Despite the intensity of the first-act monologue, Nakashima’s hypnotic, slo-mo style keeps tension and humour well short of the bad-taste extremity that Takashi Miike might have delivered.
From the bombshell opening, Nakashima ratchets up the tension creating what proves to be pretty uncomfortable viewing. But it’s an expertly executed and satisfyingly complex psychological horror.
A typically edgy Japanese schoolyard horror, with some serious - and uncomfortable - things to say.
So dark it may haunt you for weeks.
You'll need caffeine on an IV drip to survive this.
This macabre tale of revenge is hard to watch, not because of its violence but because of Tetsuya Nakashima's wearying obsession with style.
The sheer implausibility of this tangled plot, disclosed through a slightly inert series of "confessions" makes it, for me, intractable and even slightly dull at moments. But there are sharp prickles of fear and gloom.
Shot in cold blues and greys, Confessions is a strange, misanthropic film. Masochistic even: you dislike everybody in it.
By the end, it feels as if the first half-hour of Confessions is a film in its own right, and all that follows is a series of sequels and prequels.
A difficult film to like, an impossible one not to grudgingly admire.
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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