Gozu feels like Takeshi Miike took a yakuza flick, hired Jodorowsky as script editor, set it in Twin Peaks, dipped the whole thing in warm milk, and left it out to curdle. What begins as a straightforward job–disposing of an increasingly unhinged gangster–quickly spirals into a dreamlike descent into hell, complete with cow-headed demons, a lactating landlady, and the most traumatising rebirth science this side of Cronenberg.
Miike doesn’t just blur genre lines–he incinerates them. Horror, comedy, noir, and surrealist nightmare clash in a delirious stew that offers no explanations and zero closure. You’re either on board or completely adrift by the halfway mark. But that’s the fun: cinematic roulette, with Miike spinning the wheel while cackling behind the camera.
Is it brilliant? Maybe. Is it nonsense? Definitely. But it’s Miike’s kind of nonsense–unapologetically grotesque, hysterically unhinged, and oddly unforgettable.