Kuroneko (Kaneto Shindo, 1968)

Kichiemon Nakamura and Kiwako Taichi in Kuroneko

Gintoki: Kichiemon Nakamura
Yone: Nobuko Otowa
Shige: Kiwako Taichi
Raiko: Kei Sato

Director: Kaneto Shindo
Screenplay: Kaneto Shindo
Cinematography: Norimichi Igawa, Kiyomi Kuroda
Art direction: Takashi Marumo
Film editing: Hisao Enoki
Music: Hikaru Hayashi

Sometimes mood is everything, especially in a ghost story. The film that starts creepy and stays creepy tests our tolerance for creepiness. Kaneto Shindo seems to know this. He starts Kuroneko with a peaceful pastoral scene: a hut with a small brook running past its door, and in the distance fields backed by the wall of a forest. He lingers on this scene just long enough for it to register on us before ragged samurai begin to emerge from the forest, approach the brook in front of the hut, and drink thirstily from it. Then he cuts to the inside, where two terrified woman are watching the approach of the samurai, who enter the hut, pillage it, rape and murder the women, and set fire to the hut. Then we cut to the opening frame as the samurai return to the forest and smoke begins to billow from the hut. It blazes up, and Shindo cuts to the aftermath: the ruins of the hut and the bodies of the women, strangely unconsumed by the fire. A black cat enters and sniffs around the women, then begins to lick their wounds. Then it's nighttime, and the scene changes to the Rajomon (or Rashomon) Gate in Kyoto, where the supernatural story begins: The women are now ghosts, their former rags replaced by fine garments, who lure the samurai who violated and killed them to their handsome dwelling in a bamboo grove, where they bite out their throats and drink their blood. Shindo's mastery at setting up a plausibly real opening and slowly transitioning to the eerie vengeance of the dead women, who seem to float and sometimes move with, well, catlike grace. News of the deaths of the samurai reaches the emperor, who orders the chief samurai, Raiko, to deal with the problem. We then cut to a fight between a young soldier and a huge man armed with an iron-studded club. The soldier vanquishes the big man, cuts off his head, and rides home to bring the news that he's the only survivor of a battle. Raiko rewards the soldier by making him a samurai and giving him the name Gintoki. The interpolation of the fight scene and Gintoki's ride again break the mood, providing a welcome contrast with the ghost scenes. Proudly, Gintoki goes to see his wife and his mother, only to find the ruins of their hut -- they were, of course, the victims of the marauding samurai. And Raiko then orders Gintoki to prove his valor by finding and killing the "monster" that has been slaughtering his samurai. Eventually, of course, Gintoki will discover that the killers are the ghosts of his wife, Shige, and his mother, Yone, setting up an impossible moral dilemma. It's a tense, beautifully photographed, often surprisingly erotic, and subtly terrifying film that even I, usually immune to the shocks of horror movies, can appreciate.