To not be familiar with Sion Sono [園子温] at this point would be, of course, unforgivable. But, since this has been the first film of the veteran -born in 1961- director to be released via the Netflix stream, many people will take The Forest Of Love (a poor translation of 愛なき森で叫べ; literally ''Screaming in a Forest Without Love'') as his best known title. This was in fact his second production for the streaming juggernauts currently shaping all of the entertaiment industry into the beautiful pyramidal form of a late-stage monopoly; the first being his 2017 series Tokyo Vampire Hotel [東京ヴァンパイアホテル] for Amazon Prime Japan. Bizarre, stylish and ultraviolent, Tokyo Vampire Hotel was almost a statement coming from Sono: while these platforms will of course increase his reach, he is adamant about staying in character. For in fact Sono still feels as fresh as always, working hard to be as gut-wrenching, daring and provocative as possible while crafting films beautiful in cinematography, complex in character, and visionary in themes and realization. That, of course, if you indulge in his personal mix of bloodshet, sexual deviancy, utter nihilism, punk visuals, yakuza flick obsession and occasional displays of unexpected lyrism, honesty and beauty.
While I've considered making a review of his so called Hate Trilogy -comprising Love Exposure (2008), Cold Fish (2010) and Guilty Of Romance (2011)- after watching them again, The Forest Of Love is complex enough to offer a promising analysis of elements crucial in all those classics. In fact you can easily argue this movie also refers to his best known film, the Suicide Club [自殺サークル] from 2002, a first commercial hit which allowed Sono to expand beyond indie and low-budgeted cinema, where he nevertheless shined. His love for this kind of cinema, also portrayed in so many of his films, is tributed here too. The Forest Of Love unapologetically borrows settings and themes from all of these previous films, and introduce them into a para-biographical crime story about a Japanese serial killer, Futoshi Matsunaga [松永 太]. Perished in death row, Matsunaga shocked Japan by perpetrating the Kitakyūshū Serial Murder Incident [北九州連続殺人事件]; heinous to the extreme, the Japanese press was unwilling to reveal details of the murderings to the public. Endowed with a magnetic personality, Matsunaga defrauded and blackmailed entire families, seduced and killed various mistresses, and forced more than 5 people to do things such as these: killing their beloved ones, dismembering or hiding corpses, torturing others via electroshock, eating feces, urine or blood, etc. Through various means of intimidation, including rape, blackmail and torture, Matsunaga was the ringmaster of abundant criminal activity for his sole benefit; in this he was among that kind of so-called ''cult-like'' criminals, not only doers but also enablers and organizers. The relationship between the film and its ''original material'' is at times evident, at times blurred. While Sion's trademark includes both surrealism and exaggeration (even visceral at times) one can still argue Matsunaga's real crimes were even worse than those depicted on screen by his alter-ego, Joe Murata. That's really something to think of.
The Forest Of Love is about three stories becoming one. One, a closeted girl (Mitsuko) is still haunted by a suicide incident at her highschool theater club. Her longing for the actress playing Romeo, ran over by a car, turns pathological as the years go by. Two, a newcomer (Shin) in Tokyo meets two punk-flavored youngsters dreaming of becoming film directors, and living on an abandoned industrial building. Three, a recent series of murderings of girls aroung Tokyo indicate the presence of a killer; a punk girl with a lame leg (Taeko) and out of an abusive relationship is searching for him. These three are compounded by the flamboyand appearance of Joe Murata, a low-life actor and singer with aspirations of fame via sheer egolatry and ofuscation. Now, before giving out too much, lets comment on these plot lines. Line one has strong aesthetic references to the 60's angura [アングラ] or ''underground'' theater scene, including Tadanori Yokoo [横尾 忠則]'s characteristic poster design. It also includes open references to Sono's Suicide Club, and the lesbian undertones which also permeate much of the popular culture on the subject. Also, within this line we get to see an splendid tribute to Jun Togawa [戸川純], via the poignant inclusion of her version of Canon in D, Punk Mushi No Onna [パンク蛹化の女]. All these cultural references would probably get the casual Netflix viewer scratching his head in disbelief, but lets mention them to emphasize how Sono openly connects the female lead Mitsuko with her role as actress until the very end, and with the nihilism he loves to endow his young characters with. The ghostly aesthetic of this first line permeates the entire movie.
Line two is reminiscent of other films such as Hazard (2005) or Love Exposure (2008), due to its emphasis on rebels trying to fulfill their dreams amidst an indifferent and anesthesized Japan. The cinema-obsessed youngsters living on the industrial base resemble those expatriate Japanese of Hazard, drifting in New York. One of them, Jay, uses the same kind of fedora hats Sion himself loves to wear at any occasion, further identifying them with himself. Line three brings to mind Cold Fish (2010) and Guilty of Romance (2011), and their exploration on the limits under which regular people can turn into utter moral monsters; the whole movie offers both dismemberment of corpses and sexual perversion, pushing the mental state of various characters to the brink of collapse and madness. While
Cold Fish is a strong influence on The Forest of Love (not only the bloodshet, but also the focus on a egolatric and amoral character forcing himself upon others), perhaps the biggest theme of the movie is actually ''sampled'' from Guilty of Romance; that is, how artificial repression and prudery enforced upon a person can turn them into pretty much the opposite kind, their subconscious willfully overturning those values on their back. Sono's long obsession with this theme could be linked to Sade's explorations on the subject (his treatment on violence and pleasure being just as dark as that of the Marquis).
Another powerful take offered by The Forest of Love is of course the blurring between fact and fiction, reality and imagination. There are three layers to this, which I'd argue correspond to the three plotlines: theater, cinema, and madness. The first two are of course obvious: the theater backstory never completely leaves the screen, and its influence over both Mitsuko and Taeko is hard to ignore. The suicide attempt by the theater club in fact starts with ''let's die just as Romeo and Juliet''. The cinema director blur is also evident; Jay and his mates start out completely realizing the difference between movies and reality, but Murata's influence forces them to film torture and beatings, and his abhorrent lifestyle utterly breaks the distinction between his persona as lowlife actor/singer and his actual self. Of course, Murata's antisocial character completely destroys any distinction between all these, and that's the genious of the film. Kippei Shiina's [椎名 桔平] delivery is no less than stellar here, and his uncanny resemblance to Futoshi Matsunaga makes him the perfect cast choice.
Also, by making an actor of Matsunaga's alter ego (something he was not in real life), Sono elaborates on another of his classic motifs: stardom and its dehumanizing or decadent aspects. This could be traced from his inclusion of Rolly Teranishi in Suicide Club as a glamourizing criminal living on an bowling alley hide out, but it has become a constant among his characters. It is also the key point of his film Love & Peace (2015), even if it indulges on comedy and fairy-tale more than anything. And, while of course the romantic iconography of vampires makes of them fashionable monsters, Sono's Tokyo Vampire Hotel pictures them as almost out of a fashion runway, or even wearing t-shirts with The Stalin's logo. The result is not only a blatant criticism of Japan's celebrity-focused culture (or that of the whole world, actually) but also an interesting way of approaching acting from a meta-perspective in cinema, shifting overused paradigms in favor of unexpected and unique characters (such as that a Murata, an actor playing a criminal playing an actor).
There's more to Sono than first meets the eye; you might be tempted to pick one among his films just to have a fun time, due to an unhealthy love for 'pulp' cinema with guts flying everywhere and dark jokes. But his cinema won't allow it: at key points, where the tempo of the film seems to approach a catharsis of hilaration, he breaks the build-up, dissolves the atmosphere and plays with your feelings instead. These indulgences obliterate any comedy up to that point, and create space for a powerful delivery by the actors, with or without words. Of course a memorable one is Love Exposure's quoting of Corinthians 13; Tokyo Vampire Hotel has Manami's desperate return to her mind lying in bed, during the havoc at the lounge; Tag has Sur's speech. There are such moments in this film, and they willfully annihilate any consideration of Sono's cinema as a simple mix of gore and pornography.
Line two is reminiscent of other films such as Hazard (2005) or Love Exposure (2008), due to its emphasis on rebels trying to fulfill their dreams amidst an indifferent and anesthesized Japan. The cinema-obsessed youngsters living on the industrial base resemble those expatriate Japanese of Hazard, drifting in New York. One of them, Jay, uses the same kind of fedora hats Sion himself loves to wear at any occasion, further identifying them with himself. Line three brings to mind Cold Fish (2010) and Guilty of Romance (2011), and their exploration on the limits under which regular people can turn into utter moral monsters; the whole movie offers both dismemberment of corpses and sexual perversion, pushing the mental state of various characters to the brink of collapse and madness. While
Cold Fish is a strong influence on The Forest of Love (not only the bloodshet, but also the focus on a egolatric and amoral character forcing himself upon others), perhaps the biggest theme of the movie is actually ''sampled'' from Guilty of Romance; that is, how artificial repression and prudery enforced upon a person can turn them into pretty much the opposite kind, their subconscious willfully overturning those values on their back. Sono's long obsession with this theme could be linked to Sade's explorations on the subject (his treatment on violence and pleasure being just as dark as that of the Marquis).
Another powerful take offered by The Forest of Love is of course the blurring between fact and fiction, reality and imagination. There are three layers to this, which I'd argue correspond to the three plotlines: theater, cinema, and madness. The first two are of course obvious: the theater backstory never completely leaves the screen, and its influence over both Mitsuko and Taeko is hard to ignore. The suicide attempt by the theater club in fact starts with ''let's die just as Romeo and Juliet''. The cinema director blur is also evident; Jay and his mates start out completely realizing the difference between movies and reality, but Murata's influence forces them to film torture and beatings, and his abhorrent lifestyle utterly breaks the distinction between his persona as lowlife actor/singer and his actual self. Of course, Murata's antisocial character completely destroys any distinction between all these, and that's the genious of the film. Kippei Shiina's [椎名 桔平] delivery is no less than stellar here, and his uncanny resemblance to Futoshi Matsunaga makes him the perfect cast choice.Also, by making an actor of Matsunaga's alter ego (something he was not in real life), Sono elaborates on another of his classic motifs: stardom and its dehumanizing or decadent aspects. This could be traced from his inclusion of Rolly Teranishi in Suicide Club as a glamourizing criminal living on an bowling alley hide out, but it has become a constant among his characters. It is also the key point of his film Love & Peace (2015), even if it indulges on comedy and fairy-tale more than anything. And, while of course the romantic iconography of vampires makes of them fashionable monsters, Sono's Tokyo Vampire Hotel pictures them as almost out of a fashion runway, or even wearing t-shirts with The Stalin's logo. The result is not only a blatant criticism of Japan's celebrity-focused culture (or that of the whole world, actually) but also an interesting way of approaching acting from a meta-perspective in cinema, shifting overused paradigms in favor of unexpected and unique characters (such as that a Murata, an actor playing a criminal playing an actor).
There's more to Sono than first meets the eye; you might be tempted to pick one among his films just to have a fun time, due to an unhealthy love for 'pulp' cinema with guts flying everywhere and dark jokes. But his cinema won't allow it: at key points, where the tempo of the film seems to approach a catharsis of hilaration, he breaks the build-up, dissolves the atmosphere and plays with your feelings instead. These indulgences obliterate any comedy up to that point, and create space for a powerful delivery by the actors, with or without words. Of course a memorable one is Love Exposure's quoting of Corinthians 13; Tokyo Vampire Hotel has Manami's desperate return to her mind lying in bed, during the havoc at the lounge; Tag has Sur's speech. There are such moments in this film, and they willfully annihilate any consideration of Sono's cinema as a simple mix of gore and pornography.
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