By the time this kicks off, it feels like you’ve been handed a cinema ticket and a safety helmet. Obayashi’s final film starts in a closing movie theatre, then throws three young cinema-goers into a kaleidoscope of Japanese film and history — with war as the recurring gut-punch. If House is your fears in a blender, Labyrinth of Cinema is your brain in one, lid slightly ajar.
When it stays playful, it’s a riot: bright, cheeky, and joyfully unbothered by continuity. You can feel the love of cinema in every abrupt swerve.
When it turns dark, it drops you into 1945 and towards Hiroshima, and the film can become genuinely hard to track — not “mysterious”, more “which layer of the movie are we in now?” Still, the anti-war anger is sincere, and the emotion sneaks up on you. A sprawling, messy goodbye that lands more often than it misses.