You know that feeling when you're stuck in a humid, rainy afternoon and everything feels slightly damp and heavy? That's the permanent vibe of A Snake of June (original title Rokugatsu no Hebi). Released in 2002, this isn't just another Japanese cult film. It’s a visceral, blue-drenched descent into repression that honestly makes most modern "psychological thrillers" look a bit thin.
If you’ve heard of Shinya Tsukamoto, you probably associate him with the frantic, metallic body-horror of Tetsuo: The Iron Man. But this film is different. It’s slower, wetter, and deeply uncomfortable in a way that sticks to your skin.
The Setup: A Marriage Under Water
Rinko (played by the incredible Asuka Kurosawa) is a suicide hotline counselor. Think about that for a second. Her entire job is absorbing the most intense, desperate energy of others through a telephone line while maintaining a calm, professional exterior.
At home, she lives with her husband, Shigehiko. He’s obsessed with cleanliness. Not just "neat," but "scrubbing the bathtub with a toothbrush" obsessive. Their marriage is sexless, polite, and completely frozen. It’s like they’re living in a museum of a relationship.
Then the photos arrive.
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A mysterious stalker—who turns out to be a former client Rinko "saved" from suicide—starts sending her candid shots of herself masturbating. He’s played by Tsukamoto himself, leaning into a role that is both pathetic and terrifying. He doesn't want money. He wants to "liberate" her. He forces her to act out her hidden desires in public, often while he watches through a lens or talks to her via a mobile phone.
That Blue Tint Isn't Just for Show
The first thing you notice—honestly, the first thing anyone notices—is the color. Or the lack of it.
The film was shot on 16mm black-and-white stock and then given a heavy blue tint in post-production. It’s not a "cool filter" you'd find on Instagram. It’s thick. It makes the world of the film look like it's submerged in an aquarium or a deep-sea trench.
Technical Specs and Artistic Choice
- Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1 (Academy Ratio). It feels claustrophobic, like the characters are boxed in.
- The Rain: It pours. Constantly. Tsukamoto used massive sprinklers to create a torrential downpour that feels biblical.
- Sound Design: Composer Chu Ishikawa delivers a score that mixes clanging industrial percussion with haunting strings. The sound of the rain is often so loud it threatens to drown out the dialogue.
Tsukamoto has said in interviews that the idea for A Snake of June lived in his head for fifteen years. He specifically wanted to capture the eroticism of June in Japan—the rainy season. There’s a specific humidity that makes skin look slick and makes people feel... restless.
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What Most People Get Wrong About the "Villain"
It’s easy to look at the stalker, Iguchi, and just see a pervert. And yeah, he is. But in Tsukamoto’s world, he’s a catalyst.
There's a weird, blurry line here. The film explores the "Grey Area" of victimhood and liberation. Is he destroying Rinko’s life, or is he the only person who actually sees who she is? By the time Rinko is standing in a back alley, exposed and drenched in rain while being photographed, she’s no longer just a victim. She’s taking ownership of the gaze.
She eventually turns the tables on him, refusing to sympathize with his own physical decay (he’s dying of stomach cancer, a "snake" eating him from the inside). It’s a brutal, unsentimental transition of power.
The Mid-Film Shift (Where it Gets Weird)
About halfway through, the focus shifts to the husband, Shigehiko. This is where people often get thrown. The movie departs from the grounded (if surreal) thriller setup and goes full "Tsukamoto."
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We get:
- The Funnel Masks: Shigehiko ends up in an underground erotic club where men wear cone-shaped metal visors.
- The Drowning Show: A performance where a couple is seemingly drowned in a tank for a voyeuristic audience.
- The Biomechanical Tendril: Without spoiling too much, there’s a scene involving a literal "snake" of flesh and metal that brings the film back to the director's cyberpunk roots.
Some critics find this second half messy. I think it’s essential. It shows that the husband’s "purity" was just as much of a lie as Rinko’s "serenity." He has to be broken down—physically and mentally—before they can actually find each other again.
Why You Should Care in 2026
We live in an age of digital voyeurism. We’re constantly being watched, recorded, and curated. A Snake of June feels more relevant now than it did in 2002 because it asks: If someone saw your most private self, would it destroy you, or would it finally make you feel real?
It’s a film about the body. Not the sanitized, "perfected" bodies we see on screens, but sweating, bleeding, vulnerable human skin. It’s a masterpiece of "extreme" cinema that actually has something to say about the human condition.
Actionable Insights for Cinephiles
- Watch the Restoration: If you can, find the Third Window Films Blu-ray. The 1080p transfer was supervised by Tsukamoto and handles the grainy 16mm textures much better than the old DVDs.
- Look for the Circles: Pay attention to the recurring circular motifs—drains, windows, camera lenses, eyes. It’s all about the act of looking.
- Pair it with 'Tetsuo': If you want to see the evolution of the director, watch Tetsuo: The Iron Man and then this. You’ll see how he moved from the "metal" of the city to the "water" of the body.
- Listen to the Commentary: Tom Mes (author of Iron Man: The Cinema of Shinya Tsukamoto) provides a commentary on the Blu-ray that is basically a masterclass in Japanese film analysis. It's worth the price of the disc alone.
By the time the credits roll on those 77 minutes, you’ll feel like you’ve been through a storm. It’s short, lean, and utterly unforgettable.