A dark and twisted commentary on social disaffection in modern Tokyo, Suicide Club chronicles a bizarre suicide fad that is quickly escalating out of control. The film becomes increasingly surreal as the suicides become more prevalent, and predicting what will happen next becomes close to impossible. Examining the influences of technology and popular culture on societal norms, Suicide Club is as fascinating as it is horrific.

The suicide scenes themselves are fantastically gruesome, ranging from a group of high-school girls jumping to their bloody doom in front of an oncoming train, to a woman happily and slowly slicing away her hand an inch at a time, to a boy who leaps from a building only to land on his unsuspecting girlfriend. The only clues are rolls of stitched-together skin found in duffel bags after a few of the mass suicides, and a web site that counts off the suicides before they even happen. Mixed up in all of this madness is the teen-pop sensation Dessert, whose infectious caterwauling is decidedly more offensive than the hundred billion gallons of blood shed by the disenchanted school kids.

Confused? You should be. Suicide Club is a bit of a head-scratcher, as the director's fondness for the surreal and unexpected doesn't always lead the viewer to easy explanations. Suicide Club is challenging cinema, downright hard to watch at times, but very rewarding to the viewers who aren't stomping their feet and howling like monkeys. I withheld that elusive fifth star on the ballot, because I was sincerely hoping for a finale that didn't materialize. But aside from that nitpick, I relished every second of this bizarre and bloody film. It's quality viewing for the whole family.

Thumbs up.