Hello, I am Reporter Shin Jeong-sun from the Culture Department of Chosun Ilbo. The 160th edition of ‘How About That Movie?’ is the Japanese film ‘Exit 8,’ released on the 22nd. It was invited to the Midnight Screening at this year’s Cannes Film Festival. Originally, Cannes’ Midnight Screening was a domain dominated by Korean films. In 2022, ‘The Hunt,’ in 2023, ‘Escape: Project Silence,’ and in 2024, ‘Veteran 2’ were invited. However, the film that took the Midnight Screening slot (?) this year, as no Korean feature films advanced to Cannes, is precisely this ‘Exit No. 8’ (Ugh, frustrating).
While writing an article on the failure to advance to Cannes, I checked the list of invited films and noticed works by Japanese directors. In particular, ‘Exit 8’ piqued my interest as it was adapted into a film from a simple video game setting. Is it a flimsy film relying solely on its premise, or a work infused with the director’s unique vision? The answer is the latter. That said, it is not a headache-inducing film where the director merely emphasizes his own world; instead, it takes a simple structure and unfolds it in an easy yet refreshing manner. From the moment Ravel’s ‘Boléro’ played in the film’s opening, I had a strong intuition. Ah, that’s why it’s Exit No. 8. Not Exit 7, nor Exit 9, but Exit 8. I’ll explain why I thought that next.
The film ‘Exit No. 8’ is based on a video game that starts at Exit No. 0 of an underground passage and ends when you exit through Exit No. 8. You might think, “Can that really be a game?” but exiting is not easy. To advance to the next exit, you must observe your surroundings to determine if anything is amiss. If nothing is wrong, proceed forward; if there’s even a slight abnormality, retreat. If you advance when you should retreat, all prior progress is reset, and you must start over from Exit No. 0. Without exceptional observational skills, you can end up circling the same spot. Until when? Until death. Forever.
The film begins by showing the male protagonist (he has no name, referred to only as ‘The Wandering Man’) commuting to work on the subway. He is listening to music through wireless earphones, and the music is Ravel’s ‘Boléro’. As soon as the familiar snare drum rhythm of ‘Boléro’ plays, I thought, “This is such an obvious choice.” The 17-minute piece, with its repeating rhythm, blatantly foreshadows the protagonist’s predicament of being stuck in a loop. Even with earphones on, a male passenger’s shout is audible: “You’re bothering everyone! Make it stop! I’m going crazy!” The shout was directed at a female passenger holding a crying child. The child was wailing loudly. The man glances over, then tries to resume listening to his music when his phone rings. Reluctantly answering, he hears his ex-girlfriend’s voice: “She’s pregnant.” “What? What are you going to do?” Ah, an inappropriate topic for a morning commute call. The man arrives at his stop. As he walks toward the exit, the call drops. Then, ‘Out of Service Area.’ Now, the man is trapped. He is in an infinite loop from which he cannot escape unless he solves the problem according to the rules.
What the man must find is akin to a spot-the-difference game. For example, posters are hung on the underground passage walls, and he must check if they are displayed in order and without any changes. Are the posters the same, not enlarged, or discolored? At this point, someone might say, “Well, even if the phone isn’t connected, you can still take photos. Why not take pictures and compare them?” The protagonist naturally thinks the same. He takes photos of each poster. But if it were that easy, it wouldn’t be fun. When he tries to check the photos, they are all deleted, as if someone played a prank.
Regaining his composure, the man proceeds by repeatedly checking the sequence and images of the hanging posters—dental promotions, Escher exhibitions, legal announcements, high-paying part-time job postings, subway etiquette campaigns, etc. At this moment, the sound of a baby crying from a subway locker. Who would put a baby in a subway locker? Then, a sudden appearance of a boy. Amidst this, his ex-girlfriend appears before him. Where exactly is this place? Is this a dream or reality?
‘Exit 8’ embeds the concept of repetition right in its title. The Escher work featured in the underground passage poster (which I will show below) is ‘Möbius Strip II (Ants)’ from 1963. Just looking at the poster, you’ll see why the film is titled ‘Exit No. 8.’ The infinite loop shape is the number 8. Therefore, you must exit through Exit No. 8, not any other, to escape. Dutch painter M.C. Escher (1898–1972) is renowned for his infinite images with no discernible beginning or end. You might recall the endlessly repeating stairs in ‘Inception’. The maze-like stairs in ‘Squid Game’ were also inspired by Escher’s art.
Perhaps the director of ‘Exit No. 8’ also wanted to discuss individual moral choices and societal duties, but watching this film made me reflect on daily life. For some, the repetitive routine can be not just tedious but terrifying. The protagonist trapped in the underground passage asks: Was it not myself who trapped me in this infinite loop? Did I avert my gaze when I should have confronted it, lower my head when I should have looked on?
To escape, like the protagonist of ‘Exit No. 8,’ one must not miss the ‘abnormalities.’ Though daily life may seem monotonous and meaningless, perhaps it isn’t the same, and we’ve merely failed to notice due to lack of attention. Among the things we’ve overlooked, there might be clues to make our routine slightly different or meaningful. The protagonist’s choice at the end of ‘Exit No. 8’ was predictable, yet it fit as neatly as the director’s clear message.
Ravel’s ‘Boléro’ features the snare drum playing the same rhythm from start to finish. One might think, “No need to memorize the score; it’s easy,” but in reality, it’s more challenging. Maintaining a rhythm without variation, without a single mistake, requires immense concentration and passion. ‘Boléro’ has only two melodies. One rhythm, two melodies. Yet, it is a masterpiece. No matter how many times you hear it, it doesn’t bore; it sounds different depending on the conductor. May your daily lives, which you conduct, be meaningful—different each day despite their sameness, and the same yet different. I’ll see you in the next edition. Thank you.
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