The Exit 8 is a Japanese supernatural horror thriller adapted from the game The Exit 8 by Kotake Create. Written and directed by Genki Kawamura, the film stars Kazunari Ninomiya, Yamato Kochi, Naru Asanuma, Kotone Hanase, and Nana Komatsu. Released in late August in Japan, the film has already received high praise. The question is—can this unique horror experience inject fresh life into the genre?
“Do not overlook any anomalies. If you find an anomaly, turn back immediately. If you do not find any anomalies, do not turn back. Go out from Exit 8.”
A young man (Ninomiya) boards the subway on his way home and disembarks at a station. As he walks down the corridor toward the exit, something strange happens—he becomes trapped in a time loop with no clear origin. The rules are written bluntly on a wall: one may escape through Exit 8 only after walking the corridor eight times under very specific conditions. Make a mistake, and the cycle resets. Before long, it becomes clear that he is not the only one caught in this endless loop.
For fans of time-loop narratives, The Exit 8 stands out as one of the most inventive, captivating, and impressive explorations of the concept in years. Unlike conventional time loops bound by a strict reset deadline (say, 24 hours), here the reset occurs fluidly—whenever a character walks forward and shifts space. If nothing changes, if no anomaly occurs, one only needs to keep walking straight. That’s it. Game over. This deceptively simple structure fuels constant curiosity and mystery, while at the same time testing the viewer’s patience and nerves.
Anomalies are the heart of the film, each one signaled by subtle or dramatic changes in the environment. A poster shifts, a door creaks open, a floor tile changes color, the lights suddenly die. At one point, a corridor is swallowed by a raging flood—an eerie echo of the iconic blood-filled hallway in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980). These anomalies generate the film’s creeping terror, sometimes terrifying, sometimes startlingly surreal: a figure lurking at the end of the corridor, a poster whose eyes dart toward the protagonist, grotesque monsters materializing when the lights go out.
Yet what elevates The Exit 8 beyond mere formal brilliance is Kawamura’s script, which smuggles in a deeper, unexpected resonance. It’s likely absent from the game but thrives in the film: existential weight hidden within the corridors. In one dialogue sequence with an older man, the suggestion arises—are they all already dead, trapped in purgatory or hell? Repeated lines and cyclical exchanges drive home the futility of their routines. The father, stuck in endless work, can no longer tell reality from repetition. The boy, neglected by his mother, runs away in a desperate bid to be noticed. The young man himself wrestles with relationship troubles and a paralyzing fear of parenthood. These threads weave a subtle critique of modern Japanese society, exposing loneliness, alienation, and disconnection beneath the surface.
The Exit 8 is a rare achievement in video game adaptation: deceptively simple in setup yet elevated by sharp writing, inventive execution, and thematic depth. Kawamura doesn’t just deliver a fresh stylistic experiment—he imbues it with meaning. By pushing the time-loop concept into darker, richer territory, The Exit 8 becomes not only a clever puzzle box but also a haunting reflection on life itself. This is time-loop cinema at its most exhilarating. The only question left: where will filmmakers dare to take the loop next?
