Matt Cooper Films

Exit 8 (2025) by Genki Kawamura

An unlucky commuter finds himself trapped inside a seemingly endless subway passage in this psychological horror based on a popular video game. The unnamed protagonist exits his packed subway car after seeing a mother berated for failing to quieten her crying child. He receives a message from his ex-girlfriend informing him she is pregnant and asking what she should do with the child. Unexpectedly the man finds he is unable to exit the subway, as the passage seems to loop indefinately, continuously bringing him back to the Exit 0 sign. He then discovers a list of rules on the wall telling him he must look out for anomalies. If he sees something out of place he should turn back; if not, he can continue. He should leave at Exit 8. Slowly, the numbers begin to increase as he learns to spot anything unusual about the space, all the while wondering what it is and why he is trapped there.

“Exit 8”, directed by Genki Kawamura from a script by Kawamura and Kentaro Hirase, is a peculiar horror film based on an intriguing concept. Relying on the mundanity of cycling around an endless underground passageway the film will no doubt deter some due to the repetitive nature of the plot. The film makes the bold move of almost never cutting away from this Escher-like corridor and our protagonists Sisyphean attempts to escape. Kazunari Ninomiya brings some much-needed emotion and charisma to the main character; we feel his frustration growing as he searches for answers along the nondescript walls and increasingly familiar surroundings. Fans of the game will delight in the film’s faithful recreation of the corridor, although a few changes do exist, and the inclusion of elements drawn from the game. The film does deviate from the minimalist plot of the game, adding some backstory to our protagonist and fleshing out the character of the Walking Man (Yamato Kochi), whose endless circuit mirrors our protagonist’s own; alongside a young boy (Naru Asanuma) who plays a pivotal role; and a schoolgirl (Kotone Hanase) whose pointed reflection on the drudge of everyday life is as terrifying as the swarm of rats that appear later.

“Exit 8” plays on a particular Japanese fear of being stuck in the endless cycle of monotonous work, commute, work, commute, that typifies the salaryman lifestyle. Essentially robbing individuals of their free time and personality, they become mindless drones, unable to truly appreciate anything as they repeatedly carry out their duties. The film’s opening sequence is difficult to watch as most people would find themselves in the same quandary as the main character, ignoring obvious poor behaviour for a quiet life, alongside every other bystander. The trial of the tunnel seems designed for our protagonist to learn a lesson about calling out abnormal behaviour and being more observant and responsive to the world around him. The film also delves into Buddhist ideas of recurrance and rebirth, with each failure leading to reset, and progress a matter of strict adherence to the rules and continuous self-improvement alongside cultivating an acute perception of one’s environment. We never learn what the corridor is, or why these character end up there, but there is enough in the film for viewers to deduce what may be happening and draw meaning from. “Exit 8” does a great job at creating an eerie atmosphere and providing the viewer with a philosophical and psychological horror that reflects the increasing isolation in modern society.

Matt Cooper Films

Kyofu: The Sylvian Experiments (2010) by Hiroshi Takahashi

Two scientists watch old black-and-white footage of secret experiments done on subjects brains; the stated aim of which are to alter their consciousness and allow them to see things beyond this world. The footage ends with three subjects witnessing a blinding white light. The scientits’ daughters also witness the white light which gives the youngest, Kaori, unnatural powers of perception. As an adult Kaori (Mina Fujii), becomes aware that her sister Mayuki (Yuri Nakamura) has gone missing. Mayuki, after attempting suicide on the anniversary of their father’s death, has in fact been taken by their mother, Etsuko (Nagisa Katahira), who is continuing to experiment on kidnapped individuals.

Written and directed by Hiroshi Takahashi, “Kyofu: The Sylvian Experiments”, blends conspiracy thriller with supernatural elements. The theme of secretive, unethical experiments recalls the most horrific of Japan’s wartime crimes, and the sequences of skulls being drilled into or cut open are not for the squeamish. The majority of the film concerns Kaori’s search for her sister and the peculiar effects of the various experiments, such as extra-sensory perception, outer-body experiences, and premonitions. Unfortunately, the film’s conclusion lets down any interesting parts of the narrative, wrapping things up in a cliched ending that undermines everything that has gone before. There are a few effective moments of horror, particularly with the immaculate pregnancy of one of the subjects towards the end of the film, but besides this and the surgery scenes, there are few real frights. The main cast do a great job with their characters, but unfortunately we don’t get enough insight into their relationship to form a genuine connection with them.

“The Sylvian Experiments” questions the notion of existence after death, or the possibility of a world that exists outside our conscious perception. This could have provided a great thematic through line for the drama, but instead we see a string of missed opportunities. The film has ghostly figures appearing and characters being aware of things, but none of these really touch on the central premise of whether or not there is a realm beyond this world. The mystery of what happened to Mayuki could have continued longer before giving the audience a full explanation of what is happening. There could have been more explanation of the girls’ feelings towards their father’s death, or their mother. Instead things are left decidedly vague. The final twist is weak and not really foreshadowed by anything that precedes it; in essence undoing everything and leaving us with an underwhelming final image. Overall, the film is a rather lacklustre affair that fails to deliver on an intriguing premise, instead playing it safe with familiar tropes and shallow characterisation.

Matt Cooper Films

Helter Skelter (2012) by Mika Ninagawa

Japan’s top model Lilico (Erika Sawajiri) faces a crises of confidence in this exploration of society’s obsession with beauty. Lilico is riding high, her face adorning the covers of every fashion magazine, a mainstay of commercials, and even starring in a new movie. However, prosecutor Asada (Nao Omori) is looking in to a clinic that has been linked with trafficking body parts, uncovering the suggestion that Lilico’s appearance may be due to full-body plastic surgery. When new model Kozue (Kiko Mizuhara) begins taking the limelight from Lilico, she is forced to confront her own impending obsolescene in the modelling world, resorting to drastic measures to maintain her status. Meanwhile, her long-suffering assistant Michiko (Shinobu Terajima) attempts to help her in whatever way she can, despite being underappreciated and disrespected at every turn.

Based on the manga by Kyoko Okazaki, “Helter Skelter” is a vibrant, colourful, energetic film that brings the dazzle of the fashion industry to life, wtih exquisite costuming and make-up recreating glamour model shoots and leaving us in no doubt as to the dominance of Lilico. Mika Ninagawa’s (a fashion photographer) stylish direction helps create Lilico’s believably glamourous surroundings. The hand-held camerawork doubles effectively as both sensuous and unsettling as Lilico begins to spiral from a woman relaxed in her surroundings to someone flailing impotently in the face of a hostile world she has helped to create. Erika Sawajiri does a great job as the narcisistic, bullying, manipulative and supremely unlikeable protagonist. While her behaviour is completely unforgivable, Sawajiri captures the sense of a broken child beneath the surface, lashing out in fear that her secrets will be discovered. Shinobu Terajima provides the perfect foil as the humble, hard-working and sympathetic Michiko.

“Helter Skelter” explores women’s obsession with beauty and societal pressures to conform. We soon find that Lilico’s glamourous exterior masks a deeply damaged individual whose beauty is far from natural. This fabricated, unreal world that the characters inhabit is demonstrated by the set-like rooms of Lilico’s apartment in contrast to the real Tokyo streets where we see schoolgirls gossiping about their heroine. The film is a parable to not idolise people whose fame is largely based on a manufactured image. Lilico’s obsession with clocks and mirrors symbolises the fears of aging and fixation with appearance that have only grown with the ubiquity of mass media marketing. “Helter Skelter” is an entertaining watch, with stunning visuals and an admonition to look beyond the surface to those things that are truly important.

Matt Cooper Films

Nowhere Girl (2015) by Mamoru Oshii

A high-schooler dealing with insomnia and PTSD begins to question her reality in this psychological thriller. Our protagonist (Nana Seino) is part of an art group at a prestigious high-school; a talented student she attracts the diapproval of her classmates who distance themselves from her. Spending her time either at the nurses office in an attempt to cure her migraines and sleeplessness; or alone in a large hall working on an unseen art installation. However, mysterious statements by her teacher and the head of the school, the inexplicable behaviour of her and her classmates, and meaningful symbols and phrases crossing her path, suggest that her reality may not be all that it seems.

“Nowhere Girl”, directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell) from a Kei Yamamura screenplay, features an intriguing premise that is let down by poor execution. The plot of the film builds to a twist that, when revealed, makes sense, but leaves the viewer feeling slightly cheated. Clues are sprinkled throughout as to the cause of the girl’s daydreams and the bizarre surroundings of the school, staff and students, but it feels like a puzzle that is constructed without any deeper significance, and one that once solved leaves little else up for discussion. The direction does a great job of capturing the unreality of the setting, with soft-focus black and white imagery creating a fantastical space that is supported by the classical score. There are artistic flourishes too, such as the swimming pool sequence and the scene in which a spider crawls down the ankle of a nude model that hints a deeper meaning which fails to materialise. The biggest problem with the central mystery, which takes up more than two thirds of the run-time, is that it leaves the audience distanced from the characters, their peculiarly emotionless behaviour fails to provoke sympathy and the film is purposefully misleading. This visually-stunning but shallow exploration of the girls’ psychology is broken into by a frenetic action sequence that appears to connect only tenuously to what has preceeeded it. We are then given the finale in which the previously inexplicable elements are tied together neatly. This ending is a let-down in two senses: firstly, it is not shocking enough as a twist, not least because it feels so contrived; secondly, it sets up a scenerio which you feel would be more exciting to watch than the film you just sat through.

Mamoru Oshii has tackled psychological fare before in “Talking Head”. In “Nowhere Girl” hsi directorial skills are on display with some standout moments, but the whole feels underwhelming. The film establishes an intriguing central mystery but sadly fails to stick the landing. If it had pushed the boundaries of the dream-like structure; or had a more compelling plot running alongside the puzzle-box story, the ending would feel more deserved. There are scenes of sexual harassment and abuse that would have provided ample thematic material to maintain interest and prompt rewatches, but again the film fails to do anything with this, instead relying on a riddle that when answered leaves you with little else to contemplate.

Matt Cooper Films

Lumberjack the Monster (2023) by Takashi Miike

After being attacked by an axe-wielding, mask-wearing assailant, lawyer Akira Ninomiya (Kazuya Kamenashi) sets out to discover who is behind the attack. Meanwhile, detectives Inui (Kiyohiko Shibukawa) and Toshiro (Nanao) are on the trail of the same man who is responsible for a series of slayings in which he took the victims’ brains. The mystery deepens when they discover that all of the victims had a neurochip implant.

Based on a novel by Mayusuke Kurai, with a screenplay by Hiroyoshi Koiwai, “Lumberjack the Monster” is a gory crime thriller with elements of gothic horror directed by Takashi Miike. The prologue set in a large, dimly-lit mansion, with kidnappers experimenting on children and barrels containing the dismembered pre-adolecent corpses of former failed experiments, sets up the dark tone of what is to follow. The film slips between glossy, brightly lit environments and the gloomy underbelly of this society, perfectly visualising the themes of duality in human nature. Kazuya Kamenashi gives a good performance as Ninomiya, a villainous protagonist who displays psychopathic tendencies, working well alongside Shota Sometani’s Sugitani, a doctor who is even more psychologically perverse than Ninomiya, having no qualms about performing fatal experiments on animals and humans alike. Similarly Kiyohiko Shibukawa and Nanao as Inui and Toshiro have good chemistry together as an old-school detective, recently demoted due to attacking a suspect, and a modern behavioural science graduate whose insights and deductive capacity prove invaluable yet frustrating to her partner. The plot may be slightly far-fetched, and later on the holes start to grow wider, but the film manages to hold things together until a final act that provides enough emotional weight to sink any flaws in the logic.

“Lumberjack the Monster” is an intriguing film, part crime thriller, part modern retelling of a traditional folktale. Throughout we hear narration of a children’s book of the same title, telling the story of a monster disguised as a lumberjack. The plot of the book often mirrors the actions of the killer in the film, as well as Ninomiya, and provides an explanation of the themes of the film. One flaw of the film is that it confuses the definition of psychopath as a person who seems to delight in killing and has an insatiable appetite for murder. That being said, the film posits several interesting ideas, regarding personality augmentation, the extent to which people bear responsibility for their actions, and the possibility of forgiveness for even the most horrific crimes. While masked in a near-future, science-fiction, quasi-gothic folklore, the film nevertheless is strikingly relevant to the fields of criminology and forensic psychology. Well worth a watch for fans of slightly outrageous gory crime films.