[Film Review] The Sound of Summer (2022)

There are certain sounds that encapsulate life in Japan. The gentle 'beep boop' of the pedestrian crossing signal. The lighthearted arrival jingles that signal the approach of your commuter train. The MIDI version of Daydream Believer that seems to play on a loop in every 7/11 and conbini. But few sounds signal the full swing of Japanese summer than the relentless, searing drone of cicadas.

For those living in cooler climates who might be unaware of their deafening song, these creepy beasties live a life not too dissimilar to your average horror fan (mostly just sleeping and screaming), so their inclusion as the frightening focus of a horror film feels long overdue. Enter The Sound of Summer, the feature-length debut from British filmmaker Guy Fragments.

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Fragments (sometimes referred to as Guy Pearce or simply, Guy) has been making waves in the Japanese indie horror scene since his disturbing debut Difficulty Breathing, even drawing attention and praise from Japanese genre legends such as Pinocchio 964’s Shozin Fukui. After The Sound of Summer, it's clear why - Fragments is an exciting and original new name in Japanese horror, and definitely one to watch.

The Sound of Summer follows an unnamed young woman (Kaori Hoshino) going about the days in the depths of the grueling and sweltering Japanese summer. Life is simple and sweet, until a shift at her café job is interrupted by the arrival of ‘the Cicada Man’, a sinister old man who carries around boxes of the hissing monstrosities. As the heat swells and the cicadas’ screams get louder, the woman’s sanity and stability unravels, manifesting in painful lesions and obsessive thoughts. Gorehounds will find a lot to love in The Sound of Summer’s realistic depiction of the mysterious grisly skin condition – one particularly toe-curling scene involves a bloody pair of tweezers and disgustingly visceral squelches.

It’s a moment of many that proves that what The Sound of Summer lacks in budget it more than makes up for in atmosphere. Minimal dialogue and abrasive sound design grant the film a sweaty, surreal sense of impending doom as we watch our heroine descend into madness and leaving us questioning just what – if anything – is really happening.

At just over an hour long, The Sound of Summer is patiently paced, teasing the tension to a goopy and gory climax, which boasts impressive and fully practical effects that call to mind the fleshiest abominations of both Cronenberg and Carpenter – and blessing us horror fans with a horrific new creature to buzz around in our nightmares.

It’s no secret that, since the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, the ‘J-horror boom’ has tapered off, with few Japanese horrors of the last decade breaking through internationally in the same way as the classics from the glory days. However, a new wave of impressive Japanese indie body horror features are ushering in revitalized interest in the scene – and alongside Keishi Kondo's New Religion and Takeshi Kushida's Woman of the Photographs, The Sound of Summer sits firmly at the forefront of this exciting new era.

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