Exit 8's director cut this scene because it was too scary for Cannes

Most directors will never have the chance to write novelizations of their own movies — directing movies and writing novels are such radically different disciplines that few creators cross the streams. But Exit 8 writer-director Genki Kawamura isn't just a director — he's an internationally bestselling author, as well as a producer on anime movies including Your Name, Suzume, Mirai, and Weathering With You. So writing the novelization of his horror movie Exit 8 was a natural extension of his interest in breaking down the barriers between how different media approach stories.

The novel, the film, and the indie game that inspired both are all closely related, but they’re different as well. And one of the bigger departures is a horrifying scene Kawamura wrote for the book and filmed for the movie, but wound up cutting from the theatrical release — because the scene was too scary for the Cannes film festival. (You can read that full sequence below, as it appears in the novelization.)

“I actually liked that anomaly a lot,” Kawamura tells Polygon. “We had filmed it as well, so if there was ever a director's cut of this film, maybe it'll make a revival.”

In the game version of Exit 8, players navigate a repeating white corridor in a subway station, trying to identify “anomalies” that signal they should reverse direction if they want to find the corridor’s mysterious exit. Exit 8 is both a walking sim and a form of escape-room game, but it doesn’t have any real narrative. In the film version, Kawamura and co-writer Kentaro Hirase build a story around the game’s mysteries, creating a protagonist, “The Lost Man” (Kazunari Ninomiya), and a reason he’s stuck in this loop. They make many of the anomalies he faces more elaborate and more terrifying, and more closely tied to his mental state, as he tries to process his guilt and uncertainty over recent events in his life.

Some of the things The Lost Man encounters in the corridor loop don’t come from the game, like a photo booth, or a pile of clothing and trash that appears to belong to someone squatting in the train station. Other creepy phenomena are directly from the game, like The Walking Man (Yamato Kôchi), a robotic salaryman who mostly doesn’t interact with his surroundings — except during anomalies. In the game, he smiles, or becomes larger, or faster, or just stares at the player with an unsettling fixation. In the movie, he confronts The Lost Man with a horrifically stretched, inhuman grin.

A separate timeline in the book and movie offers some backstory for the Walking Man, who was once a trapped commuter like the current protagonist. The scene Kawamura removed from the movie explains why the photo booth and nest of discarded belongings are present (they don’t come into play in the theatrical cut), and hints that The Lost Man is in danger of either becoming a threatening, grinning automaton like The Walking Man, or being stuck in the corridor forever.

“In the novel, there was a homeless character, which I think was a reflection of our protagonist in the event that he was never able to escape this corridor — what that would look like,” Kawamura says. “We ultimately ended up cutting that. Instead, while filming, we added a new scene to the screenplay, a scene where our protagonist opens a door into darkness, and sees what his daily life looks like.”

Even though the character is trapped in an endless loop where he has to face terrible, supernatural events, Kawamura felt that making him face the dreary reality of his repetitive, boring life was just as terrifying.

“What if you look at what your daily life is and you know you're in some kind of purgatory?” he says. “Your daily life is a place and a story you don't want to return to — that's a very scary thought. […] What if he didn't want to return? So that's what ultimately made it into the movie.”

As far as cutting the scene involving the photo booth, though, Kawamura says he felt it was necessary to tone down the film’s horror in order to secure a slot at Cannes.

“This film was, I believe, the first video game source material adaptation that made it into an official selection at Cannes, and then went on to the different film festival circuits,” he says. “The lineup at Cannes, the programming, is quite specific, and [a film] needs to have a very strong core theme. So shock-factor jump scares really weren't the direction I needed to go in order to make that happen, and manifest it.”

Instead of focusing on the fear factor, Kawamura says he looked at “a lot of classic horror films,” including Kenji Mizoguchi’s 1953 ghost story Tales of Ugetsu and Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, and considered what makes them timeless dramas as well as horror stories. The movies he was watching suggested he should focus on Exit 8’s family drama, and how it related to the protagonist falling into a supernatural trap.

“I think social commentary was one of the strongest pillars of the film,” he says. “So the focus was then much more on this inner journey, the mind's journey of our protagonist, and not on the other factors.”

Here’s the scene from the novelization that Kawamura shot and cut from the movie, reproduced with special permission from Flatiron Books. The novelization will be published in September.

---

The white passageway stretched out before me. Hanging from the ceiling was the ↑Exit 8 sign.

“Dental clinic… Escher exhibit… Judicial services… Beauty clinic… High-paying part-time jobs,” I recited each poster aloud, scanning them one by one. Then — the sound of a camera shutter echoed from the end of the hall.

A flat, robotic female voice followed: “Printing your photo.”

The same line repeated again and again, bouncing off the walls of the corridor. A loop: “Printing your photo. Printing your photo. Printing your photo. Printing your photo. Printing your photo. Printing your photo.”

Tensing up, I turned the corner.

“Printing your photo.”

The voice grew louder. It was coming from the photo booth.

It’s an anomaly.

I approached the booth and froze.

The photo booth curtain had always been open, but this time it was drawn shut. Beneath it, I saw a pair of feet. There was someone here. But why were they taking a photo in a place like this?

“Um… excuse me… ” My voice came out in a rasp.

No reply. Instead, clack. A photo slid out into the dispenser.

“Your photo is ready,” the robotic voice announced. The person inside hadn’t moved at all.

I opened the dispenser and reached out for the photo.

I brought it up to my face hesitantly. Eight identical ID photos, neatly aligned. Each one showed me — wearing the same rubbery smile as the salaryman.

“What…?” I whispered, letting the photo slip from my fingers.

From behind the curtain, I heard a cough. My body tensed as I moved my gaze to the sound. The shoes peeking out from under the booth shifted slightly — now pointing toward me, as if sensing my presence. The worn-out gray sneakers looked familiar. I glanced down at my own feet.

Could the person behind the curtain… be me? I felt compelled to pull the curtain back, to see who — or what — was in there. My fingers gripped the edge. But I couldn’t do it. If I came face-to-face with whatever was in that booth, would I be able to hold on to my sanity?

The robotic voice cut through the silence: “Your photo is ready.”

Still frozen in place, my knees trembling, I watched another photo slide out of the machine. I looked at it. Me again — this time, with an even wider grin.

“Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready.”

With each announcement, the dispenser spat out photo after photo. With every new image, my smile looked less natural — mouth stretching too far, eyes widening into glossy, glass-like orbs, drained of life.

This is an anomaly… it must be…

I turned on my heel and hurried back the way I came.

“Your photo is ready. Your photo is ready. Your photo is rea— ”

The announcement looped mechanically. When I turned the corner, the voice stopped.

Exit 3.

I let out a big sigh of relief, and felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple. I put my hand to my face. My cheeks and forehead were soaked.

This space, with the numbered exit sign indicating whether I’d been correct or not, might be a safe zone. Every time I arrived, the anomalies would be reset for the next round, it seemed.

One more piece of this strange underground puzzle had fallen into place. I turned the corner.

The white passageway. The ↑Exit 8 sign hanging from the ceiling.

---

_{Excerpted from Exit 8. Copyright ©2026 by Genki Kawamura. Excerpted by permission of Flatiron Books, a division of Macmillan Publishers. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.}

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