Tag: cult classic

Film by Ezekiel Yu
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A shot from Kiyoshi Kurosawa's cult classic "Pulse," depicting a woman in front of multiple computer monitors, as reviewed by poet/critic Ezekiel Yu for the automachination literary magazine.

Wight Screens: Reviewing Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “Pulse” (2001)

Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s 2001 J-horror film Pulse (or Kairo, which translates to “Circuit”) operates on two levels: 1) on the atmospheric level, stemming from the film’s mis-en-scene and sound design, creating a fully distinct audiovisual world from pure “vibes,” and 2) as a traditional genre story, since it presents a baffling mystery involving two separate plots which will purportedly be unveiled over the course of its telling.

Pulse succeeds with the first of these, and fails with the other. Its achievements, however, while not enough to completely rescue the film from its (more or less) mid-tier quality, were enough to earn it the status of cult classic upon its release. There are a number of memorable scenes—including what may be, according to one reviewer, the signature sequence in all of J-horror—and an overall aura that believably captures the anxiety over what was fairly new technology at the time: the Internet, and all its attendant dangers, particularly that of mass social alienation.

Pulse is a ghost story, but calling it a ghost story would be to, in a way, undersell the film; at least in terms of its ultimate scope, which widens out from a tight-knit circle of friends in the Kantō region of Japan to eventually encompass the whole world. This enlargement is ambitious but also turns out to be Pulse’s weakness, as its eeriness is most effective when confined primarily to the situation of the main characters. Like many intriguing mysteries, the payoff turns out to be less compelling than the mystery itself. […]

Film by Ezekiel Yu
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A shot of father and daughter in Tarsem Singh's "The Fall" (2006), as chosen by film reviewer Ezekiel Yu.

With Quick Descent: Reviewing Tarsem Singh’s “The Fall” (2006)

Describing a film as “miraculous” usually indicates that a critic is guilty of overhype, and/or of sacrificing analytical acumen in favor of gushing over a work that has some measure of deep personal import, for most feature films are at least somewhat difficult to make, requiring all sorts of exigencies and monetary gear-turning in order to even get off the ground—but when it comes to Tarsem Singh’s The Fall, the term seems almost bluntly apt.

With shooting locations in twenty-four countries, financed largely through the director’s own funds, and made over a four-year period (Singh says he had his wrap party before production began, as he had no concrete idea on when they’d ever finish), The Fall nearly failed to find its way to the big screen. Distributors quailed at the production’s extravagance, the plot’s complicatedness to a mainstream audience: Harvey Weinstein, even, purportedly walked out of an early screening of the film. Its premiere at the 2006 Toronto Film Festival garnered mixed reviews, which resulted in a limited theatrical run, and in the years since its release, survived mostly as a cult favorite through the efforts of cinephiles and academics. […]

Film by Laura Woods
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Posters over time depicting Fritz Lang's classic silent film, "Metropolis" (1927).

Myth in Motion: Review of Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” (1927)

Sometimes, restriction can push greatness into being, heightening what’s left in its confines. I’ve often noticed this in poetry, with certain writers reaching their zeniths in formalism while their talent slackens in free verse. But my recent attempts to become more acquainted with silent films have provided me with another example of this principle at work. In fact, I often find myself thinking that silent cinema seems like a whole different medium to the “talkies” (it’s really kind of a shame that it couldn’t have continued to develop alongside the latter as a parallel variant of film, but I digress). Silence instils its own demands, and so, its own unique opportunities for pay-offs. What clearer demonstration could be had of this than watching Fritz Lang’s 1927 film, Metropolis?

Viewing Metropolis in 2024, I’m left with an impression of something both familiar, and somehow alien. The film’s depiction of its setting has created a wake of imitators over the last almost 100 years of science fiction—its skyscrapers continue to loom in pop-culture’s view of The Future. Metropolis’s towering imagery has left its imprint, and yet this does nothing to diminish the distinctive power that it holds. Part of the visual signature of the film, and in my opinion, one of the most striking and unusual (to modern eyes) aspects, is in the stylised way its actors move. I often felt like I was watching a dance. From the opening scenes of workers mechanically trudging like cattle at their shift change, we move to the fluid frolicking of the city’s young elites in their gardens above, and through their movement, we understand all that we need to about this unequal world. It’s not altogether realistic—but this is a strength, since it’s very much in keeping with the fable-like tone of the story. […]

Film by Jessica Schneider
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A stylized shot of Candace Hilligoss anxiously driving a car in Herk Harvey's "Carnival of Souls".

Company of Others: On Herk Harvey’s “Carnival of Souls” (1962)

Imagine a film where the only time we witness a woman alive is in the first few moments when, following a drag race, the car she is in careens off a bridge and into a river. Following, all are dead, save what appears to be her, who pulls herself out from muck and swamp like a zombie, walking slowly and claiming to not remember anything. Then flashes the title and the eerie, ambient organ music that accompanies. It’s not that the scene is scary insomuch as otherworldly. So who is she exactly?

Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls stars Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss) as an attractive young woman who seems to move about in a dream, where she remains detached, and reviles human contact. After the accident, she informs her employers about her new job as a church organist in Utah (she studied organ in college). Astute and cerebral, Mary appears as though something else is continually on her mind. When she’s pleasantly asked to ‘come back and visit,’ she replies coldly, ‘thank you, but I am never coming back.’ Throughout, this emotional detachment is paramount to assessing Mary’s character. ‘I have no use for the company of others,’ she says. At one moment, she seems head strong and alien, as though she does not belong with the human race, but then, when inundated with fear due to the presence of a strange man who continues to follow her (played by director Herk Harvey), she is emotional, feeble, needy. She does not want to be alone. […]