Editorials
Haunted by Guilt in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s ‘Retribution’ [Horrors Elsewhere]
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
The genre output of Kiyoshi Kurosawa is best characterized by atmosphere, ambiguity, and most of all, a perpetual sense of dread. His 2006 movie Retribution — or Sakebi, which translates to “scream” — tenders the same qualities of personal benchmarks as well as rethinks conventions of all contemporary Japanese horror. Retribution revolves around a spate of bizarre murders and the troubled detective investigating them, so Kurosawa enthusiasts immediately think of Cure as they watch this slow burn unfold. The presence of a supernatural element evokes unavoidable comparisons to Pulse and the likes of Hideo Nakata’s Ring, but Kurosawa’s maverick sensibilities still shine through even as he walks down a familiar road.
This film opens on a murder in progress; a woman in a red dress is drowned by an unknown man at a Tokyo waterfront. As the police converge on the site later, Detective Noboru Yoshioka (Kōji Yakusho) is alarmed to find his missing coat button near the victim’s body. Another seed of doubt is planted once Yoshioka’s fingerprints match those found at the crime scene. Aggravating his coiling uncertainties is now the ghost of the woman in red (Riona Hazuki), stalking Yoshioka and accusing him of her murder.
Around the same time, a doctor (Ikuji Nakamura) kills his delinquent son out of fear he will become a burden on society; a woman (Kaoru Okunuki) drowns her lover after he leaves his wife and threatens her own selfhood. The first crime touches on a cultural belief in Japan where the group’s needs take precedence over individuality. The second shows the extremes someone will go to to maintain their autonomy and avoid routines like marriage. In either situation, someone’s disruptive existence jeopardizes the other’s harmony. These two additional murders, both distinguished by a similar M.O. and the fact that each victim died after committing minor indiscretions, are evidence of a growing social illness in the area. However, the assailants are not responsible for the woman in red’s death either. As with Pulse and Takashi Shimizu’s Ju-On series, the supernatural mythology of Retribution is supported by events parallel to the main story.
The father and mistress are incontrovertibly guilty of killing their loved ones, whereas Yoshioka is purported to be innocent. He denies the shrieking ghost’s repeated accusations before and after her death is settled, and up until a pair of gobsmacking twists, audiences believe him. What they suspected all along is off the mark, though. Wrapping the initial mystery up so early may baffle viewers, but Kurosawa is not revealing his cards too early. On the contrary, he is setting up an entirely new game.
Under the cover of twilight and in view of distant traffic, the film’s jane doe expires in a shallow puddle of saltwater. Her violent death echoes the births of other cinematic onryō, or wrathful spirits, that wreak havoc on the living. While the blame evidently lies elsewhere, the spectre coming to Yoshioka is not a case of mistaken identity. The woman in red haunts him and others for a specific reason; her piercing, aghast scream is a rallying cry for those like her. The lithe and unearthly phantom is thereupon a manifestation of both guilty consciences and willful ignorance.
The people caught up in other supernatural daisy chains are often free of any wrongdoing; their involvement is mere happenstance. Innocence notwithstanding, the onus is on them to set things right and put literal spirits to rest. Retribution amends the routine to better fit its knotty story. Everyone visited by the crimson apparition is culpable for something, whether it be a crime they directly committed, or a moral infraction they had no idea they were at fault for — sometimes both. And unlike other films in the genre, there is no perceptible remedy or escape.
Apart from Yoshioka who is really only looking to clear his own name, the police are apathetic toward the original victim, or “F-18” as she is dubbed in the meantime. The cops put a good amount of emotional distance between F-18 and themselves, and as a result, she is seen more as a task to complete than a push for justice. Their indifference, albeit for different reasons, ties into what summons the foreboding spirit. Using the woman in red as his instrument, Kurosawa criticizes those who turn away from someone else’s personal horror. Of course, it is inconceivable to be completely aware of everyone’s pain, but to a ghost driven by her worst moments and utter agony, logic is moot. Instead, she copes by pursuing anyone who disregarded her upon sight.
Other filmmakers would rather resolve everything as neatly as possible when telling a ghost story, but Kurosawa stays true to form and offers little, if any tangible closure. Additional questions would have inevitably come up had the director included the alternate ending. In its current form, though, the movie is a probing study of the human mind’s darkest corners. The writing is intellectual; conversations dig deep and expose subtext without sacrificing art. So much of the film’s aesthetic says more about the characters and themes than words could. From the emphasis on Tokyo’s drab industrial spaces as opposed to the city’s more attractive sights, to the general instability of physical structures and interpersonal relationships, Kurosawa leaves no stone unturned when exercising his exploration of social troubles, psychological unrest, and crushing guilt.
At first, Retribution comes across as Kiyoshi Kurosawa haunting his own opus. He pinches ingredients from his most renowned films; the frustrated detective on the trail of a killer, and the unfathomable spirits invading the human world. As the last act demonstrates, the movie is more profound and unsettling than its basic pitch ever lets on.
In this day and age, the word “troll” is often used to describe various online nuisances. Yet as abundant and irksome as the modern troll can be, they aren’t usually as fearsome as their mythological counterparts. I’m not talking about the small and gentler versions that have become more common to see in media. No, there are much bigger and scarier trolls out there—and André Øvredal’s movie Troll Hunter is one of the best places to find them.
It doesn’t take long for Troll Hunter (or Trolljegeren) to dump the Blair Witch Project-esque setup and aim for something a lot fresher. The trajectory of the story is augmented by Otto Jespersen’s character Hans, the titular Troll Hunter. The second he comes barreling out of the deep, dark woods and shouts “troll” at the camera, this movie takes a turn into what feels like uncharted territory. Not only subject-wise, but also conceptually.
For fantastical and made-up subject matter in cinema, found footage is a fast way to add a guise of believability. After all, what we accept to be the most crucial aspect of documentaries—the truth—rubs off on pseudo-documentaries, despite our understanding of the pretense involved. That is what Øvredal delivered with Troll Hunter: a movie so convincing that some viewers wondered if trolls really do exist. So, had this been straightforwardly made, it likely wouldn’t have been as effective. Conventional narratives would be more inclined to treat something like trolls as flat out unreal, and never try to convince the audience to think otherwise.
Hans petrifies the three-headed Tusseladd troll.
The viewers, like the characters trailing Hans, are quickly thrown into the deeper end of that extraordinary story. They have to process all this new information while staying on the go. So, although there is no significant amount of meandering, narratively or physically, there is still a good amount of atmosphere, not to mention tension building. It’s never anything frightful, but then again, Troll Hunter isn’t your standard offering of horror; it’s more on the low end of the dark fantasy spectrum. We aren’t ever spirited away to a faraway world—we stay in rather familiar surroundings, as well as dip into those less so. The outcome is a movie where you’re constantly more in awe than in terror.
As fantasy fiction might do, Troll Hunter prefers not to deal with incredulity. There is no time to waste on doubt, as interviewer Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), soundperson Johanna (Johanna Mørck), and cameraman Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) all follow Hans around, recording whatever this character is willing to reveal about his bizarre job. Of course, the Troll Hunter himself is not an open book; in that respect, the diegetic documentary fails to fully capture and unpack the more interesting of its two subjects. Yes, all those giant, monstrous trolls are indeed incredible, but understandably, your mind wanders to their pursuer. What kind of person signs up for this gig and then chooses to stick with it for so long?
Reviews have called out Troll Hunter for its lack of character development. In regard to Thomas and his fellow documentarians, that criticism is valid, but bear in mind, they aren’t the focus of the story, either. Meanwhile, Hans is a well-crafted character. At least better than first realized. Before he was introduced, Hans had already grown tired of the troll grind. Fed up with that low compensation for his services, resentful of the bureaucracy, and wanting to expose his employer on a large scale, Hans’ discontent is glaring.
Then there are those finer details about the Troll Hunter, such as that indifference to both the natural splendor of his everyday surroundings and the affections of an obviously smitten colleague, that also suggest some level of despondency. So it is fair to say this movie doesn’t feature any sizable growth for its characters; however, the namesake isn’t underwritten. No doubt, putting a real-life character like Otto Jespersen in that role is partly why Hans is so fascinating—maybe even relatable.
Otto Jespersen as Hans the Troll Hunter.
There is always a small risk whenever using the term “mockumentary” to describe a found-footage movie, as the word could imply humor where there is none. In the case of Troll Hunter, the term’s usage is appropriate. Some folks have claimed the English-dubbed version has the more comedic tone, however, the Norwegian cut isn’t exactly humorless. Apart from the trolls’ absurd appearances, this is a movie where the characters nearly choke on the monsters’ farts, and Christians are like walking targets. Hans’ complete apathy towards everything is another cause of laughter. Overall, the comedy is intentionally dry and inconsistent. Unfunny, though? Absolutely not.
In a movie where endemic creatures are maltreated, as well as disavowed from living freely and peacefully, it’s hard not to notice the ecological message buried beneath the story. In addition to that is the unmistakable political satire. There is this whole business about intrusive and unsightly power lines—like trolls, they’re big blemishes on the land—that leads to what is perhaps the movie’s funniest moment. The scene in question is that one where certain electric lines, the ones secretly being used to keep the trolls at bay, go in a loop and don’t actually send power to any residents. Yet the monitors of said lines don’t find this at all weird. So it stands to reason that Øvredal was having a go at those who accept the government’s doings without question.
Looking past the fact that trolls aren’t actually real, this movie is an enlightening source of information. And not just for international audiences; Norwegians, too, get schooled about their homeland’s own mythology. It’s also evident from everything on screen that Øvredal and his crew were enthusiastic about the topic. The creature designs are the most indicative of that zeal; those imaginative yet myth-accurate manifestations are equally amusing and grotesque. One second you’re laughing at their phallic noses, the next you’re white-knuckling during a hairy sequence. Most surprisingly is how well the trolls’ visual effects hold up after fifteen years. It’s not all spotless, but on the whole, they remain impressive.
Vouching for a mockumentary about trolls isn’t easy, but those who do come around and give it a shot will more than likely be grateful for the recommendation. For Troll Hunter is a real find in that vast and varied genre we call “found footage“.
A bridge troll reaches up for food and finds Hans decked out in armor.
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