Nanaba, nanaba, nanaba...

I like to think of myself as fairly well-versed in the world of cinematic oddities. Since high school, when midnight show staples like "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," "A Clockwork Orange," "Pink Floyd The Wall" and "Eraserhead" initiated me into the realm of not-for-everyone movies, I've spent a significant portion of my life reading about, searching for and, at times, actually viewing as many "cult classics" as I could.

It's been a nebulous pursuit. At first, everything was a revelation. I dug into the filmographies of icons like David Lynch, John Waters, Herschell Gordon Lewis, Dario Argento, Russ Meyer, Edward D. Wood, Jr. and Terry Gilliam. Then I discovered the bizarre side of arthouse fare from Pedro Almodóvar, Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro, Peter Greenaway and Guy Maddin. I naturally gravitated toward the creative iconoclasts of horror cinema, visionaries like George A. Romero, David Cronenberg, Sam Raimi, Peter Jackson, Michele Soavi and José Mojica Marins. I braved the disturbing waters of Jörg Buttgereit, Ruggero Deodato, Takashi Miike and Harmony Korine and came out relatively human on the other side. I was, and still am, a big Troma buff.

Long story shortened, I prefer atypical, creative, boundary-pushing shit. I think I've seen all the classics, and modern cult films just don't have the same obscure allure. I mean, I like "Donnie Darko" just fine, but it did not blow my mind like "Blue Velvet" did back in the day. I personally enjoyed video hits like "The Big Lebowski" and "Office Space" during their brief, unsuccessful theatrical runs, before all you regular people cared. I would gladly re-watch not-so-famous cult curiosities like "Wizards," "Forbidden Zone," "Freaked," "Liquid Sky," "The Dark Backward," "The Reflecting Skin," "Tapeheads," "Cabin Boy," "The Rats Are Coming! The Werewolves Are Here!" or even "The Rules of Attraction" before sitting through "Showgirls" again.

I've seen a few great contemporary movies this year, but I prefer the nostalgic comfort found in film grain textures, pre-digital special effects, organic soundtrack instruments and amusingly outdated fashion. To me, there's just something spine-tingling about discovering an incredibly unique film that's been long overlooked. It gives me hope. It justifies all the hours of slogging through mediocre bullshit to find a one-of-a-kind obscurity like "Psychos in Love" or "Diamond Ninja Force."

Mere taboo-busting doesn't do it for me like it used to. I crave the uncanny. I want a shock to the system that shows some creativity, imagination or surprise. By 2009, however, I was beginning to fear that unless I tossed aside my moral restrictions and sat down with titles I've been consciously avoiding, I would never find another of these hidden masterpieces. Then I read about "House."

Not to be confused with the American horror-comedy from 1986, nor the current doctor TV show with the guy from "Black Adder," this "House" is a 1977 Japanese film released by Toho Company Ltd., the folks who brought us the oeuvre of Akira Kurosawa, Godzilla and Studio Ghibli. It was the feature debut of director Nobuhiko Obayashi, who reportedly came up through experimental shorts and TV commercials, but with whose other work I am otherwise unfamiliar. Prior to this year, when it was acquired by Janus Films and began to make the rounds at festivals and revival houses, "House" (or, if you prefer, "Hausu") was virtually unknown in the United States. I happened across a review, which made it sound like the best movie ever, and then I saw the trailer, which made me immediately hunt down an English fan-subbed copy of the German DVD through, um, untraditional sources.

I really don't know why I didn't see "House" sooner. I now realize that it's featured in a few books I keep on my living room shelf, including perfunctorily in Jack Hunter's "Eros In Hell: Sex, Blood and Madness in Japanese Cinema" and slightly more substantially in Pete Tombs' inedispensable "Mondo Macabro: Weird & Wonderful Cinema Around the World," but neither author adequately conveyed its unrivaled lunacy to me when I first dug through their tomes. This is really the sort of film that I live for.

It's soaked through with fantastic elements. It collides tones until it's impossible to predict its creators' intent. It keeps you guessing. It combines sensitive themes about loss and family with ludicrous slapstick non sequiturs and gonzo horror set pieces. Its colorful, professional and psychedelic look is unrivaled; on one hand, it's serious and stylish, and on the other, it's lovingly handcrafted mischief.

Notice how I've danced around describing what actually happens in the film. Part of me doesn't know where to start, and the rest doesn't want to ruin anything. "House" is really the kind of journey that you're better off knowing nothing about, but I'm not so vain that I would expect anyone to rush off and find a currently limited release film just because I said it's worth the effort.

In the same way "The Shining" is about a down-on-his-luck dad who gets a job as a hotel caretaker, "House" is about seven teenaged girls who vacation with the aunt of one of the girls. Oshare misses her late mother, so when her father decides to introduce his new fiancée, she gets upset and decides to ditch their traditional family trip. Seeking to reconnect with her mother's sister instead, Oshare writes to Auntie and quickly gets a positive reply. A fluffy white cat shows up at her window around the same time. Oshare, the cat and six giggling Japanese girls hop a train to Auntie's house, hoping to meet their handsome teacher there and listening to the tragic story of Auntie losing her true love during WWII. A goofy dude selling melons directs them to the house.

So far, pretty normal, with only Obayashi's visual flourishes clueing you in to how insane the movie will get. After Oshare and her buddy Fanta hug each other goodbye, we see Oshare turn around and the frame freezes, suggesting Fanta's mental photograph of her close friend. Oshare's scenes with her dad and his new ladyfriend are set "outside," shot against an intentionally fake painted sunset and through a convoluted '70s wall made of beveled glass squares which distort all the human figures. The fiancée's hair and scarves perpetually billow due to a wind that only seems to affect her. When Oshare storms into her bedroom and spins around, keeping only her head in the frame, we see as the shot widens that her clothes have suddenly changed. Ohare's flickering impressions of her mother have the wistful indie childhood vibe of Michel Gondry's finest work. Throughout the girls' journey to Auntie's, the outdoor landscapes often appear artificial and cartoonish — sometimes they're revealed as diegetic, other times you're not really sure.

Then there's the cutaway scene to the hapless teacher who's supposed to be meeting the girls in the countryside but gets sidetracked in a podunk town where he gets a hubcap stuck on his butt and goes zipping down stairs and into traffic. Sped-up footage and zany sound effects combine with the soundtrack's sunshine funk to resemble a live-action interstitial on "The Banana Splits Adventure Hour." This, in what is ostensibly a horror film in which characters are subsequently attacked by oversized bedding, chewed up by a piano, sucked into a ceiling lamp, drowned in a river of blood that is vomited out of a cat painting or turned into a pile of bananas.

You may need to wait until Janus releases the film on DVD (most likely as part of the esteemed Criterion Collection), but if you have the ability to see it sooner, do it. Trust me, even if "House" reminds you of a lot of other visual experiences you hold dear, you have never seen anything else quite like it. Upon my first full viewing, I was unable to take my eyes off of it. I shook with laughter, surprised myself with a few tears and, occasionally, fumbled for the remote to rewind and verify I had just seen what I thought I saw... not that I missed something, I just couldn't believe what had just happened. If you're like me, it will make you glad to be alive.

Next up: a multi-part look at the new music I listened to during 2009. Hooray!