"It was midnight, and the city was as silent as a cemetery . . . "
Before even attempting to summarize this supremely elegant film, I'm going to let you know right off the bat that it is an anthology piece- four different stories without a single framing device- a genre that seems to lend itself extremely well to the horror genre. Tales From the Darkside, Creepshow, and even the more recent Grindhouse films have all made good use of the model of providing three or four short and sweet horror stories in one package- but not since Kwaidan has there been one that I would consider to be a true piece of art. And that is precisely what Kwaidan (closest translation from the Japanese: "Ghost Story") is: art. If you're looking for cats jumping out at the camera, gore, or fast-paced action then go elsewhere, because Kwaidan will likely bore you to tears. But if you're willing to put in some effort, I guarantee that the payoff of this film is immense. It's outstandingly creepy, beautiful, and possesses an acid wit to boot.
There are four stories in the film, all of which are radically different takes on the classic ghost story. The first, The Black Hair, the story of a wronged woman and her finally repentant ex-husband, is probably by far the most recognizable to western audiences, especially given the recent influx of remakes based on Japanese horror films. It's by far the creepiest of the lot, dealing with material that feels strangely like the work of Edgar Allen Poe, and allows the tension to build up to an almost unbearable level before finally coming apart at the seams.
The second, The Woman of the Snow, was in fact remade for the Tales From the Darkside film, and deals with a beautiful yet demonic snow demon that promises to spare the life of a handsome young man as long as he won't tell anyone about their encounter . . . a promise that the protagonist is destined to eventually break.
The third story, and definitely my favorite of the four, is the tale of the blind monk, Hoichi, who is a master of the biwa (the short-necked lute,) and renowned for his masterful retelling of the fall of the Heike clan during the epic sea battle of Dan-no-ura . . . so much so that the spectres of the slain Heike nobles request Hoichi to perform for them night after night . . . an interesting situation as Hoichi himself cannot realize that the rich patrons he is playing for are spirits from beyond!
The final story, In A Cup Of Tea, is definitely the most ambiguous of the four- and certainly leaves you hanging . . .
Much like Interview with the Vampire, I won't claim that this film is particularly frightening, but it is a masterpiece of cinema, and if you are in the right mood it certainly isn't something you'd want to watch alone. The tone is certainly highly stylized, but it is done so in such a way that it heightens the creepy atmosphere of the piece rather than detracts from it.
I also particularly enjoy the fact that these are all ghost stories from the Warring States period of Japanese history or (at the very latest) the pre-modern Tokugawa shogunate period- how many western films have you seen that took place outside of our own fairly modern time period? For every Sleepy Hollow or Ravenous there's a seemingly inexhaustible legion of horror films that assume that people need to see familiar surroundings in order to be afraid.
And true horror is timeless.
Check back tomorrow for #9!
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