



You don't so much watch this as sit there bracing yourself. The Ballad of Narayama drops you into a mountain village where tradition has the weight of weather; it's everywhere, it's taken for granted, and it can still kill you. It's bleak, unflinching, and hard to look away from.
Imamura lays out the customs, including ubasute (carrying the elderly up the mountain to die), with a cool, steady gaze. He doesn't stop to moralise, which somehow makes it hit harder. The horror isn't supernatural; it's hunger, sex, status, and the way "this is how it's done" turns into a weapon.
The final stretch is the clincher: that near-wordless climb is absolutely wrenching, and it lingers in the body. No wonder Ari Aster has championed it—you can feel the echo of modern folk dread here, except it's grounded in mud, breath, and blood.