Halloween 2024: September 26th

Battle Royale (2000)

Batoru rowaiaru

When I was but a humble high school student, I learned about this crazy Japanese movie called "Battle Royale." The premise immediately caught my attention but the film itself was, the internet told me, never officially released in the U.S. While at a book store, I started picking up the manga adaptation. Shortly afterwards, I bought and read Koushun Takami's original novel. I was so fascinated with "Battle Royale" that I wrote a few chapters of my own version of the story, placing myself, my friends, and other school mates in such a scenario. (Which, in retrospect, was a very weird thing to do!) As deep as my "Battle Royale" fandom ran, the movie that caught my attention remained out-of-reach for much longer. In the days before I became a regular convention attendee and user of torrent websites, it was a lot harder to get a hold of a film without a standard DVD release. For reasons I still don't understand, Netflix – only a by-mail rental service at the time – started carrying a Korean Region 0 disc, finally allowing me to see "Battle Royale."  Despite the grainy transfer and faulty subtitles, it was immediately apparent that Kinji Fukasaku's film was the best version of the story. Today, "Battle Royale" is readily accessible. Right now, it's on Tubi, meaning you don't have to pay anything to see it. Despite the significance the film has to a part of my life, I haven't watched it since then. Time to see if this picture, once considered so shocking, holds up after 20 years. 

In a totalitarian version of Japan, violence among young people has reached an epidemic. The government's solution to this problem is the BR Program: Once a year, one out of all the high school classes in the country is selected. They are transferred to a deserted island, each student outfitted with explosive collars. They are given rations of food, water, and a randomly chosen weapon. The students are told to fight to the death, until only one remains. Average teen Shuy Nanahara is thrusts into this situation, his friends and classmates either turning into cold-blooded murderers or dying around him. He forms a friendship with Noriko, the crush of his late best friend, and Kawada, a mysterious transfer student and "won" a previous game. The trio attempt to survive and find a way out of this hopeless scenario.

“Battle Royale” was controversial in Japan, to the point that the National Diet decried it. I don't think this is because of the severity of the film's violence. More violent films have existed in Japan, before and after. I think it's because “Battle Royale” targets that violence at young people. It's interesting that this should make “Battle Royale” a lightning rod for controversy, when the cruelty adults show towards children is the entire point of the film. All throughout the movie, authority figures, like the students' teacher, tells the kids how they are no good. In a difference from the novel or manga, Kitano has a personal grudge against these kids, clearly taking his anger out on them personally. This is an extension of an entire society fixated on “punishing” young people for their disobedience. “Battle Royale,” throughout its runtime, gives us daily updates on the casualties. Students are reduced to a number, as the announcement of their death is coldly read off. This is paired with dispassionate on-screen text. This makes the audience complacent in the violence against the kids. We get caught up in “the game” too. We laugh at the campy instructional video, featuring a chipper idol style actress. We sit back and watch these kids die too, becoming part of the system the film so viciously criticizes. 

Rumors persist that part of why “Battle Royale” was unreleased in America for so long is because Toei feared how America, with its very fucked-up culture of violence against children, might react to the film. There's no doubt that teenagers carrying guns in school, using them against teachers and other students, have very different connotations over here. However, I don't think school shootings were on Fukasaku or Takami's minds when conceiving the story, as they're all but unheard of in Japan. Instead, “Battle Royale's” images of teenagers being dropped in a South Pacific island, tossed rations and guns, and told to go out and kill brings something else to mind. Fukasaku drew from his own experiences of being a munitions factory worker as a boy, during World War II. The island setting reminds me of the Vietnam War, these kids only a little bit younger than the average soldier drafted for that or any other conflict. Such comparisons make it obvious that the system's abuse and disregard of young people is by no means a new phenomenon. Governments have been willing to use the blood of teenagers to make their own, far-off points since the beginning of time.

As much as “Battle Royale” is a film about the injustices visited upon young people by an apathetic, often willfully sadistic system, it's also a rip-roaring piece of pulp. By thrusting high school kids into this life-or-death situation, it blows up the petty melodramas and rivalries of teenage years to epic, bloody size. Characters often speak of crushes like they are the loves of their lives. Considering how short their lives are going to be, maybe they are. Mean girl Mitsuko becomes a psychopath on the island, confronted by a former friend whose boyfriend she seduced or smirking at Noriko, coldly saying “Die, ugly” before shooting at her. A proto-incel demands a girl's virginity before attempting to assault her, leading to a particularly brutal stabbing. A nerd rambles off math equations while pulling a trigger. A fat kid climbs atop a hill and tries to snipe people with his crossbow. All of the dynamics of school, of social outcasts being preyed on by popular kids and childhood crushes seeming like the most important thing in the world, come into much sharper reflect when life and death is on the line. This sometimes extends to cartoonish levels, such as the school's basketball hero also being a revolutionary hacker that takes down the island's computer system. Other times, the red hot melodrama of the film can be quite effective, such as when a lighthouse full of teenage girls violently turn on each other in the course of minutes.

“Battle Royale” is definitely operating in broad archetypes. Shuya is a fairly bland protagonist, given a tragic backstory but little in the way of personality. Noriko is only a little better. Kawada is the hardened veteran of the trio, seeming a bit like a teenage Rambo at times. When you have over forty characters in the film, it's hard for any of them to be too distinct. At the same time, “Battle Royale” resists making some of its characters two-dimensional. Ko Shibasaki is intensely creepy as Mitsuko, possessing a fantastic psycho smile. However, the character has a traumatic past, giving us insight into why she is like this. Similarly, Takeshi Kitano's villainous teacher is weirdly the most empathetic figure in the film. He's despised by his own children, resents his students, and seems largely apathetic about his role in the game. The final reveal, that he has a possibly romantic fascination with Noriko, makes him into a pathetic figure, a broken old man looking up to a teenage girl.

There is a push-and-pull in “Battle Royale,” between wanting to gift its villains with more depth while also playing them as cartoonish monsters. This is most apparent in Masanobu Ando's Kiriyama, who acts more like the Terminator than a teenager. He never speaks, communicating largely through evil smiles or cackles, while wielding an Uzi with a seemingly unending magazine. He's a ridiculous figure, a predatory supervillain brought into the games by the government presumably to make it more interesting. (An element “The Purge” series would swipe somewhat.) It does feel like an intended piece of social commentary that most of the kids on the island have no interest in murdering their friends. Only a few psychopaths in the class are “playing the game.” Some attempt a truce, leading to one of the most gloriously bloody scenes in the film. Kinji Fukasaku – who, after all, came to fame for his deconstructive yakuza epics – seems equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the movie's bloodshed. He's way too good at engineering intense sequences not to play them for cheap thrills. The movie is full of intense shoot-outs, suspenseful stalking, and all the arterial spray you could want. There's a grenade shoved in a decapitated head at one point, so there's no doubt “Battle Royale” embraces its own status as an exploitation film. These fantastically engineered moments of cool movie violence stand side-by-side with pointed social commentary, the two never quite gelling. 

If “Battle Royale” isn't able to blend its thematic ideas, sometimes uneven screenplay, and its brutally effective execution of horror/action tropes, that does nothing to diminish the film's power. Sometimes the parts truly are greater than the whole. The manga is so explicit in its sex and violence as to become a work of guro pornography, while stretching the story out endlessly and making its characters more exaggerated. The novel – or at least the English language translation I read – is more childishly simplified and half-formed. Meanwhile, the inevitable American rip-offs had no convictions behind their beliefs and no scruples in its depiction of violence. Fukasaku's film is simply the best execution of the idea, finding something of a balance between its various elements. With strikingly gritty cinematography from Katsumi Yanagishima and a classical score that emphasizes the operatic elements of the story, “Battle Royale” remains an utterly absorbing and grimly thrilling piece of cinema. [9/10]

The Return of Dracula (1958)

Of the 12 feature films and over 160 episodes of television Paul Landres directed before 1957's "The Vampire," not a single one fell into the horror or supernatural genres. Despite that, "The Vampire" must've been successful enough for Landres to quickly return to it. (Though not so quickly that the prolific filmmaker couldn't direct four feature westerns and 25 TV episodes in-between the projects.) The next year, Landres would direct another bloodsucking chiller for United Artists. While his previous monster movie was merely about a vampire, his next one would turn its attention towards the most famous vampire of all. "The Return of Dracula" would be another attempt in the late fifties to move Bram Stoker's notorious count into the modern age. 

Somewhere in Europe, a painter named Bellac Gordal prepares to travel to America to stay with his cousin, Cora. Unfortunately for him, a notorious vampire is fleeing a cabal of hunters. The undead villain kills Bellac and assumes his identity. Shortly afterwards, "Gordal" arrives in the small town of Carleton, California. The stranger integrates himself into the family, charming Cora and her young son Mickey. He especially catches the eye of her teenage daughter, Rachel. Rachel works part-time at a clinic, where a blind patient she's befriended mysteriously dies. An immigration agent stops by the home and ends up dead shortly afterwards too. Soon, Rachel must face the horrible conclusion, that the visitor to her home is not who he claims to be. Bellac Gordal is actually Count Dracula and he intends to spread his undying curse to Carleton. 

While Landres' "The Vampire" put a sci-fi spin on the gothic archetype, "The Return of Dracula" relocates the classic story to a then-modern setting. Carleton is an idyllic small American town. The church and authority are respected. The family unit is a symbol of stability and warmth. Rachel has a boyfriend, a cocky teenager next door named Tim, but their relationship is totally chaste. The standard tropes of the story are respected. "Bellac Gordal" turns into mist, a bat, and a wolf. He's repelled by the cross, doesn't cast a reflection, sleeps in a coffin during the day, and must be destroyed with a stake through the heart. Other elements are given intriguing updates. A blind girl takes the place of Lucy, though she still roams the night in a white gown after her death. The vampire hunters now resemble government G-Men, snapping "Gordal's" picture with a camera hidden in a cigarette lighter. Dracula ditches the cape for an overcoat slung over his shoulders. Seeing what the film changed and what it keeps creates an interesting contrast. That Bellac is mostly scared off with a cross shows that religious values were of equal importance to small town America and 1890s England. 

Something else fifties suburbanites and Victorian gentlefolk had in common was casual xenophobia. Having the vampire hunters pose as immigration agents couldn't have been a mistake. "Bellac" speaks with a strange accent, his clearly European nature sticking out in Carleton. Stoker's moral of decadent old world aristocrats corrupting fair English maidens now looks a lot like an Eastern European commie sneaking into the U.S. to undermine our beloved American values, of family and the church. While this was surely the intended reading at the time, through modern eyes, "The Return of Dracula" has a distinctly different undertone. We the viewer know that Bellac is not actually Rachel's distant cousin. She doesn't know that though. Which makes his obvious interest in her – which grows more sinister once he's hovering over her bed and hypnotizing her, in classic Dracula fashion – all the more disquieting. Childish, naive Tim is not much for an older man more experienced in manipulating young women. It's only when he invokes God that Tim can fight this intruder off. All of this, perhaps unintentionally, speaks to the anxieties of the time. 

Like most fifties monster movies, these themes lurk under the surface of an otherwise standard creature feature. Further connecting this film to "The Vampire," Jack MacKenzie is back as director of photography. He ensures another fine looking film, with lots of crisp black-and-white photography and shadowy interiors. The locations – especially the mine shaft where the climax occurs – still have a rather artificial look to them, like sets on a TV show. Still, "The Return of Dracula" produces some decent chills here and there. A sequence where Rachel becomes aware of Gordal's true nature, via a cleverly framed mirror, is well done. The moment of him appearing over her bed concludes with an honest-to-God jump scare, a sudden cut to her little brother's devil mask. (By the way, "The Return of Dracula" is set around Halloween, though the costume party could've had some spookier decorations.) It seems the vampires' casket always have a layer mist at the bottom, which is a nice touch. The best effect in the film is an unexpected shift to color during a pivotal moment, a reminder that this movie was made not long before the fifties became the sixties, when vampire movies were about to get a lot more lurid. 

The film that largely ushered in that new age of bloody horror was also released in 1958. Hammer's "Horror of Dracula" hit American shores shortly after "The Return of Dracula" came out, overshadowing it totally. Comparing the two films makes for an interesting experiment. Landres' film tried to update Dracula by sticking him in a modern setting, to limited success. Hammer did it by shooting the whole thing in vivid color, with as much blood and sex appeal as they could get away with at the time. The latter obviously made a much bigger impression on the public. But "The Return of Dracula" isn't too bad either. The score liberally quotes "Dies Irais" to decent effect. Francis Lederer, with his high cheekbones and curly hair, makes for a decent enough Dracula. Norma Eberhardt is a compelling damsel-in-distress, who wears nothing as revealing as the girl on the poster. Though not as sharp as "The Vampire," "The Return of Dracula" is still worth seeking out for classic horror fans. [7/10]

In Search Of...: Bigfoot

A number of cultural factors, such as the rise of New Age hippy spiritualism the previous decade, would lead to an explosion of interest in the paranormal during the seventies. This would result in hundreds of books, documentaries, and TV specials of dubious scientific merit. Producer Alan Landsburg was behind four such specials, the success of which prompted him to create an on-going show devoted to delving into any and all mysterious topics. After first choice Rod Sterling died and second choice Robert Vaughn walked, Leonard Nimoy would be drafted to host the program. From 1977 to 1982, "In Search Of..." covered subjects like ghosts, the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis, alien abduction, magical powers, prominent disappearances, legendary figures, historical mysteries, strange theories and – naturally – cryptozoology. 

When I was a kid, my mom (a lifelong Trekkie) and I would watch reruns of the show together. "In Search Of..." isn't a horror anthology series but a pseudo-documentary program, that didn't necessarily showcase a spooky topic every episode. However, my young brain more-or-less treated the show as one. The hokeyness of the reenactments and the questionable research went over kid-me's head. Instead, the possibility that such things could be true creeped me out, in the best way. Which is why I'm making room for "In Search Of..." and a couple similar shows this Halloween season. 

It almost goes without saying that my favorite episodes were the ones about monsters. Unsurprisingly, North America's legendary, stinky, hairy hominid would be the focus of one of "In Search Of...'s" earliest episodes. The half-hour covers most of the hallmarks of Bigfoot lore, such as the Patterson-Gimlin film, the 1924 "Battle of Ape Canyon" near Mount St. Helens, and the 1882 Jacko newspaper article. Supposed experts like Dr. Grover Krantz and Peter C. Byrne are interviewed, trying to bolster their beliefs with footprint casts, a Gigantopithecus jawbone, and the rediscovery of the coelacanth. Eventually, after a Washington ordinance against killing Bigfoot is brought up, the show turns towards the debate over whether the creature can be proven to exist without a dead body. 

Mostly, the episode is devoted to people recounting encounters with the creature. And this is when "In Search Of..." really tickles my nostalgia bone. The reenactments feature many first-person-perspective shots of -something- walking through the dark forest, backed by ominous grunting and snorting. The lo-fi creepiness of these moments are paired with aerial footage of the Pacific Northwest and Nimoy's assuaging narration. When combined with the tinny, chiming synth soundtrack, the result is a program I find immensely relaxing. I can't tell you how often I've fallen asleep to YouTube playlists of this show...

What Nimoy, clad in a turtleneck sweater and a hideous striped sports jacket, calls "persuasive evidence" for the existence of Bigfoot is not so much the case. Instead, the average folks recounting their sightings act as ghost stories, especially when depicted through the charming stodginess of a seventies television budget. These are legends that reflect, not literal reality, but our culture's spiritual and psychological needs. This is the same conclusion an Indigenous woman makes at the episode's end, saying Bigfoot can't be proven to exist with science as it resides in an ineffable space of its own. That's where the real value of shows like "In Search Of..." reside, as pop culture reflections of modern folklore and the society that birthed it.  Such presentations as these, no matter how antiquated they may be, fire the imagination by exposing us to deeper wells of the myths that make up our world. [7/10]

The Addams Family: Mother Lurch Visists the Addams Family

The bizarrely named and attributed members of the extended Addams Family are a running joke in the series. The sixteenth episode, however, gives us a look at the family of their faithful manservant. As the title describes, "Mother Lurch Visits the Addams Family" has the towering butler's mom preparing to stop by. In his letters to his mother, Lurch fibbed and said he owned the stately Addams mansion, that he was head of the household. Mortica and Gomez decide to help their beloved employee out by pretending to be the servants and teaching him to act like the master, for a while. The charade becomes difficult to maintain when Lurch's mom, a bossy and obnoxious woman, actually arrives. 

"Mother Lurch" plays on a rich comedic premise that's been exploded many times over the years: A switcheroo between employer and employee. Usually stories like this are designed to humble the arrogant bosses. Since Gomez and Mortica are lovable, and Lurch is undyingly faithful to them, the humor instead arises from the butler's awkward attempts to fill the role of master, not servant. Mortica, acting as the maid, goads the unexpressive Lurch into making goo-goo eyes at her, an amusing moment. (I didn't know flirting with the boss was a standard part of being a maid though... Another sign of this show being a product of its time.) When the phone rings, Lurch and Gomez rush to answer it st the same time, a solid bit of physical comedy. Naturally, Lurch eventually becomes too accustomed to his new role as master, Gomez and Mortica soon learning how tiring it is to be at someone's back and call all the time. 

As subversive as "The Addams Family" could be, challenging the status quo of its household was not something it was interested in. No attempts at social commentary or lessons learned from this exercise are shown. Gomez and Mortica don't question if they treat their butler as well as they think they do, nor does Lurch ask if he's treated fairly as a servant. "The Addams Family" may mock the assumed normalcy of the average American family but unending the power roles inherent to the bourgeoisie class wasn't on its agenda. Though if you're willing to read into Lurch -really- loving his time on the wrack and the whole master/servant thing, the program's persistent kink subtext gets stronger... Though I'd rather not consider the ghoul-like manservant's bedroom habits and how that interacts with his role in the family. 

Anyway, "Mother Lurch Visits" loses a lot of its comedic spark once the title character arrives. Ellen Corby, best known as the grandmother on "The Waltons," plays Lurch's mom as a hen-pecking, mean-spirited old woman. She makes outrageous demands of her son's "servants" and insists they be fired. That she's offended by Gomez and Morticia kissing is really annoying. What the butler and maid do in their private time is none of your damn business, lady! The obvious joke, of the intimidating Lurch kowtowing to this tiny woman, is followed as you'd expect. (Though this would explain why he fits into his role of butler so naturally.) It's a shame the episode gets kind of shrill in its second half, as I enjoyed it a lot up to that point. Ted Cassidy's crazy face acting and Carolyn Jones and John Astin's instant charm really made the early scenes sing. [6.5/10]