The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion (2004)

"When you're poor, they call you crazy; when you're rich, you're eccentric." So recites one of 3 former neighbors (and apathetic friends) of one Henry Darger, a shut-in Chicago novelist who may have written America's longest, most fantastic literary self-examination. Writer/director and documentarian Jessica Yu (The Living Museum, American Dreams) attempts to breathe life into another obscure artist, as with 1998's Living Museum, in which patient/artists residing at Creedmoor Psychiatric Center in Queens, New York showcase their in-house gallery. Her 2004 effort brings us west, to the then budding metropolis called Chicago.

Darger's magnum opus, and the central theme of the film, began to materialize for him around the time he left the military and secured his first apartment in 1930. The culmination of Darger's suppressed, stunted childhood is a grandiose performance of the author's life and personal struggles; a fiction/fantasy tale of seven young girls named The Vivian Girls (as in part of its full title: The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion). The Girls live at the epicenter of an epic revolt against adults that enslave children; a tale derived directly from Darger's own childhood living at an institution in Lincoln, Illinois. This "state farm" was in essence a working farm for children with strict rules and ten-hour working days where beatings were handed out regularly.

The book consumed a major part of the final 40 years of Darger's life, with most writings outside his massive "15,000-page" tome turning out to be less than interesting. One of which is a 10-year, daily chronicle of weather observations so as to rebuke the accuracy of a Chicago weather forecaster. In the end, it's Darger's wildly inventive and eclectic illustrations, which accompany his epic story, that makes this story what it is. The film is definitely worth a look, and is in line with more publicized documentaries like Devil and Daniel Johnston.

Kourei (Seance, 2000)

While I certainly appreciate a good remake, it's also my belief that people should first and foremost take them for what they are — homages to their source film. That's being said, there are two legitimate reason for seeing this film: as a compare/contrast piece against Bryan Forbes' 1964 thriller Seance on a Wet Afternoon (would make for an interesting double feature), and more importantly Kiyoshi Kurosawa's direction. If you're not familiar with the other Kurosawa, or you're dying to get into Asian Horror, this is as good a place as most to cut your teeth.

Opening in the city, a small girl is (not so easily) coaxed from a playground by a stranger for the purposes of ransom. Cut to one Sato (Koji Yakusho of Doppleganger, Cure, and Kairo fame — I am, after all, watching this in the United States...), a humble sound technician, who ventures into the countryside to record natural sounds for a coworker in his studio, upon where he unknowingly takes possession of the girl originally kidnapped. Things become far more complex down the line when Sato's wife Junco, a self–described medium, involves her acquaintance Hayasaka —  paranormal studies student who often works in tandem with the police.

Both films are based on a Mark McShane suspense short story by the same name. Kourei, originally released to television, adopts a slower, more methodical style, which Kurosawa juices up with touches of Japanese folklore — remaining true to his style, as well allowing the movie to progress on its own accord. There are several tense and frightening moments, there's no question Kurosawa employs his somewhat trademark mix of confusion and fright — a style which appeared as far back as his 1992 gem The Guard from the Underground.

So needless to say, the direction is great. There's a particular scene inside the Sato home where Kurosawa uses alternating planes of lightness and darkness, in varying distances among the doorways which makes for a spine-tingling scene. It borders on, not only directorial, but film greatness. Don't ask me why, but it's just brilliant. The telling of the story, while staying faithful to the crux of the original, does, (I say regrettably), lose a bit of punch with the addition of the horror aspects. Some essential action and substance is replaced with Japanese elements that quite frankly detract from an already suspenseful story. Then again, I tell myself that it was made for a Japanese audience, not unlike the American Grudge remake — sensibilities bound by geography.

Doppelganger (2003)

In the open, the such described Doppelganger Production Committee asks its audiences: "What would you do if you ran into your perfect double, your "doppelganger" - someone who looks exactly like you?" In classic thriller fashion, the opening proceeds with added violins a-screeching and horns a-pulsing, yet this self-described "most frightening film yet" plays more like a hallucinatory, intellectual endeavor than that of the straight tingler the tag–line portends.

Doppelganger jumps to and fro between concurrent story-lines. Firstly, we see a woman, later known to us as Yuka (Hiromi Nagasaku), leaving a home improvements store as she waves to her brother Takashi, who appears to be aimlessly wondering theough the store's parking lot. Yuka offers him a ride back to the house they share (while he's studying), but he all but ignores her calls. Yuka returns home to a phone call which informs her that her brother, whom she has just seen, is at the area hospital...deceased! This, of course, is a shock. But, a now confused Yuka notices that Takashi is sitting in the next room, writing away on his computer.

Cut to an engineer named Hayasaki (the great Koji Yakusho). He's an idea-man at a large electronics company working to perfect his lasted project — an so–dubbed artificial body that will revolutionize the lives of the paralyzed. After a successful first series of tests for the company board, to secure further funding, Hayasaki is then criticized over the pace of the project and asked to either finalize the design or accept a do–nothing management position and let someone else finish his work. He, of course, refuses. Frustrated and insulted, Hayasaki heads home...  only to discover he's already there! The film then vacillates between Hayasaki's and Yuka's stories until a point when they find themselves sitting on opposite sides of the same table. How can they help each other?

Doppelganger is truly fantastic. Many will disagree. Kiyoshi Kurosawa isn't known to just slap together a film without purpose, and after a couple of viewings the brilliance dawned on me. Beyond the notion of a doppelganger in the first place, a duality erupting into being (under abnormal or stressful circumstances) and what is to be done in this event lies at the film's epicenter. What's even more outstanding is that the movie itself acts as the character which leads. The first half is tense, ambitious, and wrought with friction. It's dark. The latter half is quite different — one might say the opposite of the first. It spins irreverent, lively, and comedic — filled with light and life. Dare I say meaning?

Doppelganger is a much deeper film than most may be willing to give it credit for being, but none could argue its originality. I laughed out loud at the crazy times and gasped at every swing of some object bound for a certain lead character's cranium. A bold piece of work.