Critics will tell you Onibaba is a masterpiece — a searing parable about lust, survival, and postwar trauma wrapped in the reeds of medieval Japan. They’ll wax poetic about its stark black‑and‑white cinematography, its Buddhist allegories, its haunting final shot. And yes, it’s pretty to look at. But here’s the truth nobody whispers out loud: this “classic” moves slower than molasses and feels about as subtle as being beaten with a rice paddle.
It’s not horror. It’s not drama. It’s a 103‑minute staring contest between sex, jealousy, and a swamp.
The Plot: Kill, Strip, Drop, Repeat
The premise is juicy enough: two women survive a civil war by ambushing soldiers in tall reeds, stripping their armor, and dumping the corpses into a pit. The rhythm is almost comic in its repetition: stab, loot, drag, plop. It’s like a medieval recycling program. Then Hachi, a deserter neighbor, shows up to stir the pot — and suddenly the daughter‑in‑law is sneaking off at night for vigorous grass‑rolling sessions while the mother‑in‑law seethes with jealousy.
You could make a tight, brutal thriller from this setup. Instead, Onibaba treats it like slow‑burn poetry, dragging every encounter out until you’re praying for someone, anyone, to just fall in the pit and end the scene.
Eroticism or Aerobics?
The younger woman’s nightly sprints through the reeds to Hachi’s hut are meant to be raw, primal expressions of lust. They’re filmed in long, breathless tracking shots. The critics call it erotic. Personally, it looks more like Olympic training. By the fifth or sixth run, you half expect her to get a sponsorship deal from Adidas.
The sex scenes themselves? More panting, more grass stains, less chemistry than two goats on a hillside.
Enter the Demon Mask (Finally)
Halfway in, a wandering samurai appears wearing a Hannya mask. He explains he wears it to protect his handsome face, which is as believable as someone wearing a paper bag because they’re “too good‑looking.” He promptly dies in the pit — like everyone else — and the mother‑in‑law steals the mask.
She then decides the best way to keep her daughter‑in‑law from getting laid is cosplay: dressing up as a swamp demon to cock‑block her own family. If that sounds more Scooby‑Doo than Buddhist parable, that’s because it is.
The Mask as Metaphor (Or Just Cheap Latex?)
Eventually, the mask sticks to her face in the rain, fusing flesh and symbol into one heavy‑handed moral lesson: lust and jealousy deform the soul. Or maybe it’s a Hiroshima metaphor. Or maybe it’s just a production excuse to slap oatmeal on Nobuko Otowa’s cheeks.
Critics swoon over the allegory. I saw a woman sweating in a rubber mask, begging her daughter‑in‑law to stop running off for booty calls. Same thing, I guess.
Reeds, Reeds, and More Reeds
Visually, the movie leans hard on the setting — endless seas of susuki grass swaying in the wind. It’s atmospheric for about ten minutes. Then it’s monotonous. The reeds aren’t haunting; they’re a screensaver. By the end, you feel like you’ve been trapped in a yard‑work nightmare.
The Big Finish: Run, Demon, Run
In the finale, the younger woman believes her mother‑in‑law has truly become a demon. She flees, leaps over the pit, and the older woman leaps after her — screaming, “I’m human!” Roll credits. It’s meant to be ambiguous, haunting. In practice, it feels like the movie finally ran out of reeds and called it a day.
Final Thoughts
Onibaba (1964) has the bones of a chilling folktale, but it drowns them in repetition, metaphor hammered like a drum, and endless shots of women running through fields. Yes, it’s art. Yes, it’s historically significant. But it’s also slow, heavy‑handed, and far less profound than it thinks it is.
The demon here isn’t lust or jealousy. It’s boredom. And once it latches on, no mallet can break it free.
