Kurayukaba

I won't write home about how this is an underrated masterpiece and everyone should watch it and such, 'cause it isn't. This is almost intrinsecally niche, showcasing a hazy plot that doesn't even aim to be complete whatsoever. What I mean by this is, Kurayukaba is unapologeticaly unconventional, pathologically enigmatic and, even then, I completely felt for it, from beggining to end. And believe me, if you're a sucker for rich worlbuildings- specially for steampunk settings-, atmospheric and clever- even if sometimes confusing- storytelling or experimental art, then this is certainly worth your time. If you feel tempted to watch this film, even if just abit, then it's noteworthy to say that this belongs to a two-film project, the other one being Kuramekukagari, both 1-hour long. I haven't watched the latter, but it seems just as interesting as this one. Even then, what about Kurayukaba? What makes it good or special? Well, first and foremost: it's setting. This film feels limited both by budget and timelenght, and even then it does everything and then some to sell you in it's vast, dynamic and eerie world, prompted by amazing art direction, active efforts to deepen in small yet rich details of the scenary whenever it's possible and a general sense of atmosphere, an uncomfortable call to your curiosity and desire to discover more about what's hidden in the darkness of the rails. It has been long, and I mean, very long, since I felt so fascinated by a fictional setting, since I had that sensation that, if I could take control of the camera and look around, I'd find life and secrets in every corner. On the other hand, the plot suffers a bit more due to the lack of time, but the film tackles that issue in the best way possible: not a single dialog seems wasted, things are left for the viewer to figure out and the story progresses at a pace that both let's you appreciate the world around you, but doesn't let you enough time to lose the sense of speed and dizzyness of the overall mistery. In the end, we don't arrive at a definitive answer, the world is too vast to unravel and we just witnessed a small stage where things happened before and after. It could be more well rounded up, but considering it's limitations, it felt like the best experience possible around the strambotic premisse of this narrative. In conclusion, this gave me a very specific vibe, one I rarely feel, in fantasy stories such as Robert Holdstock's Lavondyss, or dark, misteryous tales such as Midori (the non-rapey parts I mean), a feeling that there's always something bigger than you, some enticing magic on the words and imagery that will swallow you up anytime or wake you up at the snap of a finger. And that's, I believe, one of the most powerful feelings a work of art can ever make you feel.