specific horror and existential terror. every car that has slowed down just enough for your heart to start pounding, every passerby on the street that has lurked just a little too close, every dark corner that has pulsed with shadow just a little too much. i have been jamie lee curtis too many times to count, praying that the night wasn't big enough for michael myers to overtake me as i quelled my impulse to run. there's nothing supernatural here…
melodrama combined with exposed body parts with a dash of unsettling dark laughter. it's pretty unlike anything i've ever seen before.
jigoku understands that hell is a state of mind, not a physical place. the protagonist, shiro, is already there from the opening shot. he's stuck in his own guilt and inaction, forever doomed to play as a hapless pawn in horrible events he does nothing to stop. he descends lower and lower into unimaginable suffering, never letting a flicker…
i. you’re nervous
you were made for male consumption and you do not challenge this. you bury the dissatisfaction, and the questions down in your soul. you tell yourself that you are lucky to have her as such a wonderful friend. you let yourself slip in off-hand phrases.
ii. you’re quiet.
you savor the little things. the pauses between the laughter, the spaces in the conversation. she can quell you with a glance. she can stop you with a smile.…
there's a scene towards the end, where peter falk takes gena rowlands hand and puts it under the cold faucet water. it's bleeding and hurt and a little inflamed. he's not particularly gentle with her, ignoring as she winces in pain. he grabs a bandaid and slaps it on. he cannot tell her that he loves her.
he's not particularly concerned with her feelings or well-being or that she just had a break-down mere moments before. he's just hoping that…