Ju-On: the curse of one who dies in the grip of a powerful rage.
It gathers and takes effect in the places where that person was alive.
Those who encounter it die, and a new curse is born.
* * *
When someone dies in the grip of a powerful rage...
a curse is born.
The curse gathers in that place of death.
Those who encounter it will be consumed by its fury.
Since 2000, Takashi Shimizu has written and directed seven films in the Ju-On series; two for video, three Japanese versions and two American remakes (the second scheduled for release in October of this year). Here, I focus on Ju-On, released in 2003 in Japan and the American remake, The Grudge released in 2004. Sam Raimi, of the Evil Dead series and Spider-Man, produced The Grudge. It was Raimi, who wanted to bring the story of Ju-On to American audiences and made the brilliant decision to retain the original director for the American version. Shimizu eloquently blends the two cultural styles while maintaining the integrity of the original film.
The fascinating myth of the Ju-On, based in Japanese folklore, surrounds a brutal king who loved to play games with his servants, but on one occasion, the servant won. In a rage, the king executed the servant, and then sent his men to kill the servant's wife, child and pet cat. It is told that Ju-On is the point in which repressed emotion is released. The final emotion of a dying person determines the fate of their soul. This superstition is believed to be centered among women, who have long been oppressed in Japan. The majority of the Japanese people follow one of two religions, Buddhism and Shinto. Ju-on can be associated with Karma (Buddhism), which is the total effect of a person's actions throughout their life that determines their destiny. In the Shinto religion, hauntings exist because of a person's last breath was in torment. This illustrates the “horror monster's intimate and conflicted relationship with the social mainstream.” Also, “it represents what these forces are most secretly afraid of in themselves individually and in their collective culture,” (Magistrale p. 3)
The American mythology that surrounds a haunting is that there is a soul in need of assistance or guidance. It creates a disturbance and in turn someone steps in to help and the disturbances end. Chaos reigns for a time and then order is restored. Yet, in the Japanese mythology, there is no happy ending; there is no one to save. Essentially, it is bigger than you are. No one goes untouched, the innocent suffer. Just think of it as being at the wrong place at the wrong time. (Shimizu, audio commentary) Therefore the audience can empathize with all of the characters. Thus internalizing the horror of each tragic death. “I wanted to create an image that remains in mind after the film is over. I wanted to create the horror that remains in their heart.” (Shimizu, audio commentary) The culturally instilled understanding of Ju-On allows Shimizu to avoid any detailed explanation for the story, but in the remake he has to include an explanation into why the original murder took place. Otherwise, the film may not be accepted by American audiences.
In Ju-On, Shimizu does not show any physical violence in this film, yet it opens with the glimpse of a crime; a woman, child, a man with a razor and blood. The film then moves directly to a community center where Rika, a volunteer social worker, is given her first case to assist an invalid woman whose previous case worker has not returned to work. The house in question is a quiet, unassuming, traditional home in Tokyo. With a wide angle shot, Rika approaches the house, stops at the gate and gasps. The camera angle then jumps to a crane-shot used as the subjective view from the house. Rika standing at the gate looks up and reluctantly proceeds to the front door. Entering the house we see her from the house's perspective, looking down from a second floor balcony. It is at this balcony that we frequently see the little boy Toshio. Shimizu does not rely on CGI for effects. He utilizes light, camera angles and his actors to create tension. Sound is used minimally and become pronounced when the evil is near. When Yuki, the previous social worker is taken, we hear a scream and then see her legs kicking as she is taken up into the attic. As people enter the house, the lighting is harsh with a high contrast. When the end is near, they tape up their windows and closets and hide under the sheets. In these areas outside the house, the lighting is washed out and dim. During flash back sequences the lighting is bright and natural, yet when the evil is afoot, the light darkens to blue and gray tones with heavy shadows. In one scene, the investigator is reviewing security footage. A black figure appears mysteriously. Coming up to the camera, we only see black and then they eyes open sending chills down the spine of movie goers. Shimizu emphases entrapment. Rooms and closets are taped up to keep the evil out and sometimes to keep the evil in. The sister locks herself in her apartment but cannot escape the evil. You cannot hide. It will always find you. There is no escape.
In the American remake, The Grudge, the story and format remain consistent, although the opening has changed dramatically. Peter Kirk, an American college professor teaching in Japan falls to his death from his bedroom balcony. A new episode is introduced to give further explanation and cause behind the original murder. It also allows Karen as the protagonist to play are more prominent role in this film. This scene begins with a wide angle shot of Peter standing at the railing. His wife sits up in bed and speaks to him as the morning light filters into the room. The wind is blowing past the curtains. He looks down and from his perspective we look at the street below from several stories up; specifically to the diamond road mark painted on the street, like an X that marks the spot. He leans over the railing and simply and quietly, falls to his death. We see a wide angle shot at street level and his body, broken within the diamond. The film is shot just as the Japanese version and in cases where the same episode is included it is nearly exact. When Karen first enters the Williams home, the only difference is the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling is different. We are looking down at Karen from the balcony above while she calls out to the Williams'. When Mr. Williams returns home to find his wife in bed, the room is dark and disheveled. He fumbles for a lamp that once on, casts a hard, diagonal light across the room. This provides an overwhelming tension to the viewer. The strong shadows in the corner house the evil. Toshio jumps out from the corner of he opposite side of the bed in an upward off kilter camera angle.
The protagonist and principle victims are displaced Americans. The concept of alienation plays a stronger role that in the Japanese version. The Williams family that move into the house have just relocated to Tokyo. The mother is catatonic and the wife, Jennifer, does not speak any Japanese. She is left all day, essentially alone. She attempts to venture out, only to become lost in a sea of people with whom she cannot communicate. The scene at the grocery store is beautifully filmed in a medium shot, as she stands in the aisle reviewing a wall of shapes and color without knowledge of it's contents. Slyly, she opens the bowl and sniffs while other women walk past. Karen has just arrived with her boyfriend, Doug, as a students studying abroad. In broken Japanese she asks for directions so that she can find her way to the Williams' cursed home. Shimizu described it as a “contrast in human movement, something like changing hearts, something like, well... tension. I wanted to emphasize it very strongly to give psychological impact.” (Shimizu, audio commentary) This concept of the “fish out of water” allows the American audience to relate and accept the story as one of their own. The characters gain immediate sympathy from the viewer. We can all relate to being in a strange place and that feeling that begins to grow in the pit of your stomach when you start to panic.
In a traditional Japanese home, even in the height of the day, the house becomes darker as you go deeper inside. Shimizu utilizes this common element to heighten anxiety. For the Japanese viewer, this familiarity instills a sense of apprehension. For the American version, the “fish out of water” creates confusion and concern. Shimizu's strength is his emphasis on the mundane. For example, the overlooked space between the chest of drawers and the corner of the room, in shadow, crouched near the floor is where the child will be waiting. You walk past only catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye. The use of a child is non threatening and evokes a feelings of concern and nurturing. Yet, this child is merely the first glimpse of the horror to come. The evil seeks to assimilate those who have touched it. The myth plays on the “fear of death and the loss of identity in modern society.” (Hutchings, p. 2) Once it takes you, your soul becomes a part of the curse.
Both films mimic scenes down to the most minor detail. The houses are nearly identical with the American version being slightly larger with longer hallways. The child, Toshio, and mother, Kayako, are played by the same actors in both films. Camera angles and lighting are identical, such as the point when the social work volunteers, Rika (Ju-On) and Karen (The Grudge) first enter the home. Each consist of a string of episodes told in a non-linear, broken narrative. It begins at the present then jumps backwards, and then forwards and backwards again. As the viewer, as the story moves into each episode, you're left to wonder how do they relate? How are they connected? What's next? In both versions, the final scene reunites the beginning and end narratives. Following several characters, the films illustrate how each individual comes into contact with the house and how it consumes them. This disjointed manner of storytelling confuses the viewer and amplifies the feeling of anxiety and dread. For the American remake, the protagonist, Karen becomes a centralized character. She seeks out the full explanation behind the haunting. The overall coloring of the films are constant. Even in the daylight it seems a bit washed out and when the evil is near it become a dark blue gray.
Although the cinematics of these films take precedence, I cannot overlook the political undertones that exist within the two cultures. These undertones participate in the emotional distress unknowingly inflicted upon the viewer. “Horror films possess a subtext that delivers a serious social commentary cleverly masked as escapist entertainment.” (Magistrale, p. 3) From a political standpoint, American and Japanese fear can be traced to similar incidents decades apart. Ju-On does not prejudge it's victims. People unknowingly going about their day; take a wrong turn; open the wrong door, and die. On February 3rd, 1944, the United States began fire bombing Japan, beginning with Kobe. Bombs carpeted and scorched the landscape. The Japanese peasants were following their daily routings and suddenly without warning, one explosion after another. The first atomic bomb dropped over civilian territory occurred on the morning of August 6th, 1945 over the city of Hiroshima. The unfortunate survivors were left to linger and later die of radiation sickness. Despite the war and Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor, most of Japan's citizens were poor farmers. They suffered from an entity they did not understand and a force that came without warning. Similarly, on September 11, 2001, the United States was attacked by an unknown force. Following our daily routine, we woke up and went to work. Little did anyone know that that day we would suffer a direct attack by a terrorist organization that many Americans had never known. In both instances, without warning, without provocation, the innocent suffered a horrifying death. The myth of Ju-on is very much akin to these tragic occurrences in the world's history. You could step into an office; I could run into a public restroom. We walk through a world larger than ourselves every moment of every day never knowing what's lurking around the corner.
Work Cited