When the Blu-ray label Radiance released Kōhei Oguri’s 1990 Japanese psychological drama The Sting of Death, I was immediately struck by some of the stills from the film. After reading the synopsis, I decided to buy it without having seen it, and I’m so glad I did.
Going into the film, I was expecting a beautifully photographed, affecting drama about a marriage falling apart. The film met those expectations, but went much further, using rich imagery and raw performances to create something that feels like a mix of a Zen melodrama and an emotional horror film.
Miho and Toshio have been married for ten years and have two children. They met while Toshio was stationed on a small island during the war and fell in love. They once imagined they would die together if Toshio were sent into battle, but the war ended before he would set off to fight. Years later, their seemingly loving marriage is shattered when Toshio has an affair. From there, the relationship begins to devolve, and so does Miho’s mental health.
This film is incredibly affecting. It has lingered with me since I first saw it over a year ago. Almost every frame looks like a painting, both beautiful and horrifying. The rich sound design and the bravery of the actors, who are willing to completely lose themselves in this story, make The Sting of Death a remarkable experience. It’s a film that deserves to be seen by more people.
The Sting of Death is playing Friday, August 14th at Projecting, presented by Millwork Commons.
Here’s a polished version that keeps your voice and the personal, enthusiastic quality of the original:
When the Blu-ray label Radiance released Kōhei Oguri’s 1990 Japanese psychological drama The Sting of Death, I was immediately struck by some of the stills from the film. After reading the synopsis, I decided to buy it without having seen it, and I’m so glad I did.
Going into the film, I was expecting a beautifully photographed, affecting drama about a marriage falling apart. The film met those expectations, but went much further, using rich imagery and raw performances to create something that feels like a mix of a Zen melodrama and an emotional horror film.
Miho and Toshio have been married for ten years and have two children. They met while Toshio was stationed on a small island during the war and fell in love. They once imagined they would die together if Toshio were sent into battle, but the war ended before he would set off to fight. Years later, their seemingly loving marriage is shattered when Toshio has an affair. From there, the relationship begins to devolve, and so does Miho’s mental health.
This film is incredibly affecting. It has lingered with me since I first saw it over a year ago. Almost every frame looks like a painting, both beautiful and horrifying. The rich sound design and the bravery of the actors, who are willing to completely lose themselves in this story, make The Sting of Death a remarkable experience. It’s a film that deserves to be seen by more people.
The Sting of Death is playing Friday, August 14th at Projecting, presented by Millwork Commons.
Kiyoshi Kurosawa is a filmmaker I have fallen in love with over the years, from the iconic psychological horror films Pulse and Cure to his most recent, almost satirical 2025 film Cloud. Kurosawa makes films that are as mysterious as they are captivating. So, when I saw that his newest film was venturing into the world of samurai and historical epics with The Samurai and the Prisoner, my interest was piqued.
The film is set in 16th-century Japan and follows Lord Murashige Araki, who has rebelled against the powerful warlord Nobunaga Oda and barricaded himself and his followers inside a castle. When a series of murders occurs within the supposedly secure fortress, he turns to an unlikely source for help: Kanbei Kuroda, a brilliant military strategist whom he has imprisoned in the castle dungeon.
The film is patient. It’s more of a whodunit than an action movie, but it’s brimming with Kurosawa’s usual tension and paranoia. There are eruptions of violence, but the film is more interested in the way people talk to each other, and how paranoia can cause us to lose our ability to trust one another and see the world around us for what it really is.
There’s also something fascinating about watching Kurosawa apply these ideas to a samurai film. Rather than treating the castle as a grand setting for battles and sword fights, he turns it into a claustrophobic space where everyone is watching everyone else. Every conversation feels like it could contain a hidden motive, and every new piece of information seems to make the situation more confusing rather than less. That slow accumulation of suspicion is where the film gets much of its power, and it allows Kurosawa to find something surprisingly contemporary within this historical setting.
The film is, unsurprisingly, impeccably made. It’s beautiful to look at, it sounds incredible, and the acting is top-notch. Kurosawa brings the same sense of unease and mystery that has defined so much of his work into a completely different genre, and the result is a samurai film that feels distinctly his own.
