Considerate horror films have always reflected contemporary attitudes. As yet though, there have been surprisingly few horror movies about the Internet. It's this generation's wheel or fire, but it hasn't really been explored yet within the horror genre. Enter Kiyoshi Kurosawa's seven-year movie project Pulse (original Japanese title Kairo). It's pretty obvious that the success of Ringu made it possible for him to realize this. You can't seem to read any review on Asian ghost stories anymore without that particular movie being mentioned –- and I'm just as guilty as the next reviewer for doing so. But, other than coming from the same country and sitting in the same genre, every comparison with Ringu is far too remote to bear any relevance. Pulse is an entirely different movie on almost every level.

The plot seems pretty simple on the surface. A number of people are asked through a website if they want to meet a ghost. However, it seems that regardless of their response, the ghosts have their own agenda to follow through. Expected to only appear in the ominously taped-shut ‘Forbidden Room’, the spirits soon spread to the outside world because everyone coming into direct contact with them inevitably joins their ranks.

The story unfolds itself in short, seemingly unrelated episodes, beginning with a group of friends working at a botanical garden. One of them hasn't shown up for work lately, and a colleague goes out to check on him. She finds him in his apartment, acting frantically and detached from reality. Next, without prior warning, he hangs himself in the adjacent room, leaving a strange black mark on the wall behind him. Soon other people begin to act similarly detached, ending up the same way -- a black mark where their body was left. Our three protagonists, Michi Kudou (Kumika Aso), a gardener, Ryousuke Kawashima (Haruhiko Katô), a computer-illiterate economy student, and Harue Karasawa (Koyuki), a young IT teacher, are confronted with a mystery that doesn’t yield to any explanation. Their friends and colleagues keep disappearing, disintegrating before their eyes, and what remains is a wad of existential questions beyond the scope of answering.

Pulse is a singular achievement in the genre and one of the most intriguing, promising, thought provoking, fascinating and disturbing movies ever made in recent times. It’s a ghost story unlike any other. While traditional ghost stories would often have their spirits bound to specific locations or artifacts, presenting their appearance as purposeful and, conclusively, successfully getting exorcised before the end credits roll down, Pulse distances itself from all those genre conventions. What we’re getting here instead is a surreal vision of a ghost-infested world, similar on a social level to George A. Romero’s famous apocalypse of the living dead, in which humans seem oddly out of place.

Skillfully constructed and artistically shot, the movie is a dark and brooding collage of death. It constantly reminds us of the mysteries surrounding our own mortality and how, when the time comes, we’ll ultimately face this moment alone. The dominant theme is that at the end of the line there simply isn't anything except frightening nothingness -- no heaven, no hell, just a miserable eternity of existing between the planes of here and beyond. To those who’re touched by this knowledge, life itself becomes unrecognizable, losing its shape and familiarity.

The movie also highlights our longing to know the ultimate answer to the question of life, our longing to realize the nature of death’s emptiness. That notion is metaphorically set in the very first scene, where Michi is standing with her back to the camera on the deck of a ship, looking across the sea at massive black clouds. The question is tangible, but will destroy anyone touching it. The movie demonstrates this grand mystery’s enormity throughout, weighing it against us and how we, as individuals, are powerless to act against it. Yet we’re all ultimately fascinated by it. The depressing inevitability of our own deaths is forcefully presented here, looking at us straight in the eyes.

The significance of technology in this overwhelming spiritual dilemma is of vital proportions. The Internet allows us to see those trapped souls but the means by which we connect to them is soulless. The channels by which we get in touch with the spiritual mysteries actually reinforce our level of alienation. Pulse is extremely effective at painting a cold and bleak picture thereof, supported by the movie’s lack of color.

Contrary to what would normally be expected from a typical ghost story, there are no oodles of fluorescent ectoplasm, sudden gusts of wind, slamming doors or clanking sewage pipes. Actually, there are no jump scares at all, but rather an agonizing anxiety as we’re glued to the screen in continuous anticipation of the worst. Kurosawa proves very efficient in creating an atmosphere of dread, playing with the promise of unbearable forebodings and reducing his audience to mental wrecks constantly expecting the unexpected. We don’t see any hideously distorted monstrosities but the promise of distortion is always there. Whatever we manage to catch a glimpse of –- and it’s never more than a glimpse -– reveals itself as an aberration in our own perception of reality, a flickering image, a shadow in the background, a hint of movement, an image so blurred that we strain our eyes discerning it and at the same time so strangely menacing that we pray our eyes failed us.

The scare factor in this movie is defined by the growing awareness of the omnipresence of menacing entities, and our own undeniable vulnerability in their faces. The digital effects in this movie are quite ingenious. Very minimal in their appearance, they’re used to distort the displayed reality. The soundtrack mirrors this perfectly with its digital hum and hiss, instead of harmonic music. It's only towards the finale when we hear harmony, but only as a very basic underscore to the on-screen proceedings. The music composed by Takefumi Haketa is a Japanese ghost story characteristic, a medley of sounds, the alternating intensity of which is unnerving when the characters are shrouded in absolute silence.

In fact, very little actually happens on-screen at all. The movie can be terribly slow in places and probably isn't for everyone to appreciate. But Pulse's many strengths are not only to be found in its mad score or silent spells. The bizarre, at times surreal plot develops through a stream of stunning visuals. Even seemingly insignificant scenes like traveling on public transport or wandering through narrow suburban alleys are amazing with their cinematic beauty. Lenser Junichirô Hayashi’s cinematographic skills, particularly visible in the apocalyptic finale, are very impressive.

Gore hounds are likely to turn their backs in disapproval on Pulse because, well, there's no gore in it. Action fans will cringe in boredom, waiting for something to happen. Those of you who prefer their horror loud, fast and with a closed linear narrative structure may consider passing on this one as well. And if you’re relatively new to the genre, be advised to check out the one about the cursed video tape first, then the one about the eye transplant.

The metaphysical arguments offered as an explanation of Pulse’s on-screen phenomena might be confusing. But no matter how little is learned about death and its loneliness, the gained knowledge isn’t comforting. This movie gets under the skin of whoever’s willing to be open to it –- I suppose that’s everybody reading this long review in its entirety -- providing several effective scares while watching it but, first and foremost, seriously affecting reality perception. For you, this is a must-see, or rather, a mandatory and extremely rewarding viewing experience.