Tag: Yutaka Kyan

The Curse (ザ・カース, Kenichi Ugana, 2025)

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Could it be fair to say that sometimes we curse ourselves, or perhaps more accurately that the only true curse is morbid curiosity? Those at the centre of Kenichi Ugana’s J-horror inspired The Curse (ザ・カース) have the option to simply stay off social media, but they find themselves unable to do so. Be careful what you post about yourself online, the film seems to say, as if an Instagram profile were basically opening a portal to your soul through which any evil entity pass.

But at the same time, a priest cautions that one may do harm to others without even realising it and it transpires that even the most innocuous of posts can be enough to push someone over the edge. The versions of their lives that people post online are obviously idealised or perhaps aspirational, but they can still provoke a sense of jealousy or envy to the extent that saying “I am having a lovely day” can upset someone who is not and perhaps has not for a long time but continues to hate follow these kinds of accounts. This in itself is a kind of curse, the film argues, as a deepening sense of self-loathing is projected outward towards those apparently living better lives the unhappy obsessive feels they may not deserve.

Still, there is an extent to which the curse is also “real”. When Riko (Yukino Kaizu) spots a creepy photo posted by a friend, Shufen, which is accompanied by the caption “Drop dead already, all of you” and seems to contain the image of a malevolent entity, she is of course immediately concerned. Her anxiety is compounded by the fact that her friend is Taiwanese and posts in Mandarin, so she uses the auto translate feature but has no way of knowing if the translation is accurate. When Shufen fails to reply to messages, Riko decides to get over her sense of awkwardness and contact her ex in Taiwan, a mutual friend. Confused, Jiahao (Yan Yu Teng) tells her Shufen died six months previously in circumstances so strange and disturbing her family preferred to keep it quiet. “Curses are very real, in Taiwan at least,” he tells her. People die from them. 

Riko then faces another barrier in trying to navigate her away around the ritual beliefs of another culture. When her friend Airi began exhibiting strange symptoms after watching a video online, she took her to a doctor who was unable to help. After her Taiwanese friends recommend an exorcism, she begins to feel guilty. Perhaps if she’d contacted a priest instead of a doctor, she could have been more help to Airi. The Japanese-speaking priest in Taiwan isn’t necessarily that much help either, though. He demands payment up front, which reduces his credibility and opens the door to the suggestion that the rituals he provides are more placebo effect than anything else. Nevertheless, it seems he really does have the power to intervene with spirits, only this one is a little beyond his capabilities.  

There’s an essential irony in the fact that Riko is only able to detect the ghostly presence through its reflection in images while otherwise unable to see it lurking in the shadows or under her bed. This embodiment of resentment seems to affect her offline life too as the manager of the upscale hair salon where she works begins to act strangely towards her and a homeless man he warns her about arrives to advise she deal with her ghost problem before it gets out of hand. Ugana frequently cuts back to the ranks of disembodied mannequin heads that line the salon as a kind of foreshadowing lending the place an ominous quality and perhaps playing into the anxieties of the antagonist with its elitist vibes and unwelcoming atmosphere. Perhaps the real villains are unfair female beauty standards, ageism, and lookism, or equally perhaps we’re back at the figure of a witch who doesn’t want to grow old and is cursed with vanity, resentful of those who possess a beauty she believes herself to have lost. Turning unexpectedly bloody in final moments, the film suggests that this particular curse will never be lifted in part because it has become its own reward as this this particular malevolent entity dances cheerfully in her garden, secure in the knowledge that no one is watching.

The Curse is on UK, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand digital platforms 13 July

Trailer (English subtitles)

The Man Who Failed to Die (死に損なった男, Seiji Tanaka, 2025)

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Feeling hopeless in his professional life and surrounded by a city of frustrated, angry people, comedy writer Ippei (Mizukawa Katamari) decides to end it all by throwing himself under the evening train, but as fate would have it, services are interrupted because of an incident at the previous station. Reconsidering his decision, he refunds his ticket and goes back to his life, but he soon finds himself haunted, in literal and figural senses, by the other person who died and, in some ways, ended up saving his life.

Like his earlier film Melancholic, Seiji Tanaka’s The Man Who Failed to Die (死に損なった男, Shini sokonatta otoko) is partly about the things we don’t see which in this case is that many people are struggling and have fallen into despair believing they have no one and nowhere to turn. Before he decides to die, Ippei is knocked over by a cyclist who curses at him for being in his way before riding on, while a woman out running has no option but to jump over him and then carries on her way. Later, he bumps into a man at the station who becomes angry and aggressive, ironically telling him that he should “fuck off and die”. The implication is that in this city everyone is so busy rushing about and overworked that it’s left them frazzled and impatient, overly focussed on the demands placed on them and unable to notice or reach out to others. 

It’s another minor irony that Ippei works in comedy which is supposed to entertain people, cheer them up, and relieve their stress, but it’s actually very hard work and incredibly competitive. When he returns after his failed attempt to die, he’s cornered by his manager and a comedian who is annoyed that she hasn’t been given as many lines as the men and feels she’s being discriminated against on the grounds of her gender. Ippei tries to explain that she’s got the punchlines and there are fewer of them because of the comedic rhythm, but it’s something that’s difficult to explain without performing the piece in front of an audience. He’s also been dumped by one of the groups he works with because they’ve chosen to go with a bigger producer who has better TV connections. The duo he’s working with now are struggling with some material that’s not really hitting home while preparing for a competition that’s only a couple of weeks away. Ippei suggests completely reworking the routine, but is obviously difficult for everyone and not least himself who’s going to have to come up with a killer idea in record time. 

Which is all to say he’s under a lot of stress, and if he did just hallucinate the ghost of the man who died in place of him, Tomohiro (Bokuzo Masana), that would be understandable. Tomohiro has unfinished business, and thinks that Ippei should take care of it for him seeing as he technically saved his life, but what he wants him to do is kill the abusive ex who’s started stalking his daughter again now the restraining order’s expired. The film sort of suggests that Wakamatsu (Yutaka Kyan) became violent because of these same stresses after losing his businesses during the pandemic, but nevertheless he’s a frightening and controlling presence while Aya (Erika Karata) is quite clearly terrified of him. Once again, when Ippei interrupts Wakamatsu in the street trying to force his way into Tomohiro’s house, another passerby picks up his dog and walks on without stopping to check if everything’s alright. Perhaps it’s fair enough that they didn’t want to get involved in a dangerous situation, but to speaks to the ongoing indifference of society in which few are willing step in and help women like Aya and men like Wakamatsu are allowed to go on bullying and tormenting those around them.

Getting involved in Tomohiro’s quest does however help Ippei to get a handle on his life and an acceptance that having failed to die he’s still here and has a chance to start again. He begins to realise that the reason he wanted to die was that although he had achieved his dreams of working in comedy, it all seemed quite meaningless and he’d lost sight of what took him there in the first place. Rather than contribute to the angry society around him, he resolves to be happy for other people’s successes and understand that even if someone appears to be successful it doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t struggling or in need of help too. Filled with a gentle absurdity and good humour, the film is despite its darker themes an argument for a little more compassion and solidarity in the face of the constant pressure of a fast-paced society.

The Man Who Failed to Die screened as part of this year’s Camera Japan.

Trailer (no subtitles)

The Gesuidouz (ザ・ゲスイドウズ, Kenichi Ugana, 2024)

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According to Hanako, vocalist of the band The Gesuidouz (ザ・ゲスイドウズ), punk is “like this miso soup”. She later describes the soup as soothing, made by her bandmate Santaro who turns out to be an unexpectedly dab hand in the kitchen, though in many ways the band’s selling point is that they aren’t very good at anything, least of all music. Even so, and quite crucially, they have one devoted, though otherwise anonymous fan who comes to all their gigs and dances wildly which just goes to prove that the old lady who becomes a kind of muse to them was right when she said there was probably someone out there to whom their music meant more than anything. 

But Hanako is writing under the shadow of death because she’s just turned 26 and is convinced she’s going to join the 27 club which means she has a very limited window to achieve her musical destiny. Perhaps in a way it’s a kind of quarter life crisis, or the sense of desperation that can be felt while young that time is already running out and you still haven’t made anything of your life. You still don’t know who you are or what you want to be and in Hanako’s case, no one has much faith her except her bandmates who stoically excuse their lack of audience under the rationale that everyone’s very busy these days and they should make sure to consult the calendar when they’re booking gigs. 

In fact, her manager’s the least supportive of all. He calls the band “rubbish” though casually admitting the may have forgotten to even release their album though it’s true that no one’s buying it. He’s the one that talks them into taking part in a government-backed scheme to encourage young people to move to the country in exchange for a stipend and place to live. But the weird thing is, unlike the indifference they felt in the city, the local community embrace their eccentricity and support their music even if they find it difficult to see what’s good about it. Despite describing the place where she lives as a “shithole”, the old lady listens patiently to Hanako’s tall tales about headlining Glastonbury while arranging gigs for them to play for such esteemed audiences as the local cows while bemused elderly resents look on stony faced but ultimately supportive. After all, as the old lady says, it’s a rare gift to create something so amazing that other people don’t understand it.

Though obsessed with horror films, darkness, and death, Hanako is strangely touched by country warmth and almost seems to tear up on the simple gift of a bunch of leeks after working in the fields. In a funny way, this village is actually quite like Glastonbury, a small rural settlement with a down-to-earth new age sensibility that suddenly erupts with music even if in this case on a much smaller scale. The old lady who becomes in a way a future echo of Hanako might be the most punk of all, joyfully living her little life in the shithole she’s never been outside of but welcoming these weird youngsters with patience, warmth, and acceptance which eventually allows Hanako to find a way back to herself and to art leading to a kind of rebirth in contrast to the death she was convinced was waiting for her. 

Of course, that all comes from a talking dog giving life advice through he medium of pithy quotes and song lyrics divined through automatic writing while practicing calligraphy. With frequent references to classic horror films, the film is an ode to the strangeness of country life but also its borderless horizons and sense of community solidarity alien to Hanako’s lonely life in Tokyo. But tellingly this is a paradise destined to be lost as the band finds success separating them from the environment that made them successful, fostering their art but also their souls with its gentle sense of acceptance. Often hilarious in its matter of factness, Kenichi Ugana’s anarchic dramedy has true punk spirit which is to say there’s nothing more punk rock than a good bowl of miso soup crafted with wholesome practicality and an altruistic desire for mutual happiness.

The Gesuidouz screens 30th November as part of this year’s London International Fantastic Film Festival (LIFFF)

Original trailer (English subtitles)