Strange Circus — movie review
Given my reaction to Sion Sono’s Suicide Circle (you can read the rather embarrassing review here), one might be surprised I went out of my way to view another film by him. To be honest, I’m not the type to dismiss a director for a single bad run. And you know what? I’m pretty glad I did. Writer and Director Sion Sono’s modern tale of the Erotic-Grotesque, is at once repulsive and fascinating, and shows a near exponential evolution in his skill as a film craftsman. However, viewer be warned. Strange Circus is a hard film to watch, and involves some rather taboo subject matter. If you want a quantification as guideline, Battle Royale and Suicide Circle were R-14’s, while Strange Circus netted a full on R-18 in its native Japan. If you’re still interested, read on.
Strange Circus starts as the most grim of folktales – say Perrault’s Donkeyskin without the magic donkey droppings. A young girl, Mitsuko, unwittingly stumbles upon her parents’ lovemaking. While an unfortunate event in any normal circumstance, here the consequences are twofold, each equally tragic. For, at the same instant the knowledge of the adult world is thrust upon her, she becomes the object of her father’s obsession. What follows is nothing short of repulsive. Suffice it to say, confinement in a cello case is the least of the girl’s worries. Just when things can’t possibly get any worse, the story flips. Everything previous is revealed to be the creation of a secretive writer, known throughout the land for her erotic-grotesque creations. But, is this even a true reality? The rest of the film attempts to work this out, weaving segments from both tales, and providing enough mystery and intrigue to combat the previous distastefulness.
What sets Strange Circus apart from its material is its stunning visual style. It’s no secret that most forays into the Erotic-Grotesque subgenre result in rather dubious horror and sexploitation fare, but Sono’s surreal, carnival-esque visuals counteract the subject matter, elevate the film to near art. First there’s the treatment of the more questionable scenes. The sequences depicting child abuse thankfully do not feature any at-risk children, but instead have the young girl morph into actress Masumi Miyazaki (who plays her mother Sayuri) to convey both the mental and physical anguish, as well as the psychological defense mechanism employed by the girl. Then there are the sets, which seem an extension of each characters personality, and their responses to various stimuli. For example, after the initial terrible “encounter” with her father, the hallways down which Mitsuko walks are completely covered in this strange mix of cellophane, Karo, and god knows what. The color schemes alternate from rich stark, relying on deep reds for story elements and assorted horrors, and high contrast, de-saturated blues and whites for exterior world elements. Lastly there are the completely bizarre visuals, featuring speaking televisions, burning beds of roses, amputations, and more.
In the film critic community there’s definitely a tendency to praise a female performance as “raw” and “powerful” if said performance involves an actress getting very naked and very sweaty. So, when I first saw the festival praise for Masumi Miyazaki I immediately dismissed it as the embarrassed justifications of cinematic horn-dogs. However, this was a case where such praise is actually deserved. Sure, Miyazaki does fulfill all the criteria of that kind of “powerful” performance, but she also displays some truly admirable acting chops, running the full gambit of evil queen, coquettish youth, self-absorbed psycho, loving mother, timid victim, and jilted lover. Her range of utterly convincing personas is helped in no small part by her variations of physical body language and verbal intonation. As with the various realms of the narrative, one is never quite sure which Miyazaki is the real one.
As much praise as I have bestowed on the film, it’s certainly not without its shortcomings. The most glaring is the problem of the ending. After thoroughly repulsing you and then masterfully reeling you back in with some decidedly tasty intrigue, you would think Sono would be setting his story up for the ultimate in surrealist climaxes. Instead, he switches gears, opting for a rather drawn out expository sequence and hinging the story on a rather obvious and clichéd plot twist. This seemingly is an excuse to show all the tawdry bits in flashback once more, however it bores when it should be throwing the viewer for one final, glorious loop.
In conclusion, Strange Circus is a strange and fascinating film. It’s definitely not one to watch in polite company, nor is it one you would probably want to view with the run of the mill cineaste companion (Here, I would like to note that when it comes to cinema, I am blessed with a wonderfully adventurous wife). But, for those of you with a strong stomach and a taste for the odd, Strange Circus is a treat – a sickly, sour, puckering one at that.
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