Retribution ★★★★☆
What do you get when you mix guilt, ghosts, and an existential detective thriller? You get Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s “Retribution,” a film that’s less about solving crimes and more about unraveling the unsettling fabric of the human mind. Welcome to Tokyo, where crime doesn’t just stain your hands—it haunts your entire soul.
Detective Yoshioka (Kōji Yakusho) stumbles onto a murder scene where a woman in a red dress has been drowned in a shallow puddle. It should be a simple case, except all the clues start pointing to one suspect: himself. As the evidence stacks up—his fingerprints, his missing button—Yoshioka spirals into paranoia, unsure whether he’s the killer or being framed by something far more malevolent. To make matters worse, a ghostly figure in red starts following him, blurring the lines between reality and the supernatural. You know it’s bad when you’re trying to solve a murder that you might have committed without even realizing it.
On the surface, “Retribution” presents itself as a murder mystery with a supernatural twist, but the real horror lies deeper. It’s not just about solving a crime; it’s about reckoning with guilt—both personal and collective. Yoshioka isn’t the only one losing his grip; other citizens are committing similar acts of senseless violence, suggesting a society drowning in its own repressed guilt and inner turmoil. The film becomes a meditation on the destructive power of suppressed emotions and unresolved pasts, tying into broader themes of societal decay and ecological imbalance. Kurosawa doesn’t give us easy answers—he’s far more interested in unsettling you, making you question whether the real horror is the ghost or the world that created it.
Kurosawa is the king of eerie minimalism, and “Retribution” is no exception. The film is drenched in a cold, muted palette, with long, static shots that evoke a feeling of cosmic indifference. Tokyo is depicted as desolate, half-abandoned—a place where the land itself seems haunted by human sins. Kurosawa’s use of space is brilliant: he makes you feel like you’re being watched by the city, by ghosts, by the past. It’s less about jump scares and more about a creeping, existential dread that seeps into every frame. And let’s not forget his trademark use of water—always unsettling, here acting as a constant reminder of death and the murky depths of Yoshioka’s psyche.
Kōji Yakusho, who is practically a Kurosawa regular at this point, delivers a performance that’s all about restraint and slow-burning intensity. He plays Yoshioka like a man on the verge of collapsing under the weight of his own mind, without ever resorting to melodrama. His haunted expressions are more chilling than any CGI ghost could ever be. Manami Konishi as Harue, the red-dressed apparition, is quietly terrifying, appearing in just the right moments to crank up the tension without ever needing to raise her voice. Together, the cast pulls off the delicate balancing act of horror and tragedy that defines the film.
“Retribution” is a slow burn—sometimes agonizingly slow—but that’s kind of the point. Kurosawa’s deliberate pacing forces you to sit with the discomfort, much like his protagonist must sit with his unraveling sanity. While it can feel disjointed at times, particularly toward the end when the plot ramps up suddenly, the disorientation mirrors Yoshioka’s fractured mental state. The film doesn’t hold your hand; instead, it pulls you into its murky waters and leaves you to figure out which way is up.
If you’ve ever felt haunted by a past mistake or wondered if your subconscious might be sabotaging your present, this film hits close to home. Yoshioka’s journey is less about uncovering a killer and more about confronting his own repressed guilt. Watching it, I couldn’t help but reflect on how we all carry our unresolved histories with us—sometimes they just lurk quietly, other times they scream in our faces.
“Retribution” isn’t for those seeking fast-paced thrills or clear-cut resolutions. It’s a cerebral, atmospheric experience that will appeal to fans of slow-burn psychological horror and those familiar with Kurosawa’s previous work, like Cure. If you prefer your horror to creep up on you rather than jump out at you, this film will leave you deliciously unnerved. It’s a ghost story, yes, but the real ghost is the guilt that festers within us all.
