The Lost Alibi (黒い画集 あるサラリーマンの証言, Hiromichi Horikawa, 1960)

“What did I do to deserve this?” the hero of Hiromichi Horikawa’s The Lost Alibi (黒い画集 あるサラリーマンの証言, Kuroi Gashu: Aru Sarariman no Shogen) ironically asks himself, as if he assumed the answer to be “nothing at all”. Adapted from one of Seicho Matsumoto’s “Black Album” novellas, as in much noir fiction even small transgressions can have drastic consequences and even a step out of line can seriously derail an otherwise ordinary life. Ishino’s (Keiju Kobayashi) dilemma is that he knows if he speaks the truth he may damn himself and ruin the “boring, routine” life he’d built, but if he says nothing another man may pay with his life for a crime he didn’t commit. 

The film’s Japanese title is “testimony of a salaryman,” and that’s really want Ishino is giving in his opening voice over. He explains that he’s a high-ranking executive on a good salary living a fairly successful life working not at the top company in his field but the second best, which he’s fine with. He gets on with his boss precisely because he’s not interested in his job and is even hopeful he could stay on past retirement if he wanted to for that exact reason. But on the other hand, he’s 42 and has 13 years until he’s able to retire. He has no more ambition and his life is essentially on autopilot. All he has to do is stay the course for the next decade or so and everything will be fine.

But when he leaves the office, Ishino doesn’t go straight home as he tells his colleague he will when refusing an invitation, but hangs out in the city drinking and playing pachinko before going to see his mistress, Chieko (Chisako Hara), one of the secretaries working in his office. The affair may be a way of rebelling against his ordinary life or of playing with fire knowing that he could lose everything if his sexual transgression were exposed. Then again, he tells his wife he’s been to the cinema on his own, which in some ways isn’t all that different from having an affair seeing as he’s still skipped out on his domestic responsibilities and left her home alone to look after the children.

The film is mildly critical of this modern salaryman tendency in drawing a direct link between a series of murders of women who were home alone, as if their men had left them vulnerable by vacating the domestic space. Ishino’s wife Kuniko (Chieko Nakakita) even says that she feels a little afraid seeing as she’s home on her own all day while the children are at school and Ishino at work. Ishino suggests they get a dog and in the back of his mind wonders if he should get one for Chieko too. It’s not immediately clear what she is getting out of this affair, though it seems fairly likely that Ishino is paying for her upkeep which is why it’s so easy for him to force her move after they’re unwittingly dragged into the spotlight when the accused man, Sugiyama (Masao Oda), tries to use Ishino as an alibi after bumping into him in the street leaving Chieko’s apartment.

Sugiyama is his neighbour and Ishino only knows him on nodding terms, but he’s immediately worried that he may expose him. After all, he regards this as a low-class area he had no real reason to visit and does not want to have to explain what he was doing there. It doesn’t occur to him that his neighbour may not have wanted to either, if he not been accused of murder. The situation looks quite bad for Sugiyama given that the police have a lot of circumstantial evidence against him, though Ishino alone knows that Sugiyama didn’t do it because he really did see him at a time that makes it difficult to place him at the scene of the crime. But Ishino denies that he was ever there. Those around Ishino seem to condone the idea that he should just keep quiet. He’s under no obligation to help Sugiyama and it’s really nothing to do with him, anyway.

But the irony is that as things spiral out of control even Ishino seems to believe in the absolute power of a confirmatory witness. When he imagines himself talking to the police, the policeman doesn’t believe him because he lied the first time and the information is inconvenient to his case. He tells Ishino that his confession isn’t worth anything without a secondary witness to back it up, meaning he’d have to produce Chieko. It doesn’t really occur to Ishino that if he had told the truth to begin with the police might have been discreet about it. After all, admitting you were with another person whose reputation you do not wish to compromise seems to work well in crime novels. When he finds himself blackmailed by a student living in Chieko’s building, he too tries to get the student’s friend to come as a witness, bizarrely thinking that having someone else there ought to provide security seeing as he could also go to the police and accuse him of extortion if something went wrong never quite thinking that the friend might simply lie just as he did. 

A kind of comparison is indeed being drawn between Ishino and Matsuzaki (Tatsuyoshi Ehara), the student, who is painted as someone with a bad character who has got himself into debt not solely because of his economic circumstances but greed and an irresponsibility with money. Matsuzaki also behaves in an inappropriate way with Chieko in making passive-aggressive romantic overtures and becoming angry when she brushes them off, later basically forcing himself on her having just threatened blackmail. They are each in their way symptoms of post-war moral decline in their intense selfishness. Ishino has achieved the salaryman dream, but now he feels hemmed in by it and empty inside. Matsuzaki, meanwhile, is greedy and amoral, desperate enough to resort to loan sharks and blackmail while chasing the dream that Ishino has already achieved all too easily. 

But the truth is that Ishino had done a lot to deserve this, and got off fairly lightly in the end. A single moral transgression can snowball, and it’s true enough that none of this would have happened if he hadn’t had the affair in the first place. If he’d only told the truth about it, Sugiyama may not have had to go to trial and it would never have come out. If Sugiyama had been executed for this crime, Ishino would be a murderer, and maybe twice over as the person who killed the woman, and maybe several others, may have gone on to kill again until someone finally caught them, if ever. He’s endangered his wife and family, quite literally in physical terms, but also their future and wellbeing given the possibility of his reputation being ruined leading to losing his job while his children would suffer the stigma of his disgrace. He felt conflicted, chased to the brink and even considering suicide knowing his cowardice could condemn Sugiyama to death, but still chose the path of extreme selfishness which seems to be that which defines the post-war era. Even when all’s said and done, he can’t help thinking it’s all a little unfair. All he did was cheat on his wife and lie about it, why is he the one losing everything? But in the end, that’s exactly why. He cheated the salaryman dream, and the retribution was swift. Only too late did he realise the value of his “boring, routine” life of easy comfort in the increasingly compromised post-war society.


Trailer (no subtitles)

Warla (Kevin Z. Alambra, 2025)

A group of transwomen attempts to turn the tables by kidnapping wealthy foreign businessmen and blackmailing them to fund their surgery, but a newcomer to the group forces them to confront their hypocrisy in turning the violence inflicted on them back on the patriarchal society. Inspired by a real life case, Warla explores the marginalisation of transpeople in a country so imbued with Catholicism and toxic masculinity as the Philippines where all they really have to rely on is each other.

The violence of that society is evident from the very first frames as a body begins to drift into view. Mother Leila has been murdered in a brutal fashion for the crime of existing. Kit-Kat (Lance Reblando), rejected by her conservative father and brother, is cast adrift with no other means of affirming herself. When her father kicks her out, she’s taken in a family of transwomen led by Joice (KaladKaren), but what she didn’t know is that their business model is meeting foreign businessmen on dating apps, kidnapping them, beating them up, and blackmailing them by threatening to tell their wives, families, and employers. In doing so, they’re turning the prejudice they face back on those who rejected them, but as Kit-Kat points out, it’s as if they’ve joined the system rather than beating it. She doesn’t want anything to do with the violence, with ends up partially going along with because it she wants to remain part of the group and has nowhere else to turn.

As Joice points out, having nowhere else to turn is why they’re doing this. There is no social support for them in the Philippines and they struggle to even get casual jobs in fast food restaurants just by virtue of being transpeople. Barbie Ann (Serena Magiliw) has a son from her previous marriage which ended when she decided to embrace her trans identity, but her former wife, Kate (Francesca Dela Cruz), has met someone else and wants to move in with him. Roger (Jel Tarun) is evidently a much more conservative man and is already beginning to distance Kate from Barbie by banning her from the house. When she tries to talk to him on the street, he tells her that she’s filling her son’s head with a lot of nonsense about how people like her are okay which will lead to him getting bullied. He thinks that, as he’s accepted the child and will now be providing for him, he should have a greater say over what he’s taught to think. Barbie’s existence is dangerous precisely because of what she was teaching son, challenging the social order by undercutting the patriarchy.

Ning (Valeria Kurihara), meanwhile, struggles to maintain a relationship because she wants to wait until she’s had her surgery to become intimate. Experiencing extreme dysphoria, she doesn’t want her partner to see the part of herself that she hates, but he gets fed up and leaves her for a cis woman. He tells her that their relationship was always doomed because his father wouldn’t accept her. With his new girlfriend, he can post pictures on social media and doesn’t feel the need to sneak around. Getting the money together to go to Thailand for her surgery becomes an obsession in part so that she can get Lance back, but also so that she will finally feel whole. Barbie also wants the surgery to avoid the kind of violence she inflicts on their victims. Kit-Kat says she isn’t interested in surgery which places her at odds with other members of the group such as Barbie who suggests it’s alright for her because she presents as more obviously feminine and so isn’t subject to the same levels of violence and rejection.

Though they may feel that they’re only playing these men at their own game, they bite off more than they can chew with a short-fused Japanese businessman who talks like a yakuza and flies off the handle with wait staff. Most of the other men gave in quite quickly because of the shame they feel and the fear they have of their transgressions being exposed, but Isamu (Jacky Woo) was like them in that he had nothing left to lose and soon realised he’d been set up. In the end, Joice is forced to make the ultimate maternal gesture to try and save her girls, while Kit-Kat must reckon with where this dark path has taken her. Though she knew that her mother loved her but was unable to stand up to her father’s patriarchal violence, she eventually finds solace in the fact that she can still hold her hand and call her by her true name even if the rest of the world refuses to recognise her.


Warla screened as part of this year’s BFI Flare.

Trailer (English subtitles)

The First Ride (퍼스트 라이드, Nam Dae-joong, 2025)

According to Tae-jung (Kang Ha-neul), the most hopeless phrase that Koreans say is “next time.” As he grew older and away from his childhood friends, he found himself saying “next time” more often without really thinking about it. But of course, the thing about life is that you always assume there’ll be a “next time”, but that might not necessarily be the case. Perhaps right now is a “last time” and you don’t even know it. The sometime narrator of The First Ride (퍼스트 라이드) tells us right away that this is a”sad story,” but it’s also happy a one about the enduring power of friendship even if you might not be all that close any more.

Tae-jung, Yeon-min (Cha Eun-woo), Do-jin (Kim Young-kwang), and Geum-bok (Kang Young-seok) have been friends since they were six years old, but Yeon-min is moving to New Zealand with his family right after he graduates high school. To mark the occasion, the boys decide to go on a trip and pick Thailand for their destination because Yeon-min’s favourite DJ is going to be playing at a festival. After managing to convince their parents, they finally set off only to be frustrated by an unexpected development that prevents them from travelling. Ten years later, Do-jin has been having a hard time, spending the intervening years in and out of pyshciatric hospital. He nevertheless wants to recreate their teenage trip as soon-to-be 30-year olds. As Yeon-min is unable to come, he decides to take him along with them in the form of a life-size pillow with his face on it, which proves very confusing for the good people of Thailand.

It’s clear that each of the young men has had various struggles in the intervening years. Geum-bok became a tattooist and is still in flight from his mother’s determination that he follow in her footsteps by becoming a Buddhist monk. He ends up going on holiday with his head shaved and wearing monks’ robes hoping for one last hurrah. Tae-jung, meanwhile, is on the way to achieving his dream of becoming president by working as a secretary to an assemblyman who is currently on hunger strike to protest some kind of injustice. Tae-jung’s pure-heated belief in political integrity becomes something of a thorn in the side of his boss who, is of course, not really going so far as to refuse all food, so he’s only too happy to let him go on a once-in-a-lifetime male bonding trip. Tae-jung is also followed by Ok-sim (Han Sun-hwa), who sees herself as his girlfriend, while he seems to be indifferent to her partly because of his own unresolved trauma and fear of making new relationships. But Do-jin who has suffered the most, unable to get over Yeon-min’s absence and looked after Tae-jung and Geum-bok while he struggles with mental health issues including hallucinations and delusions. 

Nevertheless, their time in Thailand is mainly spent on goofy fun which more than once gets them sent to the local jail only to be rescued by an exasperated embassy official (Yoon Kyung-ho) who tries to persuade them to go home early or at least pretend not to be Korean. A baffling plot development in which the gang are kidnapped for illegal organ transplant takes the film in a darker direction though is still mostly played for laughs and acting as a mild caution about the dangers of travel, and most particularly of people who seem nice but might have ulterior motives. It’s only Ok-sim’s messiness that saves the day in the end even if she begins to become slightly fed up with Tae-jung’s continued insensitivity towards her in flirting with other women during their trip. 

But even so, through their shared experiences, the three men begin to overcome some of their shared trauma while reaffirming their friendship. Do-jin comes to accept the truth and is able to begin living a more settled life thanks to the support of his friends in processing his guilt and grief. Though they may not be so close any more, the memory of their childhood friendship becomes a sustaining force for each of them, while they try to maintain their relationship as adults with busy lives. They are, however, much better equipped to that after their strange trip to Thailand despite its continuing absurdity.


Trailer (English subtitles)

Seaside Serendipity (海辺へ行く道, Satoko Yokohama, 2025)

As we follow the road that leads down to the beach in the presence of a black cat, there’s a sign at the beginning of Satoko Yokohama’s Seaside Serendipity (海辺へ行く道, Umibe e Iku Michi) that lets us know that this town welcomes artists. Adapted from the manga by Gin Miyoshi, the film is another in the idyllic summer adventure genre with its tranquil, almost magical setting that even one of its temporary residents describes as somehow different from other places, but also contemplates the nature of art and its ability to influence the environment. 

This is certainly a very creative place where strange things happen and people mostly seem to do their own thing. Then again, Risako (Ayame Goriki) rents out apartments to artists looking for quiet retreats to practise their art in a peaceful environment but mainly ends up with those arriving for other reasons whose “art” is more like subterfuge. A young couple arrive running a bizarre scam selling fake knives that won’t even cut tofu after a couple of days. A stone sculptor she ends up dating is on the run from a loan shark, who just happens to be an old friend who said her job was in “sales” rather than admit she works as a debt collector chasing failed artists who always have an excuse as to why they can’t pay or haven’t yet produced anything.

A mysterious man gives Megu (Koharu Sugawara) a canary-shaped whistle that’s supposed to chirp in the presence of a true artist and make an unpleasant noise in the case of a false one. But as the kids eventually put it, all artists are self-proclaimed. The only requirement for calling oneself and artist is that you make something you consider to be “art” even if others disagree. Art can take many forms, as in the weird structure Ryoichi (Toma Nakasu) constructs made out of all the spoons he’s bent in his life. Sosuke (Kōnosuke Harada), meanwhile, attracts the attention of another mysterious man calling himself “A” who commissions him to make a model of a mermaid from a painted scroll. Sosuke dutifully makes it with a few additions such as the ability to remove the mermaid’s left breast and extract her heart. A interprets this as an expression that one cannot hide anything in art, whether things about themselves the artist wanted to conceal or things that they simply did not know. 

But Sosuke’s friend Teruo (Shun Aoi) also lets him in on the idea of mimesis, that they aren’t trying to reproduce something exactly as it appears but understand its true essence and recreate that. Teruo uses the art of mimesis to create a realistic mask modelled after the late husband of an elderly woman who says that it was foretold to her in a dream that he would come to her on her birthday. Though it might be a questionable gesture, he did it out of a desire for her dream to be true and to bring comfort to a lonely person whose family were unable to communicate with her, perhaps because they did not have the ability to lipread as Teruo apparently does. Nevertheless, they accuse him of stealing her money, insulting the purpose of his art. 

The art club’s art is also misused in a way when Ritsuko bizarrely asks them to create a hole she can say her boyfriend used to escape, like in a cartoon. This appears to be the sort of place where one can get away with such a ridiculous conceit. Trying to tell the truth, meanwhile, backfires for an aspiring journalist who uncovers suspect goings-on at the local nursing home where a nurse forces elderly people to sing songs out in the summer heat and prevents them from eating lunch as a means of staving off dementia. When her teacher leaks the video she recorded to social media, she’s annoyed to have missed the scoop and also that the teacher didn’t investigate properly opting for mob justice instead. The young woman worries the nurse may kill herself because of what she uncovered which is perhaps only a version of the truth. Meanwhile, everyone else is hot on the trail of mysterious animals appearing in the town that are somehow repelled by Teruo’s mystery art project. Even so, everything continues as normal in this strange little town as Sosuke pursues his artistic dreams painting tranquil visions of peaceful destruction from the deserted jetty, seemingly paying it no mind.


Seaside Serendipity screens in Chicago March 22nd as part of the 20th edition of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Scarlet (果てしなきスカーレット, Mamoru Hosoda, 2025)

A gender-flipped take on Hamlet, Mamoru Hosoda’s latest feature animation Scarlet (果てしなきスカーレット, Hateshinaki Scarlet) seems to be a rebuttal of contemporary isolationist politics and authoritarian governments. His Otherworld is peopled by those from all places and times who, for the main part, co-exist peacefully aside from the odd marauding bandit. Even if there’s suspicion and division, people are also kind and try to help others. The recent arrivals from the world of Elsinore, however, are not really like that and are seeking to bring their particular brand of fascistic, war-wondering authoritarianism all the way to heaven itself. 

In this version of the tale, Scarlet (voiced by Mana Ashida) unwittingly takes the cursed drink while dithering over killing her uncle, Claudius (Koji Yakusho), who has usurped the throne and married her uncaring mother Gertrude (Yuki Saito) who has a little of Lady Macbeth about her and switches allegiance to Amleth’s brother because she only cares about power. Amleth (Masachika Ichimura) had wanted to stop a potential war and build better relationships with neighbouring nations, while Claudius is hellbent on conquest and domination. Amleth is well aware that it’s the people who will suffer, and his subjects are very much not on Claudius’ side, protesting loudly at Amleth’s public execution. Having failed in her revenge and been resurrected in the Otherworld, Scarlet eventually discovers her father’s final word was “forgive,” only she doesn’t quite know what he meant by that and is conflicted in her quest for revenge while certain that she cannot let Claudius get away with his authoritarian coup. 

On her travels, she meets a man from contemporary Japan. Hijiri (Masaki Okada) is a paramedic who insists he’s not really dead and must be here by mistake. He represents human kindness as a healer, though his ability to ride a horse and proficiency with bows and arrows is rather surprising. Coming from a world that’s not at peace, but not quite as unsettled as 16th-century Elsinore either, he begins to convince Scarlet that another world might be possible. If only she had inherited the throne, she might have proved most royal and created a better environment where her subjects were free to live happily without the threat of war or oppression, where those from other nations were thought of as friends rather than as enemies. Hosoda is clearly targeting a Japan which has slid to the right, becoming increasingly intolerant of residents from other parts of the world while far-right parties with fringe views make worrying gains in elections. 

Nevertheless, he paints contemporary Japan in softer tones that the Otherworld. Though Hijiri may have become a victim of the latent violence in society while trying to protect others, it’s this world that becomes Scarlet’s benchmark for what a better society could be as she watches another version of herself dance joyfully at a street party with Hijiri. She begins to wonder what sort of person she could be if she weren’t so obsessed with revenge. While contemporary Japan is animated in a style familiar from Hosoda’s previous work, the hyperrealistic backgrounds of the Otherworld lend it a stark and frightening quality that simultaneously recalls the painted matte backdrops of classic anime. Whenever violence is about to occur, a giant dragon appears in the sky and roars, raining lightning on the world below as if issuing divine punishment for this basic moral transgression and turning the sky a blood-red scarlet.

In any case, Scarlet later reaches the conclusion that what her father intended was that she forgive herself, give up on revenge, and live her own life to its fullest. She may not be able to find it within herself to forgive Claudius, or her mother who never joins him in the Otherworld as he assumed she would, but it’s no longer her concern because her duty is to protect her people, so the only thing that matters is deposing him. Claudius and his goons had tried to block off the path to the Infinite Land so that only they, well really just Claudius and Getrude, could enter heaven leaving the ordinary people starving and miserable below. This is really Scarlet’s revenge. Creating a world without war where her subjects are able to lead happy, peaceful lives with no need to fear those from outside nor their own governments.


Trailer (English subtitles)

Fusa (その木戸を通って, Kon Ichikawa, 1993)

Kon Ichikawa’s Fusa (その木戸を通って, Sono Kido wo Totte) opens on a note of artifice. Misty rain and the verdant green of the forest give way to total darkness in which leaves appear, followed by the hero, Seishiro (Kiichi Nakai) tending a bonsai tree. As light brightens the scene, we see that he is seated beyond the veranda of his home which has taken on the appearance of a proscenium arch framed by the open shoji. It’s almost as if this space, in which Seishiro will enter his own reverie, is one of unreality as distinct from the interior which is busy with the preparations for the marriage of Seishiro’s only daughter, Yuka.

17 years previously, however, it was his own marriage he was preoccupied with when a mysterious woman arrived at his home claiming to have lost her memory and knowing only his name while he was away doing the annual audit. This is a little ironic, because “Seishiro Hiramatsu” hadn’t  been his name for very long and, in fact, he struggled to remember it or answer when called. The second son of an Edo lord, Seishiro had been adopted into the Hiramatsu clan and has made an advantageous match with the daughter of a lord, Tomoe. The presence of the mysterious woman threatens Seishiro’s position and path to advancement when Tomoe happens to catch sight of her, assuming she’s an old flame from Edo trying to rekindle things with Seishiro.

He, meanwhile, assumes the woman’s arrival is part of a plot to discredit him and ruin his engagement, presumably perpetrated by a jealous rival. For those reasons, he instructs his retainer Yoshizuka to have the girl sent away, but he and his wife (Kyoko Kishida) feel sorry for her and wish to take her into the household. Seishiro comes up with the ingenious plan of throwing her out and following her to see if she meets up with whoever sent her, but becomes protective when she is nearly assaulted by a pair of local louts. Despite himself, he becomes absorbed in the mystery, but at the same time both he and the woman, whom they name “Fusa” (Yuko Asano), become worried that if she did in fact regain her memory, she would have to leave.

Fusa sometimes enters a kind of trance state, staring at the mystical forest behind the house in way that gives her a supernatural air. That she arrives so suddenly aligns her with a tradition of ghost story and folklore, suggesting that she may be some kind of forest spirit that like the Snow Woman would have to leave once the spell was broken. She describes herself as feeling as if he had been possessed or were trapped within a dream. As Seishiro learns later, she may not have known his name at all, but only taken it from one of his servants, while her past remains opaque. Nevertheless, they are blissfully happy and conceive a daughter together before Fusa suddenly disappears with the same suddenness as she arrived. She had often had visions of a bamboo path and a wooden door beyond which seem to lurk the secrets of her past, but it may not be possible to return after passing through.

Seishiro continues to believe she will one day remember them and return, but at the same time knows to treasure the small bubble of happiness they once had no matter how long it lasted. The truth is only that she was here and then gone, which isn’t so much of an unusual story and requires little explanation, though Seishiro never really solves the mystery as he had vowed to do. Perhaps like Fusa, he didn’t really want to risk breaking the spell. Based on a story by Shugoro Yamamoto, the film was produced by Fuji TV as a test feature for NHK’s “Hi-Vision” high-definition television channel with the consequence that it was shot on hi-def video tape and later transferred to 35mm for international festival screenings. For those reasons, it’s not a particularly handsome film and obviously low budget, but even so Ichikawa makes the most of the medium, leaning into its soft focus to create an ethereal and mysterious atmosphere. Playing with colour and light, he often frames Fusa as the only one in colour in an otherwise monochrome scene as if perhaps suggesting that it’s Seishiro’s world that lacks reality rather than hers. An ominous violet light seems to emanate from the misty forest, but in truth perhaps all here are ghosts looking for a way to go beyond the wooden door but, at the same time, hoping they won’t find it.


Mudborn (泥娃娃, Shieh Meng-ju, 2025)

Poor old Hsu-Chuan is stuck making a scary VR horror game based on a grisly real-life crime, while his own wholesome proposal to create one about spending time with your family gets shuts down for having no clear path to monetisation. There is, however, something a little bit ironic in Hsu-Chuan’s abstraction in creating a separate space to share with those close to him rather just going home and spending time with them instead.

In fact, Hsu-Chuan (Tony Yang) is often physically separated from his heavily pregnant wife whom he somewhat creepily watches through a surveillance camera so he can “keep her company”. He does seem to want to play the role of a good father, constantly fussing over a doll as a way of training himself to look after their baby, but at the same time his wife Mu-Hua (Cecilia Choi Sze-wan) is irritated when he says he’s taking parental leave to “keep them company,” rather than spend time with them together as a family and contribute equally to raising this child. It’s as if Hsu-Chuan sees himself as separate from the main family unit, more like a helpful guest than a devoted father. Then again, his boss tells him he was much the same. When his wife was pregnant, he’d “relax” by doing overtime at the office. When he got home, his wife cried and pointed out she had someone living inside her and it would be nice if they could face this together, as a family.

After all, pregnancy itself is a kind of possession. At the end of the day, the men can go off and escape their responsibilities if they want to, but the woman can’t separate herself from the child inside her. When Hsu-Chuan unwittingly brings the haunted doll from the murder scene home, he implants it in the womb of their domestic space where Mu-hua cares for it by restoring it like one of her statues. But what neither of them know is that the doll was made with grave soil and baked with maternal grief, so it contains the vengeful souls of those buried nearby. Another sculptor, Liu Hsin (Tracy Chou Tsai-shih), used grave soil precisely because she believed that all return to the earth in the end and so it contains the remnants of those now gone.

But perhaps there’s something not quite right about using the echoes of the dead without their consent. Liu Hsin may have known that, which is why she put esoteric talismans on her creations to seal in whatever might be in there. The same could be said of the game Hsu-chuan’s company is making. Is it really alright to exploit a horrific real life crime for entertainment? An employee takes an acquaintance to scan the still abandoned crime scene, capturing the eerie atmosphere along with everything the murdered family left behind. It wouldn’t be surprising if they picked up a ghost or two, and probably they should have listened when a mysterious voice told them to put that doll back where it came from.

To that extent, Hsu-chuan becomes a kind of mirror for Liu Hsin carrying around an actual doll meant for children that’s supposed to represent his unborn child. Its possessive qualities might also echo his paternal anxiety and the fear that this baby will take his wife away from him. For her part, Mu-hua has apparently decided to give up on a cherished opportunity to work on a restoration project in Rome because she doesn’t want to miss her baby growing up, but Hsu-Chuan still only wants to keep them company while making his VR family space instead as if they lived in a fantasy land he could enter and leave at will. Perhaps ironically, the doll will turn him into an inverse mother, carrying the spirit inside himself though unable to birth it. He demonstrates his commitment to his family by sacrificing himself to protect it, removing himself from the family unit and exiling himself to his own other space as an AI avatar in his VR world. Teaming up with an esoteric Taoist priest who seems like he has an ulterior motive in wanting to unlock the secret of these unusual talismans, Hsu-Chuan is, in effect, another ghost, haunting his family home rather than inhabiting it “together as a family” and only ever hanging out to keep them company.


Mudborn screens in Chicago March 21st as part of the 20th edition of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Trailer (English subtitles)

The Heart of Hiroshima (愛と死の記録, Koreyoshi Kurahara, 1966)

Sayuri Yoshinaga was the top female star at Nikkatsu in the mid-1960s. Together with her regular co-star Mitsuo Hamada, she starred in a series of hit youth romances such as The Mud-Spattered Pure Heart, The Sound of Waves, and Gazing at Love and Death which was Nikkatsu’s biggest box office success at the time. The Heart of Hiroshima (愛と死の記録, Ai to Shi no Kiroku) was intended as the latest in the series, but Mitsuo Hamada was attacked by a drunk customer at a bar shortly before filming after which he needed surgery to save his eyesight. Normally, the film would be postponed, but Nikkatsu was having financial difficulties at the time and refused to wait despite pleas from Yoshinaga and even from the actor who replaced him, Tetsuya Watari, who was a good friend of his. 

At the same time, Yoshinaga was now 21 years old and uncertain how long she could convincingly go on performing in Nikkatsu’s typical teen dramas. The studio was also worried about the possibility of losing their top star if she decided to move into more serious dramatic roles while they did not believe they had a suitable replacement. They were currently on bad terms with Ruriko Asaoka who ended her exclusive contract that year and moved to Ishihara Pro, and were worried that their other popular actresses such as Chieko Matsubara weren’t ready to take on that kind of responsibility. To try to convince Yoshinaga that the film would be more artistic in nature they hired New Wave director Koreyoshi Kurahara rather than studio stalwarts like Buichi Saito who’d directed Gazing at Love Death, but when she again tried to refuse insisting they wait for Hamada, they forced her hand by simply beginning to shoot the film on location in Hiroshima without her. Casting Tetsuya Watari may have also been an attempt to shake up the franchise as at that point he was known more for action and hadn’t really played this kind of very intense, romantic role before.

Though it follows a familiar pattern in exploring a doomed romance between a boy and a girl whose pure love is obstructed by social division, the film does deal with some quite controversial themes in touching on the discrimination faced by those who were affected by the atomic bomb. Yukio (Tetsuya Watari) lost his whole family in the blast and was taken in by Mr Iwai (Asao Sano) after being released from a long-term hospital stay. He’s doing well working at Mr Iwai’s print shop and has no current health worries when he has a meet cute with Kazue (Sayuri Yoshinaga) knocking into her on his bike and smashing some records she was carrying which he insists he compensate her for, though he doesn’t know she works in a record shop so it doesn’t really matter. After a comical misunderstanding in which Yukio mistakenly thinks Kazue is dating his friend, and she thinks he’s a creep who’s coming on to her while dating another girl from the shop, they fall in love and want to get married.

However, Yukio’s symptoms start to resurface and he asks himself if he really has a right to start a romantic relationship and get married, especially as there’s a risk any children he may have could be born with genetic abnormalities. Because of the stigma directed towards those who were affected by radiation from the bomb, he feels he can’t explain any of this to Kazue and continues to blow hot and cold, while she too is close to a young woman (Izumi Ashikawa) who seems to have had a romantic past with her brother but once tried to take her own life because she has a large radiation scar on her face. She has since resigned herself to living for her parents, suggesting that she will not marry. When Yukio eventually has to tell Kazue, he does it inside the dome at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park where she, of course, says it doesn’t matter and is only hurt and upset that he suggested they break their engagement.

The underlying suggestion is that those who were affected by the atomic bomb are being denied love by an unforgiving society that has avoided fully processing its traumatic past. Though it’s strongly suggested to her that Yukio will not survive his leukaemia, Kazue remains devoted to nursing to him but is also placed into an impossible position. She tells Yukio that she is already his wife and will stay with him, but is persuaded to leave by her mother and sister-in-law who tell her it’s “improper” for her to be with him overnight in the hospital despite the fact he’s in a communal ward with several other people there all the time as well as the medical staff. Her friend advises her to leave permanently, but then also calls her heartless knowing Yukio has no one else when Kazue begins to waver and suggests he may give in to the pressure given the emotional toll the whole experience is already taking on her. Nevertheless, she never really gives up on Yukio and is ultimately unable to reconcile herself to a world in which he would become “a man that no one could love”. The film ends on a rather bleak and ghostly note as a group of school children walk past the dome, suggesting that to some these comparatively recent events have already become history rather than a living memory and lingering trauma hanging over a rapidly changing society.


Sisters (姉妹, Miyoji Ieki, 1955)

Two sisters find their paths diverging amid the changing society of post-war Japan in Miyoji Ieki’s adaptation of the autobiographical novel by Fumi Kuroyanagi, Sisters (姉妹, Kyodai). Updated to the present day and co-scripted by Kaneto Shindo, the film paints the sisters as representing a generational divide with the older, much more conservative of the girls is drawn to a traditional lifestyle while equally corrupted by the city in her conversion to Christianity, while the younger is a truth-telling free spirit deciding that she doesn’t want that kind of life and will find a husband for herself if indeed she ever decides to marry.

The Kondo family is evidently quite progressive in that they are not wealthy but have chosen to send both of their older daughters to study at middle and high school in the town where they lodge with their mother’s sister (Yuko Mochizuki). They also have three younger brothers who have stayed with their parents in the village, while their father (Akitake Kono) works at a hydroelectric dam. The fact that he works at a power plant aligns him with the post-war recovery which is largely built on the back of these new engineering endeavours, but there is little discussion of the ways in which they’ve changed and disrupted rural life. 

As New Year approaches, everyone is looking forward to them meeting their end of the year challenge so they’ll get a 1000 yen bonus only for a sudden outage to occur on the deadline day. The older sister, Keiko (Hitomi Nozoe), becomes fond of a worker named Oka (Taketoshi Naito) who is part of the labour movement and often sings Russian songs but is an economic migrant from another town living frugally while sending most of his pay back to his mother and siblings. He is already supporting a family, and therefore has no prospect of marriage for the foreseeable future. Even if he and Keiko have taken a liking to each other, they each accept the practical reality and agree that it is better that Keiko accept an arranged match her parents have set up for her with a young man who works in a bank. The groom’s occupation echoes the increasing urbanisation of the nation, as the parents clearly believe the marriage will buy Keiko a much more comfortable life in a higher social class even if Keiko seems to want to stay in the village.

While they lived in the town, Keiko converted to Christianity out of loneliness because she could talk to God any time she wanted. Toshiko (Hitomi Nakahara), the younger sister, points out it might have been a better idea to make friends who were a bit more local, but despite appearances Keiko seems better suited to a more old-fashioned way of life. Christianity reinforces her conservatism in that she hopes to always be pure and correct and takes against those she does not think to be. On their visit home, the girls witness a young woman they know be beaten by her husband who is much older than her. Keiko takes against the woman and rudely leaves her home. Later the woman is beaten again because her husband discovers a young man in their home. No additional explanations are sought, the woman is assumed to have been involved with another man more her own age, but surprisingly some of the villagers speak in her defence telling her husband he’s being unreasonable and raising the double standard that men do this sort of thing all the time. The woman tells Keiko to be careful whom she chooses for a husband. She came to this village never having met the man she would marry, and now she’s stuck here with a child. Her only ray of light is that she will raise her son to be a better man than his father. 

Keiko’s future happiness depends entirely on the nature of a man she doesn’t know. In the town, the girls had been somewhat disillusioned when their long-absent uncle Ginzaburo (Jun Tatara) returns home from working away and they catch him drunk in the street cavorting with geisha. This is really a double betrayal, not only stepping out their aunt, but selfishly spending what little money they have on trivial pleasures for himself. But like an inverted picture of village life, their aunt seems not to mind and accept it as just something men do. The same uncle is also picked up for illegal gambling, which is more of problem in a practical sense aside from additional evidence of this moral failings. 

All of these experiences have certainly soured Toshiko’s view of marriage, and most particularly of arranged ones which are something that belongs to the older Japan that Keiko still inhabits. A worker at the plant asks Keiko if she’ll be going to university, but she replies that girls in her family don’t and that she’d rather be married. Toshiko, meanwhile, on witnessing the suffering of those around her and most particularly the poor decides she’d rather be a doctor or politician to try and change society. She supports the strikers at the plant who are protesting against job cuts, but also says they should have resisted more when the protests fail as if they were somehow at fault in their lack of commitment. Her father’s reaction to failing to stop the lay-offs is to stop Toshiko going on her school trip because the other workers’ children can’t even go to school now their fathers have been let go, which doesn’t really make sense and is not really fair, though he is also worried about his job amid this very changeable society. 

For Toshiko’s part, she remains staunchly of the village but is ironically more suited to life in the town, which is to say the future. People are always telling her that she speaks her mind too often and that people in the town aren’t as forgiving as those in the village, but she continues to speak as she finds and indifferent to censure. Keiko criticises her for behaving like a boy, wearing rustic work clothes and chopping wood while they’re home for New Year and not helping out with the domestic work like cooking and cleaning which she thinks of as a daughter’s duty. Toshiko develops a friendship with a wealthy girl from school who apparently likes her more than a friend and asks her to be her first kiss, lending a queer-coded dimension to Toshiko’s rejection of traditional gender roles and desire for a more independent life in the town. 

She recognises both that greater class disparities exist in the urban environment than they did in the village, but also feels sorry for her friend who shares the same name but is trapped by her privilege. When Toshiko visits their home, it’s clear the girl’s mother looks down on her because she’s not of their social class, while Toshiko’s friend has an older sister and younger brother with apparent disabilities that the family keeps hidden away in shame. Meanwhile, the sisters become aquatinted with an elderly couple who are both disabled themselves while their daughter is ill with TB. Without thinking, Toshiko uses a slur word to describe a disabled person when talking about her friend’s family without thinking about the fact that the father is also blind. They don’t mind at all, but if even Toshiko is thoughtless enough to use a word like that it only reinforces the prejudice of the world around her.

The implication is that if the old couple lived in the village, there would be people around to help them, but in the town everyone is anonymous and indifferent. The state should be filling in for the community, but it isn’t and there’s no one to help the vulnerable in the increasingly capitalistic post-war society. The irony is that Uncle Ginzaburo says everything was better in the war and that Japan can’t survive without conflict, while the fact the economy is improving in the mid-1950s is entirely due to the stimulus of the Korean War. Even so, Toshiko remains generous of spirit. She doesn’t agree with her sister’s decision and is worried for her, but also agrees that they can only be true to themselves and follow their own paths. This is what Keiko has chosen, no matter how it might turn out, while Toshiko has rejected it, insisting she’ll find her own husband if she wants one and vowing to be useful and fight injustice in the wider world whatever form that may take. She wishes her sister good luck as she watches her disappear over the horizon, and sets off on her own path into a future that’s equally of her own choosing.


My Daughter Is a Zombie (좀비딸, Pil Gam-seong, 2025)

Jung-hwan’s (Jo Jung-suk) daughter Soo-a (Choi Yu-ri) is growing up. She’s no longer enthused about going to the amusement park for her birthday and wishes her father would stop buying churros to mark the occasion. Maybe there’s a part of Jung-hwan that’s frightened of this development, no longer quite knowing who his teenage daughter is becoming and confused by her moodiness. When she’s bitten during the zombie epidemic, however, it might be Jung-hwan who’s bitten off more than he can chew in deciding to hide her from the authorities in the hope she might get “better”.

More family drama than horror movie, Pil Gam-seong’s webtoon adaptation My Daughter is a Zombie (좀비딸, Jombittal) is on one level about unconditional parental love as Jung-hwan refuses to give up on Soo-a and continues to “train” her to regain her memories. With echoes of another pandemic, the film considers society’s reaction to “infectees” who are rounded up and killed to stop the threat of the infection. On returning to his rural hometown to live with his mother, Jung-hwan reunites with a childhood friend, Yeon-hwa (Cho Yeo-jeong), who has since become a teacher, but she has a pathological hated of zombies and until recently had made a point of beating them to death with her kendo sword. Still carrying the trauma of having to kill her fiancé who attacked her, Yeon-hwa doesn’t want to accept that Soo-a could be getting better because that would mean the “zombies” she killed were just people who were ill and could have recovered if she hadn’t murdered them out of rage and prejudice. Indeed, once the infection calms down, the relatives of people killed by state forces begin to ask questions and protest that their loved ones shouldn’t have been treated with such cruel indifference.

Then again, in terms of zombie movies, people who suggest that perhaps they should give the infected a chance rather than proactively killing them don’t usually last very long. The film takes place in a universe in which zombie movies exist with Train to Busan even getting a name check, but none of that’s very helpful to Jung-hwan as he tries to figure out how to keep his daughter safe while also trying to heal her. His job as a tiger trainer seems to come in handy in trying to navigate Soo-a’s new aggressive nature, while his mother Bam-soon (Lee Jung-eun) mostly makes use of her god-given granny powers and a wooden spoon to keep Soo-a in line. 

Meanwhile, the promise of a cure and treatment in America is waged agains the vast bounty the government is offering as a reward for turning in zombies. A not so friendly face shows up and tries to kidnap Soo-a for the reward money while even crassly suggesting to Jung-hwan that they split it between them when he tries to intervene and get Soo-a back. In healing Soo-a back to health, Jung-hwan is both attempting to repay a debt and assert himself as Soo-a’s father by essentially rebooting her so that she recovers the shared memories of her childhood.

To that extent, Soo-a’s time as a zombie is a kind of express adolescence in which she travels from grunting teenager to a young woman with a better appreciation for her father and the trouble he went to raise her. Of course, one could say that it’s all a little patriarchal and perhaps Jung-hwan is “taming” her to fit his own image of what his daughter should be much as he tamed the tiger and taught it to dance, but then again Soo-a is also readjusting herself and trying to figure out how to be a person in her own right after moving to her father’s rural hometown where she’s badgered into attending the local school despite her “illness” because there are only four other pupils and otherwise it’s going to have to close. The village is very proud of its current zero infections record, but the funny this they’re all very accepting of Soo-a, though they just think she’s a bit different rather than a “zombie” after buying Jung-hwan’s possibly uncomfortable excuse that she suffered brain damage in an accident. A father’s undying love does, however, eventually save the world after a continual process of being wounded by his daughter and healing again gives Jung-hwan a means to beat the disease if only in his refusal to give up on the idea his daughter will eventually recover.


Trailer (English subtitles)