If you’re a fan of Japanese horror, you’ve probably stumbled upon a film by Koji Shiraishi at one point or another. Whether it’s his 2005 found-footage stunner Noroi: The Curse, or the over-the-top Sadako vs. Kayako (2016), which pits the ghosts of both Ringu and Ju-On against each other in a brawl for the ages.
In both of the aforementioned films, Shiraishi is able to effectively create sympathetic villains by delving into the tragic backstories of these characters and their misfortunes; he reveals that they are often victims of circumstance, sent down their destructive paths due to the actions of others. However, in his other found-footage works, Shiraishi explores the complexities of the terrifying villains he creates by allowing the audience to spend time with them, using the medium to create first-hand relationships between the characters and the camera. It’s through this humanization that he’s able to expertly make the viewer feel both sympathetic and horrified by the heinous acts that are shown on screen.
In 2009’s Occult, Shiraishi plays a version of himself who leads a documentary crew on an investigation of a murder and attack at a beachside resort. As they interview survivors, the film slowly begins to shift its focus to the story of Shôhei Uno (played by Shiraishi himself), who had a ritualistic symbol carved into his back by the murderer which left him able to hear the voice of an ancient deity and witness what he calls “small miracles.” Uno is portrayed as a downtrodden replacement worker scraping together an existence by sleeping and showering in manga cafés while eating dollar ramen that he weighs by hand to gauge value, showing excitement when his choice contains a few small pieces of wilted cabbage. The crew offer to pay him for each miracle recorded and even let him bunk on the floor of their production studio. This is a charity he graciously accepts, vowing to pay them back for their kindness through dinner after his first real paycheck.
Similarly, A Record of Sweet Murder (2014) follows journalist Kim Soyeon (Kkobbi Kim) and her cameraman Tashiro, played by director Shiraishi, who are both called to an abandoned apartment building by childhood friend-turned-mass murderer Sang-joon Park (Je-wook Yeon). While playing outside as children, Park recorded the death of one of their friends who was hit by a speeding car in the backstreets of South Korea. He’s committed to a mental institution at age 10, but breaks out 17 years later in order to commit a total of 27 murders, which “the voice of God” has told him will bring their dead friend and his vitcims back to life. The acts of violence we see in the film feel reluctant, with a jittery and uncertain Park wincing as if it causes him physical pain to carry out his actions, and even admitting that he feels remorse for his crimes. Also, despite trapping her in a dangerous situation, he shows genuine concern for the wellbeing of Soyeon throughout the film, tending to the slash wound he gave her, and reassuring her that she will be fine.
Both films further humanize their antagonists through the interactions they have with the crew recording them and by extension the viewer, due to Shiraishi inserting himself into the story. In Occult, Shiraishi and Uno form a true camaraderie — first through working on the documentary, and later as they work together to complete the task Uno has been sent on by the deity. In the latter film, Park has to rely on the crew in order to complete his ritual. Though he threatens them to keep them in the building he does his best to avoid being truly violent with Tashiro and Soyeon. Soyeon even comments that despite all that he’s done, he hasn’t changed much since they were children.
As a director, Shiraishi revels in building a tension between the image he’s created of his villains, the terrible things we’ve seen them do, and the supernatural forces that compel them; ultimately revealing that each element feeds into the next, driving the characters to their inevitable destruction.
The third act of Occult comes to a head when Shiraishi’s character learns that he and Uno are both marked by the deity and that they must work together to bring people into the “other world” by performing a suicide bombing at the busy Shibuya train station. Though he’s adamantly opposed, Shiraishi’s character is terrified into cooperation by Uno in a cutaway reveal that sees him first transform into the original attacker and then into a cosmic abomination. Uno maintains his thankful demeanor up until the detonation and even after his mysterious disappearance in the blast; returning the camera and dollar he borrowed from Shiraishi’s character by transporting them through time from the hell dimension he is now trapped in.
Likewise, in A Record of Sweet Murder, after kidnapping and murdering two couples in a search for final victims who display true love, Park learns that both he and Soyeon have also been marked by the the voice he’s been hearing. In order to bring their friend back he must first kill Soyeon and then himself. After tearfully taking Soyeon’s life, he comes face to face with a cosmic horror and is transported back in time to the death of their friend; throwing himself in front of the car and saving their life. The film ends with the camera again falling through time, and landing at the feet of the trio in a different timeline where they lived happily and healthily in the city.
In the end, Shiraishi’s characters are both sympathetic and malicious; taking the darkest pathway possible for a chance to change their lives. By humanizing his villains in this way, he doesn’t make excuses for what they’ve done, but leaves you to determine if the sacrifices they made were worth it.
I’m still trying to answer that question myself.
