Ryota Kondo grew up on horror movies. For the Japanese director, that meant the “J-horror” of the ‘90s and ‘00s, a wave of films by filmmakers who specialized in creepy kids, damp atmosphere, techno-paranoia, and an oppressive sense of dread. For his feature debut “Missing Child Videotape” — an expansion of his prize-winning short film of the same name — Kondo reached back to his memory for a slow-burn ghost story that uses “J-horror” style to chilling effect.
The film revolves around Keita (Rairu Sugita), a seemingly ordinary young man who doesn’t talk much about his childhood. His relationship with his mother is strained, and he still feels guilty about his younger brother’s mysterious disappearance years ago. Then two ominous events happen, one right after the other: First, Keita joins a search party for another missing child, and finds the boy with almost supernatural speed. Then, he receives a package in the mail from his mother. Inside is a VHS tape depicting the exact moment Keita’s younger brother Hinata vanished.
Grainy VHS footage, casual mediumship, an abandoned psychiatric hospital, mountain forests at night, white figures hovering in the blackness just beyond the characters’ line of sight — if it’ll send a shiver down your spine, “Missing Child Videotape” has it. Ryota’s film also leaves certain images enigmatic, and certain questions unanswered, allowing the horror to seep into the viewer’s bones. We spoke with this exciting new name in Japanese horror on a rainy evening in Tokyo, where the fun of making “horror shows” came through even with a translator.
You said that you grew up with Japanese horror movies. I was curious — what were your favorites when you were younger?
The film that gave me the desire to make horror shows was “Ju-On: The Grudge,” from director Takashi Shimizu. Its theatrical version. [“Ju-On” was initially released direct to video, and a sequel was released in theaters after the series found success on VHS. -Ed.]
He executive produced your film, right? What was that like?
It was like a dream, because the way he expresses horror is something I’m so familiar with. Talking to him was very, very stimulating. I watched “Ju-On” when I was in junior high school, so I wished I could tell myself from that time that I was having this experience.
It must’ve been scary to watch that movie in junior high. I saw it as an adult and I thought it was pretty scary.
Yes, indeed. It felt like my brain was getting frozen.
You use VHS footage in “Missing Child VIdeotape.” There’s something about the VHS look that really works with horror. Do you have any thoughts on that?
The film I referred to [the most] in making this film was “The Blair Witch Project,” and compared to images shot clearly on film, VHS images are more raw and closer to reality, which [gives them] a good connection with horror shows. It gives the scene a sense of reality. Also, when you try to show a ghost, if it’s ambiguous, if it’s not very clear, it scares you more. Not just VHS, but [also] other mediums that give you lower definition of the images — they give you more [of a] scare from the lack of clarity.
The way that you approached the horror in this movie — it’s more of a slow creep. Did you use practical effects to make those ghosts, or those images?
It was a very simple method, actually. We shot [the image of] a white ghost on video before we started shooting the film. And during the shoot — behind the protagonist, for example — we placed black fabric on which we projected that ghost.
And then the white ghost, was that a person in a costume?
Yes, the person was wearing a white garment all over and walking [around].
I want to ask about the building where a lot of the scary scenes in the film take place. Is that a real place?
That was an abandoned psychiatric hospital.
Oh, so the scariest place ever.
[Laughs] Yes. It was difficult — we couldn’t have graffiti [on the walls of the location] because it was supposed to be a place that doesn’t exist in reality. But they managed to find one at this abandoned psychiatric hospital in Ibaraki Prefecture.
How does that work? Do you go to the prefectural office and say, “hello, we’d like to shoot in your abandoned mental hospital?”
Actually, that mental hospital was right behind the studio [we were] renting [for the shoot]. So through the studio, we could obtain the permission relatively easily.
That’s convenient.
Yeah, it was a long way from Tokyo.
You have found-footage scenes in the film that are supposedly shot by children. How did you approach that with your child actors?
In the scenes where they were walking around in the mountains, because we wanted to avoid any kind of danger, an adult cameraman was walking [ahead of them] and the children walked behind the camera person and voiced [their lines].
And for the scenes in the abandoned place, sometimes the children had to look back, look around, look behind them. After telling our young actor where he was going, precisely, we got him to do that [while holding the camera]. He was very clever.
In what way was he clever?
I was so impressed, because he was doing all kinds of things at once. Sometimes he had to turn around, and he had to keep shooting without making the images go out of focus or wavering too much. These are lots of tasks to handle at once, apart from acting on top of it. But he did it all perfectly.
In your Q&A, you talked about a newspaper article you read about cremation urns being dumped in a forest. Were there any other real-life stories that inspired this film? Urban legends, maybe?
Yes. There were many, actually, [that I] incorporated into it. I’ll give you one example: [At one point] the younger brother says, “there are puyo-puyo” in the abandoned building — this was an actual line. Somebody who was senior to me in the ski club at university [the Japanese word used here is “senpai” -Ed.] told me the story.
Oh, wow. Okay.
At one point, a three-year-old child pointed at the mountain at night and said to his mother, “there are puyo-puyo there.” Nothing happened to him, so I thought I would use it. It’s still pretty creepy though, so that’s remained strongly on my mind. [“Puyo-puyo” is a Japanese onomatopoeia meaning “soft” or “gelatinous.” -Ed.]
I can see why! You also edited the film — is that something that you like to do? What are the advantages of editing your own film?
I hate it, actually. [Laughs] I feel like I am trying to wipe my own bum — or, I should say, I’m trying to correct my mistakes. However, in this case, because “Missing Child Videotape” is based on my short version of the [same] film, the rhythm of it all was deeply ingrained in me. I felt that I was the only person who could edit it properly, so I endured the difficulty. [“Shirinugui,” lit. “wiping one’s butt,” is a Japanese figure of speech. -Ed.]
What is the importance of sound and sound design in making horror movies?
Making a commercial film, this was the first time I got somebody else to design the sound. Through that process, I realized how important it is. In a horror show, you want to bring the audience to the place, the site. And how do you do that? You can use imagery, but it’s sound that really creates that space. We made the decision not to use garish [sound effects]. And we gained [a sense of] reality by that decision, I think.
One more question. Hopefully this is a fun one. Did you believe in ghosts before you made this movie? How about now?
I do believe in them, because we can’t prove that they don’t exist. And as long as we have no proof, we can’t deny their existence. [My belief] hasn’t changed. I felt that way before, and I feel that way now. This is what I would like my audience to feel as well. That’s why I made this film, partly.
