The Virgin Psychics

Nobody can deny that crazed Japanese auteur Sion Sono is a ball of energy.  The Virgin Psychics is the fifth film he churned out during 2015; a work rate matching that of his compatriot Miike Takashi.  There appears to be some kind of Roger Corman-like work ethic swirling round Japan.

That kind of restless productivity will also breed unevenness, and for every gem like the four hour Love Exposure, or demented gangster ‘hip-hopera’ (it really does need to be seen to be believed, Tokyo Tribe, there is tarnish.

The Virgin Psychics sadly languishes near the bottom of Sono’s resume.  It aims for cheerful prurience; an almost old-fashioned Japanese version of seaside postcard humour, but instead puts one in mind of a hellish version of the Benny Hill Show where, instead of harmlessly and ineffectually chasing a group of poor women really not dressed for the weather, he listlessly lies on a park bench, leering and rubbing his crotch.

Whether Sono is intending to satirise the stereotypical kink for schoolgirls in impractical uniforms is debatable, but the contact barrage of sweating, heaving cleavages, and enough up-skirt filming to make Michael Bay shake his head in distaste, quickly becomes numbing and really rather grubby, nullifying any subversive intent.

What plot there is revolves around cosmic rays bestowing psychic powers on anyone who is both a virgin and in a state of arousal when they hit.  Our ‘hero’ Yoshiro (Shota Sometani), overacting wildly even by the standard of Japanese genre flicks, is a schoolboy who gains his powers while cycling through his extensive mental codex of fumble fodder.  Having discovered he can read the secret desires of his classmates, he is tracked down by an expert in ESP, accompanied by his assistant who can trace the memories of anyone who stares at her breasts (this occurs frequently). A team is established (a sad troupe of self-abusers and one understandably sullen girl), like a Kwik-Save own-brand Avengers, to combat rival psychics; although motives and method are nebulous at best.

If one switches off enough, you can be borne along on a wave of white panties, levitating sex toys, people being turned into sex dolls and erections appearing suddenly with enough force to flip furniture.  However, when a girl described as a ‘budding lesbian’ turns out to have villainous intentions, one suspects there is a more conservative agenda at work beneath it all.  This is further confirmed that for all the flesh on display, the only real nudity shown is one guy’s bare arse.

Amid the nonsensical store, more potentially interesting avenues are never explored.  What would happen if any of the psychics actually got laid?  Would they lose their powers?  Sono doesn’t care, so even an annoying subplot involving Yoshiro’s search for the girl of his destiny, established in the womb, comes to nothing at the expense of more semi-naked girls and innuendo.

Unruly, and utterly incoherent, The Virgin Psychics quickly mops up any residual amusement it may have generated, ultimately leaving one feeling slightly used and ashamed.