Onibaba

Japanese auteur Kaneto Shindo's tenth directorial effort, Onibaba (1964) is a high-concept art film fused with historical fiction and peppered with tense horror imagery. The film delivers on many aspects, including some beautiful cinematography, stunning visuals, costumes, set-pieces, and a terrific score from Hikaru Hayashi, who, amazingly, has scored all of Shindo's 44 films. The repetitive script and glacial pace, however, leave something to be desired, and the execution of Shindo's unique morality is quite heavy-handed for my taste.

Onibaba is set in 14th century rural Japan, in the midst of the Nanboku-cho period, where two imperial courts made seemingly endless upon each other. Large scale warfare meant many of Japan's young men joined an army in search wages, plunder, and fame. The fields and crops were left untended, or ravaged by hungry troops or fearsome battles. Those left behind, the infirm, the elderly, women and children, faced a meager existence, scraping out a living in any way they could. Our nameless protagonists, a middle-aged woman and her daughter-in-law, are two such individuals. Living in a small reed hut in a vast field of towering susuki grass by the banks of a small river, the two women eke out a living killing any soldiers unlucky enough to wander into their field. The soldiers' armor, clothes, and weapons are used as barter to purchase millet and other food stuffs.

One day, the pair's tenuous existence is disturbed by the return of their neighbor, Hachi. The young man returns from battle with sad news of the death of Kichi, the old woman's son and the young woman's husband. While the women deal with their grief, Hachi has his eye on his late friend's wife and on the women's business arrangement. The sexually-charged atmosphere only gets more complicated with the arrival of a mysterious samurai disguised behind a hideous demon mask.

Kiyomi Kuroda's camerawork is outstanding, if somewhat repetitive. Utilizing a deeply contrasted black and white palette, Kuroda is at his best in the shadows, while stark and harsh lighting make the scenes crackle with intensity. Yet Kuroda is equally at ease with the sweeping panoramic views, showcasing the susuki grass, giving it an epic and majestic life of its own. The rhythm of the swaying grasses carefully coincides with the intensity of the film's action, and particularly of the sexual tension between Hachi and the young woman.

The period costumes are meticulously rendered, and the costume centerpiece, the demon mask, is one of the most visually stunning pieces in the history of film. My skin crawled with revulsion every time I caught a glance of it. The mask is so memorable, in fact, that William Friedkin borrowed its design for subliminally inserted frames in The Exorcist (1973).

Composer Hikaru Hayashi's score is pure balls-to-the-wall adrenaline. It is an insane tour-de-force of furious percussion, highlighted here and there by primal screams, giving the susuki field the aspect of a haunted carnival. Or a demonic circle of hell.

Onibaba's downfall is the weak writing. To flesh out the story, Shindo resorts to repetition, recycling the same basic dialogue for several scenes. The repetition goes beyond dialogue: a scene involving the young woman running through the grass to Hachi's hut is used over and over again with only slight variation. For someone whose film is otherwise meticulously crafted, you have to wonder at such lazy filmmaking. Of course, in the light of Shindo's moral vision, this can be seen as reinforcement rather than corner-cutting. Even if this is true, it means Shindo is trying to get his point across with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the face. I, for one, am a little insulted by his tactics. They bring down an otherwise technically brilliant film.

Storyline & plot: 5/10
Cinematography & effects: 9/10
Music & mood: 10/10
Performances: 6/10

The Reverend says: 6/10