‘Cube’ – Surviving the Canadian Original and Its Japanese Remake [Revenge of the Remakes]

I’m thirty-plus entries into Revenge of the Remakes and have finally reached an original/remake pair where neither is American. Vincenzo Natali’s Cube (1997) is a maple-scented product of Canada’s independent filmmaking scene, while Yasuhiko Shimizu’s 2021 remake hails from Japan. You’re free of rants about stale Americanizations and Hollywood’s sometimes shortsighted approach to horror remakes. Welcome to a wholly international edition of my column that’s, in comparison, outside the box. I’m honestly surprised Japan beat us to a Cube remake in a post-Platinum Dunes world — although Bloody Disgusting’s Brad Miska reported Lionsgate was taking new Cube pitches as of May 2022. Don’t be surprised if a domestic project surfaces soon.

It’s a tale of two geometrical prisons influenced by cultural horror norms. Natali aligns with genre-bending Canadian minds like David Cronenberg, whereas Shimizu leans toward more operatic and soapy Japanese storytelling. One incorporates flashbacks that break free from the titular Cube’s containment, and the other seals characters in a meticulously measured tomb. They’re two distinct approaches, but unfortunately, in my humble opinion, one outpaces the other. Natali’s original has a serrated edge that Shimizu’s remake lacks, which is disappointingly apparent when watched in quick order.

The Approach

‘Cube’ (1997)

Shimizu and writer Koji Tokuo fixate on the Cube’s functionality and grand purpose more than Natali’s open-ended character study. Natali’s many script iterations alongside co-writers André Bijelic and Graeme Manson — one reportedly involving a cannibal, another a roaming cube monster — eventually boil down to a volatile combination of personalities that fracture under duress. Tokuo dials back the elevated psychosis and magnifies moral elements about sinners having to atone for their actions. The Japanese remake invests in meandering relationship drama and human sympathies; Natali provokes individuals until they’re at one another’s throats with far more nihilism.

The first half of 2021’s Cube doesn’t veer too far off course. A cast of captives congregate in a steely sci-fi-freaky room with no reason for their predicament and must traverse a maze of chambers that are eventually understood to be in motion. Characters resemble those of Natali’s crew, from Masaki Suda’s 29-year-old engineer Yuichi Goto (based on David Worth) to Hikaru Tashiro’s 13-year-old middle school student with autism, Chiharu Uno (based on Kazan). Removed shoes are used to trigger hidden traps, and mathematics prolong survival, but then Shimizu and Tokuo’s differences start to appear when characters begin remembering (through flashbacks) what could have earned them a place in synthetic purgatory.

There’s a stark contrast between the philosophical hopelessness of Natali’s original and Shimizu’s brand of divine reclamation. Natali provokes claustrophobic mania through close-up shots and a panting score, whereas Shimizu sanitizes the experience with brighter appeal. Both are undoubtedly horror movies, as indicated by each stage-setting death, but the Japanese remake comes in a distant second when measuring follow-throughs. Shimizu and Tokuo devolve the situational anxiety that Natali so violently unleashes as the original’s power struggle ensues, limply pushing these new, not-as-interesting explorers through a coldly designed maze that feels repetitive after a while.

Does It Work?

‘Cube’ (2021)

I’m torn on Shimizu’s take because the updated structure is what remakes should strive to deliver. At the same time, it’s one of the unfortunate remake examples where unique differentiations weaken the overall impact. Shimizu breaks through the structure’s outer shell but lets precious tension escape, drawing attention away from the immediacy propelling survivor arcs. In trying to beef up the emotional resonance, Shimizu and Tokuo drift too far away from the frantic unpredictability that has audiences holding their breath throughout Natali’s low-budget conspiracy thriller. There’s something vastly more unsettling about 1997’s indie darling, between purgatorial assessments and blinding lights with no answers.

You know we talk about SPOILERS here, right? If not, here’s your chance to turn back because I’m about to reveal the “big twist” of Cube (2021).

Tokuo’s story drags Natali’s concept kicking and screaming into the future, basing the overlord concept on artificial intelligence. Cutaways to amoeba-like digital particles at random moments assure viewers there’s something bigger at play, but the rationale adds nothing of substance. Anne Watanabe, as Asako Kai, is revealed to be an agent of the system, perceived from her introduction as robotic, but again, the rationale adds nothing of substance. Natali does a fantastic job of questioning the frivolity of his characters’ escape attempts as human nature turns despicably irredeemable, which doesn’t translate in the Japanese iteration. Supercomputer upgrades are surface value tweaks that dampen horror vibes in addition to the film’s listlessly introspective social dilemmas.

Shimizu’s remake is more culturally resonant between old and young Japanese characters’ generational commentaries while touching on a grief-stricken, unaliving subplot. There’s an insinuation that Kōtarō Yoshida as 62-year-old Kazumasa Ando is intertwined in the lives of his youthful counterparts, who they see as a symbol of the abusive, dismissive, calloused breed of elder-aged Japanese patriarchs. Shimizu oversees his Cube as a sobering family drama that bleeds into otherwise suffocating genre entrapment, which is a choice that will divide audiences. Natali makes mention of character backstories through dialogue only, where Shimizu and Tokuo over-explain (verbally and visually) in a way that disservices the killer labyrinth machination of it all.

The Result

‘Cube’ (2021)

From square one, something seems amiss. Natali chops Julian Richings into itty-bitty flesh steaks with a wire grate like a vegetable pressed into one of those tabletop container cutters (which looks awesome). Shimizu lasers a square out of his opening victim’s stomach that plops down all jiggly like the animated stomach plug in Kung Pow! Enter the Fist (regrettably not awesome). Natali’s atmosphere favors this horror-forward, I’d say Clive Barker-influenced, shrouded-in-darkness vibe that’s bleakness incarnate, while Shimizu has trouble separating one metallic monochrome room from the next. Reds, greens, and auburn-y oranges all pop in Natali’s original, where Shimizu’s production feels like the drab laboratory equivalent of an alien race’s research experiment. Shimizu robs audiences of the pleasure of theorizing alongside “military-industrial complex” blamers and tells us precisely what his Cube is used for, and that’s a bummer when considering the film’s overall lackluster presentation.

Everything hits softer, no matter what example you pull. Kazumasa Ando as a sorta stand-in for Maurice Dean Wint’s original bastard Quentin McNeil is no contest, one infinitely more imposing than the other (noting altered traits). Production design feels less confining and infinitely less detailed — the Japanese set feels like a neatly sealed lunchbox. In contrast, the Canadian set is designed like characters are trapped inside the Lament Configuration. Shimizu stays true to significant plot points like the importance of Cartesian coordinates and prime numbers but loses the deepest-rooted sensations of mania that drive Natali’s cast insane. Even the traps are less fulfilling in their mostly computer-animated states, none more representative than the sound-activated slicer Natali expertly uses to render us anxiously silent. It’s just another scene in Shimizu’s rinse and repeat cycle — a frustration that never plagues Natali’s vision.

Japan’s Cube speaks in wordy platitudes, whereas Canada’s Cube descends into anarchistic madness. Shimizu’s God Cube makes choices for the scurrying Japanese prisoners, versus how Quentin influences his squad’s demise in the original, which is a far more frightening outcome. Natali’s script is far wittier and quirkier (that “Worth, worth worth” line [laughs]), which threads a darkly comedic underline through an absurdly evil scenario, where Tokuo’s adventurous spin with a hero’s journey plays with formulaic blandness. There’s more control and level-headedness in the remake, which becomes a tonal mismatch within the architectural deathtrap.

The Lesson

‘Cube’ (2021)

American remakes get a bad rap because they’re the most prevalent. The success of any remake is wholly dependent on the production itself. There’s no generalized failure across an entire market. Shimizu approaches his Cube with the correct mindset of reinterpreting Natali’s core concept for a different country, in a different period, under different societal circumstances — as a remake, the Japanese Cube achieves the goal of creative originality. Quality, unfortunately, will always be another question (and in the eye of each beholder).

So What Did We Learn?

● Remake culture expands beyond our domestic borders — not just our obsession.

● One’s trash is another’s treasure, as I know others who love the different directions of Shimizu’s Cube.

● Atmosphere is so important when establishing horror, as exemplified by both Cube films.

● You’re probably in trouble if your 2020s movie utilizes weaker effects than any 1990s predecessor.

I’ll confess, Cube is probably my oddest instance of seeing the remake before the original. I saw the Japanese remake not even on SCREAMBOX, but because of my subscription to Terror Vision’s Blu-ray club (who released Shimizu’s on physical media) before I ever watched Natali’s highly-acclaimed original. This is who I am; embrace the chaos. Heaven knows I did a long, LONG time ago. Don’t be ashamed of the order you watch movies or your blind spots; more importantly, don’t let others shame you for the same reason. There are too many movies!

Your journey is yours alone to curate and celebrate.