Firestarter… But Make It Boring
There are few things in cinema more exciting than a pyrokinetic protagonist. After all, who doesn’t want to watch someone torch their enemies with the flick of a thought? Unfortunately, Pyrokinesis (aka Crossfire) takes this premise and manages to smother it under two hours of damp newspaper. This is a movie about a woman who can set people on fire with her mind, and yet it feels less like a thriller and more like waiting for a pot of water to boil—except the stove is unplugged, the pot is empty, and the chef left an hour ago.
Meet Junko: Human Matchstick with Mommy Issues
Our heroine Junko Aoki (Akiko Yada) was born with pyrokinetic powers, which sounds cool until you realize she’s contractually obligated to be the most depressing person in Japan. Her mother, in a stunning display of maternal warmth, tells her from childhood:
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Don’t get angry.
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Don’t make friends.
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Don’t set anyone on fire.
This parenting style is roughly the equivalent of telling a kid, “Here’s a bicycle, but never ride it, and if you even look at it, you’re grounded.” Unsurprisingly, Junko grows up into the kind of office worker who is shunned by her peers, mainly because she radiates the personality of wet drywall.
Boy Meets Girl, Girl Has Fire Hands
Just when you think Junko will wither away into obscurity, she meets Kazuki (Hideaki Itō), a man so bland he makes unflavored tofu look spicy. Somehow, Junko falls for him, because every tragic supernatural heroine needs a love interest with the emotional depth of a side salad.
The movie pretends this is a romance, but their chemistry is less “burning passion” and more “lukewarm tap water.” Watching them exchange glances is like watching two mannequins at a department store stare at each other: unsettling, pointless, and probably an OSHA violation.
Tragedy Strikes… and Keeps Striking
The plot kicks into gear when Kazuki’s sister Yukie is murdered by a gang of delinquent boys. Not just any gang, mind you—this is the kind of cartoonishly evil group who kill high school girls for fun. Their ringleader, Masaki, is the son of a district attorney, so of course the system covers for him.
Here’s where you’d expect Junko to let loose her fiery vengeance in a glorious spectacle of justice. Instead, the film spends the next hour showing us how sad, conflicted, and boring everyone feels about maybe, possibly, one day, considering the idea of revenge. Watching Junko agonize over whether she should incinerate murderers is like watching Hamlet, if Hamlet had access to flamethrower powers but chose instead to mope about it for three acts.
The Espers Show Up, Because Why Not?
As Junko reluctantly starts using her powers, other espers crawl out of the woodwork. We meet:
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Koichi, who can read and control minds by touch. Great power, but unfortunately his personality is a beige wall.
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Kaori, an autistic girl who latches onto Junko as a surrogate mom. This subplot feels like it wandered in from a different, sadder movie.
Together, they form a sort of low-rent X-Men, if Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters had been replaced with a support group that meets once a month in the back of a discount ramen shop.
Detectives from the Law & Order Reject Pile
Of course, no Japanese crime thriller is complete without weary detectives. Here we get Ishizu and Makihara, who investigate Junko like she’s a rogue cigarette left burning in a pachinko parlor. Makihara has a mysterious grudge against her, which the movie treats like a shocking twist but plays out like an undercooked soap opera subplot.
Their investigation mostly involves showing up late to crime scenes, glaring at each other, and talking about “justice” in a way that makes you want to pour gasoline on the script and let Junko do her thing.
The “Thrills”: Fire Effects from Windows 98
When the movie finally remembers its title, we’re treated to some fire sequences that look like they were rendered on an early copy of Microsoft Paint. Victims burst into flames in awkward CGI that wouldn’t pass muster in a PlayStation 1 cutscene.
The climactic set piece involves an amusement park going up in flames, which should be jaw-dropping spectacle. Instead, it looks like a child’s diorama being attacked by sparklers. If you’ve ever wanted to see a 1/5-scale miniature model of Disney World slowly melt under heat lamps, Pyrokinesis has you covered.
Tone: Neither Fish nor Fireball
The real problem with Pyrokinesis isn’t just its bargain-bin effects—it’s the fact that it can’t decide what it wants to be. One minute it’s a grim crime drama, the next it’s a horror flick, then it dips into awkward romance, and sometimes it tries to be an X-Men knockoff. It’s like watching five bad movies fight each other for screen time, with the winner being boredom.
The pacing is glacial, the dialogue is melodramatic, and every time Junko starts to do something cool, the film yanks the camera away so we can watch another scene of Kazuki looking constipated with grief.
Junko’s Circle of Violence (and the Audience’s Circle of Regret)
The film builds toward Junko realizing that using her powers for vengeance will only perpetuate the cycle of violence. This is a deep theme—when handled well. Here, it’s repeated so many times you start rooting for the cycle of violence just to shut everyone up. By the end, Junko is less a tragic heroine and more a glorified lighter you keep forgetting you left in your back pocket.
The Verdict: Fire Hazard Cinema
Pyrokinesis had all the ingredients for a thrilling supernatural revenge flick: a wronged heroine, corrupt villains, and literal firepower. Instead, it delivers a soggy mess that’s part courtroom drama, part soap opera, and part student film special effects reel. The result is a movie where the only thing that really burns is your patience.
If you want to see pyrokinetic revenge done right, go watch Carrie. If you want Japanese supernatural action, rent Akira. But if you want to experience cinematic arson where the only casualty is your time, then by all means—step into Pyrokinesis. Just bring marshmallows, because at least then you’ll get something worthwhile out of all this smoke.
