Monkey Drum

Rooted within Japanese culture, Monkey Drum is a beautifully shot (cinematography by Tian Pei) folk-horror short film about the most horrific kind of tragedy. The young, award-winning director Jeremy Lu, amongst a small team of Asian filmmakers, poured their experiences and identities into this project (Lu's NYU thesis film) to create an authentic masterpiece. Crowdfunded through donations and the filmmakers' own pockets, these artists were inspired by the Japanese way of treating friends, neighbours, and, significantly, strangers, centring the story around the Japanese term “お邪魔します”, literally meaning “I am disturbing”, a phrase used in Japan when entering someone’s home, thus disturbing their peace.

Minato is an elderly, broken man. He is a hermit who has lived alone for many years and is content with a simple life of solitude, one that is fulfilled purely by the fact that he is still breathing. Isseki is a devoted young father of Jun. The two of them have mysteriously found themselves lost and helpless and persuade Minato to take them under his wing, feeding and sheltering them, even gifting Jun with a fun new toy – a hit-hit drum (でんでん太鼓).

Isseki and Jun’s entry is immediately unsettling to Minato’s space. The sound design enhances this powerfully, focusing on their bellowing knocks on the door, the gross sounds of their slurping and chewing, and most notably, Jun’s constant rattling of the monkey drum, which eerily plays through the night, causing Minato significant unease. There is a clear generational detachment between Jun and Minato. This divide is cleverly highlighted through Jun’s inability to understand cues of politeness within traditional Japanese culture, immediately brought to attention in Jun’s refusal to introduce himself and further demonstrated in his reluctance to stop playing the drum despite irritating both his father and Minato.

Similar to Mother!, directed by Darren Aronofsky, Monkey Drum excellently creates a tone of unease from the outset through the scenario of an unwelcome intrusion. As is customary in American culture, Jennifer Lawrence’s character is vocal about her discomfort from the immediate disruption of an unwelcome guest residing in their home. However, whilst Minato’s unease is clear to viewers, it is only following the fallout of a sudden tragedy which has come to haunt Minato’s space that he is ever direct about his desire for Isseki to leave his home.

Monkey Drum masterfully depicts a shocking accidental tragedy. As the film is only 16 minutes long, there is little space for buildup or foreshadowing. Despite this, the film minimally brews tensions, drawing attention to spaces and objects which viewers can sense carry a heavy weight before the incident occurs. The actual tragedy itself is conveyed chillingly. Through bone-cutting sound effects, its use of silence and selective camera choices in what is shown and when, the gradual realisation towards what has happened is experienced in real time through the eyes of Isseki and Minato. Here, viewers are forced to endure the most horrific moments following such a tragic event, engaging in an authentic journey of the most mortifying grief.

As the film comes to its climax, the tragedy becomes a mere background character adding to the brewing tension between Isseki and Minato, his unwelcome presence and the turmoil he has brought into Minato’s home spiralling into a dramatic culmination. The performances here, and indeed throughout, from Tadashi Mitsui (Minato) and Taiju Nakane (Isseki) are harrowingly powerful. Viewers are utterly convinced by their disturbance, particularly Isseki’s grief.

So many aspects of Monkey Drum are notable in their excellence and importance. One final dedication must be made to the love that permeates this film, despite its belonging to the horror genre, and heavy leaning on psychological discomfort, a heartfelt dedication of Isseki to his son Jun resonates throughout. After all, what is grief if not love preserving?