Satoshi Tsumabuki
To try and properly describe The World of Kanako is quite a tough feat. So far I have a mix of the youth-filled slaughter of Battle Royale, the rapid-fire non-linear editing of John Boorman’s Point Blank, and the grittiness of Sam Peckinpah’s Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, smashed together in a blood soaked blender and left to sit in the sun. The World of Kanako is a brutal, convoluted and pop-culture infused neo-noir which punctures a bandage-wrapped fist in the face of decency in delivering its twisted story.
Even if my opinions may come across like those of a film snob at times, one who will do all in his power to avoid anything audiences may actually enjoy. I am not a film critic, but a film fan who sometimes happens to write scathing reviews. I don’t think every movie should aspire to be high art, but I do think cinema as a medium should be either entertaining or emotionally involving dramatically, with any pretensions towards being regarded as art being secondary concerns to filmmakers.