Ichi the Killer: Expectation via Reputation

Takashi Miike controls us in exactly the way Kakihara controls his victims throughout their brutal torture and slaughter. We are consistently at the will of his reputation of being experimental with form and extreme with content. Even before the film begins one braces themselves for what they will know to be a bloodbath—given the film’s outrageous reputation almost synonymous with the phrase gore-fest, known especially for being widely banned. However this reputation (Miike’s own, and knowing how the film will be labelled) is perfectly managed by Miike using the very feature of expectation created outside of the film as a creative tool.

There are two responses one has when they hear about Ichi the Killer: (1) “Wow that sounds disgusting…let’s watch it” or (2) “that sounds disgusting, I’d never watch that”—although both reactions are drawn by the same fundamental of disgust they connote a positive or negative response to that emotion. I have to admit that for a long time I lay at number (2) in the scale, however I am glad I came around. On a brief side-note, I find it fascinating that this response to disgust (a fundamentally negative emotion, almost always avoided) can become positive in the filmic (or observatory—pictures, videos, games) sphere. It is almost that when we put this boundary of a screen between us and the disgusting image/act we are able to witness, commit and even enjoy such gruesome and hateful acts that we would never want to be in the presence of in real life (but one could write books on this so let us get back on track).

From the word go you know it is a Miike film, the camera races around with a thick score stopping on re-coloured freeze-frames of characters until the soundtrack abruptly cuts—but these are no amateurish mistakes, they act to unsettle your senses in turn preparing you for what is to come. These techniques are an example of Miike’s masterful technique of ‘disgusting’ (or, more lightly, challenging) our understanding and expectation of film form. Instead of opening the film by showing the protagonist and explaining who they are we are thrown into a group of side-line characters and extras who are given no identity while the diegesis of the film is already fragmented via freeze-frame and the overt usage of music. Thus our expectation of a predictable ‘normal’ film subside and we know we are in the realm of Takashi Miike. Then when we are presented with the hyper-violent content of the film we are somewhat prepared—the boundaries of traditional film form have been broken and thus so are the boundaries of filmic representation. The film bares all. It shows us a live body suspended by cattle-hooks piercing its back-flesh as easily as it freezes the frame, speeds it up or cuts to silence. But maybe it is this exact unity which permits such extreme violence which is in many ways non-invasive. We are constantly aware of the film being a film, as we are consistently thrown out of the diegesis. Therefore understanding that we are watching a creation, we appreciate the violence in a different way—it is crafted as a spectacle and we can appreciate that craftsmanship as we wince and grimace at it’s gruesome details.

But what happens as we begin to expect the unexpected? Miike has an answer even for this. As the end draws near we itch for the film’s climax, of Kakihara’s confrontation with Ichi, Miike throws the ultimate curveball—one which even we do not expect in the vain that we expect anything unexpected, except that! For the sake of its genius I will let you discover what this is, but it just goes to solidify the genius of Miike. We expect a film—Miike breaks down our understanding film form. We expect ultra-violence—Miike exceeds our expectations making even the most gore-guzzler grimace. The true expectation I now have of a Miike film is to expect to be thrown around in the tight grip of a master who breaks even his own rules.

Ichi the Killer (2001)

10/13

~Leo