Pulse (2001)
Directed by Kiyoshi
Kurosawa
***SPOILERS***
Fucking apocalypse movies...2012, The Day After Tomorrow,
Cloverfield, The Happening…really, you could just go ahead and throw any disaster
film into this mix as well, because none of these movies follow the most
important rule for this sort of venture: the silence is more enthralling than
the (actual) storm. John Cusack running from a monstrous earthquake carries the
same weight as Nicolas Cage running from “treasure hunters”, because these
films believe existing in the moment is most important. Never is the goal to
lend some human heft to the apocalypse at hand, but instead to rely on such
heft developing innately through these characters’ seemingly inescapable
plights. The focus always falls on either battling the aliens (Independence Day) or disrupting the
destructive meteor (Armageddon),
choosing for a day-to-day format that relies on procedure and “science” to
dictate the action, instead of, errrrr…the people whose lives are being
destroyed. Where the focus should fall—and where Pulse is truly unique—is on the slow build-up of an apocalypse. The
looming, incontrovertible sense of death. And, to our dismay, the understanding
that there is no hope for defending planet Earth.
Pulse chooses to
relate this inevitable doom through an apocalyptic metaphor employing the
Internet. And unlike the aforementioned films, writer and director Kiyoshi
Kurosawa chooses to capture the disparity of the pre-Internet world before
exploring its after-effects, combining the two in a narrative that builds the
people affected by the slowly penetrating and draining presence of the World
Wide Web. While Toshio (Masatoshi Matsuo) cooks dinner, a television news
report runs in the background telling the story of a boy’s “message in a
bottle” found after ten years. And as the television freezes and the image
twitches, we see Toshio become noticeably irritated, mainly because this is nothing new for her. With computer images twitching and the Internet seemingly going
haywire upon the release of a video that takes controls of its viewers’ minds,
there is a simultaneous effect shared between Internet dysfunction and a
decline in human connectivity. This boy’s message in a bottle being discovered
was outlandish enough to land a story on the news, noting we’re far from the
days where this method represented an actual legitimate form of communication,
which is now represented by 1’s and 0’s flying through cyberspace. The connection lying between this
distorted television image and the vastness lying beneath newer and older forms
of communication is made in this single moment, only because Kurosawa has
properly portrayed the pre-Internet era and given the Internet itself a
personality...a personality we, as a society, created.
Kawashima (Haruhiko Katô) approaches Harue (Koyoki) about
his ghost-ridden computer glitch, capturing a boy (who represents a generation)
that feels a need to connect. With the Internet ousting more intimate forms of
communication, the desire to connect takes more precedence than the intimacy,
relating that his shoulder-shrugging reason for joining the Internet has more to
do with following the crowd and less to do meeting new people, making him (and
us all) a prime target for consumption. This is done through alienating its
puppets from society, which the Internet already very much does on its own, represented most distinctly through a screensaver featuring ghostly dots wisping across
screen. When two dots connect, they die. But if they’re able to avoid one
another, the dots will continue to grow, leading Harue to say:
“People don’t really
connect, you know?”
A screensave created by a boy controlled by the Internet, we
see the Internet attempting to convince its users that drifting further apart
will make them stronger, lending the Internet a helping hand in alienating its
soon-to-be puppets. Harue properly deciphers the true horror behind the
statement, suggesting the Internet has limited not only intimate communication,
but any pure form of connection. Yet, she a computer specialist and Kawashima
integrating into the Internet realm, we see both of these people knowingly fueling
the Internet’s initiative. No more than zombies following the pack, Internet essentially
becomes a way of life—the next step in our progressively distanced forms of
communication that will continue to limit physical interaction.
This plays directly into giving the Internet a personality
(which is a key for any horror film's villain), since we are the very creators
and nurturers of the Internet’s growing powers, and thus the cause for the
problems that plague our main characters. This is done through the Internet’s
direct control of its new constituents, who all capture the most humane
qualities of the Internet: lethargic, overly passive, and completely
indifferent to their surroundings. These subconsciously maneuvering vehicles
also very much embody the most mundane characteristics of the Internet, making
for a ghost that—as seen with the shadowy figure in the Forbidden Room—scares
and thrills in its pure apathy and disregard for humanity, lankily strutting
about with no intentions of communicating. Harue cycles through the various
victims of the Internet’s cold grasp on her collection of monitors as they stand and stare into nothingness, slowly shifting in flurries of their silhouettes, lurching as they
roll on the floor, and lazily resting their heads on their desks—all
essentially waiting to rot away. And their deaths don’t receive the proper
dramatic exit expected from horror films, but instead simply fade into a
shadowy, black silhouette where their self once stood, basically embodying what
these instruments have become.
The contrast between these puppets and their former selves
solely lies in physical appearance, which is also true for these characters’
surroundings. The opening sequences immediately suggest the looming presence of
the Internet, long before it completely takes control of the surroundings. The
deliberately fake green screen used while Kudo (Kumiko Asô) and Toshio ride the bus
comes second in importance to the fact that a long shot reveals them to be
the only occupant, mirroring a later shot of Kawashima and Harue sitting alone
on a subway in the post-apocalyptic world. This continual contrast will depict
both the pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds, all the while maintaining the
glaring similarities each share. We are directly placed in the characters'
shoes often times, pouring into Kawashima's computer screen or the dot
screensaver as it fills the frame, or sleeping next to the computer until it awakens and dictates the scene. But more effective are the employed long shots
that mimic the bus scene, making a peopleless, computer-strewn room—filled with
nothing but monitors, cords, and various pieces of equipment—seem as endlessly
barren and unforgivable as the empty streets of the post-apocalyptic world. So
when the Internet becomes too vast and “spills” out into the streets, it’s
actually a giant collection of nothingness instead of a monstrous combination
of cataclysmic storms, keeping in line with the void in intimate communication
that’s been building and eliminating Earth’s residents with a simple click of
the “Delete” button.
The slow fade of humanity recalls characters' continual
questions regarding death throughout the film, which is key in building the
Internet's presence and lending weight to the post-apocalyptic world. After one
of his friends is found dead, Kudo says:
“He suddenly wanted
to die. Sometimes I feel that way.”
Many of these teenagers—driven by the disparity of
emotionless communication—feel disconnected and alone. Harue expresses fear of
complete loneliness, fearing that she "might be all alone after
death." This connection between death and isolation is established through
the relation between the pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds, but also through
these characters' cries for answers, revealing that loneliness is much worse
than death for many of these characters. Victims of the Internet's hold before it
physically begins to control them, both Kudo and Harue feel alienated amidst
the Internet void. Escaping into the Internet's alternate realm (and out of
communication with society) is their ticket out of isolation, never
realizing such a decision will completely isolate them. This is seen when the
Internet's ghostly form, which Kawashima experiences in the Forbidden Room,
says, before there was Internet:
"Forever death
was eternal loneliness."
So as Harue walks through the empty streets with Kawashima
in the post-apocalyptic world, the alienation causes her to run home and shift
through the various monitors featuring the lethargic ghosts of her peers, all
more welcoming than her present reality. And upon seeing herself in a computer
monitor, Harue turns and walks towards the invisible camera in her room,
reaching her hands into nothing and saying:
"I'm not
alone."
And upon such a discovery, we realize there is no turning
back. Even Kawashima—a newcomer to the Internet and a rebellion to its
grasp—eventually succumbs to its embrace by fading into a black silhouette on
the wall. Its forceful takeover represents the reality that the Internet will
someday completely replace all intimate forms of communication, and even its
strongest resistors will have to succumb to its powers in order to not be left
behind. And as Kurosawa pulls away from the boat that's fleeing the
post-apocalyptic land, we see that there is no escaping the Internet. It will
continue to grow and spread its influence. And backed by an undetectable and
apathetic presence...it will take over humanity without any notice.
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