This week, we’re diving into two films that masterfully explore the unsettling nature of guilt. Imagine a boy who welcomes back his best friend, only to discover a void consumed by something unspeakable. Or a mother, desperate to save her daughter from a curse, filming herself in a plea for a shared prayer. Both The Summer Hikaru Died and Incantation (available on Netflix) present scenarios where the very act of holding on becomes the most terrifying experience imaginable, making them ideal companions for a spine-chilling Halloween.
From the Drawing Board
The first thing that captivates you in The Summer Hikaru Died is its stunning use of light. It bathes rusting railings, dances through laundry lines, and shimmers over sun-baked fields under an oppressive, unbroken heat. Within this tranquil summer setting, a boy named Hikaru reappears in a quaint Japanese village after being missing. His closest friend, Yoshiki, slowly realizes that the Hikaru who returned is no longer truly him. Yet, he chooses to keep this horrifying secret to himself.
Adapted from Mokumokuren’s acclaimed manga, Ryohei Takeshita’s direction employs a disquieting stillness reminiscent of David Lynch. The serene rural environment makes the supernatural intrusion feel deeply offensive, as if the very air has been tainted. The camera often lingers, watching as the ordinary slowly descends into decay.
This isn’t horror driven by elaborate explanations or grand spectacles. Instead, much like Yoshiki, the series prefers to leave its true terror unnamed. The ancient superstitions and hushed whispers that drift through the forests of Kubitachi feel like inherited burdens of trauma. The entity inhabiting Hikaru’s form learns to imitate affection, and Yoshiki, paralyzed by his love and guilt, allows this eerie imitation to coexist with him.
A still from The Summer Hikaru Died. Photo Credit: Netflix
Both aesthetically and thematically, The Summer Hikaru Died frequently evokes the melancholic complexity of Twin Peaks and the doomed, forbidden romances found in Luca Guadagnino’s films. There’s also a hint of the quiet, intimate horror of love seen in works like The Haunting of Hill House.
Foreign Affairs
Kevin Ko’s Taiwanese found-footage horror, Incantation, opens with a direct appeal to the audience: a woman stares into the camera, asking viewers to repeat a “blessing” to protect her six-year-old daughter from a dire curse.
Li Ruo-nan, portrayed with haunting conviction by Tsai Hsuan-yen, once violated a sacred ritual and has been living under its shadow ever since. Years later, she chronicles her desperate efforts to shield her daughter, but every word she utters only pulls you deeper into her chilling predicament.
Ko’s genius lies in making us all unwitting participants. He reinvents the found-footage genre as a ritualistic trap. It’s a masterful exercise in drawing the audience into complicity, blending the intense visual claustrophobia of The Blair Witch Project with the ancient folkloric dread of Ringu. The result is one of the most truly terrifying found-footage experiences I’ve ever had the dubious pleasure of encountering.
A still from Incantation. Photo Credit: Netflix
However, what truly grounds the film are the rich cultural details of Taiwanese mountain rituals and Yunnan mythology, interwoven with the unsettling union of modern technology and ancient faith. Incantation feels like The Wailing, but shot with the frantic, handheld panic of REC. Its theme of self-consuming guilt echoes works like Noroi: The Curse and the spiritual disquiet of Hereditary, though its core resonates most closely with the unsettling desecration depicted in The Medium.
Both The Summer Hikaru Died and Incantation offer a profound look at the destructive, unyielding nature of love. Together, they create a perfect thematic pairing, exploring humanity’s persistent need to anchor its faith, whether in other people or in the divine, even when those sources have long ceased to respond.
This article is part of “Ctrl+Alt+Cinema,” a fortnightly column that highlights exceptional world cinema and anime.