CRITERION REVIEW: #584 KURONEKO (dir. Kaneto Shindo) 1968
*** CRITERION CORNER PICK OF THE MONTH! ***
The Film: Since Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, I guess it follows that all of the really scorned women are stuck here on this mortal coil, locked in a cycle of fevered reprisals for all time. Four years after the release of his masterpiece Onibaba, Kaneto Shindo once again combined his twin obsessions of sex and spirits to deliver the delightful (if comparatively lightweight) ghost story of Kuroneko (or “Black Cat”). Essentially filling this year’sHouse slot, Kuroneko is a devious little tale, dense with fog and gender politics and eventually capitulating to camp in a third act turn that Shindo’s sublime tonal alchemy allows to become the most narratively satisfying paw vs. sword showdown in film history (and there’s more contention for that honor than you might think).
Kuroneko begins with a long, austere, and memorably horrific opening image: A gang of soldiers deviating from the civil war at hand to rape and murder the mother and daughter-in-law who live in a small woodsy cottage. A few black kittens are the only living creatures to witness the transgression, mewling and licking the fresh wounds of the recently dead women. Cut to the Rajoman Gate (which should sound familiar), where an ethereal woman in white emerges from the thick of night to ask a passing samurai to escort her home through the bamboo grove. The mask of lust the samurai wears seems to blind him from the mess of supernatural overtones, as he’s blind to Shindo’s reservoirs of silence, the woman’s unusually light gait, and, um, the fact that her ponytail wags like the tail of a cat. The veiled figure leads the samurai to her house where her mother appears with some drink, and — in an exquisitely choreographed dance of death — the cycle begins anew the next evening. Enough men fall victim to the spirits that the local authorities become concerned, eventually summoning a war hero named Gintoki (Kichiemon Nakamura) to deal with the matter. But Gintoki, it seems, has met these ghosts before.
Rich with atmosphere and a knowing smile (the cat paws, a backdrop of a bold sun for Gintoki to ride his steed across), Kuroneko is one of those rare tales to so fluidly marry portent to pathos. GIntoki’s dilemma is the stuff of classical folklore, but the sexual frankness and yearning with which it’s explored is pure Shindo, his film frequently allowing the drama to be interrupted with flourishes of ballet, wu xia, and Noh theater in order for the layered dynamics to best express themselves. A beautiful, drum-kissed dialogue between time, transformation, and the various desires of the physical world, Kuroneko is a true delight — Shindo seems to be have had a ton of fun with the material, and his crooked joy is still wildly contagious.
The Transfer: Criterion’s transfer is solid if unspectacular, clearly illustrating the pivotal contrast between the dense black of night and the luminous ladies who emerge from it. It’s not quite as precise as their HD transfer of Harakiri (which involves similar spaces), but it’s strong and expressive and compares favorably to the print I saw in theaters last year.
The Extras: Kuroneko is rather impoverished so far as supplements are concerned, and it’s a bit of a shame. There are only 2 bonus features beyond the invariable trailer, including a 16-minute video interview with Japanese film scholar Tadao Sato, whose insights into Kuroneko are both unique and impassioned. His delightful segment will leave you bummed out that he didn’t contribute an entire commentary track.
The Best Bit: The only other bonus on the disc is a great one: An hour-long interview with Shindo, recorded for the Japanese Directors Guild in 1998. Shindo is already an old man, and seems collapsed into his slight frame, but the chat (hosted by his long-time assistant) is a wonderful listen, as the filmmaker candidly discusses his formative years and a wide selection of his work. It’s worth mentioning that Shindo — now 99 years-old, has directed Japan’s entry to the 2011 Academy Awards. It’s called Post Card, and it’s his final film.
The Artwork: Criterion artists Sam Smith and Eric Skillman have collaborated to deliver a truly unique Criterion cover, the first lenticular or whatever you call it in the company’s history. It’s a gorgeously ethereal design in the first place (based off Smith’s one-sheet design and flecked with the thick, jangly font he created by hand), but as you tilt the box and the figure on the front disappears from the grove… it’s perfection, and it totally nails the film’s unique tone.
The Verdict: 88 / 100
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