‘Cure’ is a Terrifying J-Horror Masterpiece [Criterion 4K Review]
Chad Collins
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Criterion releases have a distinct way of spurring cinephiles to digitally-evoked frustration. With each new release comes the same rejoinder. A title is either too popular, or not popular enough, to merit entry in their esteemed collection of available titles. Core to this mission of licensing, restoring, and distributing films deemed important, a flexible qualitative measure, Criterion is bound to evoke controversy with each monthly announcement of which titles are getting the ever-evasive Criterion treatment. With their October slate, I can’t imagine a single cinephile is frustrated to see Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s masterpiece Cure make the cut.
Ostensibly the story of Kenichi Takabe’s (Kōji Yakusho) investigation of a series of murders, Cure unfurls to reveal itself as anything but. Cure was released in 1997 at the peak of Hollywood’s preeminent interest in serial killings, slayings, and the psychological underpinnings therein. The movie was antithetical to the slate of western thrillers released—its closest contemporary is David Fincher’s Seven, though even that masterpiece pales in comparison to the existential, moralistic terror Kurosawa cultivates with Cure.
As Takabe investigates, he encounters Masato Hagiwara’s (certifiably chilling in the role) Mamiya, an alleged prognosticator of hypnotism and mesmerism. Kurosawa’s style here, much like in Pulse, is principally clinical. Breaks in the staging capture characters. Doors, windows, and fractured frames cultivate artificial distance with purpose. The endeavor writ large feels both uniquely personal and impossible to comprehend. No surprise given Cure remains dissected, discussed, and probed to this day. Characters similarly exist in big frames, occupying space at their leisure, navigating the uncertainty of criminality, murder, and repression right alongside the audience.
Kurosawa’s deliberately detached lensing has never looked better. The 4K digital restoration, supervised by cinematographer Tokusho Kikumura, is gorgeous. It perfectly captures Kurosawa’s visual wit and gruesome artistry. The streaks on a bloody shower curtain and the grainy horizon of an isolated beach pop with malice. The uncompressed stereo soundtrack fares even better.
Sound is core to what makes Cure’s mesmeric plotting work. The booming, cavernous sound design is dangerously hypnotic, filling the room with a conscious rhythm. The thrum of a washing machine or repetitive drips of water or the flutter of a flame has never sounded better. It’s easy to get lost in the sound alone, a key filmic element to the ambiguity of what Cure’s unrestrained horror ultimately amounts to.
Criterion’s release similarly includes a conversation between Kurosawa and filmmaker Ryusuke Hamaguchi (Drive My Car). It’s fascinating to see a contemporary of Japanese cinema talk with one of the greats. Additionally, the full package includes a 2003 archival interview, interviews with actors Masato Hagiwara and Koji Yakusho, trailers and teasers, and an essay from critic Chris Fujiwara. Compared to Eureka’s “Masters of Cinema” series release, only the Hamaguchi conversation truly stands out. Eureka’s release featured an essay of its own from Tom Mes, an exclusive interview with Kurosawa, and the same slate of archival material.
Comparatively, Criterion’s release is, at best, a marginal improvement over past versions. Truthfully, however, Criterion is Criterion, and the moniker alone is worth the investment for many. Kurosawa’s elliptical tale of horror in its purest form is worth owning in any capacity. For fans new and old alike, Criterion’s release is arguably the best there is. With gorgeous cover art from Michael Boland, it looks good inside and out. Succumb to the cure. You won’t regret it.
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Cure
Summary
Cure is a masterpiece of existential J-horror, and the Criterion release is the best it’s ever looked
