At the turn of the century, after directors found themselves time and time again at a loss as to how to successfully translate Japanese cinema to the American Big Screen and, likewise, frustrated audiences were saturated with the same ghost child imagery and non sequitur storylines which followed, it was announced that Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Kario was being given a Hollywood makeover. As such, Jim Sonzero’s Pulse didn’t stand a chance. Lay and professional critics saved themselves the time, as seen in James Berardinelli’s critically-ominous statement, “Not having seen the original, I can’t make comparisons, but I can state that this is the worst translation within the genre to date.” Unfortunately, such critics not only deprived themselves for the work not only overcomes its jetlag, but Pulse clarifies what came before while positing its own two-cents into the slot called the human predicament.

Whereas even trying to corner the plot of Kurosawa’s film is tricky, to say nothing of interpreting it, Sonzero’s sophomore directorial effort offers its own reading of Kairo while proceeding to make the tale its own. We are met by a computer programmer, Josh (Jonathan Tucker), who commits suicide and, after the fact, seems to be responsible for having opened a portal between the Here-and-Now and the afterlife via the Internet. As a rash of suicides begin plaguing the city, Josh’s friend, Mattie (Kristen Bell), attempts to discern the apparitions’ intent. During her voyage, she meets Dexter (Ian Somerhalder) and discovers that Josh had actually been working on a virus by which to usurp the trans-dimensional portal. However, apocalypse lies at their feet.

Perhaps Pulse was unfairly judged, not because of Kurosawa’s obfuscated storyline, but due to Geoffrey Sax’s White Noise, which arrived on the Big Screen a year prior. Given that White Noise’s premise is based upon ghosts trying to reach the living through technology, atop the fact that the feature was horrible, critics anticipated that a translation–a Johnny-Come-Lately remake at that–and an established bomb of a plot were too much to feasibly overcome. Granted, the film’s scares are limited to boo moments, yet Pulse’s reading of its forerunner, atop its positing its own interpretation of modern society, makes the work a very admirable, worthwhile effort.

Whereas in Kairo we are unsure as to exactly why everyone is committing suicide, what relation the undead have to the living, and if the theme of loneliness is a corollary of or merely happenstance to humanity’s dependence upon technology, we know early on what the undead’s agenda is in Pulse: To live off them. A ghost literally sucks the life out of a character yet, interestingly, it is revealed that revenge or murder is not their game plan for, like a parasite, they would prefer the living to continue just as they are so that the undead may have continued sustenance. However, some suckees try to futilely hang on while others just give up and hang themselves (or plummet off buildings or . . . ). Understandably, we don’t blame those who surrender because as with any life-threatening illness, the pain must be unbearable.

But why, and why does this matter in the larger scope of things, i.e. the human predicament? Considering that the undead’s connection to this world and theirs is the Internet, Sonzero posits a great Luddist critique of modern society. Just as television was billed in the 1950s as being capable of bringing the family together–which it did but not as the family dinner had, i.e. through healthy dialogue (and, instead, resulted in anesthetized group staring and, with what little was being spoken, such was limited to bickering as to what would be watched)–the Internet brought people together but, as Mattie states, only virtually. In the end, the character is correct for–as symbolized by the Chris Cunningham-esque ghosts circa Aphex Twin’s “Come to Daddy” video–“They are the system” and, yes, “They want life.” As we watched antisocial personality disorders arrive in bulk once the Internet gained a foothold, society literally became dependent upon technology as, fittingly, technology did the same with their human counterparts (laptops need someone to turn them on . . . ). Accurately, one of the film’s taglines read “Technology can be scary.” Indeed.

Yet people said the director misfired . . . .

Sonzero brings his cautionary tale home by taking us to the inevitable conclusion given the grip which technology has upon us: apocalypse. Since we can’t communicate in any other form than through technology, and technology is the cause of our life-threatening ailment, apocalypse ensues. With this, the director pulls no punches in order to produce an end-of-the-world scenario for, should such a situation ensue, I doubt many would argue that, however head-slappingly, many would reach for the cell phone to alert their loved ones not to use the mobile phone.

Regardless of the reviews, I am sure that the film’s co-writer, Wes Craven, was satisfied with Jim Sonzero’s final product. Many were alarmed that Craven had a hand in the film yet, if one were to look closely at the premise, the feature shares many thematic similarities to the master’s canon. In the end, whereas Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Kario was perhaps a bit too vague for its own good to where the chilling atmosphere failed to give ample reason as to why we should be personally concerned, Sonzero not only clarifies what came before, gives us a motive for our terror, but–in the process–instructs us as to where we might not want to go lest, metaphorically, we become haunted by a mere slab of plastic and metal and so much circuitry. Alas, its only our livelihoods at stake.

-Egregious Gurnow