Tokyo Tribe

Tokyo Tribe ★★★★½

Sono. Sono Sono Sono. What a revelation, this master. His films contain a level of insanity that transcends time and space, posessing an energy so large it disrupts the balance of the universe, so pure it tramples over the realm of physics. Entropy reversed, scientists scratch their heads, astronauts cry in space.

I've come out of his films asking what day, what month, what year is it. I can't recognize my own house. I can't even recognize my own face. My dog has set out to kidnap me, my neighbour is running for president.

Sono's universe, Sono's rules. Leave your logic, your expectations, your sense of justice, beauty, humor, leave them at the front door, thank you very much. And don't bother wiping your shoes, it's already too dirty inside. This is the land of overblown misogyny now, ridiculous machismo, over-the-top gore, explosive diarrhea. This is the land of Tokyo Tribe. (Never, ever, die!) Sono doesn't seek for approval, he sets out to disappoint.

What is this man? An artist or a politician? A philosopher or a dictator? A rebel! A rebel that reminded me of Godard, though both directors are so radically different. They're both part of the resistance against the norm but they wave different flags. Godard's the one with a little self-discipline, his films lyrical in composition, textbook sample of a poem. And Sono? Well let's put it this way:

If Godard is the cool kid who smokes in the school hallway, then Sono is the weird kid who laughs hysterically as he dissects a frog in science class.

Sono is crazy, cuckoo, he whacks strangers with his umbrella, and you can sure as hell bet that's a compliment.

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