Kiyoshi Kurosawa—yes, that Kiyoshi Kurosawa, the guy who would later gift the world with the legitimately haunting Pulse—once made a slasher about an office building, a security guard, and a shrine made out of printer paper and creepy devotion. The film is called The Guard from Underground, or The Security Guard from Hell, depending on which VHS tape you picked up in a dusty bargain bin. Either way, it proves that even auteurs must start somewhere, and sometimes “somewhere” is an abandoned corporate lobby with a fog machine and a very sweaty former sumo wrestler.
The Office Job from Actual Hell
Our heroine, Akiko Narushima (Makiko Kuno), begins her shiny new job consulting on art purchases for a large corporation. Already, this is suspicious—what kind of faceless Tokyo megacorp is commissioning “art consultants” in the early 90s? But never mind, she’s barely unpacked her stapler before she’s confronted with her true nemesis: corporate sexism. Her manager Kurume (played with the subtlety of a drunk karaoke uncle by Ren Osugi) leers, gropes, and generally behaves like HR was still a fairy tale concept in 1992.
But Akiko’s workplace woes are quickly overshadowed by Fujimaru (Yutaka Matsushige), the building’s newest security guard. Imagine Jason Voorhees if he swapped his hockey mask for a polyester uniform and a 9-to-5 shift. Fujimaru is hulking, blank-faced, and about as inconspicuous as a sumo wrestler at a Weight Watchers meeting.
He’s also got baggage: disgraced ex-sumo, accused murderer, insanity plea, and a fashion sense that screams “divorced mall cop.” Naturally, this is exactly the guy you want patrolling your skyscraper at night.
The Earring of Doom
The film’s entire descent into madness begins when Akiko loses an earring. Fujimaru finds it, puts it on, and voilà—insta-obsession. This is either the cheapest metaphor for toxic masculinity ever filmed or proof that Kiyoshi Kurosawa once lost a girlfriend to a guy with better jewelry.
From this moment forward, Fujimaru lurks around like a lovesick Frankenstein, stalking Akiko through the office hallways with the emotional intensity of a middle schooler who just discovered The Cure. If he isn’t staring blankly, he’s sweating profusely, and if he isn’t sweating profusely, he’s murdering your coworkers with the enthusiasm of a man who’s still bitter about being demoted from sumo champion to part-time security guard.
Murder in the Cubicles
Soon, the phones go dead, the electricity cuts out, and the office becomes Fujimaru’s private killing playground. What follows is less “thrilling slasher” and more “corporate fire drill from hell.” Workers scatter, stumble into elevators that don’t work, and hide under desks like kindergartners. It’s hard to build tension when the killer moves at the pace of a man with arthritis, yet somehow still catches everyone who isn’t Akiko.
The kills themselves? Let’s just say they lack finesse. Jason Voorhees might get creative with spears, machetes, and saunas. Fujimaru’s toolkit is… office supplies. A box cutter here, a cord there. You half expect him to kill someone with a stapler or drown them in the break room coffee pot.
One victim gets strung up in the basement shrine—because nothing says scary like a Xerox altar to unrequited love. Another simply vanishes, probably realizing halfway through filming that they’d rather find other employment.
Meanwhile, in the Land of Pointless Subplots
Akiko’s boss Kurume continues to be a lecherous scumbag, making you wonder if he’s supposed to be the true villain. But no, the film insists we care about Fujimaru, who mostly communicates through heavy breathing and cryptic one-liners. Then there’s Hyodo (Hatsunori Hasegawa), the eccentric coworker who seems to exist solely to act weird in the corner until the finale, when he suddenly finds the courage to stab Fujimaru with a broken paper cutter. Yes, the mighty showdown between slasher and survivors comes down to stationery.
Shrine to Stupidity
At one point, Akiko stumbles across Fujimaru’s improvised shrine, plastered with her photos like a middle school locker gone feral. This should be a chilling moment—evidence of obsession, a peek into the killer’s deranged psyche. Instead, it looks like someone glued together a Vision Board from the “Creepy Office Stalker” collection.
The reveal doesn’t heighten the horror so much as make you wish someone had just bought Fujimaru a diary.
The Big Showdown (Or: Please Stab Me So This Ends)
The climax involves Fujimaru cornering Akiko in Hyodo’s office, delivering cryptic monologues about fate, betrayal, and probably cholesterol levels. He rips her earring out of his own ear in a symbolic gesture that’s less “tragic romance” and more “toddler with an ear infection.”
Hyodo musters the strength to stab Fujimaru in the neck with a broken paper cutter blade, proving once and for all that office supplies are deadlier than sumo wrestlers. Fujimaru staggers off, leaving Akiko alive, and later hangs himself in the basement like even he was tired of this movie.
Kurosawa Before Kurosawa
The most shocking thing about The Guard from Underground isn’t the violence, the obsession, or the earring fetish. It’s that this was directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa—the man who would later redefine J-horror with atmospheric dread and existential chills. Here, though, he delivers what looks like a student project about OSHA violations.
The lighting is flat, the pacing is glacial, and the “corporate satire” is about as sharp as a melted butter knife. You can almost see flashes of the Kurosawa-to-come: the long takes, the creeping unease, the emphasis on space. But then someone dies in a hallway that looks like an abandoned tax office, and all you can do is laugh.
Fujimaru: The Least Scary Killer Ever
Slashers live and die by their villains. Freddy had wit. Jason had unstoppable force. Michael Myers had an eerie blankness. Fujimaru? He has… bulk. He’s a big guy. That’s about it.
He doesn’t stalk so much as lumber. He doesn’t slash so much as clumsily poke. He sweats like he’s allergic to polyester uniforms. And his tragic backstory—cheating lover, sumo disgrace—never makes him sympathetic, only ridiculous. When he finally offs himself, you don’t feel sad. You feel relieved, like when the drunk guy finally leaves the party.
Final Thoughts: Office Supplies Are Scarier
At its core, The Guard from Underground is a cautionary tale about workplace safety. Don’t hire disgraced ex-sumo wrestlers as security guards. Don’t let HR slide when your manager sexually harasses you. And for God’s sake, lock up the paper cutters.
As a slasher, it fails—too slow, too clumsy, too bogged down in corporate melodrama. As an unintentional comedy, though? It shines. Watching Fujimaru menace people with the intensity of a man choosing between toner cartridges is pure, ridiculous joy.
