Masaki Kobayashi’s Kwaidan is a film about ghosts, but its greatest haunting is the runtime. At 183 minutes, this anthology has all the spectral terror of a library sleepover, where the ghosts whisper not about vengeance or eternal damnation, but about how you really should’ve brought a thicker pillow.
The film adapts Lafcadio Hearn’s “ghost stories,” those delicate little cultural baubles beloved by literature professors and insomniacs. Kobayashi, to his credit, turns them into lavish stage paintings, all matte backdrops, painted skies, and actors frozen into postures of anguish like kabuki mannequins. The problem is that ghosts in Kwaidan do not terrify so much as dawdle, drifting in and out like relatives who won’t leave after dinner.
The Black Hair – Bad Ex-Husband, Worse Wig
The anthology begins with “The Black Hair,” in which a samurai dumps his patient wife for a rich one, regrets it, and crawls back years later to discover she’s aged into a skeleton with the world’s most vindictive wig. It’s like Kramer vs. Kramer, if Meryl Streep were replaced by a haunted pile of extensions from a Tokyo salon. Watching black hair creep across the floor is about as frightening as watching it clog a bathtub drain.
The Woman of the Snow – Marriage, But Frostier
Next is “The Woman of the Snow,” where Tatsuya Nakadai survives an encounter with a snow demon because she thinks he’s cute. They marry, have children, and live happily until he breaks his promise and blurts, “Say, you remind me of that snow lady who murdered my friend.” She storms off in a blizzard, proving the old adage: never marry a weather system. It’s the only ghost story where the scariest thing is domestic honesty.
Hoichi the Earless – Now With 100% More Ear-Ripping
“Hoichi the Earless” is the crowd-pleaser, mostly because something finally happens. A blind biwa player gets tricked into singing war epics for dead samurai. To protect him, priests paint his body with sutras—except they forget his ears. Cue the ghost samurai yanking them off like cocktail shrimp. It’s a great scene, but it comes after an hour of chanting so monotonous that the ear-ripping feels less like horror and more like divine intervention.
In a Cup of Tea – Ghost? Or Just Bad Beverage Service
Finally, “In a Cup of Tea,” the story of a man who sees a ghostly face in his tea, duels with its spectral owner, and then the film doesn’t end. Literally. The narrator shrugs and says, “Well, the story never had a conclusion.” It’s the cinematic equivalent of your Uber driver stopping halfway and announcing, “Guess we’ll leave it here.”
The Real Horror: Ennui
Every frame of Kwaidan is undeniably gorgeous. Painted skies swirl like Van Gogh overdosing on sake. Snow falls in slow-motion blizzards that look like they were sifted through a giant colander. But beauty is not the same as fear. By the third hour, the audience isn’t frightened of spirits—they’re frightened the projectionist has forgotten to switch reels.
Kobayashi reportedly sold his house to complete the film. After sitting through the full three hours, I suggest he could’ve sold the editing bay instead.
Conclusion: The Ghost Stories That Wouldn’t Die
Kwaidan is a film critics adore because it’s “serious art” and Cannes gave it a ribbon. But as horror, it’s like being tickled to death by origami cranes. You admire the craftsmanship even as you wonder how long before rigor mortis sets in—yours, not the characters’.
One and a half stars out of four. A movie about restless spirits that makes the viewer restless in all the wrong ways.
