SHIKOKU (1999)
"Do a person's feelings have to die with them?"
3 out of ****
Starring Yui Natsukawa, Michitaka Tsutsui, Chiaki Kuriyama, Kie Negishi; Directed by Shunichi Nagasaki; Written by Kunimi Manda and Takenori Sento, from a novel by Masako Bando; Cinematography by Noboru Shinoda
SHIKOKU is named after its setting, and with good reason, for the setting is vital to its success. Shikoku is an island in Japan, removed from the familiar urban environments of Tokyo, Osaka, and the other great Japanese cities. It is a remote place where the primal forces of the earth have not been paved over. The sky is wide and blue, the mountains are steep and verdant. Temples with priapic pillars and womb-like openings lurk in the depths of the forest. SHIKOKU tells the story of a woman who seeks to bring back her daughter from the underworld of the dead, and, in this setting, it resonates with ancient myths, taking on an elemental power which is hard to resist.
Eighty-eight temples circle Shikoku. They act as a seal, buttressing the island against the influence of the dead. Buddhist priests circle the island, travelling from temple to temple, chanting, invoking, maintaining the seals. But the seals can be undone: by traversing the temples in the reverse order, and performing the appropriate rituals, the boundary between the living and the dead can be weakened. Complete the circuit once for each year of the deceased's life, and she will be brought back. The name of the island itself reflects its dual nature: it can mean both "The Island of the Four Lands" and "The Island of the Dead."
Sayori was sixteen when she died. Her mother is a priestess who can summon spirits, and she decides to resurrect her daughter, so that her bloodline may continue. As this is happening, Sayori's childhood friend Hinako returns to her home village for the first time as an adult. There she meets another old friend, Sayori's high school sweetheart Fumiya, and learns of Sayori's death. In the days that follow, Fumiya and Hinako are both haunted by sightings of Sayori's restless spirit. They become further perturbed when they learn that Sayori's father has been in a coma for eight years after a mysterious accident. They seek advice from a folklore expert, who tells them about the 88 seals and how they may be broken. They learn that Sayori's mother is on her sixteenth pilgrimage around the island. They begin to piece it all together, with a growing sense of dread--which the audience shares.
The sense of dread, unfortunately, is often undermined by a kind of niceness or prettiness which underlies the film. It is beautiful to behold: the lead actress is beautiful, the village is beautiful, the surrounding countryside is beautiful. The cinematography is especially beautiful, awash in hazy evening sunshine and moon-lit forest mists and rippling blue light reflected off the surface of still waters. All well and good, but it's difficult to feel scared by a movie that at times resembles an unusually elegant travel brochure.
The nicety extends to the characters as well. The ghost is motivated by that most acceptable of undead sentiments: a love which defies the boundaries of life and death. She does bad things, but she is sympathetic. Hinako and Fumiya are attracted to each other, and though the power of ghost stories is amplified by repressed emotions, they are allowed a tender, perfunctory romantic interlude which effectively unleashes all their repressions. In the closing sequence, when drama is called for, we are instead given an overlong scene in which the characters work out their differences by having what is almost a therapeutic chat. Then a dramatic resolution does come, but Hinako--our focal point--is more observer than participant. The brunt of the disaster is not borne by her, and what should be tragedy seems like mere misfortune.
Director Shunichi Nagasaki otherwise handles the material expertly. SHIKOKU does the things horror movies are supposed to do, and does them well. A pale hand, slimed with algae, emerging from a black pool. A bare room wallpapered with sheets of paper bearing the 88 seals, fluttering in the wind. A marvellous scene in which Fumiya sits at a desk reading, and another character places her hand on his shoulder, and he talks to her without looking back--but the woman he thinks he's talking to is not the one who has her hand on his shoulder. The dramatic irony is played for all its worth. None of this is revolutionary, but there is still a deep pleasure to be gained from a movie which takes timeworn elements and uses them so well that it almost makes them seem new. Almost.
Subjective Camera (subjective.freeservers.com) Movie Reviews by David Dalgleish (daviddalgleish@yahoo.com)
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