More prolific than ever, Japanese genre cinema largely produces the same type of entertainment, made for an audience that has been taught to be wary of anything different. In the margins inevitably emerge real mavericks, yesterday Sono Sion, today Yasuhiko Shimizu and his devastating and anarchic manifesto against standardization. The substance contaminates the form, and gives birth to one of the strangest films seen in a long time. The atmosphere is oppressive as in a good old movie by Shinya Tsukamoto, tinted with sick visions that will inevitably haunt you.