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Scene from Dark Water.

Spooky ‘Dark Water’ Brings Urban Fears to Un-life

In the mood for horror, international style? If so, San Francisco Film Society’s annual Dark Wave series can be counted on to satisfy. Previous years’ programs have included Tetsuo director Shinya Tsukamoto’s arty evil-twin slapdown, Gemini, and Cure auteur Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s clairvoyance chiller, Séance (Korei), intriguing forays into the rich world of Japanese horror that ended up receiving no distribution in the states. In that sense, much like the society’s annual international film festival, Dark Wave is more than a must-see — it’s an only-chance-to-see.

This year’s Asian offerings include Inugami, Masato Harada’s contemporary folk tale revolving around the female caretakers of wild dog gods; Versus, Ryuhei Kitamura’s zombie yakuza terror-rama; and Teenage Hooker Became a Killing Machine in Daehakroh, a view-at-your-own-risk short digital hybrid of manga, 2,000 Maniacs-style gore and schoolgirl fetishism.

Yet is it any wonder — given the name of the festival — that Ring director Hideo Nakata’s latest film, Dark Water, would be the standout this year? Based on a story by Japanese author Koji Suzuki, the subtly spooky haunted-condo yarn may be low on the overt action and come off as too subdued and slow-moving for some. But it makes up for its leisurely pacing by amplifying everyday urban fears and revisiting familiar Japanese cinematic themes. And of course, there’s the ever-popular, reappearing child ghost — the kind that doesn’t know whether to screech “Wah!” or “Boo!”

Dark Water opens on familiar scenes of familial disappointment and severed bonds: a lonely girl, Yoshimi, waits to be picked up at school. Jumpcut to the girl’s older self, waiting in family court as her divorce is negotiated. Yoshimi (Hitomi Kuroki) fights passionately for her daughter, Ikuku (Rio Kanno), when her caddish husband attempts to retain custody in some sort of power trip. There are obviously other “issues” — Yoshimi has had psychological crises in the past, and she herself was abandoned by her own mother.

In that context, Yoshimi’s every attempt at creating a normal post-divorce life for her and Ikuku has an aura of heroism. She tries to draw Ikuku out of her shell by making a game of apartment hunting and finds a job as a proofreader. The girl starts at a new kindergarten, and mother and child move into an eerie old battleship of an apartment building, despite the unnerving puddles of water on the floors and the torturously dripping stains on the ceiling.

But the plumbing isn’t the only horror lurking in the family’s new home. Little things start to tear away at the delicate fabric of their new life. A strange, beading water stain seems to creep across Yoshimi’s bedroom ceiling like a plague, and she discovers hair in her glass of tap water. In addition, Ikuku disappears almost immediately after they visit the apartment building for the first time and returns with a little red bag she found on the roof. When Yoshimi asks whether it might belong to another child in the building she is told that no children have lived in the building for a while. Nonetheless, there are hints that a child may still dwell in the building — though it may not be “living.”

Yoshimi unravels the clues to this mysterious, increasingly malevolent presence with both common sense and extrasensory perception, flashing on images when she touches the dark streaks or puddles of water. Although any sane person would clearly be hightailing it into another neighborhood, the mother and daughter stay put, out of practicality — a stable home is crucial in the custody case — and out of psychological need — Yoshimi’s life mirrors that of both her own child, Ikuku, and this emotionally hungry child ghost.

In the end, Nakata cribs scenes from scary flicks such as Child’s Play and The Shining to fashion his own careful, quietly ambitious take on the modern fears and anxieties of urban Japan, creating a fine follow-up to Ring, which was recently remade by DreamWorks. All the unsavory hallmarks of contemporary city life — divorce, fractured families, neglected children, anonymous condos where neighbors never meet (perhaps for the best, here) — mark Dark Water, with the stony, cold apartment building court as the central metaphor. With its dripping, porous ceilings, threatening elevators and stairwells, and nasty, never-to-be-revealed secrets, it represents the rot eating at the heart of modern civilization, a post-bubble-economy world in the throes of economic instability. A concrete edifice that seems to surreally “drown” its tenants, the deteriorating building symbolizes a corrosive decay that threatens everything, including the basic bond between a mother and child.

Themes of primal maternal ties and water often pop up in Japanese pop culture. But with Dark Water and horror films such as Séance and Ring, one is tempted to make an addition to the Japanese cinematic pantheon of symbols: the recurring character of the child ghost. Do these little specters stand for Japan’s lost innocence after lifetime-employment evaporated and the family structure was shaken? Do they embody the fears for, or of, a youthful generation? Or do they represent a multitude of uncontrollable emotions and needs that remain unsatisfied by banalities of the waking world? There’s a hint of all these ideas in Dark Water. So dive in – the water’s unsettling.

Dark Wave, the San Francisco Film Society’s annual series of international horror, fantasy and cult cinema will show at the Roxie Cinema, 3117 16th Street, San Francisco, from Oct. 18 to 20. For more information go to www.sffs.org/events/index.html.