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Dis­cov­er the patri­archy skew­er­ing thrills of this Japan­ese splatterfest

20 Nov 2017

Words by Anton Bitel

Lorry loaded with cardboard boxes, electronic equipment, and debris on a rural road.
Lorry loaded with cardboard boxes, electronic equipment, and debris on a rural road.
Sion Sono’s fan­ta­sy hor­ror TAG fea­tures one of the most arrest­ing open­ing sequences in movie history.

Why did we have to run?” asks a school­girl, breath­less­ly, after she and three friends have just ditched class and raced full pelt all the way to a near­by riv­er. It’s a good ques­tion. For while this par­tic­u­lar act of run­ning was an expres­sion of joy­ous free­dom and escapism, accom­pa­nied by an exhil­a­rat­ing musi­cal sound­track, Mit­suko (Reina Triendl) and her friends are always run­ning in TAG, usu­al­ly for their lives – and idyl­lic moments like this inter­lude on the riv­er bank are just brief lulls in their lives, always over­tak­en by the relent­less pur­suit of chaos, destruc­tion and bloody death.

TAG’s open­ing sequence, for exam­ple – which sure­ly qual­i­fies as one of the most arrest­ing in film his­to­ry – begins with an ide­alised scene: hap­py school­girls on a bus, head­ing off on a trip, blithe­ly laugh­ing and throw­ing pil­lows back and forth, as their female teacher com­ments on how nice and sun­ny” it is. Yet as Mit­suko bends over to pick up her dropped pen, a super­nat­ur­al force shears off half the bus, blood­i­ly tak­ing the heads and upper tor­sos of the oth­er girls with it, and leav­ing Mit­suko cov­ered in blood and flee­ing what appears to be a leafy gust of wind (with its own Evil Dead-style shaky cam POV shot as it chas­es her down the road). Lat­er, her lessons with best friends Aki (Yuki Saku­rai), Taeko (Ari Hiraoko) and Sur (Ami Tomite) – short for Sur­re­al’ – will be brought to a vio­lent end when the school’s teach­ers sud­den­ly turn guns and grenade launch­ers on their stu­dent body.

Here youth is fleet­ing, and mor­tal­i­ty is nev­er more than a few steps behind – but even as death adopts irra­tional forms, the film itself deploys equal­ly irra­tional tran­si­tions, always stay­ing close to Mis­tuko while her loca­tions and sce­nar­ios, even her iden­ti­ty, rad­i­cal­ly change, so that by the end she is also the 25-year-old bride Keiko (Moriko Shin­ode) and a long-dis­tance run­ner named Izu­mi (Eri­na Mano). Con­fused and trau­ma­tised by her strange, wrench­ing expe­ri­ences in a world inhab­it­ed exclu­sive­ly by women (apart from a tuxe­doed bride­groom wear­ing a pig’s head), Mit­suko is guid­ed by the loy­al Aki, who recurs in every sto­ry­line, to a cli­mac­tic meet­ing with her mak­er, for whom she is a mere plaything.

Pro­lif­ic cult film­mak­er Sion Sono has freely adapt­ed the world of Yusuke Yamada’s 2004 nov­el Riaru Onigokko’ to expose the trap­pings of patri­archy. For as Mit­suko runs and runs, what she and her friends are strug­gling to escape is a closed sys­tem designed for the per­verse whims of men, and gamed against the inter­ests and inde­pen­dence of the female avatars it takes such plea­sure in dis­play­ing, sex­u­al­is­ing and – ulti­mate­ly, repeat­ed­ly – slaying.

After much dis­cours­ing (most­ly from Sur) on the clash of free will and deter­min­ism, Mis­tuko is grad­u­al­ly led to the best, per­haps the only, way out of this impos­si­ble predica­ment. It is a solu­tion akin to what the Sto­ic Epicte­tus said of sui­cide (Dis­cours­es I.24.20): Remem­ber that the door is open. Don’t be more cow­ard­ly than chil­dren, but just as they say, when the game is no longer fun for them, I won’t play any more,’ you too, when things seem that way to you, say, I won’t play any more,’ and leave, but if you remain, don’t complain.”

Dis­em­pow­ered, and pas­sive­ly com­plic­it in the suf­fer­ing of her many sis­ters, Mit­suko finds that there is only one tru­ly free choice remain­ing to her – and in exer­cis­ing it, three times, she brings the whole game to an end. The very last time we see Mit­suko, she is run­ning off once more, but to where, and to what, we no longer know.

TAG is released on dual-for­mat Blu-ray/D­VD by Eure­ka Enter­tain­ment on 20 Novem­ber 2017.

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