To the Ends of the Earth works best as a character study of an introvert in a place unknown to them. Someone who’s had a fear instilled in them since birth — an all-encompassing, non-specific trepidation that distorts every aspect of human interaction in the outside world. After achieving international acclaim for an inimitable sense of the otherworldly in his films during the early-2000s J-horror wave, director Kiyoshi Kurosawa seems to want to make every effort possible to challenge the limits of his own stylistic arsenal, resulting in an exciting showcase of the auteur’s burgeoning versatility.
Yoko (former AKB48 star Atsuko Maeda) hurriedly learns her lines after getting to set late. It’s not her ideal job, but being a TV reporter for a travel docuseries is something that, despite its demands, seems to have been a realistic alternative to her pipe dream of pursuing a singing career. However, as the plot unfolds in the desertous plains and cities of Uzbekistan, Yoko fantasizes — via surreal musical number — about the day when she can belt out a version of Édith Piaf’s aching “Hymne à l’Amour” to a packed Navoi Theater (the gorgeous national opera house built by Japanese prisoners of war post-WWII).
In one particularly harrowing sequence of tonal clash, Yoko goes for a ride on one of those dingy, definitely-not-safe, spin-you-till-your-eyes-come-out, throw-up machines that a clinically disinterested teenager would normally be operating at some underfunded county fair. It’s all for a segment in the show though, so of course the crew’s DP (Ryo Kase) and director (Shota Sometani) call for multiple takes without a care in the world for their reporter’s health.
As she goes for her second and third rides, Yoko’s screams of enthusiasm turn into anguished cries, and she is subjected to a neverending flurry of forceful revolutions. The scene is nauseating to watch not only because of the endless rotations, but also due to the spell of ‘professionalism’ that Yoko is under; something which deprives her of having any control over the situation. Neglecting to protest, she ends up having no input on whether or not she can keep going, and even asks the director’s permission to throw up at one point. The out of control spinning becomes a stunning and deeply unsettling visual metaphor for her current predicament, as we see her trapped in a soul crushing, rinse-and-repeat work cycle, without any stop button in sight.
Equal parts interested in Yoko’s professional vacillations as it is in exploring the alienating effects of language barriers, much of the film’s runtime is spent highlighting the downsides of Yoko’s fight-or-flight instincts. She runs across highways to avoid getting lost, assumes the worst of fellow pedestrians trying to give her directions in Uzbek, and is paranoid about even the simplest of social exchanges.
The second it seems like Yoko’s insecurities and internal struggles are being presented with Uzbekistan as an exotic backdrop though, Kurosawa makes it a point to bring her closed-minded impulses to the forefront, impelling Yoko towards a realization of how harmful her blinkered worldview is. It must be mentioned though, that the fact that Yoko is a solo female traveler in a new country is not something which is factored into understanding her anxieties as much as it could have been, and not acknowledging how that could have played into her behavior feels like a misstep.
More aligned with the allures of the slow, methodical storytelling behind Tokyo Sonata than the hard-to-put-your-finger-on eeriness of Cure, To the Ends of the Earth isn’t something with an outright selling point that will appeal to the flocks of horror fans Kurosawa has accumulated over the years. At the same time though, there are real-life terrors present here, mainly that reality is often dictated by our fears.
To the Ends of the Earth will be available on Metrograph’s virtual theater beginning on December 11th.
