kwaidan

There's been a resurgence of minimalist ghost stories in cinemas of late. Saw and other related splatter franchises finally succumbed to subtler PG-13 frights that, while not always original, at least make you reach for the armrest rather than a barf bag. In a sense Kwaidan (1964) is the most minimal horror film ever made, consisting of four traditional Japanese ghost stories that, if presented in a straightforward linear fashion, would take up only around a half-hour of screen time. But director Masaki Kobayashi's film run three full hours, telling each tale at a pace that demands the utmost patience...but delivers the most visually sumptuous rewards.

The first story, The Black Hair, foreshadows many '90s J-horror entries like The Ring featuring stringy-haired ghost girls looking for revenge. But, but based on folk tales, there's a bit more of a lesson involved as an arrogant swordsman leaves his loyal wife to look for good fortune elsewhere. Years later, rich but unsatisfied, he returns to his home to find his wife still waiting for him...and, rather suspiciously, looking as young as ever.

The Woman of the Snow begins with a pair of woodsmen caught unprepared by a blizzard that harbors something even more dangerous than frostbite. Spared from an icy death by a murderous winter spirit, the lone survivor vows never to reveal his secret. But a decade later, after years of marital bliss, a momentary weakness may cost him and his family their lives.

Hoichi the Earless concerns a blind apprentice at an isolated monastery who is tricked by the local spirits to sing them tales of their own deaths during a great sea battle. As his health fails, his fellow monks attempt to make Hoichi invisible to the ghosts by tattooing his body from head to toe with holy text. But, as hinted at by the title, not every body part makes the cut.

Finally, In a Cup of Tea, features a warrior so confident in his abilities that even ghosts fear his sword. Until they don't.

Kwaidan is cinema at its most technically magnificent. Kobayashi shot each segment on hand painted sets inside an enormous airplane hanger; crafting forests, rivers, oceans and cozy cottages out of the same clever use of space. His stylized approach, made up of grandiose colored backdrops, tattered flags and swirling snow, is always one or two steps removed from reality; just enough make one nervous as the natural and supernatural worlds collide. The most expensive Japanese film ever made at the time, it's not a frightening film but it's as genuinely unsettling as it is beautiful, with Kobayashi's camera floating along in ways that are almost supernatural in itself.

Equally impressive is the experimental score by Toru Takemitsu, which rings out with cacophonous musical cues...only to disappear altogether in other stories. Combined with the actors deliberate performance style, Kwaidan plays very much like a silent film from the early days of cinema. For some, that's pure artistic bliss. For others...well, isn't there a new Paranormal Activity coming out?

Criterion couldn't have chosen a more perfect release to bless with a hi-def upgrade. The transfer does wonders with the film's color scheme and includes the aforementioned longer 3-hour cut plus extras like an audio commentary from Stephen Prince (masterfully done considering the film's length), Kobayashi interview, a new interview with assistant director Kiyoshi Ogasawara and a new featurette on the author whose translations the film's stories were based upon.