A film like "Ju-on: The Grudge," will evoke such a specific, ingrained reaction from the viewer that it is troubling to attempt to pin down my own. The infamous Japanese chiller is a nearly plot-less ghost yarn complete with a creepy kid and a haunted house. Yet there is no neat resolution or a freeing of troubled spirits at the film's end. The tone of the film is depraved, and the ghosts aren't the type to make you jump, then laugh. You will stare at the screen in abject terror as a character with barely any screen-time, someone you hardly know, is decimated by a black shape. You will close your eyes and see nothing but a dead face scurrying towards you, her arms propelling her otherwise lifeless corpse.

Or, maybe you won't.

Among horror-philes in America, the distinct style of Japanese horror is either the bee's knees or a dreadfully boring Kabuki show with dull echo-y hallways and disheveled women climbing out of televisions. Japanese horror attempts to play on the nerves, its frights are not climaxes of terror topped with screams but violent, slow-burning episodes intent to drive the viewer to madness. Americans are afraid of giant or powerful monsters that seemingly cannot be defeated, be it "The Thing" or Freddy Kruger or Satan himself. The Japanese are more afraid of the unexplained, a child under a table in a restaurant, a disembodied hand running through your hair in the shower. If it has to be taken down with a silver bullet or chill your bones, "Ju-on" will probably leave you yawning for less.

Americans are afraid of what they can't overcome. The Japanese are afraid of what they can't comprehend.

Obviously, this generalization is proven with exceptions, such as Takashi Miike's brutal "Audition," or some of Stephen King's less concrete endeavors. But can you think of one, even one American movie that makes the water or the wind scary?

However, this matter of personal taste or ingrained phobia matters little when looking at the merits of Japanese cinema in general and "Ju-on" in specific. "Ju-on" originally began as two wildly successful Japanese straight-to-video gems, which began/spawned this theatrical release (as well as the forthcoming remake starring Sarah Michelle Geller and Ted Raimi, produced by his unknown brother, Sam). The film centers on a house where a horrible murder leads to a curse (or, a grudge), and everyone who comes into contact with the house quickly goes the way of the Kiwi. Each doomed (damned?) soul quickly encounters a little boy so scary he could be a walking Public Service Announcement for abstinence, who neatly terrorizes them before a shadowy figure comes to take them to the promised land. Each new character is dispatched in their own vignette, which is tightly woven but not actually dependant on the others.

The plot is neither important nor even necessary experiencing the power of this film. Director Takashi Shimizu draws the viewer in by creating an atmosphere that is both wildly oppressive and oddly lyrical. A lonely street corner is terrifying from the outset, but Shimizu uses this as his starting point, bringing in scenarios that are always more grim. The film's low budget may have made filming practically in real houses, hospitals, restaurants, etc. a necessity, though in Shimizu's hands they suggest a solid reality around the ethereal happenings. His skill is making you look, knowing full well you're watching a movie, and still thinking "I can't be seeing that." His oppressive reality is shattered by the simplest of ghostly movements: a cup tipping, a cool breeze, a face there and gone again.

"Ju-on," like genre faves "Ringu" and "The Eye," is best experienced in a dank basement with a few friends or a significant other. Or better yet, by yourself. Even the most experienced fright-fan will find her/himself driving to the corner store, or heading over to a friends house after viewing "Ju-on," just to try to get some of the final images and sounds eliminated from their battered psyche.