As much as I love Horror stories from around the world, I’ll still admit that I’ve always had a bit of a struggle with traditional Japanese ghost stories.
It isn’t that I dislike them because that’s about as far from the truth as one could get. Still, I’ve had issues with a good many of the ones I’ve seen over the years for many reasons. In some cases, ghosts steal too much of the focus, so I get to learn very little about the fleshy folks who encounter them. At other times, the background and/or mythology of just how these ghosts came to be is a bit elusive if not downright vague; and, thus, I struggle to understand the significance of this particular story or that particular spectral ability. In their defense, I’ve always remarked that they’re usually very stylish, and their producers go to great lengths to depict this bridging between two realities in wonderfully visual ways: but if I can’t relate to the characters in any meaningful way then it devolves into a great deal of pomp and circumstance that, frankly, I could do without. They’re good … but they’re not good enough.
This being October – that famed time of year with ghosts and goblins and ghouls take center stage – I do have a good number of releases on tap for my and your enjoyment; and I’m particularly thrilled that the fine folks at Radiance Films have provided me with a complimentary screening copy of their forthcoming Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories. This set – which is advertised to release to the consumer marketplace on October 29, 2024 – showcases three films that I’ve heard of but never had the pleasure to watch much less review; and that’s about to change. I’ll be spending some time with it in the days ahead, so I encourage readers to watch this space for what promises to be some wonderfully spooky content to help set the mood for the forthcoming Halloween silly season.
First up: 1968’s The Snow Woman is a cinematic adaptation of the Japanese dark fairy tale directed by Tokuzô Tanaka. The script shows attached to Lafcadio Hearn and Fuji Yahiro, and the motion picture stars Shiho Fujimura, Akira Ishihama, Machiko Hasegawa, Taketoshi Naitô, and Mizuho Suzuki. It’s the tale of a young artisan whose chance encounter with this dazzling spirit leads him to both happiness and despair all because he couldn’t quite keep his word to the woman he loved … not even when she kept her identity a secret for all those many years …
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
It isn’t that I dislike them because that’s about as far from the truth as one could get. Still, I’ve had issues with a good many of the ones I’ve seen over the years for many reasons. In some cases, ghosts steal too much of the focus, so I get to learn very little about the fleshy folks who encounter them. At other times, the background and/or mythology of just how these ghosts came to be is a bit elusive if not downright vague; and, thus, I struggle to understand the significance of this particular story or that particular spectral ability. In their defense, I’ve always remarked that they’re usually very stylish, and their producers go to great lengths to depict this bridging between two realities in wonderfully visual ways: but if I can’t relate to the characters in any meaningful way then it devolves into a great deal of pomp and circumstance that, frankly, I could do without. They’re good … but they’re not good enough.
This being October – that famed time of year with ghosts and goblins and ghouls take center stage – I do have a good number of releases on tap for my and your enjoyment; and I’m particularly thrilled that the fine folks at Radiance Films have provided me with a complimentary screening copy of their forthcoming Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories. This set – which is advertised to release to the consumer marketplace on October 29, 2024 – showcases three films that I’ve heard of but never had the pleasure to watch much less review; and that’s about to change. I’ll be spending some time with it in the days ahead, so I encourage readers to watch this space for what promises to be some wonderfully spooky content to help set the mood for the forthcoming Halloween silly season.
First up: 1968’s The Snow Woman is a cinematic adaptation of the Japanese dark fairy tale directed by Tokuzô Tanaka. The script shows attached to Lafcadio Hearn and Fuji Yahiro, and the motion picture stars Shiho Fujimura, Akira Ishihama, Machiko Hasegawa, Taketoshi Naitô, and Mizuho Suzuki. It’s the tale of a young artisan whose chance encounter with this dazzling spirit leads him to both happiness and despair all because he couldn’t quite keep his word to the woman he loved … not even when she kept her identity a secret for all those many years …
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“The lives of a master sculptor and his young apprentice are changed forever when they meet an evil witch during a snowstorm.”
For those unaware, a modest education is in order.
In Japanese folk lore, the Yuki-onna is a female spirit who answers to several other names, but all share the singular characteristic that she’s linked to snow. Sometimes referred to as a ‘snow queen,’ her origins are a bit varied across several different regions, suggesting that she may’ve initially have been descended from the Moon, could be the spirit of an unfortunate soul who perished in the cold, or might possibly have been born from the snow itself. There’s apparently a suggestion from a Japanese scholar that states if there’s enough of anything in life, then that thing is endowed with the gift of creating life to populate it. As an example (per Wikipedia.org), a body of water that is deep and wide enough develops the ability to create fish to populate it. Transitively, if a snowfall is plentiful enough, then it grows a snow woman to walk amongst its drifts.
However, the motivation of this spirit also varies from province to province. Some tribes thought her appearance would serve as a warning to keep children indoors while still others align the sighting of such spectral entities as signaling a forthcoming bountiful harvest. Though it isn’t uncommon for tales of her arrival to center around sorrow or woe, there are others that more strongly suggest her visits are meant more as cautionary reminders than anything else. Because there are several significant variations, there really is no consensus around what expectation one might attach to encountering a Yuki-onna in the bitter and cold wild, but it should go without saying that the greeter will likely be changed … and not necessarily for the good.
In The Snow Woman, our Yuki (as played by Shiho Fujimura) is depicted as a powerful witch who comes alive during heavy snowstorms waiting for souls to take as a consequence for being out and unprotected in the frosty climate. Yosaku (Akira Ishihama) – a young sculptor – and his mentor are travelling on foot when they are caught in a heavy downfall. Seeking refuge in an empty shack, they light a fire and retire for the evening. But it isn’t long before the snow woman – with her pale skin, golden eyes, and flowing black hair – happen upon them, and she quickly exacts her vengeance on the older man. Bewitched by Yosaku’s good looks, she ultimately decides to spare him the same fate only if he agrees to live out the remainder of his days never divulging that he has met her eye-to-eye and lived to tell about it. After all: a girl’s got a reputation to keep, am I right?
“The lives of a master sculptor and his young apprentice are changed forever when they meet an evil witch during a snowstorm.”
For those unaware, a modest education is in order.
In Japanese folk lore, the Yuki-onna is a female spirit who answers to several other names, but all share the singular characteristic that she’s linked to snow. Sometimes referred to as a ‘snow queen,’ her origins are a bit varied across several different regions, suggesting that she may’ve initially have been descended from the Moon, could be the spirit of an unfortunate soul who perished in the cold, or might possibly have been born from the snow itself. There’s apparently a suggestion from a Japanese scholar that states if there’s enough of anything in life, then that thing is endowed with the gift of creating life to populate it. As an example (per Wikipedia.org), a body of water that is deep and wide enough develops the ability to create fish to populate it. Transitively, if a snowfall is plentiful enough, then it grows a snow woman to walk amongst its drifts.
However, the motivation of this spirit also varies from province to province. Some tribes thought her appearance would serve as a warning to keep children indoors while still others align the sighting of such spectral entities as signaling a forthcoming bountiful harvest. Though it isn’t uncommon for tales of her arrival to center around sorrow or woe, there are others that more strongly suggest her visits are meant more as cautionary reminders than anything else. Because there are several significant variations, there really is no consensus around what expectation one might attach to encountering a Yuki-onna in the bitter and cold wild, but it should go without saying that the greeter will likely be changed … and not necessarily for the good.
In The Snow Woman, our Yuki (as played by Shiho Fujimura) is depicted as a powerful witch who comes alive during heavy snowstorms waiting for souls to take as a consequence for being out and unprotected in the frosty climate. Yosaku (Akira Ishihama) – a young sculptor – and his mentor are travelling on foot when they are caught in a heavy downfall. Seeking refuge in an empty shack, they light a fire and retire for the evening. But it isn’t long before the snow woman – with her pale skin, golden eyes, and flowing black hair – happen upon them, and she quickly exacts her vengeance on the older man. Bewitched by Yosaku’s good looks, she ultimately decides to spare him the same fate only if he agrees to live out the remainder of his days never divulging that he has met her eye-to-eye and lived to tell about it. After all: a girl’s got a reputation to keep, am I right?
Once back in the village, Yosaku inherits the task left behind by his deceased mentor: he’s charged with carving a statue from a tree for one of the local temples. In fact, this was the reason he and the old man were out in the forest in the first place – searching for the right tree – and Yosaku understands and enthusiastically agrees to take this challenge upon himself even though his skills are not quite what they should be. Yet it isn’t long before Yuki – now in human form – descends upon the village with hopes to find love with the young man she’s entrusted with her secret. Just like no one recognizes Clark Kent as Superman, Yosaku has no idea that Yuki is the famed snow woman; and he falls head-over-heels in love with her in the process. Eventually, they wed and start a family … but as often happens in fairy tales of this type Yuki’s secret is never far away, and that secret inevitably will come back to haunt her and him in ways they couldn’t predict.
The best folk legends always seem to end on a sad note, and The Snow Woman is no different. It’s almost as if happiness is more of a curse than is keeping a secret – Yosaku loses his mother but gains a bride; Yuki gains a husband, but her spectral beauty makes her a sought-after prize by other, more powerful men; passion blinds talent when it’s not properly tempered; etc. – and the cycle of ups-and-downs can’t quite stop long enough for true love to prevail. I suspect that there’s never any doubt amongst the viewership that these two lovers are destined to be torn apart; and the resulting 80-minute running time is largely spent trying to guess when it will happen. The real question becomes whether or not Yuki will allow her love to change her mind – to let Yosaku go on living if he breaks his promise – and that card is cleverly concealed until the big finish.
Director Tanaka has produced a masterful adaptation from start-to-finish.
Though a few sequences play out perhaps a bit longer than absolutely necessary, the film retains a leanness I’ve not encountered in other Japanese ghost stories. The striking visuals are reserved for just the perfect moments; and, as such, the powerful cinematography helps move the story and characters forward instead of resorting to cinematic theatricality. It’s poetry for the eyes, and I’ve found it very rare in supply these days. In particular, Fujimura rules the day: her snow woman is a dastardly creation but not overblown with staginess. She properly ‘vamps’ here and there in spectral form – fixes a potential male suitor or the town spiritual leader with a steely gaze – and the actress manages to elicit chills that are the foundation of the ghost she inhabits. It’s an exceptional performance especially given the fact that she spends so much of the time as the coy, submissive housewife that the townsfolk would never possibly believe to be a deadly, vengeful spirit.
The best folk legends always seem to end on a sad note, and The Snow Woman is no different. It’s almost as if happiness is more of a curse than is keeping a secret – Yosaku loses his mother but gains a bride; Yuki gains a husband, but her spectral beauty makes her a sought-after prize by other, more powerful men; passion blinds talent when it’s not properly tempered; etc. – and the cycle of ups-and-downs can’t quite stop long enough for true love to prevail. I suspect that there’s never any doubt amongst the viewership that these two lovers are destined to be torn apart; and the resulting 80-minute running time is largely spent trying to guess when it will happen. The real question becomes whether or not Yuki will allow her love to change her mind – to let Yosaku go on living if he breaks his promise – and that card is cleverly concealed until the big finish.
Director Tanaka has produced a masterful adaptation from start-to-finish.
Though a few sequences play out perhaps a bit longer than absolutely necessary, the film retains a leanness I’ve not encountered in other Japanese ghost stories. The striking visuals are reserved for just the perfect moments; and, as such, the powerful cinematography helps move the story and characters forward instead of resorting to cinematic theatricality. It’s poetry for the eyes, and I’ve found it very rare in supply these days. In particular, Fujimura rules the day: her snow woman is a dastardly creation but not overblown with staginess. She properly ‘vamps’ here and there in spectral form – fixes a potential male suitor or the town spiritual leader with a steely gaze – and the actress manages to elicit chills that are the foundation of the ghost she inhabits. It’s an exceptional performance especially given the fact that she spends so much of the time as the coy, submissive housewife that the townsfolk would never possibly believe to be a deadly, vengeful spirit.
The Snow Woman (1968) was produced by Daiei Studios and Daiei. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Radiance Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the provided sights-and-sounds to be incredible: the press materials from Radiance state that this is an all-new 4K restoration, and I’m honestly smitten with delight over this one. It just oozes goodness at every spot. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? I’m doing the copy-and-paste from the materials published on Blu-ray.com in order to get it right:
As I was provided with an industry copy, I always remind readers that I’m not typically provided the physical inserts, booklets, and artwork. As such, I can’t speak about the efficacy of those items.
Highly Recommended.
Without being too hyperbolic, I fell in love with The Snow Woman (1968): this is, by far, one of the finest Japanese ghost stories I’ve ever seen. Granted, I’m sure I haven’t seen as many of them as other critics have; but that doesn’t detract from the project’s greatness in any measurable way. It’s a wonderful fable where girl-meets-boy, girl-curses-boy, boy-meets-girl, boy-weds-girl, and girl-turns-out-to-be-the-same-girl-who-cursed-him-in-the-beginning. (Don’t worry: it’ll all make sense in the end.) Thankfully, the script keeps everything simple – there’s just enough mythology to establish this world and its characters with not an ounce of bloat – and the performances and cinematography also stay on point, never rushing into overdrive or visually overstating the importance of a certain scene or sequence. Just like a Grimm’s fairy tale, there’s a bittersweet ending … just the kind that might leave you wishing that there were more.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Radiance Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Snow Woman (1968) – as part of their Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- New interview with filmmaker Masayuki Ochiai
- A visual essay on writer Lafcadio Hearn
- Trailer
- Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Filippo Di Battista
As I was provided with an industry copy, I always remind readers that I’m not typically provided the physical inserts, booklets, and artwork. As such, I can’t speak about the efficacy of those items.
Highly Recommended.
Without being too hyperbolic, I fell in love with The Snow Woman (1968): this is, by far, one of the finest Japanese ghost stories I’ve ever seen. Granted, I’m sure I haven’t seen as many of them as other critics have; but that doesn’t detract from the project’s greatness in any measurable way. It’s a wonderful fable where girl-meets-boy, girl-curses-boy, boy-meets-girl, boy-weds-girl, and girl-turns-out-to-be-the-same-girl-who-cursed-him-in-the-beginning. (Don’t worry: it’ll all make sense in the end.) Thankfully, the script keeps everything simple – there’s just enough mythology to establish this world and its characters with not an ounce of bloat – and the performances and cinematography also stay on point, never rushing into overdrive or visually overstating the importance of a certain scene or sequence. Just like a Grimm’s fairy tale, there’s a bittersweet ending … just the kind that might leave you wishing that there were more.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Radiance Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Snow Woman (1968) – as part of their Daiei Gothic: Japanese Ghost Stories – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
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