Cure

 

A Japanese psychological horror/thriller overflowing with ambiguity and uncertainty. It’s astoundingly effective at being unsettling, and while it seems quite methodical and slow it becomes clear that there’s something else under the surface.

 

Takabe is a Tokyo detective with issues. He’s a cold, almost emotionless man who is struggling with his wife’s slow descent into mental illness. He begins investigating a series of odd murders occurring across the city. Every murderer is different, but the details are the same. Regardless of the cause of death, each victim has a large X cut into their throat. The murderers, all ordinary people with seemingly no connection to each other, all confess when confronted, but are unable to explain or remember why they killed.  

As the investigation continues, it becomes clear that all of the murderers have a single link, an amnesiac man named Mamiya who had come into contact with every murderer shortly before they committed their crime. Mamiya, seemingly confused as to who he is and what is happening, constantly asks circular questions and trying to get people to tell him about themselves. Takabe and a psychology professor begin to investigate Mamiya, finding a link to various forms of hypnotism and mesmerism. As the investigation continues, Takabe begins to have visions and starts to question his own sanity, becoming more aggressive as the investigation continues.

I’ve mentioned previously that Japanese horror films tend to leave things vague and unexplained. While American and most Western horror flicks are far too focused on being obvious and overly explaining what is happening (for example, whenever a horror movie has to explain the ‘rules’ of the monster/curse/horror), Japanese horror tends to be either more subtle or far more ambiguous. It’s not interested in explaining what’s happening, because that’s not the point. The real horror, the real under-your-skin feeling of uneasiness comes from uncertainty – from not knowing.

Cure revels in ambiguity and uncertainty. It leaves you to figure out what’s happening. When it shows you some freaky imagery, it leaves you to interpret it. Cure doesn’t offer any answers. Instead it leaves you with questions you have to try and answer yourself. And that’s how it gets under your skin. As the investigation continues, things get stranger and more concerning, with obscure details coming to light that seemingly change the nature of the film, yet never get delved into. The ending in particular is wildly open to interpretation, offering a few scenes almost abstractly, with no dialogue or explanation.

 

 

There’s an almost clinical sort of grim sterility to the movie. Everything feels cold, soulless and empty, which is likely the point. As it continues, it starts to become unsettling. There’s an atmosphere of uncertainty underneath the coldness that’s almost smothering as it continues. It’s a movie I keep thinking back to and dwelling on, trying to decipher in some way. On surface level it seems pretty standard, and almost plodding in its slow, deliberate pace. But trying to put a finger on why the movie is so strangely unnerving is hard, and trying to make sense of what might have happened is likewise difficult. In that sense Cure works really well as a psychological thriller.