Nobuhiko Obayashi became famous in the West for his experimental style of filmmaking (mostly through House), and his age (he was born in 1938) and a very serious illness that has been ailing him for the last few years (before the production of “Hanagatami” in 2017, Obayashi was diagnosed with stage four cancer and was only given three months to live) do not seem to have placed an obstacle in continuing in the same frantic style. On the contrary, the 3-hours long “Labyrinth of Cinema” seems to move in even more experimental paths.

“Labyrinth of Cinema” is screening at the International Film Festival Rotterdam

The film is somewhat autobiographical (and I am saying somewhat since I am not familiar with his life story), since the basic story takes place in Onomichi, where Obayashi was born, while the narrative includes many of the artistic pursuits he followed on his career, including animation, advertising, drawing etc. As the story begins, the only theater in town is about to close and the manager has decided to stage an all night war-film marathon as a goodbye to both the audience and the films the theater has screened over the years. Noriko, a schoolgirl and the town’s last film buff is also present and soon finds herself on screen appearing on the various movies playing. The same occurs to three members of the audience: Mario Baba who is in love with Noriko, Hosuke, and Shigeru, an aspiring yakuza who looks and acts the part to cinematic perfection. The four of them appear in various films that have been reproduced on screen in mostly comedic fashion and interact with the protagonists in various ways.

Obayashi seems to have various objectives in this film. Apart from the autobiographical premises, he also wants to show the history of Japan through the movies produced in the country, and, in conjunction, the history of Japanese cinema, thus establishing cinema as a distinct tool for recording and communicating history. In that fashion, “Labyrinth of Cinema” starts with the silent films (with the text on black screen, the subtitles on screen and the presence of an orchestra playing during the movie moving in that path) before he continues with the talkies, while the black-and-white soon gives its stead to color. In the same style, the jidai geki films give their stead to musicals although the chronological line of the whole film is nothing but linear, with the exception of the atomic bomb in Okinawa, which seems to be where the movie is heading for its finale, since the beginning. Movies about the Shinshengumi give their stead to ones about the Byakkotai as the samurais give their place to soldiers, and the Boshin War to the second Sino-Japanese conflict. Somewhere here is where Obayashi’s second objective comes to focus, of showing the eternal blights of war through film, as his anti-war message, which has been a trademark of his filmography, becomes quite apparent.

Expectedly, the film is filled with movie references, most of which are presented in comic/slapstick fashion. Films like “The Human Condition” and Musashi Miyamoto” get their “share” but one can also see Yasujiro Ozu and Sadao Yamanaka chatting about their films while the presence of actors like Tadanobu Asano as guests also moves in this direction.

Obayashi’s humor is omnipresent through the general premises of the narrative, the constant breaking of the fourth wall and the comedic style of acting, but one can also find it in the details, like in the middle of the film, where he has actually placed a part that functions as (and is an) intermission.

Comedy however, is not the main ingredient of the movie, and Chuya Nakahara’s poetry that surrounds the narrative moves in very pessimistic paths, particularly the phrase “they call it modernization. I call it barbarization”, which seems to be the punch line for the whole movie and a distinct sample of Obayashi’s opinion for the modern era. The fact that the atomic bomb signals the end of the movie and references to actors like Sadao Maruyama who died during the Nagasaki explosion stress both Obayashi’s antiwar message and the dramatic element in the narrative.

Hisaki Sanbongi’s cinematography is a thing of wonder along with the work done in the production design, with the latter creating an impossible number of sets and the former depicting them in all their slapstick and quite differentiating glory. Obayashi’s own editing gives the film a frantic pace that demands from the audience not to take its eyes from the screen even for a moment; a tactic however, that becomes quite tiresome to follow for the 3 hours the films lasts. Lastly, some knowledge of Japanese (cinematic) history is needed to watch the movie; otherwise, its references go to waste, although I can see “Labyrinth of Cinema” becoming the object of study for film historians at some point, just in order to discover all the references placed in the narrative.

“Labyrinth of Cinema” is beautiful, chaotic, filled with context and hyperbole, and a film that invites its viewer to be lost in its labyrinth. If one comes out safe, though, is a whole other issue that definitely demands much patience to be accomplished.