TIFF 2024: The Gesuidouz Review

This will be one of many reviews during this year’s Toronto International Film Festival, to keep up with our latest coverage, click here.

Punk music and horror films are not that far apart and have quite a few overlapping elements: they each represent a counter to the societal norm, frequently running on a DIY ethos that requires only the fundamentals; each has raw, shocking, eye-catching imagery and other violent methods of expression that taps into a society’s collective disillusionment and alienated psyche; and they’re a lot of fun. The Gesuidouz is not a horror film; it’s not even a punk film in any anti-establishment sense; it’s the work of a director who has clearly stayed up past midnight too many nights watching horror movies and listening to punk music. And it’s a delight.

The Gesuidouz is a misfit punk band featuring lead singer Hanako (Natsuko), guitarist Masao (Imamura), bassist Ryuzo (Kyan), and drummer Santarou (Zevenbergen). On Hanako’s 26th birthday, the band is informed that due to disappointing sales, they are on the verge of being dropped by their label. Desperate, Hanako, who is obsessed with horror movies, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, and the belief that all great musicians die at 27, pleads with their manager for one more year to write their breakthrough hit. Fortunately, the manager has a cost-cutting idea: a program in Japan offering housing and food to individuals working on a farm in the countryside. Agreeing to participate in the program, the band then relocates to rural Japan to gain the space they need for songwriting.

If the premise of The Gesuidouz seems urgent, it isn’t. writer/director Kenichi Ugana has crafted a comedy about creating art that doesn’t star virtuosos: the process isn’t fully composed ideas being pulled from the ether; it’s a matter of slowly smashing things together and working them out after months of banging hands against the wall. It’s a very refreshing and fun perspective to follow, and the film thankfully never falls into any clichés of band drama. It remains light on its feet and delivers some of the best visual comedy in years, planting most of the jokes on simple, funny changes in facial or body expressions.

The cast’s impeccable comedic timing, paired with their distinctive costumes, allows them to be hilarious even through mere posture. Otherwise, the dialogue is endlessly quotable, and some of the film’s gags are so absurd that they’re best kept as a surprise. As the film reaches its third act, despite the absurdity and the film’s consistent levity, The Gesuidouz carries such a profound understanding of Hanako’s journey towards finding meaning in self-expression and marking one’s place in the world that it enters a whole other calibre as it hits a succession of incredibly emotionally poignant scenes.

In the end, The Gesuidouz is a light-hearted and original take on creativity, bolstered by skillful filmmaking, hilarious writing, and great comedic performances. Its delightfully silly nature is bound to make it a cult classic. The music is catchy, the humour is both sharp and heartwarming, and the emotional journey is surprisingly effective. Kenichi Ugana’s film is a triumph for misfits—a celebration of the messy, imperfect journey of artistic creation, showcasing the highs and lows of chasing a dream with genuine affection and wit. All in all, one of the best films of the year.

still courtesy of TIFF

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J.A. Birney

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