text: I use "Princess Raccoon" (to give the film its not-quite accurate English title) as a litmus test for my friends' sense of humour. It either leaves them cold and baffled - as it clearly did several other commentators on this site - or results in doubled-up laughter, unassailably huge grins and occasional gasps of admiration.<br /><br />The laughter comes from the film's consummate mixture of parodies in contemporary style. Targets include a bouquet of Japanese and Western classical stage drama forms, from Kabuki to Late Shakespearian and Spanish renaissance Christian fantasy; the naff vacuity of the modern American and European musical, as witness a host of random tap- and rap- dance songs and some very funny banal lyrics, all choreographed with loving "amateur" cliché; Japanese anime and samurai live-action clichés; portentous Buddhist ritual; and the overweening sweetness of Viennese operetta. I've not laughed out loud so much at this type of film since Ken Russell's outrageous musical deconstruction in "The Boyfriend".<br /><br />The grins come from the clever textual subversion of the Japanese legend, told in a traditional 5-act structure reminiscent of the plays of the 17th century master Chikamatsu. As in his work the narrative is advanced in a mixture of song, recitative, high-flown poetry and low comedy relief - here the pot-broiling of the incompetent ninja, Ostrich, by peasants under the illusion that he is a tanuki-raccoon in human guise. All of this somehow does hang together, and even more remarkably does manage to engage the watcher's emotions through the welter of cultural references.<br /><br />In truth "Princess Raccoon" wears its pan-cultural garb with alluring lightness, and that's where the gasps of astonishment come in. Visually - again, as with Russell's masterpiece - the film is a treat, a riot of colour with its digitised backdrops of classical Japanese images from screens and prints, over-the-top costumes and stage sets, mixed with some breathtaking live action sequences in summer fields and seashores. You'll love it or loathe it, but there's no point castigating chalk for being cheese; and "Princess Raccoon" stands, first and foremost, as a wickedly funny as well as affectionate put-down of our contemporary cultural vacuity, in both East and West. Bravo!