Kwaidan (1964)

Directed by Masaki Kobayashi .

Japanese Ghost Stories, Haunting and Sad

"What's the scariest movie you ever saw?"

This is the question I posed to my father one day not too long ago. I had long been afraid to watch horror movies. Slowly and recently, though, I was discovering that most of them really weren't too scary and that, as an adult, I could actually watch horror movies I had been unreasonably afraid to see and not get bothered much by them at all. I had just seen the re-release of The Exorcist and found that, although it was rather disgusting, it wasn't too scary for me. I had survived Psycho and Jaws relatively unscathed. Alien was quite entertaining and didn't give me nightmares. Rosemary's Baby? "Disturbing" is the best word to describe it.

I was, however, starting to appreciate the craft of horror. I really liked how the directors set up and executed their situations. And I suppose it was this appreciation that really allowed me to be able to fully enjoy Kwaidan, which was my father's answer to my question. At this time, I was looking for a really scary movie; I wanted to see what I could really take these days. My father told me about Kwaidan, and how it had the most haunting imagery he had seen in his youth. He told me the story of "Hoichi the Earless," and it indeed sounded eerie. My mother saw it with him and she vouched for his claims that it was indeed a frightening movie. They said it was a collection of four ghost stories, it was in Japanese, but they only knew its name in Chinese. Curious, I began to search for it, to see if it was on VHS or maybe even on DVD. I was in luck. My search was not difficult, and I found that the movie was called Kwaidan and that those great folks at the Criterion Collection actually made the movie available on DVD! I reported the news to my father and bought the movie for him online.

Since I had it shipped directly to my parents' house, I could not get to see it until I next visited them. I looked forward to seeing this movie that scared my parents so. However, after I watched it, I reached a conclusion echoed by my father, who said, "You know, after watching it again, it really wasn't all that scary." Bummer. However, I also agreed with what he said next: "But it is a really beautiful movie, very artistic." That said, even though I wasn't scared, I did indeed like what I saw.

I read that the director, Masaki Kobayashi, was a painter. This influence comes through clearly in this movie. It was shot on some very well-designed sets that concentrated on artistic presentation and dramatic uses of color rather than realism. In fact, the ominous presence of the sets stood out almost more than anything. It was helped by the fact that almost all of the sound for the movie was conspicuously post-produced; none of the sound seemed as if it was recorded from the shoot, nor did it seem that any of it was meant to. Thus, with painted sets suitable for a stage, and, in effect, painted sounds, the environment was set to tell some scary stories.

The stories were less scary, though, than they were haunting. Telling four ghost stories in the span of around 160 minutes, Kwaidan takes its time. It's deliberately slow and rocks you into a chilly mood with its spare dialogue and long, quiet sequences. In addition, three of the stories it tells have an undertone of total sadness. The first story is called "Black Hair." It's about an impoverished samurai who leaves his true love in order to marry into wealth. In his new marriage, he constantly thinks of the love he left behind. Eventually he returns to her, and the circumstances of their reunion is fraught with eerieness. Has the passage of time taken away his chance at forgiveness? The second story is "The Woman in the Snow." When two woodcutters are caught in a snowstorm, they find shelter in an abandoned hut. The younger one sees a woman all in white stop over the older one and draw his breath away, killing him. She comes for the younger one, but decides to take pity on him and spare him, so long as he never tells anyone about the encounter. What is the motive of this ice spirit? Could it be that she has fallen for him? And how would that threaten his new and happy relationship with a woman he met after the encounter?

The third story is the main one and takes up the bulk of the movie. It is "Hoichi the Earless." It starts with a woeful story about two rival ancient clans and their final battle at sea. The members of both clans destroy each other and many are drowned. In later times, near the site of the battle, a monastery has taken establishment. Therein lives a blind musician named Hoichi. In the night he is beckoned by visitors and asked to perform before a court, and, not knowing any better, he obliges. When the head of the monastery discovers where he has been to, Hoichi is informed that his audience are the ghosts of those clan members who died at sea. They ask to hear the story of their battle celebrated in his song. Hoichi is told that he may not survive future encounters with these spirits, so the monks take certain measures to protect him from being seen by the ghosts. But are these measures good enough? How determined are those spirits who died so long ago?

The results of each of the stories are chilling, but moreover they are sad. One pities the fates of the characters involved. It is this sadness that permeates the tales, giving the viewer feelings of regret, pity, and sympathy. When we as viewers feel vulnerable like this, we become more susceptible to that which is truly chilling: considering events that could have been avoided but weren't, paying for it in a way that doesn't seem fair, and, if we let our superstitions get to us, believing that even further retribution awaits us from the supernatural and the afterlife. Thinking of it that way, Kwaidan's frights are rooted in things that are truly identifiable, and they are therefore effective.

The last story, "In a Cup of Tea," is rather silly compared to the preceding three. Its telling of a story about spirits driving a guardian samurai to madness feels almost like a light relief from the heavy-handedness of the other stories. It's the feeling of those other stories that you're likely to take away with you. These are tales told meticulously, inducing feelings of fear subtlely. They're not likely to scare you outright, but hopefully you too can appreciate the craft and artistry with which they are told. And perhaps you can even find cause to think about the sorrows that life throws at us while we are pursuing happiness.

Rating: 8/10

©Jeffrey Chen, Jun. 22, 2001

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