Genki Kawamura knows his game, as his work often explores complex human relationships, memories, and existential themes. Now, given the chance to adapt the famous 2023 game The Exit 8, Kawamura has crafted a diabolically repetitive cycle of psychological fear, even if Exit 8 doesn’t fully escape its flaws.
The video game, created by Kotake Create, appears superficially simple at first: players are asked to spot anomalies on their way down an endless passageway. Before entering the next corridor, they must complete their assigned task; otherwise, they will be redirected to Exit 0.
The film begins with a first-person view, which is a good start, as I was compelled to look for anomalies right from the very first scene. Similar to the game, the story has no intricate lore, but the mere existence of the white corridor evokes a sense of dread. You feel the suffocation in these corridors, proving that the director is well-versed in the game’s principles.
The lone “Lost Man” (played by Kazunari Ninomiya) starts creeping into the never-ending march, where he encounters a non-player character (NPC) marching forward without making any eye contact. He will only stop if The Lost Man physically blocks his path. Unlike the game, Ninomiya’s character feels familiar, as we know a bit about his background. The corridors he is trapped in are the supernatural loop of guilt that he is forced to escape.
Kawamura makes the adaptation unconventional, including introducing us to a new character, “The Walking Man” (Yamato Kochi). The first half of the film is mostly faithful as an adaptation, yet the second half adds more depth to the story. The unnamed protagonist debates his life decisions and whether he wants to break the wearisome circle with no exit.
Likewise, the introduction of the Walking Man sees Kawamura taking liberties with his source material. Kochi’s character is not a mere passing figure but a human with emotions, trapped in this ceaseless mess. He, too, is a tragic figure; he was previously trapped with a young boy but abandoned him to chase a false exit alone.
Then there is “The Boy,” played by Naru Asanuma, who is small and quiet. He does not talk to The Walking Man but is seen constantly interacting with The Lost Man. Though he is mysterious, Asanuma’s performance is lifeless. Another noteworthy presence was that of Kotone Hanase’s “The Schoolgirl,” who was waggish over the nature of life, which is nothing but an unending loop. She does not even bother to find the exit and has a limited presence, but she brings a sinister energy that adds to the film’s chilling tone.
With minimal dialogue, Kawamura emphasizes meaningful imagery to tell his story. The number “8” hints at the infinity symbol, and the film uses symbols like this — from hallway walls to spirals to a shell that the boy gives to The Lost Man — to add depth.
For Kawamura, his adaptation doesn’t mean straightforward illustration; the idea was not to borrow the game’s anomalies directly and transform them into a feature film. Exit 8 aims to probe larger themes of embracing change and resilience. As soon as The Lost Man receives a call from his ex-girlfriend, who discloses her pregnancy, he feels disconnected, attempting to escape the very responsibility of fatherhood; he hears babies’ cries all around the passageway, haunting him like a ghost from the past.
The slow-burning horror is unmistakable, which is enough to build the tension around every turn. I actually felt that I was walking beside the man, never really knowing what would pop up. I cannot forget the ghoulish, deformed attractions that haunt these halls.
The eerie, minimalist, and iconic sound design of the game is also heard in every corridor turn. Characterized by humming lights, echoing footsteps, and sudden silence, the sound pulls the audience in. It is both an open invitation and a warning, adding to the atmospheric dread.
Despite the film’s powerful message about how humans follow the monotony of daily routines and worry less about standing up to speak without fear, the plot feels thin. The film’s relentless repetition made it hard to stay engaged, especially when you’re stuck in the same setting for so long.
It’s the paradox between curiosity and boredom. At one end, there’s constant curiosity about what comes next, what new anomalies might appear, and if he will finally escape Exit 8. I felt myself sinking into paranoia, duty-bound to look for any anomalies left on the walls at the corner. Questions keep popping into my mind: was that the door left ajar last time, and was that number 8 upside down? On the other hand, boredom arises from repetition, making the experience feel stretched and, at times, dull. I always felt on the lookout for the story to build into something bigger.
The horror could have been much better if The Lost Man’s story had depth to it, too. His encounter with the boy offered a welcome respite from the endless cycle, as the man was just drifting through the curving hallways without any significant actions. The emotional connection seemed lost.
Kawamura’s sensibilities are blatantly loud, attempting to make you a participant in the narrative. As a game-to-film adaptation, the technique is a victory, even if it soon becomes exhausting.
Review Courtesy of Madiha Ali
Feature Image Credit to Neon