Toxic Daughter

[…] «Toxic Daughter» is, at its core, the story of a dysfunctional family, one in which displays of patriarchal power are subtle but relentless.

[…] The film’s slow editing rhythm only contributes to this disturbing game of hide and seek, where the viewer is rewarded for inspecting the shot’s backgrounds.

An abandoned house in a small Japanese neighbourhood, a ghostly young girl cloaked in red, and mysterious incidents involving a bloody pair of scissors. 

Hagino is a costume designer whose recent marriage sees her become stepmother to Moeka, an asocial, taciturn young girl, separated from the school system. As Hagino tries to balance her new husband's one-sided desire for children, her relationship with her stepdaughter and her career, a ghostly young girl attacks Moeka in their home, marking the beginning of a strange nightmare.

At first glance, the setting and synopsis of Toxic Daughter will be familiar to any Japanese horror fan. Indeed, Naito Eisuke’s latest feature does call a lot of classic imagery to mind, but as the title might suggest, Toxic Daughter is, at its core, the story of a dysfunctional family, one in which displays of patriarchal power are subtle but relentless.
The film’s exploration of cohesive family dynamics comes through beautifully in its use of framing. Often in Toxic Daughter, the horror lies in plain sight, waiting for the viewer to notice its presence. The film’s slow editing rhythm only contributes to this disturbing game of hide and seek, where the viewer is rewarded for inspecting the shot’s backgrounds, compelled to guess where the danger may hide. This use of composition is also particularly efficient when it comes to switching a scene’s mood, leading to a sly style of storytelling where the characters never truly feel safe.
Narratively, the film is reminiscent of “feel good” horror films. Not particularly because of its domestic setting, which is revealed to be more of a prison of sorts than a safe haven for the characters, but more so because of the portrayal of the relationship between Hagino and her step-daughter Moeka, both trying to find their places in the new familial structure. The evolution of their rapport is organic and heartwarming, and serves to contrast the insidious nature of the power dynamic between Moeka’s father and the rest of his family.

For his part, this paternal figure is quite different from what we might expect from the archetype of an oppressive father. Instead of a rough exterior, a closed-off face, or a tendency to shout, Naito presents us with a patriarchal power that is all smiles and insinuations. A man who, in his own words, «does not want to force you into anything», while coercing you to have a child. The type of violence that he embodies is mostly based on manipulation and dehumanization, and the theme of bodily autonomy plays a major role in the film’s plot. On this subject, Naito’s unequivocally positive depiction of the right to an abortion comes as a particularly bold take in today’s global political landscape. The depiction of this toxic relationship is subtle and convincing, and makes it easy to hope for the female characters’ escape from the oppressive situation they find themselves in, but also for them to find their place outside of the constricted roles that their society forces them into.

The film’s hopeful, grounded tone comes somewhat at the cost of its supernatural treatment however, and the main supernatural antagonist – the symbolic little girl in red – leaves you wanting more, as she lacks a satisfying connection to part of the film’s story. Chi-chan, the little girl, does serves as a clear expression of Moeka’s youthful rage and rebellion against patriarchal oppression, but her treatment has an ambivalence to it that tends to dilute the point of her presence. She is reminiscent of the figure of the Onryou, a vengeful spirit of Japanese mythology. In many ways, her outbursts of violence and unpredictable behaviour make her the perfect entity to shake up the little family’s status. Additionally, her bond with Moeka brings out one of Naito’s favourite themes to explore, that being teenage anger and social harassment, notable elements of his filmography since his directorial debut, Let’s Make the Teacher Have a Miscarriage Club (2011).

Beyond her role as an embodiment of rage though, Chi-chan also serves as a symbol of taboo-breaking, with her signature gesture of crossing her fingers before her lips. With her cryptic origins and ambiguous physicality, she is deliberately written to remain somewhat of a mystery, even by the film’s end. This ambivalent treatment gives the viewer a certain degree of freedom of interpretation regarding her presence; however, this flexibility does call into question parts of the script, as it makes her presence seem somewhat convenient at times. Toxic Daughter is nonetheless a pleasure to watch, and its Swiss premiere in Neuchâtel a precious moment of cinema.

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Screenings at NIFFF 2024

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Toxic Daughter | Film | Naito Eisuke | JAP 2023 | 106’ | Neuchâtel International Fantastic Film Festival 2024

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First published: July 13, 2024