Serpentes de Junho

When I learned the A Snake of June was made by the director of Tetsuo, I almost turned it off. I'm glad I didn't because Snake is a lot more interesting and somewhat more comprehensible - but that is only relative. The story starts off reasonably straightforwardly, following phone-counsellor Rinko at work and at home with her unresponsive husband Shigehiko. For the first half it is an exciting erotic thriller, complete with blackmailer.

The introduction of cancer - a transformation of the flesh echoing the techno transformations of Tetsuo - leads into new territory. The focus shifts from Rinko to Shigehiko after one of the most erotic scenes in mainstream cinema. And then it lost me. There are some sado-masochistic similarities to Cronenberg's 'Crash' with its three-way interactions. The scenes between husband and blackmailer are increasingly surrealistic. They may be dreams or fantasies: if not some scenes are comically preposterous. But however incomprehensible the film becomes it is made so well that attention never flags. The urban setting in rainy season Japan is filmed in a blue-tinged monochrome, and the constant rain is used with great effect as a significant 'player' in the film. In hindsight, well worth watching, even though I suspect that the sub-titles do not do justice to the film's complexities.

Rinko Tatsumi (Asuka Kurosawa) works as a telephone counselor at a Tokyo-area suicide hotline. We see her as pleasant but maybe somewhat unsure of herself while doing her job, and we see her at home, where she is oddly distanced from her husband, Shigehiko (Yuji Kohtari). She receives an odd package in the mail in which she discovers voyeuristic, erotic photographs of herself. Another package contains a cell phone. The photographer calls her, and she finds herself embroiled in a relationship with a stalker who threatens to kill her if she alerts anyone.

In a nutshell, this is a Brian De Palma-styled "erotic thriller", with typical Asian horror dream logic sensibilities and spurts of Terry Gilliam-inspired surrealism. As a Japanese genre film, it has a common characteristic that works well in some films but not so well in others: it begins very taut and suspenseful, but makes some odd, oblique, ambiguous turns halfway through, then ends almost by an abandonment. Here the progression is a bit iffy, and is responsible for most of the point subtractions in my rating.

Stylistically, Snake of June is more than impressive. Director Shinya Tsukamoto, the helmer behind such notorious Japanese genre films as Tetsuo (1988) and Bullet Ballet (1998), takes a cue from recent Hollywood genre films and trumps the monochromatic-leaning cinematography by just shooting in black and white and tinting the film blue during processing. June is Japan's rainy season (the title refers partially to the month), and Tsukamoto sets the film amidst almost constant, frequently torrential rain. The combined effect is very ethereal; it's melancholy but sensual at the same time, and establishes the perfect mood for the story.

Tsukamoto made a commendable move in casting three principals who are anything but conventional in terms of age and looks. Kurosawa is older than the typical "sex bomb", and even looks a bit older than she really was while shooting. Tsukamoto has her "frumped up" a bit, making her a bit dowdy. Kohtari looks almost old enough to be her father (aided by his balding crown), and Tsukamoto himself plays the middle-aged stalker (again looking even older than his actual age). The casting choices were intelligent, as it sets the film in a more believable realm, with more "everyday" people.

Of course, Kurosawa's Rinko is still quite sexy, and becomes more so as the film progresses, partially because of her behavior and partially because of a subtle physical transformation she undergoes. Tsukamoto's stalker, Iguchi (one of the possible "snakes" of the title), is quite twisted in many of the physical acts he demands of Rinko (and much more depraved in the later manipulations of Shigehiko, which approach torture), but they amount to her blossoming in her sexuality, despite the initial relationship between Rinko and Iguchi which is almost forcefully coercive.

The basic idea of the film is fairly straightforward, although Tsukamoto throws in more surreal tangents probably intended to throw viewers off somewhat (some scenes, such as the bizarre one involving a "metal penis" (another snake allusion) with which Iguchi punishes Shigehiko, are purposefully ambiguous--Tsukamoto says on the DVD extras that even he is not sure what it means). The gist is that Iguchi, who was saved from killing himself by Rinko, has realized that life must be lived to its fullest in each moment--emotionally and physically/experientially. He thanks Rinko for producing a kind of awakening to this idea, and wants to return the favor, especially since he's noticed her emotionally vacuous marriage and her unfulfilled carnal desires. Each character develops as the film progresses, coming to a further realization of the central idea, even embracing the experience of pain and impending doom (which is probably why Rinko is shown not getting the medical attention she needs).

What makes the film so controversial, aside from its somewhat twisted sex scenes (which are primarily masturbatory), is that the positive character developments are through Sadean, non-consensual, felonious actions including or bordering on rape, murder, blackmail, false imprisonment, and so on. This isn't a film for the weak of heart, or for anyone who dislikes gray morality.

Although necessary for character development, the about-face that occurs in the middle of the film when Iguchi begins to focus on Shigehiko instead of Rinko also marks a point where all of the lovely thriller tension that Tsukamoto built up in the first half is abandoned. Rinko has taken Iguchi's suggested direction willingly--we see her become increasingly more daring as she enjoys her newfound free spirit, Shigehiko quickly seems to be a willing submissive, and Iguchi begins to seem a bit more pathetic than menacing. After what has come before, the final scene is a bit of an anti-climax, at least on a "visceral" level. It's not that the second half isn't entertaining, but the tone is very different--to an extent that it almost feels like a different film at times.

Still, A Snake of June is successful overall. As with many Asian genre films, it requires that you watch not expecting a neatly wrapped up, linear plot that could function as a logical argument. Viewed in the right frame of mind, you should find much to enjoy.

If TETSUO was about hating your body, SNAKE OF JUNE is about embracing it. Fans of the former will know what to expect in terms of style: black-and-white, wild photography, bizarre imagery etc. What they won't expect is the relatively accessible and easy-to-follow storyline in the first half, as a woman discovers her own desires through the promptings of a blackmailer. About half-way through the focus is switched to her husband, and here we revert to total obscurity, in the TETSUO and TETSUO 2 mould. Tsukamoto buffs will find it all very interesting, others will be left baffled.

This reminds me of my discovery with Tetsuo, ten years ago, of a cinema out there. Tetsuo for me at the time was like listening for the first time to bands like Throbbing Gristle or SPK. The term 'industrial' wasn't just a commercial label, it communicated something fundamental of the fabric it was made of, not of style but of the sound itself (in Tetsuo's case, the image). It was enough to simply experience it, interpretations seemed superfluous.

Snake of June is a similar experience for the body, in the sense that the ideas explored pale in comparison to the exploration itself. Whatever it's a portrait of, of sexual or personal liberation from the self, it's the portrait that matters to me.

The grimy aesthetic pulsing with grain and noise, the fluid camera exploring dark recesses of an urban dystopia of constant downpour, the sudden bursts of fetishized sex, all these orient and provide contrast and context to what is explored. It's not enough to see these personal demons overcomed by the female protagonist, the boundaries of mundane existence broken apart, it counts to experience how they reflect.

A view of the mind is permitted here through a camera obscura, dancing on the walls of the mind we see demented projections. The emerging view is not clear, but like the best of surreal cinema, kaleidoskopic. We may piece something together of the image we see, but that's hardly the point for me. I point a kaleidoskope to something to experience the phantasmagoria of the fracture, Snake of June works likewise. The portrait we get is not a lifelike depiction, but an expressionist one.

This may be linked to horror cinema due to Tsukamoto's credentials, but it's really New Wave in the best tradition of directors like Susumu Hani and Toshio Matsumoto.

This film is about sexual inhibitions, fantasies and social restrictions. The reviewer who said this film is stupid and has no story obviously doesn't grasp the fact that this is an avant-garde film. The imagery, themes and sound are what make the film, not the narrative. It works on a different level and is better appreciated by people who are interested in film as an art form rather than merely popcorn entertainment. The imagery is dark and provocative and enhanced by the blue and white monochrome. The director employs his trademark hand-held camera and big close ups. Although the themes are sexual in nature the film never feels like exploitation. The film isn't perfect by any means but is an interesting example of avant garde film-making by a significant Japanese director. Watch it with an open mind.