It seems Shuji Terayama‘s films are hardwired to reject anything in the way of narrative coherence, yet their undeniable efficacy lies in that bizarre, anything-goes atmosphere. True to its name, the washed-out monochromes of Labyrinth Tale further obscure this silent film’s meta-narrative centered around a portal door carried around by two men across landscapes, using it to explore new and frightening realms. Naturally, the semblance of a plot during its first half is carried off into the fantastical as it advances, until two realities blur and coalesce into one. Terayama’s style, sometimes to the viewer’s dismay, resembles a macabre circus–his soundtrack assembled of off-kilter musical pieces and the faces of his actors coated in unnervingly thick, expressive make-up.