Beauty, Obsession, and the Cost of Success

MOVIE REVIEW
A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness (Hishu monogatari)
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 1977, Radiance Films Blu-ray 2025
Runtime: 1h 33m
Director(s): Seijun Suzuki
Writer(s): Ikki Kajiwara, Atsushi Yamatoya
Cast: Yoko Shiraki, Kyōko Enami, Yoshio Harada, Masumi Okada, Kōji Wada, Shūji Sano, Noboru Nakaya, Asao Koike, Jō Shishido, Keisuke Noro, Kuniko Ashihara, Isao Tamagawa
Where to Watch: Available April 29, 2025. Pre-order your copy here: www.radiancefilms.co.uk, www.mvdshop.com, or www.amazon.com

RAVING REVIEW: There’s a certain thrill in watching a film that intentionally refuses to act a certain way. From its opening minutes, this one sidesteps every narrative expectation and tears through genre boundaries with all the subtlety of a hammer. What looks like a tale of success under pressure—a young woman’s unexpected rise in a traditionally male-dominated sport—gradually mutates into something far more haunting. What starts with a swing and a smile ends in smoke and confusion, unmasking the machine behind modern stardom and what happens when the illusion becomes unbearable.

The premise hinges on a decision made in desperation. Miyake, the editor of a sports magazine teetering on irrelevance, decides to gamble everything on a publicity stunt: turning a model named Reiko into a national golf sensation. Her skill on the course is secondary to her presence, and it doesn’t take long before she’s pushed from anonymity to center stage. It all happens too easily—almost suspiciously so. Reiko wins a tournament, snags a talk show gig, and is handed a manufactured dream, complete with a home and media obligations. But success here comes with conditions, and none of them are in Reiko’s control.

On the surface, her story could have been presented as a motivational sports narrative. But this is where the film decides to pivot. The further Reiko climbs, the more suffocating her world becomes. And just when you think the satire is sharp enough, the film introduces Kayo—a seemingly harmless neighbor whose obsession with Reiko creeps in like smoke under a locked door. What begins as admiration twists into domination. Through Kayo, the movie delves into the parasitic nature of fandom and how easily admiration can transition into something darker.

What stands out isn’t just the unsettling tone shifts, but how well they mirror Reiko’s psychological deterioration. From camera angles that feel intentionally invasive to color schemes that suggest emotional toxicity, the film uses visual cues to reflect internal decay. Even moments that should feel triumphant, such as televised interviews or endorsement deals, are often marred by unusual camera angles and exaggerated lighting. It’s as though Reiko is being viewed through a funhouse mirror that warps with every new scene.

That deliberate discomfort becomes the film’s most consistent tool. Reiko is no longer a person, but a product, and the film never lets you forget it. Her presence is dissected by others, from corporate handlers to homemakers who whisper about her in jealous tones. What could have been a simple rivalry becomes a symbol for public ownership over private identity. Whether it’s through the demand for photo shoots or expectations about how a public figure should behave, Reiko’s autonomy is chipped away piece by piece.

Kayo, too, evolves beyond a typical antagonist. Not just a villain to push the plot forward, but a representation of something more. Cast aside by her circle and isolated in her home, she sees Reiko not as a neighbor, but as a portal into another life. Her obsession isn’t just about power, but relevance. The relationship that develops between the two is less about friendship and more about territory.

There’s a sequence late in the film that encapsulates the entire message: a moment where Reiko is physically stripped of the persona she was built for. It’s violent, metaphorical, and deeply uncomfortable—but also honest. It’s here that the film stops being theoretical and instead shows the real damage that comes from crafting people into brands. Fame here is a trap door, and Reiko walks into it with no idea it’s even open.

What keeps the film from becoming too bleak is its willingness to make bold stylistic choices. The narrative doesn’t flow smoothly, but that friction is part of the point. The editing is abrupt, the symbolism is heavy, and the tonal shifts are jarring—but all of it adds to the larger critique. There’s a method to the madness, and it’s aimed directly at how industries and audiences both create and destroy the stars they claim to adore.

This isn’t a story that ends neatly. And that’s where its power lies. The film operates less like a straight path and more like a detour filled with dead ends and strange scenery. Its refusal to conform makes it more memorable than many films that try to play it safe. You’re not left with answers, but you're left to think. And maybe that’s the point. Fame isn’t always about who you are. Sometimes, it’s about how well you can be consumed—and whether there’s anything left once the lights dim.

Bonus Materials:
High-Definition digital transfer
Uncompressed mono PCM audio
Audio commentary by critic and author Samm Deighan (2025)
New interview with editor Kunihiko Ukai (2025)
Trailer
Newly improved English subtitle translation
Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Sam Smith
Limited edition booklet featuring new writing by Jasper Sharp and an archival review of the film

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[photo courtesy of RADIANCE FILMS, MVD ENTERTAINMENT]

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