Watching Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is like being trapped in a cinema that’s caught on fire, and instead of running for the fire exits, you’re blocking the aisles and cheering. Sono throws everything at the screen–violence, absurdity, sentimentality–and somehow, it still, or at least smoulders in your brain long after. It make’s John Waters’ Cecil B. Demented look like a restrained Hollywood Golden Age studio picture rather than a midnight movie by comparison. It’s overwhelming, ridiculous, and weirdly moving. You don’t just watch, you get swept up in his deranged energy. And when the credits roll, you’re exhausted but strangely elated–like you’ve just survived something brilliant and bonkers.
Why Don’t You Play in Hell? is pure chaos in the best and worst ways. It’s like someone dared Sion Sono to make Kill Bill on a sugar rush–with yakuza, wannabe filmmakers, exploding teeth, and buckets of blood. And somehow, it all circles back to the mad joy of making movies. There’s an infectious love of cinema here, even if it’s wrapped in complete nonsense.
It’s messy, loud and deeply silly–but that’s sort of the charm. It plays like a home video with a Hollywood body count, and even when it doesn’t all hang together, you can’t help but smile at the madness. Sono clearly doesn’t care about polish or subtlety–he’s going for broke, and it’s oddly endearing.