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On August 14, 2002, an internet warrior who sated through the streets of Tokyo,

armed with an arsenal of hidden cameras,

he surveyed the lives of whoever passed through his people's field of view.

On the way, he looked up at a security camera peeping down from above.

As Nietzsche always said, "You stare into the abyss and the abyss stares back.

" Drive just described as the opening scene

of a 2004 Japanese film called Peep TV show.

And I think it s a pretty interesting rabbit hole of a movie.

But no one s really talking about it, so I ll take this stage.

Let s get back to the internet warrior.

His name is Hasay Gala.

After he s finished his crusade, he retreats to his humble abode,

which is essentially a poorly lit shoe box with a TV and computer thrown in.

Hasay Gala lives in a fucking void.

Alone but not lonely, he had his connection to the

outside world projected right there on his wall,

which he just so happened to be beating his meat.

Complete with a POV meat beating shot as well.

Lack in a tissue is forced to use the next best thing.

Oh, and audio coverage of the September 11th

terrorist attacks is played over all of this.

If you were watching this film with your

grand and grand s, I m sorry for your voice.

And if you re wondering what about footage of

Bystanders' legs is so tantalizing to Hasay Gala,

well to him, it s not just footage of Bystanders' legs.

It s a piece of the reality that he s so

desperately searching for, but more on that later.

Elsewhere in Tokyo that same day, a girl went shopping with her friends.

Afterwards, she returned home where she lived with her boyfriend,

who was apparently unaware of her existence.

The only thing getting turned on in their bedrooms is PS2.

Her hobbies include dressing like a gothical elita, lying in bed,

and spending every waking moment desperately

wishing to tear off her room with a wish.

Her name is Mo.

And much like Hasay Gala, she looked up at a camera keeping down from above.

A very same camera you re watching her through, leaving

you feeling as if you re as much of warrior as Hasay Gala.

Also, when you got a security camera in your own bedroom, that

s how you know you re living in a surveillance state for real.

A new day then arrived.

August 15th, 2002, the anniversary of Japan s surrender in World War II,

which thanks to mass media proliferation has become a yearly surrender.

Ensuring that in the minds of the populace, the scars of war will never fully heal.

The film scope expands beyond the Gune caves and subcultures of Tokyo's youth,

as we observe the equally hellish existence of overworked

middle-aged businessmen through the eyes of Hasay Gala.

One man exhausted the combs through the details

of Japan s surrender, drilled into his brain.

Under his breath, he curses an invisible enemy, searching

for a target at which to direct his loosely defined rage.

But he comes up short.

The truth of the matter is obscured by media

narratives and conducted behind closed doors.

Trying to find not only who to point the finger at, but actually

hold them accountable for societal ills was like a fool s erring.

The type of shit to make you throw your hands

up in the air and say fuck the whole world.

Next to him sits a man staring down at attacks.

At Hasay Gala's workplace, co-worker clues him in on the new big thing.

He raves about corn sites with one-on-one ham show.

What a beautiful amalgamation of pixels.

There's no illusion of intimacy going on here.

How raw and real it is.

Well, not real enough for Hasay Gala.

This is a 26 year old office worker.

Earlier that night, she had dinner with a colleague.

They had a living discussion that ranged from their hellish working conditions to

reminiscing over the September 11th Paris attacks that occurred nearly a year prior.

Later that night, she made a new friend named Hasay Gala, who was kind

enough to follow her home, steal her phone bill, set up a spy camera,

keeping in to her apartment and torment her over a

telephone call, letting his omnipresence beam know.

Why relish her suffering first, ask questions later.

Writing off this clairvoyance, PPTV show began.

[typing]

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Don't have a life.

Well, good news.

You can just live others lives in the absence of your own.

Fuck an infinite life glitch.

Is the world collapsing to the benefit of a bloodthirsty media machine?

Some braced nihilism, consider it all whack, and watching someone get trapped in a

burning building isn't so fun when you got to deal with the smoke getting in your lungs.

But through the safety of a screen, well, that's just good cinema.

Oh, and that whole intimacy thing is a pain in the ass.

Why not just stare at a pair of pixelated kids?

Welcome to the hell that the characters in PPTV show were living in.

And the hottest circle of this hell was reserved

for the marginalized youth, such as Hasay Gala.

But what's separated him from the rest and left him a pariah among clubs is that he was conscious

of the cyberpsychosis leaving everyone those subjects and perpetrators of chronic voyeurism.

Bip in their own reality out of their hand.

But with the launch of his website, PPTVShow.

net, no longer would his awareness be gate kept.

Fastered on the homepage was his rubble-peeping monologue,

along with footage of the twin towers up in smoke.

What better mascot than 9/11? Tokyo was just

as much a ground zero as ground zero itself.

To advertise his website, he made business cards with the URL printed on and took a

stroll through the city recruiting any retro on the fringe of society he came across.

Through the drop of a card, a sniveling worm makes food attempts

to record up women's skirts and Hasay Gala drops a card.

A business ban on the brink falls to his knees under the

weight of his soulless existence and Hasay Gala drops a card.

All taken to walk through the city, something draws mode

the gothic Lolita over to him crouched down, keeping.

And Hasay Gala drops a card.

Over the coming days, it was individuals like these who logged on to PPTVShow.net.

Their world was semen and blood.

What color is it?

Yes, that's right. It's pink.

The website afforded them an unholy safe space from Elle,

where they can finally bask in their corruption, no hope for.

Here, the truth would be laid bare, no matter how far.

All the better for the site's popularity, because

of course nothing catches on quite like degeneracy.

Hasay Gala was simply doing as he learned.

The site featured daily diary entries of his that ranged from documenting

the life of an al-Qaeda hijacker in the days leading up to 9/11.

To footage from one of his numerous spy cameras set

up peeping into dozens of Tokyo inhabitants' homes.

Reviewers could treat themselves to spousal disputes, spousal fuckings,

lonely dipshits, wallowing in despair, or even just pure monotony.

Just watching someone hang their masks on a coat bath

and live a real life was enough of a spectacle on it.

Oh, nothing hit the spot like watching people

sleep though, such a fuzzy feeling again.

Viewers could anonymously bond with one another

past just peeping through use of a chat room,

where they discussed whatever debauchery they were just associating

to and offered advice about good porn shops in the life.

This was Facebook before Facebook. This was Facebook for free.

At one point, Hasay Gala hyped up a special event, leaving

his viewers gnawing at the shops with anticipation.

When the time arrived, what they saw was Hasay Gala

playing with his adorable cat pet, he had just picked up.

It was a nice break in between all the turmoil.

He then proceeded to suffocate the cat in the bag, brutally.

I'm not gonna show it, but I know what you're thinking.

Did they really kill a cat for this movie?

Well, don't you worry.

I have a definitive answer that I'll tell you later.

We're not that many layers need yet.

And it's good that you're questioning what's real and fiction here.

So there you have it, the P.P. TV show experiment was underway.

But who were these greetings really?

We know they enjoy watching things die, but we don't really know who they are.

What led them to this state of sedation?

The film from this point on dances between scenes of characters

indulging in their fantasies on the online world and confessional type scenes

from the real world that feel like they're straight out of a documentary.

It's what really makes P.P. TV show special.

This is him, my two mothers.

Mo is trapped between a rock in the heart plate,

judging by her silence when a hairstylist attempts to recruit her as a model.

She finds the objectification that her gothic Lolita lifestyle brings cringe.

Yet she attends a cosplaying event with her friends Nogomi and Rosako,

where she gets photos taken of her by similar kinds of characters.

She's on some inner conflict type shit.

Like her relationships are so unfulfilling that she's left seeking any

modicum of attention and connection no matter how degenerate the source.

Her relationship with herself being the most unfulfilling of all.

The truth is the gothic Lolita attire was just one of the masks

Mo wore an absence of any real identity.

And despite how many people around her were sharing similar elements,

she was alone and so were they.

The void inside her was growing.

And soon she would be nothing but a hollowed-out corpse trapped under the rubble.

(speaking in a foreign language)

Okay, this is kind of silly.

She's wearing gothic Lolita.

And she probably runs sometimes too.

Is she stupid?

Well, from her perspective, these things were enough for Rosako and Nogomi.

It's not like she would have any clue.

Their conversations were limited to a handful of NPC dialogue options.

Instead, they unveil their insecurities to a disembodied cameraman.

Don't we all, Nogomi starts with the standard one too,

saying she was insecure about her appearance before she dressed up like this.

Then quickly gets into some Socrates type stuff,

saying herself the question of which ones reveal me.

The one that's not dulled up in gothic Lolita or the one that is.

All right, I've got a headache.

Maybe the real Nogomi was the friends we made along the way.

As for Rosako, she opts to bear her soul through paper and pen.

There you have it.

Just a glimpse of what's going on under the

surface of these girls, cheesing for a camera.

I wonder where these ticking time bombs are headed.

Wait, hold up.

If you're unfamiliar with what a fashion health shop is,

according to Wikipedia, it's a form of massage parlor,

which circumvents Japanese laws against prostitution by offering a range

of sexual services that stop short of intercourse.

So the whole fashion health shit is just a cover.

Pity the poor bastard who walks into one of these places,

God, fashion, and health. Nothing is sacred.

They're coming for our game stops now.

Anyway, let's hear about the joys of such a job.

Damn. There's an exchange going on here.

She exchanges her identity and humanity for a pile of Benjamin.

It may sound grim, but according to her calculation, it's a favorable transaction.

Her long-distance boyfriend has a differing view.

Okay, well, long-distance and a metaphorical sense.

Though you could argue any kind of communications

long-distance, when it's through a scree.

Next, we examine a 23-year-old pill pop-in receptionist who's fucking depressed.

She recounts viewing 9/11 for the first time

and uggling the cinematic spectacle of it all.

Much like Hasay Gawa and much like everyone, really.

But as the dust settled, she was left with an

overwhelming feeling of powerlessness and isolation,

exasperated by a breakup with her boyfriend.

She couldn't save those corpses, and no one was coming to save her, either.

Whether it be 9/11 or her own personal life,

nothing was in her control and all was turning for rubble.

But hey, nothing pills an alcohol can't fix, right, kids?

I'm not sure if it's a joke, but I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke, but I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke, but I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke, but I'm not sure if it's a joke.

The business man increasingly haunted by a constant stream of homicidal urges

seems at a good time to drop his mask while watching the aforementioned cute cat-bid.

He bemoans humanity's endless appetite for war.

It's a never-ending cycle.

The other guy throws a stone, so you throw a stone.

So they throw a stone, you get the idea.

He sees the whole world getting dragged into a whole 'nother bunch of bullshit

in the aftermath of 9/11, so it's not like he has a solution.

And he mocks the anti-war activists searching for once.

Hope, more like hope.

It's just a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

It's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

Unlike Hasegawa, watching reports of such events around the world

leaves him feeling involved and that he has a duty to try to change things.

He doesn't happen to spare any words of what he's

actually going to do to change things, though.

Instead, he stutters over buzzwords.

He starts from fellow armchair advocates, like globalism.

And that's when his beach begins to poke holes in his investment.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

I'm not sure if it's a joke.

Unlike global conflicts, there's no screen separating her hand from the money.

He has no excuse.

This ramen-munch-in-trog is what's known in Japan as a Hikiko Mori.

Absolute loners out of job and out of school

who isolate themselves in their parents' homes.

Here's a pic for reference.

Even the neckbeards in Japan are awesome.

But despite how cool this guy may seem, being

a Hikiko Mori isn't actually all that dope.

And this guy is a good example as to why.

Before he even opens his mouth, I am a psychologist, then he has OCD or something.

Disjudging by how his bedroom is sterile AF and he's

surrounded by tissues, wet wipes, and plastic bags.

He looks up at a camera, keeping down from above, and tells us he feels

the way the media is making a big spectacle out of people like him.

As if he's a part of some widespread social problem, is a bit overkill.

And that really, he's just a coward.

He only ever leaves his apartment to go to the convenience store.

You can hear it in his voice, how absolutely

the fuck done he is with the outside world.

But he didn't choose this life, it cocked him.

He couldn't keep up with all the dipshits, all the hustle, and all the goddamn bustle.

It's just too much.

Dive in dick first into that glory hole you're bound to come out to start.

In his room, he was king. The real world was waiting for him in a cute little box.

But, he was a good friend.

And he was a good friend.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

Finally, on her third trip back, she's determined to pierce the veil.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

He was a good friend of mine.

Next day, check in on the receptionist who TLDR is still as depressed as ever.

It's their final stop of the night.

That really leaves an impression though.

Mo picks it out. It's her very own apartment.

Don't mind that.

Now, if you're not quite sure what just went down,

basically most friend of gomi fucked the absolute shit out of her boyfriend.

I think a sorry bestie is probably in order here.

It turns out that peeping in on others' lives

isn't all funny games when you've got to stake it.

Because when you do and something like that happens,

it makes you want to put down the popcorn bucket and pull out the book.

Mo tries coping that the footage is just like a Seinfeld episode or something,

but unfortunately for her, it's just as unfunny and way more real.

She learns through email that Nagomi has uploaded an

online diary, spilling the tea on her depravity's extent.

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It goes without saying that Nagomi has problems.

What the balance of blame for those problems is between

her inner world and the outside world, who knows.

Notice how many rando's are lurched over their monitors enjoying the show.

Because of course nothing catches on quite like degeneracy.

Trust yourself conscious, which Nagomi are you going to remember?

The Nagomi that works at a department store, or the Nagomi

that wants to stain her pure white blouse with blood.

As for Mo, she's going to remember the Nagomi that fucked her boyfriend.

Just when she thought her reality couldn't sink any deeper into it.

We're past the Mariana trenched outage.

We're nearing the Earth's boiling hot core,

where she could finally be rid of it all and go down in a blazing glory.

At the same time, Haseh Galwa nears a crescendo of his own.

He broadcasts a grand event for his audience.

For the first time ever, there's someone else in his boy.

A prostitute is hired to slap him around.

She does so as we hear him recount a terrorist mantra.

[Music]

This sado masochism wasn't enough to rouse him from his lifelessness though.

In fact, it had only cemented it.

Haseh Galwa is a cornered animal that's been silently suffering.

Confronted with the fact that his pep TV show Pet Project

wouldn't build a void inside him.

How's that for reality?

[Music]

August 27, 2002, Haseh Galwa and Mo committed a terrorist attack.

Armed with an arsenal of hidden cameras,

they creceded through the streets of Tokyo and into a women's restroom.

On the way, Mo locks eyes with one of the so-called normals,

and the look of mutual disdain they give

each other says so much while saying nothing.

Once inside, they survey the lives of whoever took a shit or piss in the stalls.

No one could be free from pep TV show surveillance.

Even at their most vulnerable.

Haseh Galwa and Mo would instill a sense of paranoia in every last

time.

Back in Haseh Galwa's crib, Mo tells him she wants to become a subject

of the pep TV show, and so he obliges.

She finds it oddly comforting.

Surveillance can be both an agonizing nightmare and a dream come true.

You gotta admit, there's something enticing

about the protagonist's life in the Truman show.

He means something to people.

Anyway, pep TV show is popping off for real.

It's viewership now consisted of 150 youth plus 30 adults,

you know what that adds up to 180 people.

It's also an opportunity to make some jokes.

That's right, it was time to monetize this bitch.

Fuck a job.

Just start a cyber quote.

Haseh Galwa put down a paywall demanding a

3,000 yen a month fee for access to the site.

Prophetic, considering every goddamn thing is a subscription service these days.

Up top.

This is an "I am" become capitalism moment,

even if that the hands of the revolutionary youth.

As the site grew, the line between pep TV show and the

mainstream media was becoming increasingly blurred.

When you look at the time, the first anniversary of 9/11 draws near.

Let's hear some personal testimonies from Mo,

Nagomi, and Versaco as for what 9/11 meets at them.

What's the end of this video?

How do you think of it?

How do you think of it?

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Hasay Galwa then does something strange.

He sends Mo an email asking how she's doing.

Okay, I guess.

She responds.

It was as if they were both sat down in the same void.

The internet often divided people and left them empty husks,

but for Mo and Hasay Galwa, it seemed it had brought

them together and offered some semblance of hope,

although there's a thin line between hope and hope.

Don't worry Mo, I won't forget

it and speaking of corpses,

if you told me she was one in the shot, I would believe you.

Okay, Pops.

I hate to blue ball you hear, but before we tackle the big day,

I think it's a good time to take a step back and get fed up.

This is a movie, my right fellas.

You may have noticed how candid it seems

as the cinematography and the character's performances.

Even you scratch and you noggin over what's television and what's real life.

Let's find out just how real this thing really is for real.

First of all, keep TV show.net is an actual website.

Although it's bare bones, it doesn't seem to

have all the content the one in the film does.

But when you click on the Twin Tower JPEG, it takes you to Nagomi's diary.

That face will haunt me.

I found an older version of the site through the way back machine

that has some extra content than the form of footage from Hasega was spy camps.

Though unfortunately, as it says up here,

the server's dead, so you can't view the footage anymore.

Next up, the official meadow website

that has a bunch of background information about the film.

The minds behind P.P.P.V. show are director Yutaka Succia

and co-writer Karen Amemia.

She's something of a gothic Lolita herself.

And there's also a right-wing activist that got rejected from art school.

(upbeat music)

Oh, but she left the right-wing in 2001, few.

Her youth was marred by punk rock, drug overdoses, and risk cutting.

At the behest of an absolute identity crisis.

And she's written a whole bunch of books

dealing with similar issues as P.P.P.P.V. show.

There's a fun fact down here.

South Korea's president actually read one of her

books and said it gave them a lot to think about.

So if Korea unifies, you know who to think.

But either her or Dennis Rodman take your pick,

speaking of Korea, her favorite vacation spots are North Korea and Zivat.

Why?

Well, here's her answer.

I went to North Korea and Zivat because I was interested in

what it would be like to go to a country on a war footing

that is completely different to Japan.

Living in Japan, even though there's a recession, there's still food to eat.

It's not like there's nothing you can do.

But there's an uncomfortable feeling in this type of piece.

And to feeling that life is somehow difficult,

which is why I think some people resort to cutting their wrists.

In contrast, the people of North Korea will tell you with

the straight face that no one commits suicide in our country.

Instead, there are people who are starving to death.

Well, also, I think there are far fewer people

cutting their wrists in Iraq compared to Japan.

And even if there were,

it probably wouldn't become a social problem.

In North Korea, people starve to death.

And Iraqis get shot to death.

But in Japan, people kill themselves.

Which is right, she wonders.

Oh, and side note, on the same website,

I found this answer of hers.

There's also an explanation of the Japanese term.

The word Mo refers to the state of being immersed in a sense of ecstasy,

mainly by becoming obsessed with two-dimensional characters from anime and games.

So if you were caught off guard by the existence of a

chick named Mo, well, there's some background for you.

As for you, talk as you cheer.

I found this website of his that looks like

it's a whole 'nother rabbit hole of its own.

But it links to a YouTube channel that I checked out.

And uh.

(speaking in foreign language)

♫ Back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back,

back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back, back.

So that's pretty cool.

Anyway, back to the Peep TV show.

The site has a commentary section,

where there's a neat little description of the story.

Also, some more backgrounds on Gothic Lolita.

It's described as being the almost dull-like fashion

favored by the fans of rock bands and by people who long to

be considered aesthetic, which that's what I've been saying,

or what my own goddamn aesthetic, you know what I mean?

Like shit.

Down here, we've got some bullet points.

Actors play themselves.

Shiori, who plays the leading role of Mo, was in reality a Gothic Lolita with DPD.

(speaking in foreign language)

(speaking in foreign language)

In real life, the socially withdrawn young man

actually did not step out of his room for five years.

The characters in the film reflect the actors

who play them, bringing a heightened reality

to the piece, documentary-style camera work.

Other than the pivotal dialogue,

the actors were encouraged to add live while the camera rolled.

Through this method, the conflict of the characters

falling between fiction and documentary is intensified.

Hold up, what's this?

Fun site, you say?

I wanna have some fun.

(dramatic music)

Don't worry, through use-away back machine, I was able to get in.

This is a support group for Peep TV show.

In other words, it's a Peep TV show fan club, or at least the ruins of one.

I feel like I'm playing goddamn Dark Souls out here.

You know what I mean?

Let's start with the Declaration.

Are you Takasuchia has finally taken action?

In this new century, the world is in the state

of great upheaval with 9/11 in New York.

Emergency legislation being debated in the diet, the Palestinian issue, and more.

But I find myself unable to grasp the reality

of any of it, lack of imagination, death, and life.

We obtain a vast amount of information through

the media, inside and outside the cathode way too.

Make boundaries.

I find myself becoming insanely depleted of reality.

That's why I fight.

It's not about criticism, critique, or slander.

It's about my own desire.

I search for the enemy within myself and regain my horizons.

I'm in the thick of it, everybody knows.

Sometimes I feel like this world is nothing more

than a human delusion, and that I and other

people are just shadows that no longer exist.

I just wanted to see the blue sky.

What is this sense of loss and frustration?

Emotions, sensations, peers.

All of these are just a matter of the brain's mechanisms.

The circuits of memory, ethics, loving people, plants, and shit.

What we can do now, there's probably nothing difficult about it.

First of all, don't give up.

And then, in other words, this is my own declaration of support for Utaka Succia.

Next up, let's get to know the main cast.

First Chiori, who plays mo.

Her worries include stretch marks on her ass.

Her dream is to move to Okinawa permanently

to buy up all the Anasui, which I looked it up.

It's a perfume.

Her favorite book is Mine Conf, and oh, Tarantino.

Good taste and directors.

And one of her lovers is Tadanobu Asano.

I must assume his performance as khaki horror

in each of the killers, specifically.

And if so, then I can get behind that.

But not in a gay way.

Next, tase gawa.

He reads manga and strums the guitar.

And he still hasn't paid off his loan for his trip to North Korea.

Which, yeah, he went to North Korea, too.

It's like Disneyland to these people.

Now we're soccer.

When a woman uses it as a weapon, it is very beautiful and dirty.

I have to be strong so that I don't lose to it.

And what is gothic?

I don't know, can I phone a friend?

And finally, Nagomi, or should I say a kiko?

Her ideal man is one who can pull out his own wisdom teeth and chew them.

Kinky.

One word.

I've been into gothic blue leader for five months.

I've had a cell phone for four months as of December 2002.

Which will last longer?

I'll probably stop both by the time the movie comes out.

It's been 22 years.

I'm curious how she's held up.

Makes you wonder how much of who these people were

back in 2002 has been retained at this point.

Identities are always morphing.

They're not concrete.

It's scary how people change.

Anyway, this isn't a fucking philosophy class.

That.

For the most part, this is just descriptions

of what projects members of the crew have worked on.

I'm a high school dropout of vocational school dropout.

And now I'm back in college and I'm not giving up.

I think it's worth living with shame.

I don't know if that's inspiring or what.

And now to snoop through a diary.

Kevin Amiya's diary that is not all of the entries were archived.

But I'll give a tale.

They are a highlight wheel of the ones that were.

At the end of 2001, Tuchia announced

that he would chew a new film in 2002 in order to push himself.

It would be about a man who expresses his anger

towards the world through the act of taking secret photos.

The OG title was How to Make a Molotov Cocktail.

And the theme was to open a hole in the media

society using a small camera as a weapon.

In April 2002, Karen Amiya came on board as a co-writer.

And that is when Gothic Lolita entered the plot.

In May 2002, after reading a lot of books

and watching a lot of movies like Harmony Corbin's Gumbo,

Tuchia decided that he wanted to make a film

that shows a stance of facing the lack of an exit head-on,

rather than being resigned to the fact that there is no exit.

And they also decided not to use professional actors

in the film, instead to have real people playing themselves.

Throughout June and July of 2002, Tuchia was burdened by a lack of funds,

tellishly intensive jobs, and crippling writer's block.

The lame work on the film synopsis.

Throughout August, Karen assembled the cast,

meeting with Hasey Galois, the Gothic Lolita,

and filtering through the emails of people that had

answered their advertisements, looking for actors.

Finally, just a handful of days before shooting began

on August 15th, Tuchia completed the synopsis.

It wasn't until the first day of shooting that Shiori was locked into play mode.

And she told them that the character was literally her.

Both Mo and Hasey Galois were fans of Amamiya's that met her through email.

After reading her book, Living Hell and Heaven,

released in 2000 that documents her desperate search

for her self-discovery throughout her youth.

And she had traveled to North Korea

with Hasey Galois in June.

On August 19th, Tuchia and Amamiya struggled

to find a place to hold a meeting with 10 people who wanted to appear in the film.

The problem was they had no fucking money.

The cost of renting out wherever they were gonna meet was a matter of life and death.

Luckily through use of the internet and the phone

book, Amamiya is able to find a place for cheap.

They faced great difficulty trying to coordinate

the schedules of all these people though.

In particular, Hikiko Mori that had been

wandering around manga cafes with a soda in hand,

leaving Suchia screaming why the fuck aren't you at home?

You're a Hikiko Mori.

That's the entire point of your existence.

The need was coming out of his shell and achieving personal growth,

but at the expense of the art, which was far bigger than him and far more important.

Amamiya writes that as Tuchia tries to scrounge together

a movie with such limited time and resources,

it felt like he was doing what he should have done six months ago that week.

They were still searching for actors, cats, toilets,

stores, and restaurants that could be used in the film.

He had mixed feelings of whether this was good enough

and was worried and regretful about the overcrowded schedule.

Such is the pain of creation.

On August 20th, Tuchia realizes he hasn't bought

the necessary equipment for a shoot on the 24th

and requires 300,000 yen loan from Amamiya in order to afford it.

On August 21st, he meets with an actress and they discuss her role as a prostitute.

But he and Amiya had been so busy wrangling people

together that they hadn't completed the script.

Later that day, another meeting with the cast is held.

But three of them didn't show up 'cause they forgot.

Tuchia was foaming at the mount.

At the meeting, some refused to bear the weight

of their role.

Others asked questions, but nothing concrete

had been decided and all they could discuss was abstract ideas.

Tuchia felt like cancer and ended the meeting.

On the 23rd, Amamiya's fourth book, The Queen of Atope,

about her struggle with medical issues was released.

Though she wouldn't receive vital loyalty money

until the end of September.

On the 24th, some scenes with the Gothic Lolita were shot.

Throughout the day, the crew were harassed by police

officers and security guards for filming without permission.

But they kept on ballin'.

The dude who was gonna play the sniveling worm

that records up skirts, expressed anxiety over the role.

Askin, if he was expected to practice by reporting up skirts in his down time,

he would stare at women whenever he got on a train.

He felt like Masashi Tashiro, which I looked up the name.

He's a TV entertainer or was, I guess.

And his Wikipedia page sure is something.

He's also a chronic up skirt photographer, as you might have expected.

More interesting than that, though, is the person of the year incident.

In 2001, users of the internet formed two channels

voted en masse for Tashiro as person of the year.

They programmed scripts called Super Tashiro Cannon and shit.

And Tashiro reached the number one position, passing Osama bin Laden and George W.

Bush by a pretty good margin pair.

Eventually 1984 picked in, though.

So yeah, anyway, back to this guy, talk about method acting.

Truly the Daniel de Louis of Japan.

Suchia exhaustively tells him, "No, you're not actually doing any up-spirited.

" The entry for the 25th just says that Amamiya collapsed from Indonesia.

So R-I-P and then more economic issues on the 26th.

On August 27th, the crew tested their hidden cameras.

Amamiya imagines a headline like independent film

director arrested for taking up-skirt photos.

The difficulty of shooting gives Suchia

a renewed respect for the professional lawyers.

They also scout some locations out, such as the women's restroom,

which Amamiya notes the sus nature of three dudes wandering around in it.

They also found a good spot for where the salaryman

would scream in Shinjuku.

However, the guy playing the salaryman

actually was a salaryman that worked in Shinjuku.

If one of his co-workers saw him, they would think he lost it for real.

Maybe he did.

The movie was just an excuse.

On the 28th, Amamiya got her wisdom teeth removed.

And Suchia met with some actresses that agreed to take part in the bathroom scene,

'cause they didn't just stroll on into a bathroom,

unfrompted and start recording, all right?

It was done under agreement.

No crimes that egregious were committed during filming.

Amamiya throws some shade on the cashier's slash activist,

who is also a cashier's slash activist in real

life, writing that he showed off his narcissism

by requesting his character be named Suzu Arva

toji, the pro tag of love and fantasy fascism.

I don't know what that means, but go off, queen.

On the 29th, everybody got her absolutely the fuck up at a pub.

Over 30 people showed up and the party was popping.

It was an unlimited mixed martial arts death match.

With a jumble of editors, film directors,

terrorists, Taekiko, Maury, virgins, beautiful girls,

Gothic Lolita, overworked salary men, communists, sex workers, musicians, and more.

But you know what all these people had in common?

They were fucking freaks.

That night, Amamiya felt genuine dread

imagining what kind of movie could be made with such a group.

The next day, a hungover Succia feared

he had become a real warrior as he shot hidden camera scene.

Well, after all, you stare into the abyss and it stares the fuck back.

By August 31st, only the opening part of the script was completed.

All the vest of the diary and trees have been lost.

Up until February 1st, 2003, when Amamiya stumbles

upon a student, worrying about various things in life.

So she tells him, if you're so worried, you should

go to Iraq until you readily agrees to go with her.

See, that's the spontaneity I like to see in life.

The final entry was written on February 2nd.

Amamiya had some Indian food and took a train to Tokyo,

and she was never heard from again, just kidding.

But yeah, that's it for the diary.

Make of it what you will.

The circumstances of Pete TV shows creation were certainly scuffed.

There's one takeaway.

Text.

Whatever could that be?

It appears it's an advertisement suchia vote

for an early version of Pete TV show back on July 22nd, 2002,

in some raunchy scumfuck magazine called Bazooka.

I'll just read this part down here.

This month marks the ends of all contact between you and me for a while.

Films require manpower and money.

Even if money is not possible, I would be extremely

grateful if you could co-operate as actors and staff.

Of course, the fee will be small.

In other words, you won't get paid.

I'm paying out of my own goddamn pocket here.

And my only regular income is gone.

But even so, since we met through a magazine

that pursues realism, don't you think you might

want to actually have some kind of involvement?

If you do, please contact the editorial department.

But wait a minute.

It's at a publication, the editorial department itself may no longer exist.

That would be a problem.

If you're interested, please email me.

I'll be waiting.

Let's go a movie Molotov cocktail together.

And this is just a bunch of links to other projects unrelated to a Pete TV show.

All right, now BBS.

The fuck?

Okay, so this was a form launched back in the day to support Pete TV show.

But everything changed when the two-mer nation attacked.

And by 2008, it had evolved into a dumping

ground for porn and a few other things, too.

Because it's the internet, just a sea of links

that range from grandma porn to weezer songs.

To be fair, those do go together like cookies and milk.

There could be some borderline illegal stuff in here.

I can't be held viable.

Ricardo's nude, Paul White.

I mean, there's some wholesome stuff here, too, like Valentine's Day poetry.

Wait, pre-Valentine's Day pig pictures?

Let me get a piece of this.

Oh, you cut.

I'll leave a message.

I'm bringing this place back to its original purpose.

(upbeat music)

It's their in spirit.

With all that aside, we just got some photos down here.

Just a dope little peek behind the curtain.

I fuck with the vibes, heavy.

When you're circle small, but you're all crazy.

I don't even know what's going on in this pic.

Is that a GameCube or am I trippin'?

Regardless, that's about it for the Pete TV show support group site.

Oh, and remember that kitty cat from earlier?

Well, I promised I would reveal its fate later and now is later.

I have the receipts.

The answer lies within this interview I found with Suchia and Alma Mia.

In it, Alma Mia says that there was a lot of questions

about what happened to the cat, which is abused in the film.

It belongs to one of the staff members and is doing

fine, taboo cat lovers, and now the director's statement.

Consider this Suchia's testimony.

Watch in the live broadcast of 9/11 on television.

Many people confessed that it looked just like a film.

In fact, that April 2003, American troops

pulled the plug on Iraq's National Television Station,

attempting to bring an end to the unashamed media war that was being waged.

The world was flooded with media coverage.

The media directs reality, multi-plexing it.

It weakens our bodily self-images and smudges our perceptions

of distance between the outside world and ourselves.

We have been robbed of our own reality.

So at times, we cut our bits to remind ourselves that world lie.

Or sometimes we can find ourselves to rooms when we can't face the world any longer.

Or sometimes research for mates who will commit suicide with us on the internet

to give us a perspective of our own existence.

But it can't be help.

After all, we live in a society that pays homage

to the shallow media god, where the war in Iraq

the appearance of a seal in the Tama River and the sudden

marriage of a popular actor attract the same attention.

The world is like watching the rerun of our burlesque,

acted out on a paper mache stage through the TV screen.

Are you a spectator of the rerun?

Are you a member of the cast?

In fact, are you really here at all?

Sometimes it's difficult to tell.

The events of September 11th, 2001,

briefly created a fissure in this paper mache world.

People who confessed to the event being just like a film

enjoyed the experience of the ultimate documentary intensely.

Their eyes lit up at images of mass killings

during the ensuing Afghanistan and direct wars.

It was a bleak situation.

The fissure in this paper mache world was just the new stage set.

War became another form of entertainment, vying for airtime with reality shows,

such as tonight's live broadcast of a married couple's argument.

The meshed eye of the internet too

has brought our private lives and thoughts out into the open.

The borders between inner worlds and outer worlds have blurred.

There are no absolute strangers anymore.

Our real battlefield is the one upon which we fight

to survive a hopeless battle against the information

capitalist society where we can't win, lose, or go back.

The world is akin to a cheap peep show.

We are the warriors, and at the same time we are the models.

I wanted this film to depict our trials and tribulations

as we create new fissures in that peep show,

leaving the peep show behind to encounter other

people, attempting to reclaim our own reality.

I must just about to upload this vid

when I found an exclusive Japanese version of the film's

meta site that contains three new pieces of the puzzle or whatever.

I'll just pick out some highlights and leave it at that,

because at this point I fear the rabbit hole of URLs

is infinite, and if I go any deeper I may never escape.

If you want to continue the journey without me

and take a closer look, I'll leave links to all of this in the description.

There's a diary written by Succia that covers his experience

traveling to film festivals all across the world,

where a peep peep peep show was being screened

and meet in fans of his all across the world,

both through the internet and in person.

There were some haters too though,

especially at the New York Screening.

And then there's also just an interview with Succia.

The answer right here is interesting.

Sex and death give us a quick sense of reality.

For this reason, people who are starved for a sense of reality

often become addicted to sex or fantasize about death and indulge in that world.

However, this act ends up pushing both sex and death into the world of fiction.

Hasay Gawa knows this.

So Hasay Gawa just looks at sex and death from

afar, as if they were someone else's business.

Sex and death, which should be stimulating, have no effect on Hasay Gawa.

However, I think there's hope for him,

because he's aware that images of sex and death cannot restore a sense of reality.

And finally, there's a bullet him board system

from 2005, I believe, that instead of being overrun

by porn contains actual discussion amongst not only fans of the film,

but actors that appeared in it and also Succia.

Here's an answer as to whether Nagomi kept up the Gothic Lolita thing.

She says she hasn't been wearing it lately,

but her spirit will always be Gothic Lolita.

And that's what counts.

There's a whole bunch of fans, testimonies, but I'll just read this one.

This is my honest opinion, written by Maripe,

the way of life of a real human is very ugly, dirty, and scary.

So I don't need to become a human in my lifetime.

I'm fine with being grotesque.

I feel like that will bring me closer to my ideal, little by little.

It's many times more frightening to see a cat

being suffocated to death right before your eyes.

Then watching a plane crash into the World Trade Center

and thousands of people dying on the other side

of the TV screen.

There are many violent crimes in the world.

There are many crazy people.

Why do people go crazy?

Maybe children, young people, adults, and the elderly are all hungry for reality.

This movie portrays such reality.

We've gone through the movie, and we've gone through the related media.

Reading time is over.

Now we discuss.

Except one of us is gagged and found.

Keep TV show captures certain feelings

that I think resonate even harder now, 20 years later,

such as the agonizing muted monotony of day-to-day

light, the intoxicating pleasure of giving in

to deep-seated perversions on the worldwide web, shrouded in anonymity.

Both the paranoia and resignation induced by a near-constant state of surveillance.

That particular blend of loneliness and comfort

the home blue hue of a computer screen provides.

This, actually-- During night says that is your

social life, and the beauty in destruction.

With the only opportunity you have left

to bond with others being through mutual appreciation

for this beauty, people are torn between apathy and angst.

You're aning to break free, though lacking in dry.

Sometimes flirting with anarchy, but there's never truly a breakthrough.

Today's spent in tedium, tomorrow a bathroom doors destroy.

The next day, the tedium continues.

Is it really worth living for occasional flashes in the pan?

But we're too worn down by all the rest to achieve

anymore if there even is any more to achieve.

You know, this film is the terminally online anti-social nihilists' black Panther.

What really works in its favor is how authentic it feels.

Like it's made four freaks, five freaks, which it is, as we've learned.

And it's the kind of story that can only be born

out of low-budget home-grewed type circumstances.

It just wouldn't be the same with the backing

of a Hollywood film studio, professional high-grade

canvas, and Timothy Chalamet playing Hasay Galois.

Those to show how limitations can, in some cases,

embolden artistry instead of inhibiting it.

No big studios or stars here, bitch.

Just a group of degenerates, a dream,

and a movie held together by duct tape and bubblegum.

The story itself kind of mirrors this, in a way.

A bunch of youth at the bottom of the totem

pole often disregarded as social problems.

Like a gothic Lolita adorned in self-harm scars,

and a warrior studded out in ripped jeans and piercings,

were able to carve out a sense of community, a beacon of

warmth, even if twisted, amidst such a cold and hostile world.

Sure, it wouldn't save them, but it was something.

They even made money off it.

Ronald Reagan would be proud.

I'll leave the DVD at his great stone.

In conclusion, keep TV show is a banger.

But also an all-too relatable one.

These days it's like the world is at stage four

of whatever cancer was just getting started in the film.

What's the cure?

I don't know.

You're probably not gonna find the answer

in a movie, let alone a dumbass YouTube vid.

But maybe if we all just come together,

hold hands and sing kumbaya, that's a good start.

And also fuck you.

Humanities made its bed and it can lay in it.

As for me, I'll just sit back and enjoy the show.

All right, 9/11.

Let's cap things off with what Mo and Hasse Galois have planned.

(upbeat music)

(crashing)

(speaking in foreign language)

(speaking in foreign language)

(upbeat music)

(upbeat music)

(speaking in foreign language)

(speaking in foreign language)

(upbeat music)

(upbeat music)