Exit 8 Review

Exit 8 Turns a Simple Video Game into a Fiendishly Clever Film

By: Marc Kozak

Exit 8

Exit 8 Turns a Simple Video Game into a Fiendishly Clever Film

By: Marc Kozak

Of all the video games chosen to get adapted into a movie or television show, The Exit 8 might be one of the more surprising ones. Its concept is incredibly simple: the player walks through the hallways of a Japanese metro station and tries to spot “anomalies” from the established baseline hallway. If the hallway is identical to the baseline, you keep moving forward. If you spot an anomaly – say a series of posters in the wrong order, for example – you turn back. The goal is to guess correctly eight times in a row so you can leave the station at Exit 8; if you guess wrong, you go back to Exit 0. It’s a memory test in the spirit of those “spot the difference” games we’ve all played that challenge you to find subtle discrepancies between two similar photos.

Japanese director Genki Kawamura had quite a bit of work to do in order to turn a simple walking simulator into a coherent feature film with some semblance of a plot, but you have to hand it to him: Exit 8 is an engaging thriller that cleverly turns the monotony of the game’s repetition into a sinister time-loop story. Even the movie’s vague gestures towards some kind of deeper meaning can be seen as a feature, allowing the viewer to project their own desired level of complexity onto a very sparse narrative. The end result is certainly more of an interesting genre experiment than any kind of actual plot-driven story, but Kawamura and team do an admirable job of executing a unique and difficult idea with confidence.

The “player” of the game – referred to as The Lost Man (J-pop star Kazunari Ninomiya) – is on a crowded train when he gets a call from an ex-girlfriend, who tells him that she’s pregnant and wants to know what he thinks they should do about it. The call gets disconnected and he exits the train, overcome not only with the fear that he isn’t ready to be a father, but also by a rather severe and long-lasting asthma attack. The camera follows him from behind, video game-style, in a long, continuous shot as he weaves his way through the sterile, suddenly deserted underground station. Eventually, he (and the viewer) come to realize that he is stuck in a loop of the same three or four turns, including a long straightaway that has the same lone man repeatedly walking towards him in every iteration, his shoes eerily echoing throughout the otherwise silent corridor.

" Exit 8 is more of an interesting genre experiment than any kind of actual plot-driven story, but Kawamura and team do an admirable job of executing a unique and difficult idea with confidence. "

Our Lost Man is certainly annoyed but doesn’t seem nearly as panicked as I would be in the same situation. Which is probably for the best, as he is able to figure out the rules of the “game” fairly quickly after some initial trial and error. Admittedly, these scenes are pretty fun – you almost can’t help but lean in towards the screen and start to closely examine the clean and orderly corridors for any kind of anomaly. If anything, it becomes a little exasperating that The Lost Man doesn’t seem to pick up on things a little quicker, as he develops the habit of stopping and interacting with any anomalies instead of immediately turning around and running the other way.

The anomalies are sometimes very simple things – a sign with different text or a doorknob in the wrong place – but oftentimes they are bizarre nightmare fuel, adding an increased element of danger and urgency to what would otherwise be just a moderately aggravating memory challenge with a lot of walking. Blood seeps from doors, mysterious creatures lurk in the vents, and the man walking in the other direction suddenly stops and appears right behind the Lost Man, his mouth wide in a terrifyingly unnatural smile. None of these things are ever explained (nor do they need to be), but they are undeniably creepy. Is this hell or some kind of purgatory? Is it an allegory about the mundane terrors of our repetitive reality? Those who desire various interpretations will be pleased to find more than a few internet rabbit holes to dive into.

Just as things start to feel a little stale, Kawamura pulls a neat trick and switches the perspective to the man walking in the other direction – The Walking Man (Yamato Kochi) – someone who we assumed would only be an NPC in this story. We begin to understand that he was once also trapped in this hellish game, along with a small boy (Naru Asanuma). The Walking Man is unwilling to pay attention when the boy points out the anomalies (even though The Boy inexplicably doesn’t speak in those moments) and the two are eventually separated. The Boy then ends up with The Lost Man, and they partner up to try to escape once and for all. There are other potential interpretations here: are all three characters elements of the same person? Is The Boy the future child of The Lost Man? There are various symbols and tokens placed throughout that may or may not hint at a conclusive answer, if you’re into that sort of ambiguity.

The main thematic arc is a bit clumsy, depending on how much you’re willing to look into it. The Lost Man struggles with his own readiness to raise a child, and The Woman has placed that decision entirely in his hands (which is not great). We see that The Walking Man refuses to think of anyone other than himself and is punished for not taking care of The Boy. The climax of the movie sees The Lost Man needing to make a similar decision between saving himself or saving The Boy. All of this (and the ending) suggests that he (and by proxy, the viewer) should accept the responsibility of having a child, because what, that is the less selfish, monotonous option? I’m sure Kawamura wouldn’t come out and say this is the intention, but it’s hard not to read between the lines here. I may be missing some cultural context (Japan is facing a severe population decline at present) and putting some of my own American thoughts in there, but the overall throughline about having a child could ruffle some feathers, to say the least.

Still, the main attraction here is the surreal journey through a strange, otherworldly labyrinth, and there’s a lot to like about what Kawamura and cinematographer Keisuke Imamura have squeezed out of a terribly simple set and concept. The frustratingly broad thematic material and vague allegories walk a fine line between saying just enough and not saying anything at all, but it also keeps the slate blank enough for people to fill in their own meaning (as I’ve potentially done in the paragraph above). Either way, Exit 8 is a strange bit of fun that will have you suspiciously eyeballing the walls the next time you’re in a train station.