Here are a few things I know to be true: firstly, the Japanese New Wave is one of the most sorely underrepresented of all film movements, with many of its works being tragically ignored in favour of others, which is truly shameful since some of the most inventive films ever made were produced by this small renegade group of Japanese artists around the 1960s, many of which took advantage of the country being in flux, and thus created some of the most original works of alternative fiction to come from the nation that normally produced art that told of more upstanding individuals in society’s that were highly-principled and disciplined. Secondly, Hiroshi Teshigahara was one of the most fascinating filmmakers from any era or background, whose career may be relatively small in comparison to some of his contemporaries, but remains populated with some truly incredible films that broke boundaries of what could be represented on screen. Lastly, Woman in the Dunes (Japanese: 砂の女) is one of the most haunting works of fiction ever committed to any medium, an uncategorizable masterpiece of immense proportions that lingers on the mind of the viewer in ways absolutely none of us can ever expect from a film, even if we are well aware of the fact that the Japanese New Wave brought out some incredibly idiosyncratic works, and that Teshigahara himself was known to approach certain themes with a kind of revolutionary originality that I’ve yet to see replicated in any other filmmaker to date. In short, there’s nothing more to say about Woman in the Dunes other that the fact that it is pure artistic provocation, both in terms of the content that its built around, and the form the innumerable themes take, with the director going to extraordinary lengths to create one of the most unquestionably unique films of its time, a masterpiece not only of Japanese cinema but of arthouse filmmaking in general, a haunting construction of indelible chaos, Teshigahara made something truly exquisite.

There’s always the idea of giving a film too much praise – whether it be the immediate reaction from seeing it sending you into something of a gleeful insanity, or the nostalgia of revisiting something you loved before only consolidating it in your mind as a great work of art. Being aware of these factors played a part with this viewing of Woman in the Dunes, and without any sense of hyperbole, this is one of the most fascinating explorations of the human condition ever produced. As one of Teshigahara’s two most significant masterpieces (the other being the incredible The Face of Another), this film is operating from an entirely different level to anything else made at the time – the Japanese New Wave was certainly not lacking in originality, but there’s something about what the director was doing here (in working from a novel by Kōbō Abe) that is strikingly different from anything else made during this period, or since – a kind of method of telling a story that employs numerous different concepts that are normally slightly detached from the world of art, such as psychology and anthropological inquiry, both of which are quite heavily persistent in this film, to the point where it seems to be occurring at the very intersection of many ideas that are rarely woven into any film on their own, let alone in such a way that they become as distinctive as they are here. Each frame of Woman in the Dunes carries enormous significance, whether in establishing the narrative and thematic primitives that only become evident in the climactic moments or the visual scope that sees Teshigahara employing some of the most innovative compositions of this era of Japanese filmmaking.

The word “achievement” is used all too commonly to refer to something even just mildly unique or original, but considering how ambitious this project was, and how Teshigahara’s steadfast dedication to infusing meaning into absolutely every moment of this film proves that he truly did accomplish something unprecedented with this film, as evident by the fact that it lingers on the mind of the viewer long after the final scene has departed the screen, and the nightmarish vision presented to us here by Teshigahara being committed to memory. Whether hyperbolic or not, there’s a sense that Woman in the Dunes is enormously special for a number of reasons. Therefore, any attempt to begin to describe what Teshigahara was doing with this film needs to make use of a layered approach – the director carefully-curated Abe’s offbeat novel into a towering masterpiece of cinema, not through boldly going where no other filmmaker dared go before by forcing his enormously audacious vision to manifest, but rather through gradually developing on each individual idea, building on one another and exploring each theme, whether pivotal or inconsequential (although I’d argue there is not a second in this film that is misplaced or wasted – each moment plays an inextricable role in getting the story where it needed to be). This approach gives the audience the opportunity to extend beyond simply being passive viewers, and taking an active role in uncovering the story as it goes along my embracing each individual moment, taking note of the small details scattered throughout. This is always an immediate indicator of a filmmaker who doesn’t only strive for artistic integrity but understands how art isn’t necessarily a reflection of those making it, but also a chance for the observer to form their own unique relationship with the work, a duality that is represented quite brilliantly throughout this film.

As is the case with many films that bear the same kind of unique approach to storytelling, we can’t look at Woman in the Dunes through the same lens as a more regular film, because if there’s one aspect of Teshigahara’s work that is almost universally upheld as the truth, its that he was a director who dismissed any sense of convention. This is certainly not your garden-variety social drama, but rather a work of masterful, surrealist abstraction that comes into its own from the very first haunting moment. The discordant music (if you can call the cacophonic clangings of out-of-tune instruments as such) playing over the formative scenes establish the tone, and gradually develop the theme of isolation and alienation, which are going to become so vital to unpacking the innumerable ways in which Woman in the Dunes is going to take on some very resonant themes in a highly-irregular manner. Finding the perfect balance between tense and ethereal throughout the film, Teshigahara relishes in his ability to evoke absolutely any emotion through mere implication, which benefits the film greatly when we realize that it carries a much deeper meaning than simply being the story of an ordinary entomologist who has the misfortune of stumbling across a rural community that offers him shelter for the night, in exchange for a lifetime of gruelling travail, literally forcing him to descend to subterranean levels, undergoing a kind of Sisyphean task of shovelling sand (as he exclaims to the unnamed woman who he is forced into spending the rest of his life with, he isn’t sure if they have to dig to live, or live to dig), thrust into a position of forced servitude with no end in sight. Woman in the Dunes is a truly unsettling film, and the fact that Teshigahara is intentionally not giving us any insight ahead of time makes this a truly puzzling, but absolutely astonishing, work of fiction that was derived from a long lineage of storytelling motivated by evoking our innermost fears. This may just be the most terrifying film that is neither a traditional horror nor a war film, even if there are clear congruencies with the former, and the post-war effect on Japanese society does subtly pervade, creating a multidimensional portrait of the human condition that takes hold of each our individual neuroses and exploits them in unsettling, but incredibly effective ways.

However, despite the heavy thematic content and the fact that it tends to be perpetually challenging the viewer to deeper into what this film is saying than we normally would, Woman in the Dunes is a remarkably lucid work, one that doesn’t fall victim to the same trite conventions of many other supposedly brilliant experimental films, namely in being convoluted in plot or structure, or condescending to the audience. Teshigahara was an undeniably talented filmmaker, and it would appear as if he found a kindred literary spirit on Abe, whose novel was the source for one of the most subversive explorations of society ever made – all the while being so incredibly elegant in how simple it is. The film may have been brimming with subtext that requires an immense amount of rumination, but we’re never lost in this story. The director makes sure to weave a consistent narrative thread throughout for us to follow, and a large portion of this comes in how he puts together the central characters. There are essentially only two characters in the film – Junpei, a humble schoolteacher who dabbles in entomology, and an unnamed widow who resides in a dune, trapped there by fellow villagers and forced to shovel sand for them to sell (the irony of this occurring while in a desert is not lost on the film, as mentioned in the previous remark about the cycle of servitude), with a few other minor roles appearing throughout. The characterization of this film is exactly why it works so well, aside from the stunning visuals – there’s a tendency for experimental arthouse cinema to present us with characters that don’t appear to fit the mould of what a traditional protagonist should be – they’re normally flawed, far from heroic and definitely not anyone the audience should relate to. Yet, what makes Woman in the Dunes so effective is that we legitimately care for these characters, all based on how the director places emphasis on them, but also the terrific work done by Eiji Okada and Kyōko Kishida, both of which turn in some truly incredible performances that ground the film, lending it some humanity, which is particularly useful when the omnipotent threat of unhinged, terrifying absurdity is always lingering over the film.

Woman in the Dunes is an achievement of considerable note, one of the finest works of arthouse cinema in the 1960s, and a personal favourite of mine, both for its incredible originality and its steadfast refusal to abide by conventions. Many filmmakers would be deterred from making something as disquieting as this – it seems almost inconceivable that someone would deliberately set out to create something that bewilders the audience, places them in a compromising position where the inescapable sense of dread that only occurs in the most horrifying of nightmares, is the primary impetus for this film. Yet, this is exactly what sets Woman in the Dunes apart from even the most unsettling of surrealist works. To assign this film to a particular category is to reduce it of an almost ethereal quality, one that defies classification and gives a label to something that works better as an experience than as an area of study. There’s so much that can be said about this film as a work of philosophical commentary, but even the most thoughtful academic investigations of this film will fail to encompass the chimeric mystique of this work. As we’ve come to expect, Teshigahara puts together a film that is the perfect balance between beautifully poetic and absolutely terrifying, and the deft manner in which he oscillates between hypnotising us with his mesmerizing approach to filmmaking (usually taking the form of some of the most stunning cinematography ever committed to film – the scene of Junpei’s first escape is one of the most achingly beautiful sequences in all of cinema), and petrifying us with its unusual representation fo the human condition, is beyond incredible. Just as a film like The Searchers influenced much of mainstream filmmaking (both visually and narratively), we can draw roots to every subsequent independent and arthouse auteur to this film, with its challenging themes and precise execution being something that has always been the subject of folklore. Teshigahara pushed the boundaries of what can be portrayed in art and was rewarded with permanently having his name associated with one of the most brilliant works of cinema ever produced, and this is one of the few instances where such a reputation isn’t only well-earned, it’s insufficient in describing the innumerable ways that Woman in the Dunes is a remarkable achievement in every conceivable way.