
2004 · Gen Sekiguchi
For when you're craving something gleefully weird — a midnight movie to spring on friends who like their comedy absurd and their visuals cranked to maximum.
Five stories with no apparent connection start to intertwine: a man keeps burying his wife only to find her waiting at home again, a hypnotist's act goes catastrophically unfinished, an advertising executive brims with terrible ideas, three petty burglars bumble along, and a British hitman demands of everyone he meets, 'What is your function in life?'
A candy-colored sugar rush — loud, absurd, joke-a-minute surreal — that keeps blindsiding you with tenderness. Just when you've settled in for pure mayhem, it sneaks up on grief and love.
Tadanobu Asano, all wounded silence and burning eyes, anchors the chaos in something like grief; Vinnie Jones is magnificently baffled as the hitman abroad.
Director Gen Sekiguchi came from Japanese TV commercials and it shows in every frame — interiors of hallucinatory wallpaper and impossible color from production designer Takeshi Shimizu, each shot composed like a thirty-second spot with the pitch removed. See it big and loud if you can; the design is half the joke.
A beloved cult object of 2000s Japanese pop cinema, passed hand to hand by word of mouth — the kind of one-off that keeps winning converts decades on.
Reception & legacy: how Survive Style 5+ was received, argued over, and remembered →
Five stories orbit one another in Gen Sekiguchi's candy-colored cult object: a man who keeps burying his wife only to find her waiting at home, a hypnotist whose act goes catastrophically unfinished, an advertising executive brimming with terrible ideas, three petty burglars, and a British hitman (Vinnie Jones, magnificently baffled) who demands of everyone he meets, 'What is your function in life?' Sekiguchi came from Japanese television commercials, and it shows in every frame — production designer Takeshi Shimizu builds interiors of hallucinatory wallpaper and impossible color, each shot composed like a thirty-second spot with the pitch removed. Tadanobu Asano, all wounded silence and burning eyes, anchors the mayhem in something like grief; the film's violence and whimsy keep resolving, unexpectedly, into questions about love and purpose. Never widely distributed in the West, it spread the old way, disc to disc and friend to friend, becoming a password among admirers of Japanese pop surrealism. Sekiguchi has never made another feature. One was apparently enough.
Lines of influence