For little Ikuko, her parents' separation has been very tough. Her mother, Yoshimi, is a mess. She's attempting to keep a roof over their head and hope in her heart, despite her husband's best efforts to undermine her resolve. What once was a front of love and honor has become a battle with accusations blazing, emotions raw and sudden shifts in subversive strategies. The move to a new home has been hard on both of them – but especially for her mother. She is on her own again after years of being subservient to her husband's needs. She needs to find a job, get Ikuko settled, and fight for the right to raise her child. And now, a new threat has emerged. Like the cloud of confusion that comes when families fail and fathers fight mothers for a sense of parental superiority, a palpable supernatural presence has stepped into Yoshimi and Ikuko's lives. And with it comes deception, anger and disgusting, brackish Dark Water.

Yoshimi and her young daughter Ikuko are desperate to find a place to live. She is involved in a difficult custody battle with her husband over care and guardianship of the child, and making sure she has a stable home environment is a priority. Yoshimi remembers how devastating her own family's break-up was, and wants to protect Ikuko at all costs. After finally settling into her new apartment, she starts to notice little things: there is a water spot on the ceiling that seems to be growing larger; near her daughter's school, there is a sign for a missing little girl; Ikuko seems drawn to the roof of the building; and there is a red purse that keeps popping up in the oddest of places.

When the spot on the ceiling starts to grow and drip water, Yoshimi goes to the floor above to investigate. There she sees a little girl in a raincoat – or does she? Indeed, as the stain grows larger, and the flow of liquid increases, Yoshimi begins to think there is a connection between the lost child, her daughter, the gloomy new apartment complex they live in and the dingy liquid that seems to be permeating everything. If she can put all the pieces of the puzzle together, she may be able to save them from the paranormal presence that hounds their every move, and the Dark Water that threatens to swallow them up whole.

Dark Water is a horror movie about sacrifice. Actually this is not really a full blown movie macabre. Instead, it's a domestic drama peppered by sequences of the supernatural. As he did with his classic creep-out Ringu, filmmaker Hideo Nakata is back to bring chaos into order, applying the messy, mesmerizing world of ghosts, demons and evil spirits to the calm, cold world of contemporary Japan. Honogurai mizu no soko kara, which actually translates as "from the gloomy waters" is not really that frightening. It is actually more eerie than terrifying, using its unique approach to imagery to sell an occasionally excellent psychological story. That it doesn't deliver the shivers from beginning to end it understandable. But it may not give fans frantic for more manga-style menace the jitters and jolts they're looking for.

Thematically, this movie has more in common with 70s horror films than any modern sinister sensibility. It's languid and logical in its approach, carefully placing every piece of the mystery into place with deliberateness and focus. There is only one major 'gotcha' moment. The rest of the film flows on a wave of wounded melancholy, the ambiguity of the ghost child's identity never as important as her manner of demise, or the havoc her ethereal anger produces. The sharper sticks in the audience will decipher this puzzle rather quickly, since the clues are never really hidden. Combine water, a child's purse, a neglectful family dynamic and a constant hinting about the building's rooftop, and the solution is rather simple. But that's just a small part of Nakata's plan. He wants to say something about the parent/child connection with his imagery. And for the most part, he succeeds sensationally.

The notion of the dead coming back to haunt the living - to use the residents of a dwelling or the innocence of a child as a conduit for revenge or retribution - is really nothing new. But Nakata hopes that, by mixing the domesticity with the dread, contemporary audiences will identify with his characters. Like William Friedkin's The Exorcist (probably the most potent allegory about the generation gap ever crafted) Nakata pits maternal instincts against supernatural forces to see just who is stronger in the real/unreal world. With the divorce motif at the center, the message is mighty clear – any breakup in the motherly/fatherly bonds leads to devastating, even demonic consequences. When family is favored over personal and/or selfish motivations, balance is preserved and the wickedness that walks the earth can rest in a hopeless, Hellish sleep.

The two elements American movie audiences will have the most trouble with here, besides the obvious language and customs barriers, are the lead character, Yoshimi (played by Hitomi Kuroki) and the additional 'ending'. In modern motion pictures, we are just not used to gutless, mousy women. Call it a pro-PC position, or a desire to give our name stars a tantamount tour de force they can really melo-dramatize, but Western mindsets don't usually support weak, subservient women. Yoshimi is consistently seen as spineless, cowardly and complaining. Even her compassionate lawyer yells at her to gain strength and defend her child and her rights. But what we get instead is more whining and crying, more demonstrations of fear and abandonment. It's a safe bet that Jennifer Connelly (who is essaying the mother role in the 2005 US remake) won't play this miserable matriarch so mild mannered, or mundane. Why Nakata has chosen to do so here is more out of cultural than character concerns.

Nakata may be thinking that such an approach toward Yoshimi makes the finale of the film that much more potent. But instead, it comes out of a near loony left field. Granted, since we have been wading through a lot of symbolism, suggestion and spirituality to get to the ending, we want something that tries to tie up all the loose ends. And the ORIGINAL ending, the one that pits mother against monster for the life of her child, is very well done. In fact, it literally saves the movie for those expecting a wall-to-wall spook-a-thon. But there is a second sequence, one arriving after the ominous words "10 Years Later" flash across the screen, that seems to confuse the issues again. For 90 minutes, the movie has played fair, providing a slow, suspenseful setup leading directly to an eerie, enigmatic climax. But then we advance a decade and everything gets fuzzy again. These scenes throw a wrench of weirdness into what we thought we've seen previously, and opens up a whole area of interpretation that, frankly, Nakata hasn't prepared us for.

Without giving much away, we come away from the film's last moments feeling that, perhaps, this has all been a dream, a child's way of dealing with her family's divorce and her issues of rejection. On one side, there is the ghostly presence – the separation/break-up of the family - that wants to drag little Ikuko into an underworld where childhood freezes, the pain of parental desertion offering up a feeling reminiscent of disappearing without a trace. On the other is the ineffectual mother, a woman who promised to protect you, but failed at almost every instance. Hovering between the two is the father, able to play the system to his advantage by tweaking both the demonic and the desperate. Eventually, as the years progress, the child comes to realize that what she saw as weakness was actually a lack of social power, and the reasons for eventual relocation to the father had nothing to do with spirits stealing your life away, and more to do with evidence, testimony and judgments.

Had Nakata tried for such a syllogism from the beginning, had he – like Friedkin before him – seen the social story as clearly as the supernatural one, Dark Water would be far more effective. By keeping the links clear and the iconography clean, we'd have been horrified and enlightened at the same time. But since he's working in that by-now classic Japanese style of barely show and never tell, utilizing the same elements that made Ringu resonate with visual power (the dark haired horror, the unexplained natural elements intertwining with the urban environment) Nakata gets lost in his own format. He wants to scare...and he wants to say something insightful about family as well. Unfortunately, he is only partly successful with either ideal. The divorce angle is quickly dropped to deal with the poltergeist problem. But once the ghost is gone, we're back to the notions of parental betrayal and abandonment. Had he merged them better, Dark Water would have been a classic.

As it stands, the movie we have here is reminiscent of Wendigo, another narrative that endeavored to channel parental discord and issues surrounding divorce and custody into an angst-filled adolescent monster movie parable. The problem with that film was that its director was so mesmerized by his own filmic flare that he forgot to keep the story straight. Here, Nakata doesn't have that problem. Instead, he's simply being too ambitious. How divorce effects the members of a household can and does occasionally make for interesting, eerie entertainment. And for most of its running time, Dark Water is a cool, imaginative creepfest. But it could have been so much more, and requires too much audience inference and interpretation to achieve its perceived greatness. Fans of the current wave of Asian horror will gladly jump on this film's frightening bandwagon. But others may see it as an opportunity for magnificence missed...

Final Thoughts:
In the end, we are left with a quandary. Dark Water is a deceptive film, one that starts out like a dozen other Asian horror offerings with its desire to get under your skin vs. grossing you out with gore. It's all suggestion and implication, asking the audience to contribute as much to the storyline as the filmmaker and his cast. Yet in the end, we get something that could have been a classic, but merely ends up being a very effective, rather confused comment on the notion of divorce and parental sacrifice. Indeed, what Nakata seems to be saying about the concept of custody is that, until one parent is ready to give up something concrete, to stop throwing accusations and admonitions and freely give of themselves, the specter of separation will continue to haunt the family forever. And the person it will effect most? The child, of course. After all, they say that children are the one's who suffer the most. And in Dark Water, this is clearly the case – both literally and ethereally.

With "Dark Water", however, Nakata has it figured out, delivering one helluva scary movie.

Yoshimi is a recently divorced mother trying to start a new life with her young daughter, Ikuko. Not having a lot of money, she moves into a rather rundown apartment building, its grey drab walls and peeling paint a clear indication that the place has seen better days. But Yoshimi is determined to support her small family and for awhile, things appear to be going well. Yoshimi gets a job at a publishing company, while Ikuko seems to be getting along fine at her new school. But of course, that's just when things start to get weird.

Mysterious water spots begin inching their way across the apartment's ceiling, dripping all over the floor and creating a sense of decay and spoilage. Ikuko begins acting strangely, talking to an imaginary friend named Mitsuko (which just so happens to be the name of little girl who disappeared several years ago) and having "incidents" at school. A red bag keeps popping up throughout Yoshimi's apartment building, the water has a funny taste, and Yoshimi keeps catching glimpses of a mysterious little girl.

Convinced that this is a trick from her ex-husband (and for a moment, it seems like this might be the case), Yoshimi's mental state begins to break down, even threatening Ikuko's well being. Her attorney, concerned that Yoshimi's outbursts might harm their case, helps her investigate and manages to dispel Yoshimi's fears. But just for a little while. The mysterious red bag appears again, strands of hair start coming through the faucet, and footsteps in the abandoned apartment above keep growing louder.

What makes "Dark Water" so incredibly freaky is Nakata's skill at letting the viewer see just enough to jumpstart their imagination. He then pulls back, letting the viewer fill in the blanks with all sorts of horrible things. He lets the camera linger on a character's face, dwelling on their reaction before showing you what they saw, and even then, he gives you only a glimpse. He's also fond of putting off the inevitable, making you wait when you know something horrible is going to happen, and making you wait some more. And just when you think he's fooled you - BAM - he lets you have it with both barrels.

On top of that, the things that often carry with them the strongest sense of foreboding are the most mundane of objects: a glass of water, a bathtub, or a running faucet. Trust me, you'll think twice when reaching for the faucet after seeing this movie.

As creepy as "Dark Water"'s events become, they really resonate because of the characters. If the audience can at least sympathize with the characters, it makes the events of the film all the more terrifying because we've now identified ourselves with them. And Nakata does a great job with the character of Yoshimi (convincingly portrayed by Hitomi Kuroki).

Rather than treat Yoshimi as some sort of irrational, overprotective psycho-mom, he lends credibility to her fears. It's obvious that Yoshimi is concerned for the well being of her daughter, and is scared of what her husband might do. Rather than brush these concerns off or milk them for melodrama, he develops them to the point where Yoshimi's growing paranoia seems almost rational. Of course, we know it's not. We know that there's something more going on, but such handling allows us to sympathize with Yoshimi, to gain an understanding of why she acts the way she does.

Nakata also sprinkles small domestic scenes throughout the movie, as Yoshimi and Ikuko eat together, celebrate, and just live as a family. It becomes obvious that two need eachother's strength, and it lends some hope to their plight. These aren't major scenes, and never become trite or melodramatic. Rather, they add depth and warmth to the movie, serving as little moments of light and grace in a world that seems to be growing increasingly mad.

There are moments where "Dark Water" flounders. Nakata throws in a few flashback sequences that hinder the film's pacing. They add some nice atmosphere to the piece (and are gorgeously shot, bathed in golden light as opposed to the rest of film's blue and grey tones), but they often feel unnecessary, belaboring points that are already clear to anyone who has been paying attention.

While "Dark Water" can be appreciated as just a great horror movie, it works on another level as well. As it continues, it becomes obvious that the film contains many metaphors, both in the narrative and the visuals, for the tragic effects of divorce and abandonment.

At one point, we learn that Yoshimi herself comes from a broken home, her mother abandoning her when she around Ikuko's age. It's entirely plausible that Yoshimi's overprotective zeal stems from this fact, that she's determined to give Ikuko the mother that she never had. Ironically, her zeal threatens to separate them for good, as her protective outbursts are seen as possible signs of mental instability (we learn early on that Yoshimi once underwent therapy), which casts further doubt on her mental state.

The film's flashbacks also carry this theme, especially when we learn more about the tragic story of Mitsuko, whose parents also underwent a divorce and whose mother later abandoned the family. As the film's events play out, it seems like the cycle of neglect and abandonment might repeat with the next generation (Ikuko), even as Yoshimi races to save her small family, regardless of the cost.

The film's visuals, filled with decay and neglect, continue this idea. Their apartment should be a home, a place of refuge, and yet its rotting ceiling threatens to cave in at any moment, exposing them to world outside. The water damage slowly, inexorably creeps across the ceiling, just as the tragic past and the terrifying present slowly creep in around Yoshimi.

Of course, none of this commentary comes at the expense of the film's scares, but they certainly add an interesting dimension to what you see onscreen. This is, first and foremost, a horror film. And it's a very, very good one. I'm not the most hardened of filmgoers, but I think I can hold my own reasonably well, and there were moments where I was watching out of the corner of my eyes or through my fingers.

Heck, I'm still creeped out, the odd shiver running down my spine as I see a flash of red that looks suspiciously like that little bag. I keep expecting to see a little girl in a yellow rain slicker every time I turn around. And I know that if I see a single waterspot in my bedroom, I'm going to freak out. With "Dark Water", Nakata has delivered everything you could ask from a horror movie (namely, that it still spooks you long after the credits roll), plus a little more...

COMMENTS
I heard about this movie a long time ago and I knew I wanted to see it, because of the director Hideo Nakata, who also directed Ring and other supernatural films.

The story is just about a mom and her daughter moving into and old run-down apartment building. Everything seems to be working for them, then the mother notices the leak on the ceiling. She doesn't think much of it. Things start to get a little strange from there. The mom begins noticing a little girl in a yellow raincoat every now and then and in the midst of it all, she is going through a custody battle for her daughter.

The movie has its creepy moments, but when you've seen all Hideo Nakata's work with the horror genre, then you realize that the same old stuff gets a little repetitive. I never got scared in any scenes, but that's mainly because I don't scare easy and I've seen all this kinda stuff before. No gore or blood, it's just story-driven, with some tense and creepy moments thrown around.

I thought the story was pretty interesting, but predictable. The ending wasn't too bad, but it wasn't too good either. The movie had its moments and it kept my interest, so I thought a 7-rating was most fitting. I guess I just expected a lot more from this. Either way, it's not Hideo Nakata's best work, but still a good film none-the-less.

OVERALL
Good Japanese film, but I expected more. Has some creepy moments, but nothing that the director hasn't already shown us before in the Ring trilogy. Worth a look if you're a fan of Hideo Nakata.