Rampo Noir (2005) A Japanese Horror Anthology of the Erotic and Grotesque Variety

For all the talk of Nosferatu bringing horny back to the cinema, it’s useful to remind ourselves of the pervertedly lush world of Edogawa Ranpo. Predominantly a mystery writer (say his name fast and you’re close to the writer of “The Purloined Letter”), it’s his unique brand of “Ero guro nansensu” (Erotic, Grotesque, Nonsense) that has appealed to discerning perverts over the past hundred years, in no small part thanks to the numerous cinematic adaptations. Best known in the West is Ishii’s exceptional Horrors of Malformed Men, but Arrow’s new Blu-Ray of this luxurious-looking anthology will hopefully raise the profile of its source material even further.

Comprised of four short films adapted from four different short stories, producer Dai Miyazaki (he of Ichi the Killer) allowed his chosen directors to interpret Ranpo’s stories in whatever way they wanted; the only requirement was that actor Tadanobu “Kakihara” Asano appeared in each story. The resulting omnibus is a rich tapestry of differing textures and approaches to the source material that somehow manages to cohere into a singularly beautiful, sometimes erotic and always unsettling vision of human darkness.

First is “Mars Canal”, an entirely silent six-minute odyssey that sees Asano wander across an alien-looking landscape towards a mystical pool of water, intercut with frenzied footage of Asano and his lover on a dirty mattress, a tangle of hair and flailing limbs that straddles the boundary between assault and copulation. Director Suguru Takeuchi is not interested in Ranpo’s original narrative, which on the special features he describes as being “about the strangeness that lives within Japan”. Instead, he chooses to focus only on the images that come from the words “Mars Canal”. It’s a risky move but one that pays off, for “Mars Canal” is one of those rare sensory assaults that manages to be beautiful. The vast Icelandic tundra, a deep green punctured by the grey of the watery expanse, is the perfect calm in juxtaposition to the grungy and rapidly edited mattress sequences. It perfectly conveys the eruption of feeling Asano’s man is experiencing, a calm before an overwhelming storm expressed by the only sound in the story, a terrifying ringing noise that’ll make you think you’ve got tinnitus.

The film then jumps to “Mirror Hell”, helmed by Akio Jissoji. Jissoji has past form with Ranpo’s detective stories, helming adaptations of both “A Watcher in the Attic” and Ranpo’s most famous mystery story, “Case of the Murder on D-Slope”, starring his iconic detective Kogoro Akechi. Here, he essays another Akechi adaptation with “Mirror Hell”, a fiendishly knotty locked-room mystery revolving around a tea ceremony and a mirror-making shop. Women are dying with their faces burned away, but there’s no struggle at the scenes. What’s going on? Akechi’s investigations are of secondary concern for Jissoji, instead using the story as a springboard for his longtime preoccupations, namely baroque visuals and sadomasochistic sex.

The results are, to me at least, the highlight of the anthology. Jissoji is entranced by mirrors, covering the walls of pretty much every set with the reflective objects to staggering effect. One shot in a police morgue should be seen to be believed, and while it can feel like overkill in places, it nevertheless adds a dizzying distrust to the proceedings. We are unsure how much of what we are seeing is real or a reflection, an appropriate visual conceit considering the constant refrain of “life is what is reflected”, a quote from Ranpo that precedes the story. Yes, the digital photography does look twenty years old and the sadomasochism/shibari sequence is hard going if you’re not a fan of such material, but the assuredness of Jissoji’s direction and his understanding of the source material elevates it to a real gem of detective cinema.

It’s here that the wispy thematic strands start to coalesce. There’s a small link between the narcissism of our killer in “Mirror Hell” and the man gazing into the pond in “Mars Canal”, but now we get the reappearing character of Akechi, whose presence bookends the following story, “Caterpillar”. This bizarre tale of a soldier who returns from war with no limbs, no speech and no hearing would be adapted by Kōji Wakamatsu some five years later with a more straightforwardly political bent. Here it’s combined with “Watcher in the Attic” by none other than notorious pinku master, Hisayasu Satô, to create a film that emphasises the codependent angle of Ranpo’s story. The soldier is looked after by his wife, as in the story, but their sexual activity entirely revolves around her own sadomasochistic proclivities. Quite why she does so is never clear, but it seems to stem from her anger at her husband leaving her for war and returning completely dependent on her.

Satô’s story is formally the boldest, making heavy use of overexposure to represent the heightened sensual worldview of the titular character. What we see from his POV is a nightmare of guilt and shame at what he has put his wife through, a powerful series of emotions that he cannot express in words. Indeed, the whole film operates as a series of unexpressed sentiments, Satô using his concrete set and the makeup of his lead actress to convey the themes of alienation and despair that preoccupy much of his other projects. That heavily symbolic quality does make the story extremely hard to follow unless you’ve listened to Satô’s excellent interview on the disc, but you can still admire the simply beautiful imagery on hand.

With that, Rampo Noir moves to its final story, “Crawling Bugs”, directed by manga author Atsushi Kaneko (of “Bambi and Her Pink Gun” fame). While Kaneko is modest about his abilities as a first-time director, calling himself an amateur amongst professionals, there’s much more to this than such a putdown. Almost as abstract as “Caterpillar” to begin with, it picks up speed in its second half in this tale of a germaphobe limo driver obsessed with his charge. The formaldehyde of the previous story plays an even creepier role in this tale, a brightly coloured fantasy of control and perfection on an elaborate soundstage, Kaneko revelling in the opportunity to indulge in as much artifice as he possibly can. It also has the best ending of all four stories, a killer final shot that encapsulates the entire film’s fascination with perverse sex and obsession.

Arrow’s extras are exceptional, especially interviews with the directors and creatives involved commissioned specifically for the disc. Satô’s is exceptionally detailed and thoughtful, an excellent way to understand a film that is otherwise incredibly dense. Along with these interviews is a full-length documentary about the making of the anthology and an archive introduction for the film. Jasper Sharp is on hand to provide commentary, too, to what is a beautifully remastered film with an exceptionally clear soundtrack. The audio quality is essential to catch all the ringing noises, the scuttling of bugs and the horrifying distortions that permeate the film. What emerges from this restoration is a beautifully disturbing film about the darker recesses of human sexuality, the disturbing mixtures of lust, obsession and sadness that permeate the subconscious. Ero, guro and nansensu all at once.

Ethan’s Archive – Rampo Noir