SusannahKAIDAN
November 13th 2007 05:50
KAIDAN (1964)
Starring: Rentaro Mikuni, Michiyo Aratama, Misako Watanabe, Tatsuya Nakadai, Keiko Kishi, Katsuo Nakamura, Tetsuro Tamba, Kanemon Nakamura, Osamu Takizawa.
Directed by: Masaki Kobayashi.
The original Japanese horror film, Kaidan, is comprised of four separate tales of horror, derived mainly from Japanese folklore.
The first is Black Hair (a popular Japanese horror motif!) about a poor Samurai who, tired of poverty, divorces his devoted first wife in order to marry a woman from a wealthy family. Trapped in a loveless second marriage, and unable to shake the memory of his first wife, he returns to the house they shared together in Kyoto. There he discovers his first wife living in their old rundown house. She has not aged, and still loves him, welcoming him back. He promises this time that he will not leave her. In fact he will stay with her forever, but at what cost?
This first story is a little slow moving, taking a while for any spookiness to manifest. When it does it is a little unclear as to what exactly happens at the end. Although it is well shot, this segment does not demonstrate as much visual flair as the other episodes, and looks a little like a vaguely creepy excerpt from Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai.
The second segment The Woman in the Snow is creepy from the outset. A young woodcutter and his father become trapped in a snowstorm after gathering firewood in the forest. Taking shelter in a hut, the young woodcutter awakes to see a mysterious woman dressed in white bending over his father. When he touches him he discovers that he is dead, all his blood has been drained. The woman tells him that he will be next, but then she takes pity on the young woodcutter, and says that she will spare him only if he promises to never tell anyone what he has seen that night. If he does, she will know and will kill him.
A while later he meets a young woman, new to his town. They fall in love and marry. She bears him children, but never seems to age. She bears a striking resemblance to the woman he met in the snowstorm. One night he cannot help but remark on how similar she looks to a woman he saw ten years ago…
This episode is striking in its set design and cinematography. The sets of snowy landscapes and flower filled fields are illuminated by skies of unnatural colours, where giant eyes look down and watch from the sky. Something that Coppola was obviously influenced by for Bram Stoker’s Dracula.
The third and longest story, is Hoichi the Earless. It begins by recounting an epic battle that took place long ago between two warring tribes in Japan. The losers subsequently drowned themselves at sea. Like The Woman in the Snow, this section is shot on sets and deliberately designed to look unreal. Again the skies are unnatural colours, and the ships the warriors fight on are obviously not floating on real water. This gives the legend the look of illustrations done in ancient texts.
We then cut to the present, to a monastery where Hoichi, a blind musician who plays the biwa, sings magnificently of the very same battle. We then learn that the losing warriors are buried near the monastery, and, overhearing his music, come for him at night in order to make him perform in the realm of the undead in their ghostly imperial palace. Because he is blind, he has no idea that he is actually performing to the undead.
His fellow monks begin to suspect that something is up when Hoichi sleeps all day, and looks drained of life. They devise a plan to hide him from the ghosts by writing sacred texts all over his body, rendering him invisible to the ghosts. Only they forget one part (the title of this segment kind of gives it away!).
This segment is the most chilling and gruesome. Although it takes a while for events to develop, you get sick of the other monks asking Hoichi what’s up, and him being evasive. But it is the story that sticks with you the longest of the four.
The final story, In a Cup of Tea I actually found to be the simplest and the creepiest. It begins with a comment on the nature of storytelling, and what causes someone to break off telling a story, never to finish it. This meditation is prompted by the father of Kannai, a guard, who finds an unfinished story written by his son, who has disappeared. We then see Kannai innocently drinking a cup of tea, until he sees the reflection of someone else looking back at him from the cup. But not just that cup, every drinking vessel he picks up has the reflection of this man looking back at him; only the reflection gets closer each time….
Even at nearly three hours running time, I recommend this film, especially if you are a fan of Asian horror. But even if you are not, this is still worth a look as an example of masterful storytelling, lyrical visuals, and it gives an insight into the origins of Japanese horror, before the motifs of the genre became cliché.
Starring: Rentaro Mikuni, Michiyo Aratama, Misako Watanabe, Tatsuya Nakadai, Keiko Kishi, Katsuo Nakamura, Tetsuro Tamba, Kanemon Nakamura, Osamu Takizawa.
Directed by: Masaki Kobayashi.
The original Japanese horror film, Kaidan, is comprised of four separate tales of horror, derived mainly from Japanese folklore.
The first is Black Hair (a popular Japanese horror motif!) about a poor Samurai who, tired of poverty, divorces his devoted first wife in order to marry a woman from a wealthy family. Trapped in a loveless second marriage, and unable to shake the memory of his first wife, he returns to the house they shared together in Kyoto. There he discovers his first wife living in their old rundown house. She has not aged, and still loves him, welcoming him back. He promises this time that he will not leave her. In fact he will stay with her forever, but at what cost?
This first story is a little slow moving, taking a while for any spookiness to manifest. When it does it is a little unclear as to what exactly happens at the end. Although it is well shot, this segment does not demonstrate as much visual flair as the other episodes, and looks a little like a vaguely creepy excerpt from Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai.
The second segment The Woman in the Snow is creepy from the outset. A young woodcutter and his father become trapped in a snowstorm after gathering firewood in the forest. Taking shelter in a hut, the young woodcutter awakes to see a mysterious woman dressed in white bending over his father. When he touches him he discovers that he is dead, all his blood has been drained. The woman tells him that he will be next, but then she takes pity on the young woodcutter, and says that she will spare him only if he promises to never tell anyone what he has seen that night. If he does, she will know and will kill him.
A while later he meets a young woman, new to his town. They fall in love and marry. She bears him children, but never seems to age. She bears a striking resemblance to the woman he met in the snowstorm. One night he cannot help but remark on how similar she looks to a woman he saw ten years ago…
This episode is striking in its set design and cinematography. The sets of snowy landscapes and flower filled fields are illuminated by skies of unnatural colours, where giant eyes look down and watch from the sky. Something that Coppola was obviously influenced by for Bram Stoker’s Dracula.
The third and longest story, is Hoichi the Earless. It begins by recounting an epic battle that took place long ago between two warring tribes in Japan. The losers subsequently drowned themselves at sea. Like The Woman in the Snow, this section is shot on sets and deliberately designed to look unreal. Again the skies are unnatural colours, and the ships the warriors fight on are obviously not floating on real water. This gives the legend the look of illustrations done in ancient texts.
We then cut to the present, to a monastery where Hoichi, a blind musician who plays the biwa, sings magnificently of the very same battle. We then learn that the losing warriors are buried near the monastery, and, overhearing his music, come for him at night in order to make him perform in the realm of the undead in their ghostly imperial palace. Because he is blind, he has no idea that he is actually performing to the undead.
His fellow monks begin to suspect that something is up when Hoichi sleeps all day, and looks drained of life. They devise a plan to hide him from the ghosts by writing sacred texts all over his body, rendering him invisible to the ghosts. Only they forget one part (the title of this segment kind of gives it away!).
This segment is the most chilling and gruesome. Although it takes a while for events to develop, you get sick of the other monks asking Hoichi what’s up, and him being evasive. But it is the story that sticks with you the longest of the four.
The final story, In a Cup of Tea I actually found to be the simplest and the creepiest. It begins with a comment on the nature of storytelling, and what causes someone to break off telling a story, never to finish it. This meditation is prompted by the father of Kannai, a guard, who finds an unfinished story written by his son, who has disappeared. We then see Kannai innocently drinking a cup of tea, until he sees the reflection of someone else looking back at him from the cup. But not just that cup, every drinking vessel he picks up has the reflection of this man looking back at him; only the reflection gets closer each time….
Even at nearly three hours running time, I recommend this film, especially if you are a fan of Asian horror. But even if you are not, this is still worth a look as an example of masterful storytelling, lyrical visuals, and it gives an insight into the origins of Japanese horror, before the motifs of the genre became cliché.
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