I was watching Rampo Noir on my portable DVD player the other night when the battery ran out of power mid-film; normally this kind of inconvenience would have made me angry, but in this case I was actually appreciative of the break, such is the mind-numbingly tedious nature of this dreary, overlong piece of pretentious art-house drivel.
The film comprises of four strange and erotic tales based on the works of celebrated Japanese author Edogawa Rampo, each connected by the recurring themes of mirrors, perverse love, obsession and the fact that they are all utterly incomprehensible.
Even though extreme boredom had set in within the first minute of opening tale 'Mars Canal', I persevered, telling myself that, with each part realised by a different director, there was the possibility that one of them might be worth a watch. Sadly, all four episodes turn out to be just as stupefyingly dull as the first, despite the introduction of the odd bit of bondage sex, mutilation and other assorted deviancy.
Hell, even Hisayasu Sato, director of such gloriously twisted films as Naked Blood and Wife Collector, fails to impress, having succumbed to the same soporific artsy-fartsy style as his contemporaries. And when that guy doesn't deliver the goods, it's time to start praying for the battery to run out!
The film comprises of four strange and erotic tales based on the works of celebrated Japanese author Edogawa Rampo, each connected by the recurring themes of mirrors, perverse love, obsession and the fact that they are all utterly incomprehensible.
Even though extreme boredom had set in within the first minute of opening tale 'Mars Canal', I persevered, telling myself that, with each part realised by a different director, there was the possibility that one of them might be worth a watch. Sadly, all four episodes turn out to be just as stupefyingly dull as the first, despite the introduction of the odd bit of bondage sex, mutilation and other assorted deviancy.
Hell, even Hisayasu Sato, director of such gloriously twisted films as Naked Blood and Wife Collector, fails to impress, having succumbed to the same soporific artsy-fartsy style as his contemporaries. And when that guy doesn't deliver the goods, it's time to start praying for the battery to run out!