
Hold onto your stomachs, kiddies. Takashi Miike pushes the limits of quite simply everything. I don’t think I’ve seen a more sadistic or graphic film. But it’s also sleek. Blood splatters against the crystalline backdrops of modern Japan. Absurdity mingles with the everyday. The bright candy colors and the super widescreen photography harken back to Seijun Suzuki’s surreal yakuza thrillers. But Miike takes it a step further. Body parts and organs and limbs are splashed all over the screen in wild fury. Colors pop and explode and the camera zooms in and out of strange places. By bringing a manga to life he’s created in cinematic form the real Japan. Maybe even the real modern world. After all, in a world where real life superheroes stalk the streets of Seattle and serial killings take on more bizarre and gruesome dimensions, Miike can’t be too far from reality, can he? Full of style and thrills, but it lacks a heart. That crucial missing component keeps the film from being a masterpiece. Even Miike’s fore-bearers like Suzuki, Woo, De Palma, and Lynch had hearts. This is the future of pop filmmaking, but what a nihilistic future it is. Idealism is dead.




