A dream project of octogenarian director Seijun Suzuki, Princess Raccoon is primarily a artist�s film - a joyous one - with ambition worn firmly on its kimono sleeve.  But even if you are familiar with the Japanese folktale behind it, the film dazzles with such an onslaught of music, images and references that a hefty suspension of disbelief is recommended.

Essentially an operetta, a scrolling animated title sequence eases us into a fairytale world where all bets are off.  There, we are met by a hunter who relates a prophecy of the love that can never be, that of a human and a raccoon (tanuki) spirit princess.

The tanuki are indigenous Japanese animals that look like raccoons, but are actually rather more fox-like with the cunning to match. Their tricky reputation has found them a place in mythology and as little ceramic effigies dotted around the islands.  Fortunately, in legend this trickiness includes shape-shifting abilities, avoiding all sorts of censorship problems and allowing the casting of Zhang Ziyi as the titular Tanukihime, who happens to be out in the human world as the hunter sets his trap�

This is the universal tale of star-crossed lovers, but it�s the sheer jamboree of techniques employed in its telling, that marks the film as something else.  Here is a human world where Greek mythology sits alongside Christian imagery, as an evil king (Hira) - intent on remaining the �fairest of them all� - banishes his son Amechiyo (Odagiri) to a distant mountain like his mother before him.  This exile inevitably leads the young man to his fated lover via the hunter�s trap, but suffice to say the course of true love does not run smooth.  Especially when it�s mapped out in song and dance routines that range from folk to rap to rock opera. 

Such a clash of ideas can never make for an even tone, but it is surprising how often the film does work.  From the shadow puppets of the title sequence to sets that slide apart between scenes, the film�s theatrical foundations are clear to see, informing the direction and choreography while providing crucial stability.  Even if it can seems a bit too amateur dramatics.  Sparse sets abound, but these make the film�s eye-catching visuals all the more spectacular when they arrive - and Suzuki delights in jumping between the two. An early river scene when the lovers meet is a particular stand-out and the transformation effects are seamless.  Crucial to any story involving the mischievous tanuki, Suzuki taps into their mythical reputation as transformers (kettles are a favourite form), even if their most celebrated endowments � think gods of fertility � are only referenced in dialogue.

Perhaps a diet of big budget western fairytales has left a taste for more of this spectacle - a painting in every frame and a bar-raising dance routine at each step.  But here, the lack of constant spectacle doesn�t feel forced.  Suzuki has created an undeniable, mostly set-bound world, where imagination takes priority - the perfect artificial space for any fairytale. 

That said, these stylistic considerations have consequences.  The editing is erratic in sequences that require cohesion and the two weeks Zhang spent training in Japan before filming cannot have been hard work.  Still, fun was clearly had on set and Zhang projects the necessary quality for a princess, even if she is a raccoon dog!

As the film ends, we�re lead from the world as we were introduced, but now the superstitious hunter is replaced by a teacher with a rather stern message.  Break neck tonal shifts and narrative jumps may split the audience, but you�ll certainly never have seen a boy meets raccoon princess story quite like this.