love how Kurosawa shoots scenes with only a single figure in them. The character in the shot is never the focus, they’re always off to the side and a single small light source like a lamp or a slightly brighter hallway creates the only light…