Journal articles on the topic 'Japanese Horror'

Valerie Wee’s monograph on American remakes of Japanese supernatural horror films is a contribution to Routledge’s Advances in Film Studies series and examines a cluster of films made in the late 1990s and early 2000s. These are films which in their first incarnation were Japanese (such as Ringu) which were then remade by Hollywood (for example Ringu became The Ring).

Background. The history of larp, live-action role-play, in Japan may be rather short but documents exponential growth in the entertainment sector as well as in educational gaming. Following trends of related forms of analog role-playing games, the horror genre functions as a motor of increasing popularity. Aim. This article explores the development of non-digital role-playing games in the Japanese context in light of the online video platform niconico popularizing horror role-playing and practical considerations of adopting the genre to live-action play. Method. Cyberethnographic fieldwork including participant observation at larps between 2015 and 2018 forms the data basis for this article, followed by qualitative interviews with larp organizers, larp writers, and designers of analog games as well as observations online in respective webforums. Results. Replays, novelized transcripts of play sessions, have been an entry point into analog role-playing in Japan since the 1980s. With the advent of video sharing sites, replays moved from the book to audio-visual records and a focus on horror games. Creating a fertile ground for this genre, the first indigenous Japanese larp rulebook built on this interest and the ease of access, namely that players do not need elaborate costumes or equipment to participate in modern horror. Discussion. The dominant form of larps in Japan are one-room games, that work well with horror mysteries and function as a low threshold of accessibility. Furthermore, the emotional impact of horror larps, the affective interaction between players and their characters, allows for memorable experiences and so continues to draw in new players and organizers.

Prisons have become regular fixtures in late modern media. Despite this ubiquity, little research has been conducted examining representations of prisons and punishment within one of the most popular forms of contemporary entertainment media: video games. Drawing from cultural criminology and Gothic criminology, the current study examines punitive and carceral elements in the horror video game franchise of Silent Hill. Eight games within the series are analyzed through a combination of ethnographic content analysis and autoethnography to reveal two dominant themes evident throughout the series: retribution and confinement. As argued in this study, Silent Hill—like many horror productions—revels in ambiguity and expresses cultural anxieties stemming from the paradoxical vertiginous sentiments of insecurity amidst increasing securitization and prisonization of society and everyday life. Survival horror, including Silent Hill, is a product of both Japanese and American cultural formations. This analysis therefore argues that Silent Hill reveals an American-Japanese public imagination that clamors for respite from insecurity while also becoming horrified by the carceral apparatus it created.

There were uproars when film producer Ody Mulya Hidayat initiated to cast adult film stars in his film. It was Sora Aoi, a Japanese porn screen star. These uproars indicated multiple things. Some people are afraid that Aoi will nakedly act in front of Indonesian audiences. However, some others couldn’t wait the release date t0 be announced and buy tickets. All sights are suddenly upon the Indonesian Film Censorship Board, who is responsible to institutionally neutralize all the uproars. The formerly questionable institution is now at a big stake. Keywords : film, porn star, censorship

Western audiences in recent years have been intrigued by the cinematic phenomenon popularly known as J-Horror. Critical attention has been paid to more to the Hollywood remakes than to the original Japanese films. Comparing such Hollywood films as The Ring, The Grudge, and Dark Water with their models, this essay focuses on the various soundtracks' use of a particular ghostly noise. It argues that whereas the soundtracks of the Japanese Kaidan films in various ways sustain an aesthetic/theatrical tradition that is centuries old, the Hollywood remakes miss an important point by appropriating the sound but not its context.

Culture in Japanese Comics Millions of Japanese, including adults, read manga--comic books. Reproducing every popular genre from humor to horror, manga both entertain and educate their readers on subjects as varied as sports, corporate life, the literary classics, and sex. Japanese also learn about food and cooking from gurume (gourmet) or ryori (cooking) manga. One of the most popular is Oishinbo, serialized since 1983. Oishinbo's hero Yamaoka is a newspaper journalist with an unparalleled knowledge of food and a developed palate. Along with his female sidekick Kurita, who shares his culinary sensitivities, Yamaoka seeks dishes for an "ultimate menu" to bequeath to the future. In the process, the pair turns to food to solve a host of interpersonal and social problems, sometimes on an international political level. Oishinbo not only provides information about foreign and local cuisines and recipes, it also propounds an ideology regarding the relationship between food and human relations that contributes toward the construction of Japanese cultural identity.

Abstract Contemporary Japan has been widely identified as a scene of crisis marked by the breakdown of established sociocultural institutions and the subordination of identity and desire to ever-evolving technocapitalist whims. Japanese-horror (J-horror) media of this period reveals a collective concern with these cultural themes, routinely employing haunted technologies to elaborate the perils and possibilities of existence in a world of incertitude. This article examines Shimizu Takashi’s 2004 Marebito with attention to how the film develops a critique of the estranging forces of late capitalism and elaborates an alluring alternative, located in a return to what Derrida describes as the scene of humanity’s second trauma: “the Darwinian.” In doing so, the article traces how the drive for self-annihilation emerges in Marebito not only as a terrifying prospect but also as an occasion to forge intimate relationships with the repressed of culture.

Video game “authors” use procedural rhetoric to make specific arguments within the narratives of their games. As a result, they, either purposefully or incidentally, contribute to the creation and maintenance of collective/cultural memory. This process can be identified within the directorial works of Shinji Mikami that include a set of similar general themes. Though the settings of these games differ, they include several related plot elements. These include: 1) depictions of physical and emotional trauma, 2) the large-scale destruction of cities, and 3) distrust of those in power. This paper argues that Mikami, through processes of procedural rhetoric/ authorship, can be understood as an “author” of video games that fall into the larger tradition of war and atomic bomb memory in Japan. (Also known as hibakusha (bomb-affected persons) literature). As a result, his games can be understood as a part of Japan’s larger collective/cultural memory practices surrounding the atomic bombings of Hiroshima (6 August 1945) and Nagasaki (9 August 1945). In the case of Mikami, the narratives of his games follow what Akiko Hashimoto labels as the “Long Defeat”, in which Japanese collective/cultural memory struggles to cope with the cultural trauma of the Pacific War (1931-1945). To illustrate this argument the paper engages in a close reading of Mikami’s Resident Evil, Dino Crisis, Resident Evil 4, Vanquish and The Evil Within and identifies tropes that are common to Japanese war memory and hibakusha literature.

Como en su momento sucedió con el cine de monstruos clásicos de la Universal y la Hammer, o el subgénero slasher a partir de 70´s, el llamado J-Horror (Japanese Horror) provocó un oleaje de explotación que inundó las carteleras de todo el mundo. El mérito hemos de atribuírselo a Sadako, aquel espectro que irrumpiera espasmódico a través de la televisión, y cuya fuerza visual acabó por condicionar la forma en que se imaginó al espectro en el s. XXI. Mas el yūrei o fantasma japonés no es la única criatura sobrenatural arraigada en el imaginario asiático, un hecho constatable si echamos una ojeada a las distintas plataformas de streaming, donde multitud de películas tailandesas, singapurenses, malayas, o indias, exponen su mitología secular por medio de filmes protagonizados por entes sobrenaturales de lo más diverso. Tal vez el ejemplo más notable lo encontremos en “Folklore”, una serie de mediometrajes de terror auto conclusivos que cuentan con la particularidad de descubrir el tipo de espectro más representativo de cada país asiático. Nuestro objetivo en este artículo será realizar un análisis antropológico de cada criatura, al tiempo que analizamos cinematográficamente los distintos episodios.

The popular culture version of the zombie, developed over the latter half of the twentieth century, made only sporadic appearances in South Korean film, which may in part be attributed to the restrictions on the distribution of American and Japanese films before 1988. Thus the first zombie film Monstrous Corpse (Goeshi 1980, directed by Gang Beom-Gu), was a loose remake of the Spanish-Italian Non si deve profanare il sonno dei morti (1974). Monstrous Corpse was largely forgotten until given a screening by KBS in 2011. Zombies don’t appear again for a quarter of a century. This article examines four zombie films released between 2012 and 2018: “Ambulance”, the fourth film in Horror Stories (2012), a popular horror portmanteau film; Train to Busan (2016) (directed by Yeon Sang-Ho), the first South Korean blockbuster film in the “zombie apocalypse” sub-genre; Seoul Station (2016), an animation prequel to Train to Busan (also directed by Yeon Sang-Ho); and Rampant (2018, directed by Kim Seong-Hun ), a costume drama set in Korea’s Joseon era. Based on a cognitive studies approach, this article examines two conceptual metaphors which underlie these films: the very common metaphor, LIFE IS A JOURNEY, and the endemically Korean metaphor THE NATION IS A FAMILY.

The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 are a symbolic source of all later views on a nuclear holocaust. The specificity of the Japanese narratives, however, lies in the fact that they take the first-person form, and thus they give a direct testimony of the individuals’ experience. In the article I refer to the personal accounts of the victims of the atomic bomb (the so-called hibakusha) to prove that corporeality is employed in them as the primary category of description, and functions as the existential ground on which both the horror of the explosion is constructed, and the collapse of the “world of life” of the community is experienced.

As a Hollywood production helmed by Japanese director Hideo Nakata, The Ring Two upsets categories like remake and sequel. Running below the sinuous narrative and generic entanglements of adaptation, translation, and sequelization is a pattern of shifting authorship. By analyzing the discourse of authorship in industrial texts such as trade journals, newspaper articles, press kits, and DVD featurettes, this article argues that the logic of shifting authorship reflects Hollywood's flexible accumulation of international content and labor. The fetish of the original, discussed and reinterpreted continuously in each subsequent installment of the Ringu/Ring franchise, becomes the basis for self-mythologizing and justification for Hollywood's new international division of cultural labor. Under these circumstances, Nakata's auteur status serves as (multi)cultural capital, while his labor serves to ventriloquize Hollywood horror conventions and the style of director Gore Verbinski, whose presence continues to haunt the franchise as it is further passed along.

Interpretations suggested in this article are based on the fourteenth and the fifteenth God-zilla films, Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974) and Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975), featuring the eponymous icon of the kaijū-eiga (monster films) genre and global pop culture.An analysis of diverse contexts (visual, narrative, structural, and genre) of the cinematic fight of Godzilla (the epitome of Nature) with Mechagodzilla (the epitome of Technology) makes it pos-sible to reveal details of the expression of the desire to acquire and maintain control over technology and, through that, over nature. In the context of the genre of both the analysed films, frightening elements characteristic of a horror film are overcome by mechanisms derived from science fiction, i.e. science and technology, with the concern of civilisation about threats or fatal consequences of the use of devices which get out of control.In the cinematic discourse of images of the conflict of fear of nature with anxieties of civilisa-tion, a technological demon emerges, Mechagodzilla, in an ultra-modern body made from titanium, accumulating the horror of atavistic monsters attacking humans with the new terror of powerful alien machines. The techno-terror of Mechagodzilla is contrasted with original nature, unspoilt by technological interference, which transforms Godzilla, the frightening monster and an archetype of the chaotic and destructive force of natural disasters, into a sympathetic defender of humanity.The sensitivity and cultural tradition of a Western viewer of the films, which serves as the point of departure for the analyses, initially made it difficult to derive a complete interpretation of the message; when the interpretive apparatus was broadened, however, by rooting kaiju eiga in Japanese culture, this helped overcome the problems of interpretation and enriched the reading of Godzilla symbolics with a spiritual element referring to nature.

Tookaidoo Yotsuya Kaidan (1959) and Sundel Bolong (1981) are horror movies from Japan and Indonesia, respectively, about women who are oppressed by men and subsequently take revenge on them after their deaths. The key similarity between these two movies is that they have central female characters who turn into ghosts in order to express their anger towards their male oppressors. This study aimed to see how women's anger is depicted in Tookaidoo Yotsuya Kaidan and Sundel Bolong, using verbal and visual text analysis and the concept of power by Heilbrun, male gaze by Mulvey, and monstrous-feminine by Creed to read the meaning behind woman’s anger as it is expressed in the form of a ghost in these movies. The research found that these women cannot express their anger in the real world, which is controlled by the patriarchal order. Life after death is the only space where they can express their anger. Both movies can consequently be interpreted as cultural texts that internalize patriarchal ideology in Japanese and Indonesian society.

As the U.S. economy works through a sluggish recovery several years after the Great Recession technically came to an end in June 2009, it can only look with horror toward Japan's experience of two decades of stagnant growth since the early 1990s. In contrast to Japan, U.S. policy authorities responded to the financial crisis since 2007 more quickly. Surely, they learned from Japan's experience. I will begin by describing how Japan's economic situation unfolded in the early 1990s and offering some comparisons with how the Great Recession unfolded in the U.S. economy. I then turn to the Bank of Japan's policy responses to the crisis and again offer some comparisons to the Federal Reserve. I will discuss the use of both the conventional interest rate tool—the federal funds rate in the United States, and the “call rate” in Japan—and nonconventional measures of monetary policy and consider their effectiveness in the context of the rest of the financial system.

A chilling subplot in the twentieth-century saga of state-sponsored mass murder, torture, and other atrocities was the widespread incidence of medical complicity. Nazi doctors' human “experiments” and assistance in genocidal killing are the most oft-cited exemplar, but wartime Japanese physicians' human vivisection and other grotesque practices rivaled the Nazi medical horrors. Measured by these standards, Soviet psychiatrists' role in repressing dissent, Latin American and Turkish military doctors' complicity in torture, and even the South African medical profession's systematic involvement in apartheid may seem, to some, almost prosaic. Yet these and other reported cases of medical complicity in human rights abuse compel an inquiry into medicine's vulnerability to becoming an adjunct to illicit state purposes.

Andrejs Papārde’s real name is Miķelis Valters (1874–1968), he was born and raised in Liepāja in a family of dock workers. Valters is a versatile personality – a Doctor of Juridical Science, a social worker, a politician and a diplomat with outstanding accomplishments in Latvian history. Valters was also an art theorist and poet. He signed his literary works with a pseudonym Andrejs Papārde. In literature, Papārde announces himself in the 1890s with works of short prose and reflections, later also with poetry. In book shape, his poetry is published after the 1905 Russian Revolution. He has three collections of poems published. The first collection of poems “Tantris” was published in 1908 in Helsingfors. The collection consists of little poems in short verses, without titles, but listed with roman numerals from one to eighty-nine. The poems are written in free verse, without rhymes, and they are characterized by allegoric expression and symbolic characters. The poetry is allegorically symbolic, with no specific place and time. The inflecting sound of verses is dominated by a pessimistic and depressive feel. The common gloomy atmosphere of the poems in the collections is formed by the imagery of pessimistic expressions, the dominance of the black colour and a severely dramatic sense of the world of the main character. The scenes with depressive characters capture the horror of a global apocalypse as well as the fear of an individual threat. The atmosphere of misery and hopelessness is created by grim stylistics and negative semantic characters. The very few characters of positive expression cannot dispel the overall dreary and sorrowful mood. Andrejs Papārde’s second poem collection “Ēnas uz akmeņiem” comes out in 1910 in Riga. The collection consists of seventy poems numbered with Arabic numerals. Interestingly, the pages are not numbered, thus only the number of a poem can be indicated in the references. All of the poems are of small scale, ranging from five to twelve lines, most of them are poems of six to eight short lines. All of the poems from the collection are without titles, written in free verse and without rhymes. The form of the poems is almost compressed to a maximum. The free verse and the intelligent dimension of the poems allow perceiving Papārde’s poetry similarly to Japanese haiku or tanka. Verses filled with depressive feelings in a way persist in his second collection of poems, however this time in not so unvaryingly dull manner and not so fatally obedient. More often, but not entirely levelled, optimistic tunes are played. The night continues to reign, there is still a lot of black colour, but more often there are mentionings of mornings. Notably, for expressing optimistic feelings, verbs are used in the future tense. Papārde’s second poem collection “Ēnas zem akmeņiem” ends on an optimistic tune, but that is certainly not a naive optimism of non-existing problems. Papārde’s third poem collection “Mūžība” subtitled “Mana dziesma” was published in 1914 in Helsingfors. Unlike in the previous collections, in this one, all of the poems have titles, and they are no longer numbered. The author consistently keeps writing in a rhymeless free verse. Almost like with inertia, there is still skepticism and disappointment. But there is much more confidence than before, the willingness to withstand difficulties, hard times, and there is hope for the tomorrow, for the “Easter morning”, for a new day. In this poem collection, Papārde and the main character slowly turn into an ambassador of light and an admirer of the sun, thus joining the many sun worshipers and the light announcers in Latvian literature. The character system close to romanticism, individual sovereign subjectivity, intimate sounding verses, dynamic use of abstractions and symbols are all associated with the 20th-century romanticism, or in other words, the neo-romanticism. The dominance of the pessimistic atmosphere differentiates this poetry as a depressive neo-romanticism or so-called catastrophic romanticism poetry.

Abstract An interlaboratory study was performed to evaluate the method for determining the acid value of instant noodles, based on the Japanese Agricultural Standard (JAS), with extraction of lipid using petroleum ether at a volume of 100 mL to the test portion of 25 g. Thirteen laboratories participated and analyzed 5 test samples as blind duplicates. Statistical treatment revealed that the repeatability (RSDR) of acid value was <6.5%, and the reproducibility (RSDR) of acid value was <9.6%. The HorRat values (RSDR/predicted RSDR) were 1.21.8, where the RSDR and the predicted RSDR were obtained in terms of free fatty acids in the noodles per unit weight, using the equation [acid value = percent free fatty acids (as oleic) 1.99] and the extracted lipid contents. This method was shown to have acceptable precision by the present study.

Abstract Background Lutein is gaining attention as a strong antioxidant contained in foods. It accumulates in the human blood and retina, and is considered to play an important role in the body, especially in the eyes. Objective A method to determine the lutein content of raw spinach (Spinacia oleracea L.) was developed with the aim of its enactment as a Japanese agricultural standard (JAS) measurement method for components beneficial to human health. Methods An interlaboratory study was conducted to evaluate an analytical method for the determination of lutein in spinach. The detection limit and quantification limit of lutein for this method were 0.2 and 0.7 mg/kg, respectively. Twelve participating laboratories independently analyzed test samples (five pairs of blind duplicates) using high-performance liquid chromatography (HPLC). Results After removal of a few outliers, the repeatability relative standard deviation (RSDr), reproducibility (RSDR), and predicted RSDR of the evaluated method were 3.4–7.5, 4.6–13, and 7.5–8.5%, respectively, in a concentration range from 64.9–150 mg/kg. Conclusions The HorRat values (RSDR/predicted RSDR) of the lutein concentration were calculated to be 0.61–1.6. Highlights The study results indicate the acceptable precision of this method.

Abstract Background Lycopene has been the object of considerable research attention recently, and the effects of the intake of lycopene, or of tomato products, have been studied in various ways. In Japan, interest in the health-promoting function of food components has increased. Objective Developing a method to determine lycopene contents in tomato that meets the Japanese Agricultural Standard (JAS). Method In the proposed JAS method, the test sample consists of fresh tomatoes; a hexane–acetone mixture is utilized as the extraction solvent. A collaborative study was conducted to evaluate the interlaboratory performance of the method. Results Ten laboratories participated and analyzed six test materials characterized by a lycopene content between 39 and 170 mg/kg as blind duplicates. After removing statistical outliers, RSDr ranged from 1.2 to 3.0% and RSDR ranged from 2.4 to 4.2%. The HorRat values were calculated and found to be in the 0.26–0.49 range. Conclusions The method for determining the lycopene content in tomato was evaluated by means of a collaborative study, and the reproducibility of this method was found to be acceptable. Highlights Intended for standardization in Japan, a method to determine lycopene content in tomato has been developed and shown to have acceptable precision in a collaborative study.

World War II is considered to be the largest and longest bloody conflict in recent history. It began with the German attack on Poland on September 1, 1939. The war lasted six years and ended with the capitulation of Japan on September 2, 1945. The consequences of the war are still present in many countries today. "German, Italian and Japanese fascists waged a war of conquest with the aim of dividing the world and creating a New Order in which it would have economic, political and military domination, establish a rule of terror and violence and destroy all forms of human freedom, dignity and humanism. Only a few thousand Roma in Germany survived the Holocaust and Nazi concentration camps. Trying to rebuild their lives, after losing so many family members and relatives, and after their property was destroyed or confiscated, they faced enormous difficulties. The health of many was destroyed. Although they have been trying to get compensation for that for years, such requests have been constantly denied Based on established facts, eyewitnesses, witnesses, historical and legal documents, during the Second World War, the crime of genocide against Orthodox Serbs, Jews and Roma of all faiths except Islam was committed. The attempt to exterminate the Roma during the Second World War must not be forgotten. There was no justice for the survivors of the post-Hitler era. It is important to note that the trial in Nuremberg did not mention the genocide of the Roma at all. The Nuremberg trial is basically the punishment of the losers by the winners. This is visible even today because these forces rule the world. Innocent victims, primarily Roma, have not received justice, satisfaction or recognition from the world community. The Roma were further humiliated because they were not given a chance to speak about the few surviving witnesses about the victims and the horrors they survived. The Roma for the Nuremberg International Military Court and the Nuremberg judges simply did not exist, which called into question the legal aspect of the process, which has not been corrected to date. The Roma national community is committed to revising history, to reviewing the work of the Nuremberg tribunal.

Given that the new advances in technology in the 1980s had a major impact on the carefully constructed myth of authenticity in horror and pornography, ranging from flawless special effects at one extreme to the idea of the handheld voyeur movie at the other, it is rather ironic that the key progenitor to the erotic-grotesque form is a long-established and in some ways basic form: the pen and paper art of manga. This medium can be traced back to pillow books and the illustrated tradition in Japanese culture – a culture where even written language has evolved from drawings rather than alphabetical ciphers. Technological innovation notwithstanding, the 1980s is an extraordinary period for manga and it is perhaps here that we find the most startling hybridisation of porn and horror where, to borrow a phrase from Liz Kotz, “pathology meets pleasure, where what we most fear is what we most desire” (Kotz 188). Many of the most extreme examples of 1980s manga repeatedly confront the reader with tales that intersperse and interlink imagery and narrative sequences of sex, violence and the abject. Suehiro Maruo is in many ways a commercially marginalised but highly renowned manga artist of the erotic-grotesque. His full-length manga novel Mr Arashi’s Amazing Freak Show (1984) is a sweeping tale of carnival freaks redolent with sex and sadism, but in this article I will address his short comic strips from around the same period. The stories collected in Suehiro Maruo’s Ultra-Gash Inferno (2001) present a mortifying vision of sex and horror with stories that draw on the erotically tinged world of classical Japanese theatre and the short fiction of Edogawa Rampo but push them into the domain of extreme pornography. In “Putrid Night” (1981), an abusive man, Todoroki, subjects his teenage wife, Sayoko, to vicious cunnilingus and anal sex. In one sequence, Sayoko gives oral sex while Todoroki runs a samurai sword across her cheek. In her misery, Sayoko finds true love in the teenage boy Michio. Their illicit sexual love is tender and fulfilling and yet the imagery that intersperses it is ominous: when they have sex in a field, their conjoined bodies are juxtaposed with rotting fruit infested with ants and Michio’s erect penis is juxtaposed with a serpent in the grass. Sayoko and Michio plot to murder Todoroki. The result is disastrous, with Todoroki cutting off the arms of his wife and her lover through the elbows, and lancing their eyeballs. In the carnage, Todoroki has sex with Sayoko. The young lovers do not die, and Todoroki keeps them alive in a cell as “pets” (19). In a grotesque triumph of true love, Todoroki, to his horror, spies on his two victims and sees them, their eye sockets and arm stumps pouring blood, tenderly making love. In “Shit Soup” (1982), Maruo produces a comic strip with no story as such and is therefore a highly simplistic pornographic narrative. We witness a menage a trois with a young woman and her two male lovers and the comic presents their various exploits. In their opening bout, the woman squeezes a cow’s eyeball into her vagina and one man sucks it out of her while the other licks her beneath the eyelid. Later, the three excrete onto dinner plates and dine upon their mixed shit. The story ends with the three laughing deliriously as they fall from a cliff, an emblem of their joyful abandon and the intersection of love and death. As epilogue, Maruo describes the taste of excrement and invites us to taste our own. This ending is an ingenious narrative decision, as it turns on the reader and strives to deny us – the viewer/voyeur – any comfortable distance: we are invited, as it were, to eat shit literally and if we refuse, we can eat shit metaphorically. Suehiro Maruo’s work can also be subtle: in what looks like a realistic image at the opening of “A Season in Hell” (1981), a dead teenage girl lies, covered in “gore and faeces” (45), on a grassy path which resembles the hairy opening to female sexual organs. The surrounding field is like a pudenda and the double arch of the nearby bridge resembles breasts. Maruo can thus outwit the censorship tradition in which pubic hair is generally forbidden (it does appear in some of Maruo’s comic strips), although erections, ejaculations and hairless openings and organs would seem to be always graphically permissible. Probably the most excessive vision in Ultra-Gash Inferno is “The Great Masturbator” (1982). In this, Suehiro Maruo presents a family in which the father repeatedly dresses his daughter up as a schoolgirl in order to rape her, even cutting a vagina-sized hole into her abdomen. Eventually, he slices her with numerous openings so that he can penetrate her with his fists as well as his penis. Meanwhile, her brother embarks on an incestuous relationship with his ancient aunt. After her death, he acquires her false teeth and uses them to masturbate. He ejaculates onto her grave, splitting his head open on the tombstone. The excess and debauchery make it a shocking tale, a kind of violent manga reworking of Robert Crumb’s cartoon “The family that lays together, stays together” (91) from Snatch 2 (January 1969). Like Crumb, we could argue that Maruo employs explicit sexual imagery and an ethos of sexual taboo with the same purpose of transgressing and provoking the jargon of particular social norms. The political dimension to Maruo’s work finds its most blatant treatment in “Planet of the Jap” (1985), anthologised in Comics Underground Japan (1996). This manga strip is a devastating historical-political work presented as a history lesson in which Japan won the Second World War, having dropped atomic bombs on Los Angeles and San Francisco. The comic is full of startling iconic imagery such as the Japanese flag being hoisted over the shell-pocked Statue of Liberty and the public execution of General MacArthur. Of course, this being Maruo, there is a pornographic sequence. In a lengthy and graphic episode, an American mother is raped by Japanese soldiers while her son is murdered. As these horrors are committed, the lyrics of a patriotic song about present-day Japan, written by the Ministry of Education, form the textual narrative. Although the story could be seen as a comment on the subjection of Japan at the end of the Second World War – a sustained ironic inversion of history – it seems more likely to be a condemnation of the phase of Japanese history when, tragically, a minority of “atavistic, chauvinistic, racist warmongers” secured for themselves a position of “ideological legitimacy and power” (Lehmann 213). However, Maruo is being deliberately provocative to his contemporary reader: he writes this story in the mid-1980s, the peak of Japan’s post-war prosperity. As Joy Hendry says, Japan’s “tremendous economic success” in this period is not just important for Japan but marks an “important element of world history” (Hendry 18). Maruo ends “Planet of the Jap” with a haunting international message: “Don’t be fooled. Japan is by no means a defeated nation. Japan is still the strongest country in the world” (124). The porn-horror creator Suehiro Maruo follows in the tradition of figures like Octave Mirbeau, Georges Bataille and Robert Crumb who have used explicit pornography and sexual taboo as a forum for political provocation. The sexual horror of Maruo’s erotic-grotesque manga may terrify some readers and titillate others. It may even terrify and titillate at the same time in a disturbing fusion which has social and political implications: all the Maruo works in this essay were produced in the early to mid-1980s, the peak of Japanese economic success. They also coincide with the boom years of the Japanese sex industry, which Akira Suei argues was terminated by the repressive legislation of the New Amusement Business Control and Improvement Act of 1985 (Suei, 10). Suei’s account of the period paints one of frivolity and inventiveness embodied in the phenomenon of “no-panties coffee shops” (10) and the numerous sex clubs which offered extraordinary “role-playing opportunities” (13). The mood is one of triumph for the sexual expression of the customers but also for the extremely well-paid sex workers. Maruo’s stories contemporaneous with this have their own freedom of sexual expression, creating a vision where sexually explicit images comment upon a wide variety of subjects, from the family, scatological taboos, through to national history and Japan’s economic success. At the same time as presenting explicit sex as a feature in his films, Maruo always closely weaves it in with the taboo of death. Martin Heidegger interprets human existence as Sein-zum-Tode (being-towards-death) (Kearney 35): in Maruo’s vision, existence is evidently one of sexual-being-towards-death. Like Suehiro Maruo’s hideously maimed and blind lovers, humanity always returns to the impulse of its sexuality and the desire/will to orgasm: what Maruo calls “the cosmic gash” of physical love, a gash which also reveals, in a Heideggerian sense, the non-being that is the only certainty of existence. And we should remember that even when love is blind, someone will always be watching. References Crumb, Robert. The Complete Crumb, Volume 5: Happy Hippy Comix. Seattle: Fantagraphics, 1990. Hendry, Joy. Understanding Japanese Society. London: Routledge, 1987. Kearney, Richard. Modern Movements in European Philosophy. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1986. Kotz, Liz. “Complicity: Women Artists Investigating Masculinity” in Paula Church Gibson (ed.) More Dirty Looks: Gender, Pornography and Power (Second Edition). London, BFI, 2004, 188-203. Lehmann, Jean-Pierre. The Roots of Modern Japan. London: Macmillan, 1982. Maruo, Suehiro. “Planet of the Jap” in Quigley, Kevin (ed.). Comics Underground Japan. New York: Blast Books, 1992. —-. Mr Arashi’s Amazing Freak Show. New York: Blast, 1992. —-. Ultra-Gash Inferno. London: Creation, 2001 Mizuki, Shigeru. Youkai Gadan. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1992. Rampo, Edogawa. Japanese Tales of Mystery and Imagination. New York: Tuttle, 1956. Suei, Akira “The Lucky Hole as the Black Hole” in Nobuyoshi Araki. Araki: Tokyo Lucky Hole. Köln: Taschen, 1997, 10-15. MLA Style Hand, Richard J. "Dissecting the Gash: Sexual Horror in the 1980s and the Manga of Suehiro Maruo." M/C Journal 7.4 (2004). 10 October 2004 <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0410/05_horror.php>. APA Style Hand, R. (2004 Oct 11). Dissecting the Gash: Sexual Horror in the 1980s and the Manga of Suehiro Maruo, M/C Journal, 7(4). Retrieved Oct 10 2004 from <http://www.media-culture.org.au/05_horror.php>