Few things in this life are scarier than the prospect of a missing child. Arguably, a lack of closure is even more agonizing than a confirmed fate. Evident from its very title, Missing Child Videotape is a film entrenched in this same sense of bone-deep dread, a simmering slow burn of anxiety that refuses to relent, even from its very first scene.
Based on his short of the same name, this debut feature from filmmaker Ryota Kondo, the so-called ‘rightful heir' of J-horror, is a remarkable exercise in atmospheric terror. It slots neatly into a new wave of existentially-charged Japanese horror that includes films like Keishi Kondo's New Religion and Yuta Shimotsu's Best Wishes to All, all of which wear their influences of the late 90s J-horror boom proudly on their sleeves. But they all deliver something even darker for an age somehow even more nihilistic.
In Missing Child Videotape, Keita Kodama (Rairu Sugita) is a young man haunted by the disappearance of his younger brother Hinata, who went missing 13 years earlier after the pair went exploring in an abandoned building. When confronted with a videotape that depicts his brother's last moments, Keita, his psychic roommate Tsukasa (Amon Hirai), and investigative journalist Mikoto (Kokoro Morita) are forced to uncover the truth about Hinata's whereabouts, and what really happened in that building on the mysterious Mount Mashiro.
While comparisons to Hideo Nakata's Ring are understandable due to the tape component of the film, Missing Child Videotape actually feels like more a spiritual successor to the horror works of Kiyoshi Kurosawa, particularly Séance and the auteur's most recent horror offering, Chime. Kondo establishes himself as a keen protégé of the school of Kurosawa by weaponizing voyeuristic camera work, long takes and agonisingly slow zooms to craft a continual sense of looming, often nauseating, foreboding. A distinctly Japanese ghost story, Missing Child Videotape makes reference to ‘psychic spots' (areas of great spiritual power where supernatural activity is said to occur) and bastardized rites and rituals, yet its core theme of fear is universally applicable.
The titular videotape feels plucked straight from hell itself, more formally conservative than Ring's accursed visions in a way that almost makes it more frightening. Watching young Keita become increasingly desperate as he searches for Hinata through the halls of the decrepit building is an agonisingly tense viewing experience, with every crackle of warped tape feeling like the precursor to some unspeakable horror lurking just around the corner. But it doesn't emerge. And, somehow, that's worse.
Unlike many of the J-horror classics, Missing Child Videotape unfolds mostly in silence and some choice drones, with no swelling soundtrack to punctuate its climactic moments, making every innocuous sound that does occur – whether diegetic or non-diegetic – a juddering jump scare in itself. The gentle chime of a hiking bell, breaking porcelain, or footsteps echoing in empty space all serve as harbingers of something more sinister.
Staying true to its title, Missing Child Videotape refuses to grant closure, and any answers found by Keita and co. surrounding Hinata's disappearance ultimately just lead to more questions, as it becomes clear the little boy isn't the only one to have gone missing on the mountain. For a first-time feature filmmaker, Kondo displays unwavering confidence in his audience, unafraid to overexplain the ambiguities within the story as it unravels, instead leaving the film on an ambitiously vague ending that transcends mortal boundaries and subsequently rewards discussion. Hopefully, Missing Child Videotape will soon secure distribution overseas so that those discussions can come to fruition.
Missing Child Videotape played Tokyo International Film Festival on Wednesday, November 30.
