by Aksharaa Agarwal
We take our exits for granted.
By the same lack of logic that governs transitory spaces, the modern metro station suspends reality. A place you enter just to leave, the persistence of a passageway relies on its eventually leading back into the world from which one enters it. Designed for utility over comfort, one can mostly forgive its harsh bright lights, repetitive tiling, uninspiring billboarding. That is, so long as the exit is guaranteed.
The chilling association between these passageways and a sense of the uncanny is no novelty. One walk through Devonshire Street Tunnel under Central is enough to experience it firsthand. The Exit 8 is a video game that silently challenges the player to brave this walk at a third remove. This remove translates also to the film, now challenging viewers: so long as you are safe, do you dare to venture this simple exercise in a realm with fewer certainties?
Knocked into POV from the get go, Exit 8 roots its audience, not unlike the video game, squarely in the protagonist’s head. We may not know it yet, but something unpleasant is about to happen. This simple camera trick ensures we’re there to watch. Everything else seems otherwise unassuming, dressed up as recognisable, mundane. We think we’re safe if we beeline for the exit- at least, the protagonist does. However, witnessing cannot be undone, and the strands of disturbance displaced within demand resolution even when avoided. What about when these demands are literalized?
Seamlessly transposing game experience to the cinematic screen, we stumble with the protagonist into a metaphysical thought experiment. Progress is possible, but comes at a price. Every little inconvenience could be the determining deterrent. Anything can raise the stakes, because they are uncertain. Roving cameras, strained music, following in real time, tension is the only guarantee. We may not be able to decide where the character looks, but in true horror style, we can totally yell at him as he refuses to listen. The logic of the game presents the unifying plot device that makes up for loss of control: we must pay attention for anything strange.
Throwing the entire screen open, this simple device turns it into a game board. Keep watching to play.
Weaving an emotional thread though the simple concept of this walking game breaks open its seemingly absurd logic. Practicing attention, discernment, initiative, all these serve not only to level up but also to set right what we would otherwise ignore. Extending to the protagonist’s psyche then, the call to pay attention to irregularities goes through the environment to the heart of the dissonance set off by them. Providing an elaborate metaphor to slide neatly beneath the game, progress no longer simply leads to escape; rather, it comes to signify achievement, relief. It takes decisive action to persist. Hesitating could cost you how far you’ve come. Your mistakes are only as important as what you learn from them. What does the outside world mean anyway, when you can meditate in these hallways? Chapter titles demarcate the unfolding segments while stitching them together. They also smooth over the perspective switches that take place at even intervals, padding the plot with expository detail. You’d never imagine one of the biggest thrills you’d ever experience is simply watching the numbers go up.
Kazunari Ninomiya uniquely captures the turmoil his character is grappling with, both personally and situationally. He does this while performing the perfect blank-slate horror protagonist to follow and tell off. Yamato Kochi plays the perfect adversary: simply and sufficiently creepy, while remaining a believable everyday man. Naru Asanoma is a commendable talent, balancing the acute fear of a child stuck in a cautionary tale innocently sustaining hope, and reigniting it in our protagonist too.
Exit 8 ticks many boxes with ease. It makes for an engaging and effective watching-with-my-face-covered horror. It keeps you alert to abnormalities only you might pick up, and the consequences you cannot predict. Simultaneously, it manages to explore a complex, heartfelt narrative of inner reckoning, of a man confronted with his shortcomings. Managing both aspects takes clever and controlled writing. Production design, as required, is incredibly detailed. A screen grab from the film is almost analogous to one from the game. Edited to appear almost as a one-take, this film is proof that all it takes to make a good watch is a strong concept, small cast, and an endless passageway.
By Aksharaa Agarwal