Animation, like any medium, is worth celebrating. It’s just as worthwhile to point out, criticize, condemn, even the real stinkers that come out of it. Welcome, Labyrinth (2026), a misguided, vaguely obnoxious, clunky, and noisy original anime film that royally outstays its welcome. Directed by a genuine legend, filmmaker Shōji Kawamori (creator of Visions of Escaflowne and the mecha Macross franchise), his ingenuity fails to translate here. Instead, suffocated by the convoluted and vapid script by Taichi Hashimoto, Labyrinth is a pale imitation of stories that have come before.
There’s also a personal issue here. Because it took mere moments for me to realize that maybe, just maybe, a film about a teenager who aspires to be an influencer isn’t for me. There’s something about watching our protagonist, the clumsy Shiori (Suzuka, of Atarashii Gakko! fame), dreaming about a failed attempt at a viral video, and, later, shooting a TikTok-style dance challenge, that makes one feel ancient despite only just cresting into the joys and back pain of mid-30s. I will never be that young again, and films like Labyrinth make me all too glad of it.
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The story follows Shiori, a high schooler plagued by the desire for online stardom and her insecurities, which lead her to believe it will never be a reality. That, and the fact that after posting a video when she was 10 with her friend, Kiara, she only accumulated 15 likes while her friend got 150. Years later, that issue still follows her, suggesting that Shiori isn’t all too tuned in to what’s actually important in life.
The kids are not alright.
One day, while shooting a video with her friend, she falls down a flight of stairs, and the video goes viral, much to her humiliation. Because while she wanted online notoriety, she didn’t want it like this. At just ten minutes in, the plot has sworn off trying to make us care about these characters, instead defaulting to vague, hand-waving archetypes and apathetic narratives beyond the one big idea and the center that does nothing to hold the story together.
Once the viral video takes hold of the internet, Shiori’s world descends further into mayhem. She becomes trapped in her smartphone (a nice little metaphor for how we’re all glued to our phones, you see) and must try to escape after her alter ego doppelganger appears in the real world.
Said alter ego is fueled by all of the emotions that the real Shiori tries to keep at bay. As her doppelganger weaponizes charisma to force greater online fame, the real Shiori works with an animated sticker (the kind sent through text, not the ones slapped on the back of phones) to escape the bizarre virtual world she’s found herself in.
Labyrinth is an endurance test with no reward.
There’s more to the plot, obviously, including an overarching plan to replace humankind with brainrot (timely) and Shiori’s plight with others trapped in the digital space. But there are no emotional stakes, and any attempt to bring depth to the plot is laughable. There’s simply nothing that Labyrinth (2026) does to make any part of the story worth investing in. And, at nearly two hours, it grows increasingly tedious as we will the plot to move faster.
Most egregious is when Labyrinth (2026) tries to make us care about the others stuck online who’ve been transformed into the sticker emotes. In a greater film, this might’ve been a genuinely terrifying experience to watch, but instead, the writing tries to tack on some meaning about how we all hide our true emotions behind emojis. Instead of feeling anything, I had to rescue my eyes that had rolled far enough back in my head to see the inside of my skull.
It’s not hard to see the influences. But the influences did it so, so much better. Mamoru Hosoda has made a career out of the dangers of online anonymity while also finding compassion in the community. Belle is a messily constructed feature, but it balances the scales well, being equally empathetic and critical. Even the more recent Cosmic Princess Kaguya! played with similar elements while making it fun. Meanwhile, all Labyrinth manages to do is further convince us that technology was a mistake.
Go outside or read a book and spare yourself.
There are moments of intrigue and artistic ambition in the apocalyptic setting of the digital world, with all the cracked iPhones towering over Shiori. And Kawamori gets a nod to his Macross roots with at least one mecha sequence. Suzuka delivers a charming performance in moments, though even that is lost amid all the yelling her character has to do.
But where the film finds magic in certain fleeting moments, it’s overwhelmed by monotonous, dull storytelling for the rest. It’s hurt further by stiff animation and emotionless character acting, as one half of the film finds the protagonist interacting with a sticker who can’t emote. The 3D style of the movement doesn’t come together to create something immersive; instead, it makes the characters feel as if they’re walking on top of the frame, poorly marrying with the backgrounds.
Despite the legacy built on Shōji Kawamori’s efforts, his first feature film is an absolute misfire. Labyrinth (2026) lacks a compelling plot and is further weakened by an unsympathetic protagonist and uninspired animation. Any moments that work are too fleeting to leave an impression. Skip this and go outside, take a walk, read a book. And pretend like that was the message Labyrinth was trying to convey.
Labyrinth (2026) is out now.
Labyrinth (2026) lacks a compelling plot, further weakened by an unsympathetic protagonist and uninspired animation. Any moments that work are too fleeting to leave an impression.
