There’s a frustration that comes with realising that life is, at its core, nothing more than a series of routines, repeated ad nauseam until something else interrupts them and inevitably just becomes part of the same cycle after a while, proving that novelty is mostly a luxury for the vast majority of us. It’s a universal sensation to feel overwhelmed by the banality of everyday life, as is the yearning to change it by puncturing the same routine, while also somehow never having the ability to do just that for whatever reason. It’s a curious concept, and one that we find has inspired some fascinating art, as in the case of Exit 8 (Japanese: 8番出口), the third directorial outing of Genki Kawamura, who works alongside co-writer Kentaro Hirase to adapt the video game of the same name. The film follows an unnamed man who finds himself in one of the many ordinary subway stations somewhere in urban, contemporary Japan – we don’t know where he is coming from, nor where he is going, with the only information we have being that he is evidently avoiding a difficult conversation by the number of times he declines an incoming call from his girlfriend. This soon takes a turn when he discovers that he is unable to leave the station, being stuck in a corridor that is seemingly an endless loop, with the only other person he sees being an unusually strange older man who quickly proves to be one of the many obstacles that the protagonist has to overcome in order to escape, which entails an extraordinary amount of attention to his surroundings and the mental fortitude to actually tackle what is evidently a very peculiar situation into which he’s found himself. A film destined to be polarising by design, Exit 8 challenges the viewer to look beyond what is presented to us on the surface, and instead embrace the more unconventional nature of the material, which is intentionally kept extremely ambiguous all for the sake of provoking deeper conversation about very particular ideas.

I’m reluctant to ever be too dismissive of a genre, but there is a reason why films based on video games are often considered amongst the tackiest and most inconsequential works, since there are very few examples of entries into the genre that are anything more than poorly-conceived attempts to blend two different kinds of artistic medium into one (especially since there has been marginally more success with the inverse, where video games based on films have fared slightly better as a whole), rather than well-crafted works in their own right. We also don’t always come to these works with the intention of being challenged in terms of the stories and themes – and this is precisely what gave Kawamura the opportunity to do something quite different, since the premise of Exit 8 is fertile ground to construct a far more interesting, layered film, especially with the right amount of narrative ambition and the willingness to maintain a very clear vision for the material. Much like the source material on which its based, the film is built out of the idea of exploring the banality of everyday life, situating us in the mind of a character who represents any ordinary person who finds themselves stuck in a cycle, hopelessly trying to break out of it but not realising that the only way to do so is to focus on the smallest details, since it’s often there that the entrapment usually tends to occur, where the unintentional neglect to notice the anomalies in our daily routine are exactly what keeps us in the exact same cycle, doomed to repeat it over and over again until we either find a way out through brute force, or simply resign and become one of the faded souls that are destined to remain in the same never-ending cycle. It’s certainly a very simple premise, but one that has an impressive amount of cultural relevance when we consider the extent to which it is willing to go to challenge and provoke the audience more than we would initially anticipate at a glance.

One of the most impressive aspects of Exit 8 isn’t that it is only fascinating when it comes to expanding on the subject matter, but that the execution of these ideas is incredible and points towards something much deeper lingering beneath the surface. While he may work mainly as a producer (mostly in the medium of animation), his directorial endeavours are very promising, and tend to be quite fascinating in how they tackle some intimidating subjects. When handed this premise, there were many potential avenues that it could’ve used to bring it to life, but rather than trying too intensely to expand on the story in an attempt to make it more cinematic, the director chooses to keep it as simple as possible, aligning it very closely with the video game, while also going in his own unique direction, which is ultimately all part of the appeal of the film and why it works so exceptionally well. Stylistically, it’s exceptionally well-crafted – visually it resembles the world of the video game quite closely, but has a cinematic flair that elevates it enormously, taking it in new directions without losing sight of what made it so enticing at the start. A film like Exit 8 is only going to succeed if there is meticulous attention to detail on the part of everyone involved, and we see this in absolutely every visual and auditory choice – many have acknowledged the use of “Boléro” by Maurice Ravel as a recurring musical motif, which not only lends the film a sense of uncanny discomfort (since it is unusually cheerful and rousing for a story this bleak), but also consists entirely of repetition, a subversive attempt to emphasise the core themes of the film. The use of specific artworks and images, even those kept in the background, adds subtle nuances that bolster the deeper themes of the film and make it so incredibly enigmatic while also drawing the viewer in without us initially realising it, only coming to understand the deeper intentions as the story progresses and becomes more layered and challenging.

As impressive as the execution of these ambitious ideas may be, the reason Exit 8 truly works is not solely because of Kawamura’s detailed direction, but also the work being done by the actors, with Kazunari Ninomiya in particular standing out as one of the year’s best performances. This is not an easy role – any character that requires repetition is going to be challenging for many actors, especially one in which the constant cycle becomes part of the character. It’s even more difficult when we consider he is playing a cypher, someone who has very little background provided to us at the start (and the paltry information we get on his life outside the events of this film is deliberately kept very vague, in an effort to have him represent a much broader group rather than a specific archetype), and where being referred to as solely “The Lost Man” offers its own set of character-based obstacles, all of which he is more than willing to embrace. The performance is remarkable, particularly in how he finds ways to represent the growing psychological strain being put on this young man as he simply tries to make his way out of this nihilistic limbo, growing steadily more fearful that he is destined to remain in this state of perpetual, unsettling limbo for eternity. It is a performance that seems simple at a glance, but has depth that is often difficult to overlook, especially as the film makes its central intentions more obvious. It is also worth mentioning Yamato Kochi, who starts the film as a sinister, otherworldly entity before the story momentarily shifts to his perspective, giving us a minuscule amount of background into his character, known only as “The Walking Man”, which serves the primary purpose of showing how one can easily become consumed by this horrifying cycle, and that not everyone has the ability to actually escape. These performances carry the film, sustaining its many complex layers while also introducing some further ideas that only complicate this already very strange and off-kilter work of unhinged terror.

Between Resident Evil earlier this year and now Exit 8, we have to wonder if we’ve officially turned the corner when it comes to video game adaptations on screen, which were previously derided for being shallow and narratively very weak (which is not without reason – most examples of entries into this genre are extremely hollow and lack any real depth beyond spectacle), but have now been proven to have the potential to be rich, captivating works on their own, rather than just cheap attempts to capitalise on the popularity of another medium. This film certainly does require a bit of patience, but it is well worth the time of anyone curious to see just how far a very simple premise can be pushed without it becoming too obvious in its intentions.  The film deliberately avoids labelling itself, particularly when it comes to employing certain tropes, existing somewhere between psychological thriller, body horror and existential drama, all of which blur together to create this uncomfortable but hypnotic voyage into the inner depths of the human mind, exploring themes such as identity, guilt and the unbearable burden of contemporary life, while also making some additional provocative statements on the nature of life and how we handle psychological strain, that are not always obvious at first, but become more evident as the film progresses, establishing its key themes and making sure that we understand exactly where it intends to take this already very unconventional premise, which is revealed to be in quite a few unexpected directions. A deeply immersive experience intent on giving the viewer the opportunity to feel the kind of unhinged terror that comes with feeling trapped in a constant cycle of existential angst and never-ending hopelessness, Exit 8 is a strange but brilliant film that piques our curiosity with its offbeat premise and holds our attention through its detailed approach to navigating certain complex ideas with a commitment to an abstract subject that is nothing if not wholeheartedly disturbing and never anything short of entirely engrossing, both thematically and in terms of its artistic approach.