Blind Beast – Review

“I only like it if it hurts.“

Masumara’s purveyance of the neorealist aesthetic to accomplish this unique fantasy/horror film is not only notable for its historical significance but also for its fearlessness. However, despite its controversial content, the film is ultimately about the artist and his art: the fixation, the obsession, and the funeral. We, the audience, are presented with these exaggerated characters and encouraged to reflect upon the global meanings which affect and are affected by humanity.

An obsessive blind man named Michio and his domineering mother abduct a fashion model named Aki Shima. His intention is to prove to the world that a new genre of art exists; a genre by and for the blind, only to be truly appreciated by touch. Before her abduction, Aki witnesses Michio at an art gallery, fondling a statue in her image. She cannot comprehend how this could cause her pleasure, but this elixir of repulsion and egotism is a strange but common brew. Later, he poses as a masseuse and caresses her sensually before capturing her and bringing her to his lair. He is a sculptor himself, having molded all the body parts in his grotesque warehouse over the course of six years. The body parts were modeled (from memory no less) after all the women he had caressed during his former stint as a masseuse. His father’s inheritance assisted with this construction. The oedipal connections in this film are numerous and certainly not subtle (are the enormous body parts in his studio a reflection of his original touch of a woman: his mother?) but they can also be brought into the discussion of art. Art, beheld by the artist, is larger than life; a sensuous experience gripping the very soul of the creator until one of them dies. Indeed, Masumara implies that the male-driven significance of Michio as the artist suggests that the violence inherent in the act of creation (be it by god, big bang, or sex) is a male attribute. The masculine drive is derived, executed, and justified through violent and selfish means (war has been instigated and perpetrated throughout history by men). This also lends the film a symbolic criticism beyond merely art but to the very nature of man himself.

The acting in the film is impeccable. Eiji Funakoshi’s performance as Michio is flawless and entirely convincing. Not once does he look directly at anyone and yet his “gaze” is intense. He is villainous yet oddly sympathetic, not because of his ocular handicap necessarily but for the inescapable prison he has made for himself (enabled by his mother of course) – quite the antithesis of Fini Straubinger in Herzog’s masterpiece, Land of Silence and Darkness. Mako Midori as Aki is equally convincing, but her behavior becomes more believable as the film progresses. The audience is essentially taking this journey with Aki and will become slowly desensitized to the impending violence. Noriko Sengoku plays the mother with just the right amount of obsessive protectionism (and yes, I’m referring to the economic policy) and heart-felt conviction. The character of the mother is a typical Freudian formula. Aki uses this as a weapon throughout the film and it ultimately results in death. The music is typical horror film fare, but there are also tense moments of silence which are very effective.

Aki narrates the film but it is apparent early on that she is unreliable (my favourite type of narrator). There are numerous questions that arise throughout the film. Why was she at the gallery? Her voyeuristic tendencies are nearly as advanced as Michio; indeed, by the end, her inhibitions are expunged and her inner nature is revealed. The ending of the film is entirely logical within the deranged mind of this obsessive artist; it is after all, merely intensifying the climatic abstraction of the artistic endeavour. It is shocking for a reason. The end of a work of art for the artist is a funeral; a celebration and a mourning from which there is nothing wholesome or civilised, only methods of self-indulgence.