While many know Nobuhiko Obayashi for the masterpiece House, he spent much of the 80s perfecting the Idol Movie, a series of films designed to showcase young starlets. But because it’s Obayashi, you’re not just getting a pop song and a smile. You’re getting a cosmic meditation on grief drenched in postcard-perfect surrealism.

Mari Katsuragi (Tomoyo Harada) is a high school girl dealing with the ultimate bummer: her father has suddenly dropped dead. Before he shuffled off this mortal coil, he filled her head with stories of a place called “The Island Closest to Heaven.” Driven by a need for closure and a promise made to a ghost, Mari hops a plane to New Caledonia in the South Pacific.

She spends the first half of the movie wandering around like a lost tourist, encountering a colorful cast of Japanese émigrés, including a guy who might be a reformed yakuza, and locals who seem to exist in a different time zone of the soul. Eventually, Mari realizes that Heaven” isn’t a specific coordinate on a map, but a state of mind achieved through connection, memory, and probably a really good sunset.

This was a massive “Idol” project produced by Haruki Kadokawa. Tomoyo Harada was one of the “Kadokawa Three” (alongside Hiroko Yakushimaru and Tomoyo Harada). If you were a teenager in Japan in 1984, this was the equivalent of a Taylor Swift film. This was based on a 1966 travel essay/novel by Katsura Morimura. Her book actually put New Caledonia on the map for Japanese tourists; to this day, the island of Ouvéa is marketed to Japanese travelers as “The Island Closest to Heaven.“

Obayashi actually filmed on location in New Caledonia. While most directors would just film the beach, Obayashi uses his signature “video-art” style—chroma-keying, weird color filters, and dream-like transitions—to make the tropical paradise seem to vibrate in another dimension.

The Island Closest to Heaven is what happens when the “Coming of Age” genre meets a travelogue directed by a guy who thinks reality is just a suggestion. It’s sentimental, sure, but it’s also weirdly profound. It’s a movie about how we use geography to map our internal grief.

Extras on the Cult Epics release include commentary by film critic Derek Smith, a visual essay by Alex Pratt,  a making-of, trailers, new slipcase art design by Sam Smith, a reversible sleeve with original Japanese poster art, and a repro 24-page Japanese booklet. Order now from MVD.