Pulse (2-Disc Special Edition) [Blu-ray + DVD]

The philosophical premise of Kairo is nihilism expressed through loneliness. The superficial "connections" that one sustains with other people are conveyed as brittle, meaningless trivialities that shatter when confronted with the relentless isolation that exists on a much deeper level. Not one person is murdered in this 119 minute film for the very fact that the victims are consumed with a sense of eternal loneliness - many times caused by seeing spirits - and therefore take their own lives. There are no cheap scares in this picture, as it relies on disturbing, long-sustained images highlighted by awkward ghost movements. Classic scenes and imagery abound in this tour de force directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa.Kiyoshi is a criminally unknown director who is undoubtedly the single best filmmaker in the history of horror cinema. Unfortunately, many people confuse greatness with influence. Hideo Nakata is not a great director, but he did influence the entire film-making industry with Ringu. Kiyoshi Kurosawa, on the other hand, just makes great films - Kairo, Cure, Charisma, Retribution, Séance, Loft, etc. That's the essential difference between excellence and mere market influence. Now, Kiyoshi does get some respect from both moviegoers and critics alike, but there are some common complaints that I would like to address in conjunction with this review of Kairo.The most outrageous criticism of Kiyoshi is that his films lack content. This is a patently false (and downright ridiculous) claim that holds no weight whatsoever. Taking Kairo as an example, there are a number of subtle references to LONELINESS throughout the entirety of the film - the literal isolation of characters, the individual dots expressed within the computer program, the patterns of dissolved ash, the influence of communication and information through both ghostly apparitions as well as red tape, apocalyptic doom, suicide, character mannerisms and interrelationships, etc. In other words, there's a boatload of content in Kairo. Those who say otherwise have no idea what they're talking about.This structure of film-making is one thing that makes Kiyoshi so amazing. He takes a simple concept like loneliness and creates a constellation of phenomena that reference back to the underlying theme of the film. The same is true with Cure (identity), Charisma (false dichotomies, relationship between the individual and society), Retribution (memory), Loft (memory), and others. It's a fascinating method of storytelling that's so much fun to watch despite the glacial pacing from which it's presented. Don't fool yourself: the entertainment value of Japanese horror is frequently about content, and Kairo is a perfect horror movie largely because of its philosophical elements. How many other films can make the same claim? What more do you people want?How the massive quantity of content within Kiyoshi's cinematic portfolio goes unnoticed is beyond me. The only possible explanation is that his stunning talent for creating dense atmosphere leads some viewers to overlook his content. Still, there's no excuse for missing it, especially considering how badly made dramas get all sorts of credit where none is due. For example, there are tons of reviews for Tsai Ming-liang's dreadfully atrocious Viva L'Amour that gloat about that movie's depiction of solitude. I read these reviews with the knowledge that Kairo gets little to no credit for its truly amazing portrayal of loneliness. The whole scenario makes me want to puke.Another criticism of Kiyoshi is that his films are "self-indulgent." What a load of twaddle coming from reviewers who consider Akira Kurosawa to be the best thing since sliced bread. Anyone dim-witted enough to claim that Akira Kurosawa's Dreams is less indulgent than Kairo should immediately check themselves into a mental institution. So Akira gets a free pass at self-masturbatory cinema because some Californian bloodsuckers propped him up on an undeserving pedestal? You people are a joke. From the standpoint of sheer directorial precision and scriptwriting, Akira doesn't even deserve to sniff Kiyoshi's jockstrap.Then we have all sorts of assertions that say Kiyoshi's films are slow and boring, but most of these comments are made by Hollywood fanboys who drool over rat-infested garbage like Friday the 13th, Freddy vs. Jason, and Alien vs. Predator. I would expect this reaction from those with such narrow-minded "tastes" in film. Just leave the intelligent horror cinema to the big boys and go back to worshipping overrated hacks like Wes Craven.But that's not all. We have even more ludicrous complaints coming from Westerners like, "The Japanese take their horror films too seriously." I laugh when hearing stuff like this. God forbid someone actually puts some effort into making a horror film. Has the Hollywood horror industry really crumbled to the point where even their most fervent followers don't expect anything remotely ambitious? That's a pretty pathetic state to be in.The point of this review-turned-rant is to simply point out the obvious: Kiyoshi Kurosawa is the greatest horror filmmaker that ever lived. It might just be my opinion, but considering how any and all criticism seems to be based on illogic or narrow-mindedness, there's really no valid reason for believing otherwise.

It is a great movie and is not in English but has English subtitles.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒘𝒂𝒔... 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔.𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 is a 2001 Japanese techno-horror film written and directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa.After college student, Taguchi, dies by suicide, a number of young adults living in Tokyo witness terrifying visions transferred across the Internet. As more people disappear throughout the city, the Internet becomes a breeding ground for malevolent spirits. Three seemingly disconnected stories follow Michi, Ryosuke and Harue as they attempt to solve the mystery behind the ghostly visions that are seeping beyond their computer monitors.If statistics alone or any indication, residency in Japan can be detrimental to one's mental health, and with grave consequences. It is approximated that seventy people in Japan die by suicide every day, and when accounting for population differences it has the second highest rate of suicide among the G7 developed nations. In this area of the world suicide has always happened at a rate barring it as a “major social issue”, but in 1998 things were different, and not for the better; 1997 saw the beginning of a ‘Asian Financial Crisis’ that began in Thailand and spread to other countries in this region, and contributed to one of the most dramatic increases in suicides completed in Japan particularly in a single year with it peaking in 2003.This information alone does little to justify to what end 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 amplifies the impact of suicidal ideation, with its apocalyptic imagery leaving viewers with a bit of a disjunct mess; this is easily informed, however, by cultural attitudes in Japan as they pertain to suicide (As, historically, some suicides have been endorsed as honorable in the context of military conflict) and policies that could be used to relieve a family of economic hardship (IE, the tendency for lifes insurance plans in Japan to ‘pay-out’ claims after an insured dies by suicide without restrictions) that ultimately create a web of obligation for individuals in a given dynamic where the risk of suicide being attempted is especially high.As with many social issues, the elevated rate of suicide as it involves Japan is attributable to multiple factors at play, technological advances being one of many that murk the waters further. A little bit on the nose in regards to its musings on disconnect in the digital age, the juxtaposition managed by 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 is fraught: amassing by its conclusion an ironic association between the tools its characters have at their disposals that can be used to form meaningful relationships with like-minded individuals in a virtual space and a palpable sense of loneliness. Bearing in mind that 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 also came out shortly after the first social media platform in the format most familiar to us today was created, its implications specific to this sort-of “ecosystem” and the thematic appeal of suicidal ideation proves especially topical; the first documented use of the internet exclusively to form anything resembling a ‘suicide pact’ was reported in Japan in the year 2000, leaving its government with the challenge of assessing the risk of suicide amongst its youth more effectively and intervening in ways that could be both accessible and creative. Whether 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 captures the essence of preventive measures in this regard is largely up to debate (As the literal application of red tape to the outside of doors that shouldn’t be open is metaphorically relevant), but that perhaps goes without saying.Ghosts are, likewise, an unexplainable phenomenon that when utilized in stories often reveal something about a nations’ view about them and the afterlife. Typically, Western iterations of them depict ghosts as attached to “unfinished business” that has been left earthside following someone’s death, with Eastern counterparts frequently tied to the importance of familial connections and a sense of community. While the dynamics in 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 are more seemingly “casual” in nature, further emphasized is the gravity or impact of “One life lost” with a tangibility that is remarkably haunting, albeit confusing and at times lost in its own echo; even short of practicality Kurosawa accentuates the ‘contagion’ effect of loneliness and suicide, with conundrums concerning homeostasis amongst such a prevalence of tragedy having broader applications in the real world.As usual, it’s always a good idea to ask what a film is trying to “accomplish”, though ones like 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 hardly ever leave viewers with a clear-cut answer. Given Kurosawa’s background in studying Sociology, his filmography’s overarching fixation on death (And, in this given case, suicide) while rash isn’t disingenuous: rendered is sort of a morbid curiosity about what happens to a larger community when one of its residents dies by any hand, much less their own. The good news is that a program entitled the ‘General Principles of Suicide Prevention Policy’ geared towards the development of better screening-related tools and improving the socioeconomic status of residents that was implemented in Japan in 2007 contributed to a gradual decline in suicide mortality rates, though these “improvements” have been largely overshadowed in the last five years by the COVID-19 pandemic period and an impending rise in related fatalities; bearing in mind what 𝑷𝒖𝒍𝒔𝒆 seems most deeply concerned about, which would be to what extent humans need one another to tackle hardships and the repercussions of feeling “disconnected”, interpretive points about who’s really been “dead all along” are both moot and need to be made all the same.

It seems like Ring (or Ringu) steals all of the attention when it comes to best known Japanese horror. It is absolutely deserving of the attention it gets, there is a reason it is a classic, but whenever I am reminded of that film I immediately think of Pulse along with it.Its central theme is shared with Ring: the fear of technology. But I have found that while Ring has suffered a bit with age, the cross eyed faces and the frame going negative whenever Sadako makes good on her curse, Pulse remains as effective as it was the first time I watched it.The idea that a person can log onto a computer and go to a certain site and be asked if they want to see a ghost is something so odd a vague it never fails to make my skin crawl. And the population slowly disappearing by sinking into shadow marks on their walls or by suicide and being replaced by ghosts is so strange.It all works on such a unique level. I absolutely love this film and I am impressed with the Arrow release of it. So glad it’s getting the deluxe treatment it deserves.

Low quality movie