Pontypool (2009)

Canada is not a country known for its filmmakers, and so it’s with a small amount of pride that I declare two of my favourite working directors to be Canadian. The first, David Cronenberg, is internationally renowned, so he hardly needs any extra word of mouth. The second, Bruce McDonald, is certainly less well-known. Cronenberg wears his influences on his sleeve; the effect of Marshall McLuhan and Philip K. Dick is relatively clear, especially on his earlier work, and the fact that he’s translated Burroughs to the screen gives some indication of his interests. However--and though taking a different tact--McDonald seems to have similar interests, and in his last few films has similarly tried to get across the idea that “the medium is the message.” This is evident in his use of the documentary form in Hard Core Logo and his deconstruction of the image (and linear time) in The Tracey Fragments. Now, in Pontypool, McDonald turns his focus to language itself. And he does so with zombies. Bravo.


OK, so perhaps that might give the indication that McDonald is an overly cerebral director. He isn’t (at least, not in any pejorative sense). HCL, The Tracey Fragments, and Pontypool are all very accessible films--perhaps more accessible than all but the latest of Cronenberg’s films--and one of the major detracting factors surrounding Pontypool is the fact that every reviewer feels the need to talk about how “smart” it is. Rather, the film is “clever”; you don’t actually learn anything about language, and names like Barthes are bandied about without any weight put behind them. The premise is far more interesting than most zombie films, though, and so sets the film apart.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Pontypool is the story of morning DJ Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie), a grizzled veteran DJ who apparently lost his job in the big city for being too controversial (I think) and so has been banished to the sticks (in this case, the small, unincorporated Ontario village of Pontypool). Stuck with Mazzy in the bunker-like basement of the abandoned church--Pontypool’s makeshift radio station--are his producer, Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle) and their technician, Laurel Ann (Georgina Reilly), recently returned from Afghanistan. The film never leaves these three characters, and cameras remain--almost exclusively--within the radio station for the duration of the film.


On this particular cold morning, the denizens of Pontypool have begun, without warning, to turn upon each other. Moving with typically zombie-ish, shambling steps, and (typically) hungering for human flesh, the people of Pontypool have seemingly entered the realm of the undead. Not so, instructs McDonald. These are not zombies. These are “conversationalists.” We, the viewers, soon learn that everyone has been infected by a sort of virus, not unlike the unfortunate people in the 28 Days Later films. This virus is not airborne, however, nor is it an infection of the blood; no, in Pontypool, language itself has become infected.

The victim of the language-virus suffers a few short symptoms before going full-blown zombie. Primarily, the victim begins to stumble on, and repeat, a word, a specific word. Repeating it over and over again, the victim finally becomes enraged, and lashes out. Since the virus passes through language, Mazzy (and his radio show) are quite probably the Typhoid Marys of the village.


Pontypool is low-budget filmmaking the best sense of the word; that is to say, the film in no way looks cheap, and the acting (save for one actor--you’ll know who when you see it) is all pretty great, especially McHattie, who’s always on the ball. No, Pontypool is low-budget in that it has only a handful of a cast and only one real location. Rather than being strapped by these limitations, McDonald is able to ramp up the claustrophobia. Indeed, about half of the films 90-minute running time has passed before we even see one of the zombies. McDonald keeps our interest by giving us repeated radio-updates from people outside--in particular the weather man, Ken Loney, who is the first on the scene--and by letting us share in the unease of the radio station employees, rather than dazzling us with special effects or jump-type scares. In this way the viewer feels a building sense of dread--one that, sadly, begins to ebb as soon as the outside world finally does come into the radio station.

Pontypool is a great little film, and while it has its share of weaknesses, it stands as one of the better horror films of recent years, and a nice change from the recent zombie-fair we’ve been fed. It’s definitely worth a watch, for fans of the genre, and it’s enough to keep me interested in McDonald’s two upcoming sequels.

The Man Who Stole the Sun (1979)

It starts--like more than a few Japanese films--with images of a mushroom cloud, a sight which I can only imagine is even more terrifying in Japan.

Makato Kido (Kenji Sawada) wants the police to call him “Nine,” since he can now be added to the list of eight nations who own nuclear weapons. He becomes known as “Mr. A-bomb” instead, a figure who achieves folk-hero status by holding the government ransom, threatening to detonate his homemade a-bomb if they don’t submit to his demands. To the kids at school, he’s just “Bubblegum,” a science teacher who is barely more mature than them, and who spends most of his time sleeping in class.


Kido bores his students by teaching them about nuclear weaponry, rather than following the standard high school science text. Since they’ll never be tested on Kido’s lessons, the students tend to ignore him. And no wonder: Kido has almost no personality to speak of.

The teacher explains to his students that A-bombs are easy to make--you just need the plutonium. This is one of the strangest parts of the film: to get the plutonium necessary for his bomb, Kido breaks into a military installation (I think), which appears to be guarded by members of Devo. The action comes in a series of still frame images, portraying a suddenly James Bond-esque Kido getting his hands on the goods, all to some swell 70s music.


Once he constructs the bomb (which we get to see, at length, in a series of montages), Kido is free to make his demands. But what is it that this terrorist demands? For starters, Kido wants to watch baseball games until the end--the TV stations always cut out after the seventh inning for the news. After that … well, he hadn’t thought that far. Enter “Zero” (Kimiko Ikegami), a local DJ who starts taking Kido’s calls on her new show. She suggests that “Mr. A-bomb” demand a Rolling Stones concert. He agrees with her and makes the demand, all to the chagrin of Detective Yamashita (Bunta Sugawara), a determined and heroic cop.

At this point, The Man Who Stole the Sun begins to look like a more run-of-the-mill cops and robbers story, except that the “good guy” is a science nerd with a nuclear weapon. The movie begins to engage in cat-and-mouse stuff, with car chases and the lot, and Kido having to be one step faster than the police. He never seems entirely aware of the severity of what’s going on--does he really have the guts to detonate the bomb? Or is it all just bluff? Kido seems more interested in constructing the bomb just to prove that he can; the power it grants him is almost an afterthought.


Added to the cops and robbers plot is a budding romance between Kido and Zero. The disc jockey is obviously attracted to the mystique around Kido, and the element of danger involved in being with a criminal. Typical to the 70s (at least in North America), Zero has bought fully into the “us against them” attitude, considering those people who are over thirty, or in authority, as evil. Still, she’s a fairly shallow character, whose real motivation is never really felt by the audience.

Oddly enough, The Man Who Stole the Sun was written by Leonard Schrader, brother to writer/director Paul Schrader, with whom he wrote Taxi Driver. The Man Who Stole the Sun has more than a few similarities with that film--the outsider as protagonist, the dangerous loner lashing out against society in a random and homicidal fashion that still somehow encapsulates the irritation and rage of the everyday man.


More so than in Taxi Driver, it’s not always clear in The Man Who Stole the Sun that the audience should be taking everything they see at face value. How much is actually supposed to be the events as they happen, and how much is supposed to be in Kido’s head? Does Kido really dump plutonium into a full swimming pool, or is it just something that he dreams up? While Taxi Driver seems like the more cerebral film, The Man Who Stole the Sun leaves you questioning whether or not some bigger statement is being made.

Or perhaps its just uneven. The car chases and the final battle with Detective Yamashita seem more like something out of a 70s cop show than a challenging work of art. I’m tempted to assert that this is somehow a comment on film itself, that a cops and robbers movie will always devolve into cliché and convention. Or something.

Despite its uneven nature, and its longer-than-necessary running time (147 minutes), The Man Who Stole the Sun is an intriguing film, and well worth seeking out, if only for the oddness of seeing a Western plot and story told by Japanese filmmakers.

Black Fist (1975)

I'll admit it. I'm a sucker for revenge flicks. It's such a simple formula, and one difficult to perfect, but watching a sympathetic character get horribly wronged and then proceed to wreak bloody havoc is one of my greatest pleasures. This formula was taken to the limit in the 1970s with movies like Rolling Thunder, Last House on The Left and (especially) Death Wish, a film which is obviously a big influence on this rather minor blaxploitation effort. Black Fist is filled with muddled dialogue, murky photography, and iffy performances, but when it works it works because of a tried and true plot and some interesting stylistic choices by the director(s).

Richard Lawson, who has a voice sometimes eerily similar to Samuel L. Jackson, stars as Leroy Fisk, a young street-fighter who rises quickly through the ranks after hooking up with a gangster named Logan (Robert Burr). Soon he's making money hand over (black) fist, but has to deal with scummy racist cop Heineken (Dabney Coleman, who is terrifically sleazy) and constant put-downs from his honky employer. After making a big payday, Fisk decides to quit the business and buy himself a club, but Logan doesn't take kindly to this and decides to retaliate by blowing up Fisk's car, with him in it! Things don't go quite according to plan, however, and it's actually Fisk's (pregnant) wife and brother-in-law that go up in flames. As you can imagine, Fisk takes this somewhat badly and is soon taking bloody revenge on gangsters, pimps, and anyone else who wants to face his BLACK FIST.

From very early on you'll know you're in familiar territory with Black Fist. We're barely introduced to the character before he's dabbling in street-fighting, and his rise is predictable and fairly bland, improved only by the charismatic lead performance of Richard Lawson, and some fun character work by future Miami Vice star Phillip Michael Thomas. In fact, Thomas gets to play two fairly ridiculous characters in the film, though their similarities make an already muddled plot even more confusing. This gets particularly egregious in the film's second half, where the dark photography sometimes makes it difficult to tell exactly what is going on. This is worsened by some choppy editing, with scenes seemingly ending early and a near-incomprehensible ending. The two credited directors probably had a hand in the confusing nature of the plot, as the movie seems to be patched up like a Godfrey Ho film.

Though it's marketed as a martial arts film (at least, in this collection), the fighting in Black Fist is more Pro Wrestling than Kung Fu (in fact, several of the opponents are played by 70s Pro Wrestlers). It's easy to scoff at these fights in the days of UFC and regular MMA events, but the fighting is fast-paced and spirited, and one of the directors was even smart enough to put in some awfully gratuitous breasts being exposed to keep things from ever getting too repetitive. There's nothing here that you would likely want to revisit, and don't expect expert choreography, but it's fun.

Part of the Millcreek 50 Martial Arts movie pack, Black Fist is a full-screen, faded, scratchy mess. The photography is dark, and the sound is inconsistent from scene to scene. I'd like to say that this adds to the drive-in feel, but in this case it makes an already confusing plot almost impossible to follow. Chapter selections are included for those who are looking to skip to the revenge portion of the film.

An occasionally worthy and well-acted revenge film, Black Fist is too confusing and jerkily paced to be very entertaining. The lead performances are a lot of fun, and the last half hour includes some entertaining scenes of bloody revenge (including Heineken being put on ice, and some brutal beatings), but the meager pleasures are simply not worth the frustration of watching such a mess of a film.

Horrors Of Malformed Men (aka Kyôfu kikei ningen: Edogawa Rampo zenshû) (1969)

"Banned for decades! The most notorious Japanese Horror film EVER made!" shouts the cover of Teruo Ishii's Horrors Of Malformed Men, and fans of extreme Japanese cinema could be excused for expecting something that could test the limits of even their not-delicate sensibilities. But the truth is actually much more interesting: The film was banned because back in 1969 the Japanese were still rather sensitive about how handicapped and "malformed" people were portrayed in film in the wake of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, particularly when the characters are shown to be mentally unbalanced because of their deformities. While the film certainly has some disturbing content; touching on incest, mutilation and cannibalism; the story (which was pieced together from several stories by noted Japanese author Edogawa Rampo) is really a perverse mystery where all is revealed in the final ten minutes. It's the odd stylistic touches, particularly in the performance of Tatsumi Hijikata, that make this a special treat for fans of genre cinema.

Teruo Yoshida plays Hirosuke Hitomi, a young doctor who finds himself imprisoned with no memories of his past besides flashes in his dreams of a weird figure dancing by the beach of a strange island. After accidentally murdering someone in self defense, Hitomi escapes only to discover his rather incredible resemblance to a local man who has just passed away. Hitomi decides to impersonate the dead man in the hope of learning about a possible connection to the island from his dreams. What he actually discovers is an island full of deformed and malformed men and women, led by a strange doctor (Tatsumi Hijikata) who may actually be his father. All will be revealed on the island, but will Hitomi and his associates ever be able to leave?

Ironically for a film about the ugliness of man, Horrors Of Malformed Men is an often intensely beautiful film, from the spastic dancing from Hijikata to the painted female figures that litter the island, this is a stylish and attractive film, particularly in the second half. Even the opening credits, filled with extreme close-ups of spiders feeding, is grotesquely beautiful. Director Ishii's career spanned multiple genres over his long career, including some Sonny Chiba action films, but while he could make populist entertainment he wasn't afraid to make some odd and interesting choices in his filmmaking.

But it's the Butoh dancing of Tatsumi Hijikata that I take away most from the film. Butoh is more a movement than a specific style of dance, and often typically involves playful and grotesque imagery, taboo topics, extreme or absurd environments. In this film the actor is first seen moving almost crab-like among the rocks of the island, and when Hitomi finally meets him his "dance of darkness" is exciting while remaining disturbing to witness. The following gutteral, shifting performance is quite amazing, even as we discover some horrifying secrets about the island and its inhabitants.

Despite these unique and exciting elements, the film remains deeply flawed, particularly in its final ten minutes when Ishii feels the need to bring all of the elements - horror, mystery and tragedy- together. While the film is set up as a mystery from the beginning, with echoes of Hitchcock in its main character and his actions, I found myself losing interest in the whodunnit aspect of things by the time the cast made it to the island. Introducing a character who arrives to explain it all Scooby-Doo style undermines the tension significantly, and brings things to a rather abrupt halt. This scene is followed by a memorable but laughable scene that represents both the high and low point of the film.

Whatever flaws the film may have, the same cannot be said for the wonderful DVD from Synapse Films. The movie is presented in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio and it looks pristine throughout, with sharp, mesmerizing colors. The film has clear and easy-to-read subtitles, a necessity in a movie that is designed to be dreamlike and confusing.

There are also some wonderful included extras which serve to put Horrors Of Malformed Men in the proper historical context while extrapolating on the history of Teruo Ishii and Edogawa Rampo. First we have a quiet, but intermittently fascinating, commentary from author Mark Schilling. I had to strain to hear the track at times, and there are long gaps of silence, but as someone who was instrumental in getting the film released it's still quite interesting to hear Schilling's perspective on the director's career.

More interesting is a featurette featuring brief interview segments with cult filmmakers Shinya Tsukamoto (Tetsuo: The Iron Man, Tokyo Fist) and Minoru Kawasaki (The Calamari Wrestler). Both men speak hightly of Ishii and his films, as well as the influence that the director has had on their own careers. Interspersed are tantalizing clips from some of Ishii's other films. Ishii in Italia is another short featurette following the director in 2003 at the Far East film festival in Udine, Italy. Clips of him introducing some of his films, including Malformed Men, are included. It's a breezy and fun segment showing a man that seemed very much alive just a few years before his death.

Finally, we also have a trailer for the film, a gallery of Ishii poster art, and brief biographies for Ishii and Edogawa Rampo.

Despite my reservations about the film's ending, this is a wonderful DVD that serves to both show a fascinating, and unfairly maligned, film, as well as examine the works of a director who deserves greater exposure for his large catalogue of films. Horrors Of Malformed Men is a beautiful, eerie and haunting work that has obviously influenced a generation of Japanese film-makers (you can see echoes of the film in parts of The Ring and other contemporary Japanese horror films). A truly impressive work, and well worth adding to your collection.

2LDK (2003)

Yukihiko Tsutsumi's 2LDK is the other film created for the Duel Project (mentioned in my review of Aragami (2003)).

For those not in the know, the term "2LDK" is Japanese realtor shorthand that applies to an apartment or a living space that has two multi-purpose rooms (serving as bedrooms or entertainment areas), a dining area and a kitchen.

As per the rules of the Duel Project, it is this apartment that will serve as the battleground for two of the most unlikely warriors in Japanese filmdom.

Nozomi (Eiko Koike) and Rana (Maho Nonami) are reluctant roommates and aspiring actresses.

Nozomi and Rana are also as different as night and day, and are as compatible as oil and water. Nozomi is your typical "country rube trying to make it big" story complete with additional emotional baggage while Rana is an accomplished studio whore looking for one last shot at greatness.

As it so happens, both ladies are up for the lead role in an upcoming film entitled, "Yakuza Wives."

No, I didn't just make that up.

It also turns out that the movie role isn't the only point of contention in the lives of these two women. They also share interest in the same man and as 2LDK winds along, tensions mount and eventually transform from catty verbal exchanges to all out friggin' war.

Like with any war, it's the little things that cause things to boil over. From those unsightly hairs left in the bathroom to spilt perfume to Rana using the last of Nozomi's shampoo without telling her, every minor irritation and transgression is yet another cobblestone on the road to hell.

And what a road it is. When conflict finally breaks out, it is as disturbing to behold as it is completely fucking hilarious, with action ranging from use of chainsaws, to drowining, to electrocution and yes...

Despite all of the hatred and violence, Tsutsumi finds a way to work in a scene where Rana and Nozomi kiss one another.

That's my kind of filmmaking, folks.

I found 2LDK to be a very interesting film thanks to what appeared to be Tsutsumi's remarkably keen understanding of the human psyche. Even though the hyperbole-rich 2LDK feels more like a Brothers Grimm-style terror fable than it does a microcosm of real life, it is dripping with insight into just how warped the human soul can become.

Nozomi and Rana aren't fighting because they see the other as an implacable enemy. They're doing it because they see the other as the proverbial "mirror darkly" that displays all of the loneliness, unrequited desire, and personal failure that they both desperately try to hide behind a glossy shell of either beauty or intellectual superiority.

These ladies are not terribly unlike Eihi Shiina's character in Takashi Miike's now iconic Audition (1999), masking complete batshit insanity with a near perfect public veneer of innocence and calm.

Given that glaring similarity, I'd love to sit down and chat with Tsutsumi or Miike some time and see if these respective films were created to creatively and indirectly address some greater societal ill without directly indicting Japanese culture as a whole (much in the manner that Pulse (aka Kairo) (2001) or Spirited Away (aka Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi) (2001) did), or if they did it just for the laughs and shock value.

2LDK certainly gets its point across, but its 70 minute runtime is too brief for my liking. While I don't think it's my place to tell an artist what his vision should be, I have to admit that I think that Tsutsumi was on the verge of creating a psychological thriller for the record books and I'm a little disappointed that it stopped just shy of that mark.

That being said, I hope that Tsutsumi will eventually return to this project and ponder over it a bit more, because there is certainly a lot more creative room to transform this from a haunting yet amusing short film into a dark epic that could put him on the worldwide cinematic map.

Godzilla: Final Wars (aka Gojira: Fainaru uôzu) (2004)

Has any film missed the point so spectacularly as Roland Emmerich's 1998 big-budget, CG-filled Godzilla? Fans of Gojira are a forgiving lot, having watched the King Of The Monsters go from a manifestation of post-Hiroshima nuclear paranoia in the 1950s to a kid-friendly superhero in the incredibly goofy 1970s iterations, but watching Matthew Broderick run away from Jim Henson's Godzilla babies was too much for even the most forgiving Godzilla lover. Thankfully it was only a year later that the Millennium Series of Godzilla films began with Godzilla 2000, eventually culminating in Ryuhei Kitamura's Godzilla: Final Wars, at this point the final Godzilla film that has been produced.

In many ways Kitamura has a similar objective to Emmerich in his approach towards the Godzilla mythos: to combine the elements that people love about the monster (which envelops all of his eras) with high tech special effects and an interesting science fiction story to give the big guy an appropriate (if temporary) sendoff. Of course, Kitamura has a rather distinctive (derivative) style of his own, so there's plenty of The Matrix and X-Men in here for good measure. Also there are lots and lots (and lots) of monsters. Lots of 'em.

Here's the line-up:
Gigan, Kumonga, Kamacuras, Rodan, King Caesar, Angurius, Hedorah, Ebirah and ZILLA (the U.S. Godzilla who Kitamura said took the "God" out of Godzilla", and is totally CGI in this film as well).

We also get the mysterious Monster X (who might have a connection to a fan favorite monster), as well as appearances by Mothra and (sigh) Minilla.

You would be forgiven for not being able to keep all of these monsters straight, and it's hardly necessary except for fans to see some of their favorites tackle with the big green one for the last time. Unfortunately for these fans, Godzilla makes short work of his foes in nearly all encounters, and some fan favorites get a bit shorted.

But what about the story? In the future Earth is protected by the Earth Defense Force who employ the M Organization, a collection of mutants with superhuman speed and strength, to protect the world against massive threats (usually in the form of giant ridiculous animals of some sort). When several of these monsters start attacking major cities at once the EDF seems to be out-matched, until a helpful group of aliens (called Xians) beam the baddies away before landing on Earth to talk of peace and friendship and all that good stuff. The End.

Or, more accurately, they are soon revealed to be EVIL, and threaten the world with monster attacks all over the place. And not only that, they also have the ability to control all of Earth's mutants (except Ozaki, our stoic hero)! Looks like we're screwed. Except Ozaki breaks the jailed, bad-ass Captain Gordon (MMA Fighter Don Frye) out of jail to help, and he comes up with a corker of an idea: Why not wake up Godzilla to take care of the monster threat? Before you know it, it's time to Destory All Monsters, and Godzilla (let by Gordon in his Atragon ship) begins trashing anything in his path. Also, Godzilla's kid gets in some wacky adventures.

Many Godzilla purists, if you can imagine such a thing, have taken issue with Kitamura's kitchen-sink approach to Godzilla: Final Wars, and one can easily see why. While obviously a love letter to Godzilla and its history, it's also comically flashy with modern Wire-Fu and Matrixy effects in nearly every scene. Frankly, it all sometimes seems like a bit much, particularly in a Motorcycle fight scene that manages to be even more ridiculous than the one in Mission Impossible II. It's all quite entertaining, but it takes focus away from the often meandering plotline and, even worse, from the big guy that everyone has paid to see. I give Kitamura credit for trying to beef up the human story in the film, since these scenes are often the dullest parts of earlier Godzilla films, but they sometimes feel like they've dropped out of a different film completely, and grow a bit tiresome.

The monster battles, short as they might be, are really quite impressive. The suits have been re-designed to be lighter and allow more movement, and (generally) subtle CG help helps give the creatures movement and flexibility well beyond that of their initial appearances. In one memorable fight Angurius, King Ceaser and Rodan (all previously friends of Godzilla) attack the big guy at once, Angurius rolling into a ball to attack before being used as a projectile in an impromptu soccer match. Godzilla leaves his former comrades laying in a heap (literally) in a scene reminicent of the lighter battles in the 1970s Godzilla films.

In fact, Kitamura seems to have trouble deciding just how lightly he wants to take the material. There are plenty of wisecracks (mostly from Frye's Captain Gordon), and nothing is taken too seriously, but the tone is inconsistent. One scene in New York city between a police officer and a pimp is eye-rollingly bad, and the acting by english-speakers as a whole is pretty incompetent. Frye seems to be trying hard, and he has a really fun part, but he's much better at looking like a bad-ass than delivering his lines. I suppose it wouldn't be a Godzilla film if there were not at least a few unintentional laughs.

The Sony DVD of Godzilla: Final Wars features the film in its original 2.35:1 aspect ratio, and the film looks absolutely terrific. Kitamura was afforded a comparatively large budget for the film, and while the effects can sometimes be a little iffy, the money is definitely up on the screen. Some mention must be made of the extremely unusual soundtrack by Keith Emerson (of Emerson, Lake & Palmer). The synth soundtrack strangely brings to mind Emerson's work for Dario Argento, and is a strange match for giant monsters, but it's still certainly interesting and only occasionally distracting. There's also a rock song by Sum-41 on the soundtrack that gets pretty primo billing in the opening credits for some reason.

Special features are unfortunately rather sparse. There are trailers for Final Fantasy VII, the 50 Years Of Godzilla collection, Steamboy, Dust To Glory, Madison, and Mirrormask. As well there's 18 minutes of Behind The Scene footage which shows a few flashes of interesting material, but is unfortunately missing any narration to put the material in context. Considering that the film was made to mark Godzilla's 50th anniversary, a bit more effort would have been appreciated.

A supremely goofy and overstuffed mess of a movie, Godzilla: Final Wars still succeeds by being nearly throroughly entertaining, and by showing respect for all aspects of the series' past. Not necessarily a good place to start for those wanting to get into the films for the first time, it marks a successfuly resting spot for modern Godzilla films until the inevitable next series comes along. Flashy and fun, it's certainly worth out for fans of giant monsters and destruction.

Under the Blossoming Cherry Trees (1975)

PLOT:

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When a mountain man (Lone Wolf and Cub’s Tomisaburo Wakayama) kills a man and steals his wife (Shima Iwashita), he bites off more than he can chew. Rather than being a submissive victim, the beautiful woman soon browbeats her murderous husband into total compliance, convincing him to murder all but one member of his harem of dirty mountain women. She soon becomes his wife, and convinces him to take her (and the one girl she spared, now a maid) to the capital, where the mountain man begins his new vocation: collecting heads for his wife, who uses them as props in her own personal melodramas. Soon, Wakayama (his character has no name) becomes a feared figure in the city, and his wife’s collection of heads grows and grows. But how long can it last?

REVIEW:

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Beauty and horror combine in equal measures in this mid-70s outing by Masahiro Shinoda. Under the Blossoming Cherry Trees begins with gorgeous images of cherry trees (you guessed it, blossoming) in a modern landscape. As people go about their day, and young voice tells us that it was once believed that those who walked under the blossoming cherry trees would lose their minds. And with that brief prelude, the film takes us back, into the past, where Wakayama attacks an entourage and takes by force the woman who will be his wife.

You can’t help but feel sorry for Wakayama, despite the fact that he plays a wild, unkempt, and murderous mountain man. In fact, there’s something cute about his rustic life, his shaggy looks, and the way his stocky little body sprints around the forest, causing mayhem. It’s a clear example of a bad character being made to look good by the presence of a truly evil character--in this case, his wife.


You know Wakayama is in for it almost immediately: when he tells his new wife that he’s abducting her, and taking her to his home, she makes him carry her. Surely, if he’s such a tough man, he can carry his wife up a mountain, right? And Wakayama, eager to show off his manliness, does just this, even though it entirely exhausts him. When he gets to his hovel, he introduces his new wife to six or seven others, which he’d probably accumulated in much the same way he got this new one. She asks him to kill them--all but one, to be her maid--and he does so. The mountain man clearly represents a sort of bestial, alpha male badness, but she represents something else altogether. Soon she henpecks him out of his comfort zone, forcing him to move to the capital. And then he is murdering for her, cutting off people’s heads so that his wife can put on bizarre, pornographic plays, with them as props.

Of only three main characters (the mountain man, his wife, and the maid), two are women, and they are both given strong, important roles. The maid, who has a crippled leg, is gentle, and acquiescent. She never complains, no matter how bizarre her new mistress is, and even though her sister-wives have recently been put to the sword by her former “husband.” But she is easily overshadowed by the wife, who is one of the most evil women in cinema.


And it’s worth commenting on her as an “evil woman,” and not just a woman who is evil, since her evil is directly tied to her gender. She entrances the mountain man with her beauty, and it is only by questioning his masculinity (and therefore acting as a woman questioning his status as a man). Once she begins collecting severed heads, it isn’t long before she incorporates them into her sex life, using them for all sorts of sexual degradations. It is her status as a woman--a beautiful, soul-sucking woman--that allows her to manipulate Wakayama as she does. So evil is she, it has to be wondered whether she’s a human at all.

Perhaps the wife is some sort of demon, or hungry ghost. It’s certainly a possibility. She seems strangely detached from the rest of the world--though she longs to leave his mountain cabin, when the mountain man takes her to the city, she remains indoors, hidden away with her grisly toys. Only the maid sees her, and perhaps her ready compliance to her mistress’s wants speaks to her awareness of her lady’s evil nature. Certainly this touch of the supernatural would not be out of place in a film where falling cherry blossoms are shown to drive people completely and utterly mad. And it is this madness, this mindless insanity, that the mountain man begins to crave, perhaps as the only escape from the trap that his wife has left him in.