Shoplifters (Manbiki kazoku)

Director Hirokazu Koreeda               

SHOPLIFTERS (Manbiki kazoku)                B+                  

Japan  (121 mi)  2018  d:  Hirokazu Koreeda                         Official site [Japan]

Unlike the first films made by this director that all felt so uniquely different, never knowing what to expect, believing this was one of the greatest filmmakers alive at that point, his more recent films since STILL WALKING (2008) like I Wish (Kiseki) (2011), Like Father, Like Son (Soshite Chichi Ni Naru) (2013), or After the Storm (Umi yori mo mada fukaku) (2016) have all felt like more traditional versions of the same film, as every single film feels like a traditional Ozu-like family drama veering towards the saccharine quality of Spielberg.  Winner of the Palme d’Or (1st place) at Cannes in the director’s sixth appearance there, Jury president Cate Blanchett explained to the press, “It was one of the quietest, loveliest and most emotionally enduring films in the competition.”  What separates this from his more recent films is the quality of the writing, which is absolutely superb, one of Koreeda’s better screenplays, compassionate and socially conscious to the core, where the conversational flow feels totally genuine and authentic, filled with warmth and affection, even though the focus of the film is on a dysfunctional family of social outcasts.  Perhaps even more surprising, it feels like a family reunion of the parentless kids from NOBODY KNOWS (2004), as if they have reunited again after the passage of years, as we haven’t seen this kind of social realism since that film more than a decade ago, both similarly inspired by local news stories.  Without providing a backstory, viewers are introduced to the family in midstream, as we see the middle-aged father figure, Osamu (Lily Franky), in a carefully choreographed shoplifting sequence with a young boy, Shota (Jyo Kairi), all playfully shown with hand signals suggesting a little ingenuity goes a long way, particularly in such a conformist-oriented society where behavior is uniform.  As they view their booty afterwards, as if on a pirate expedition, they have reason to celebrate, sharing what they’ve gathered in their tiny, claustrophobic home, squeezing five into what appears to be one room, including Osamu’s partner-in-crime/wife, Nobuyo (Sakura Andô, an absolute treasure and the true heart of this film, the kind of weighty character that’s been missing from recent Koreeda films), a college aged adult sister-in-law Aki (Mayu Matsuoka), and an elderly grandmother Hatsue (Kirin Kiki).  Over time we realize none of them are related, but have instead come together by choice, defying the traditional family unit, deciding this best meets their needs, developing a happy equilibrium, as they routinely joke and tease one another in a good-hearted manner, making each one feel appreciated.  Returning home in the cold one wintry night, the father and son combo notice a 5-year old girl seemingly abandoned, alone in the cold on an outdoor balcony while her parents are yelling and screaming at one another in an endless fight, with the mother suggesting she never wanted a child, and neither did he, both completely disinterested in her welfare, so they simply take the child home with them.  She turns out to be Yuri (Miyu Sasaki), perhaps the unsung star of the show, astonishing in her range, exhibiting once again that Koreeda is simply an uncanny director of children.   

While they thoroughly intend to return her back home after a warm family meal, they don’t realize the full extent of her abuse until they notice scars on both arms, suggesting maybe it’s better if she spends the night, only to discover she’s a bed wetter, all the more reason to sympathize with her.  Weeks go by and the family hasn’t even reported the girl missing, so their rather goofy, self-fulfilling philosophy becomes, “It’s not really kidnapping if you don’t ask for a ransom.”  Unlike the father and son in Kurosawa’s underrated DODES’KA DEN (1970) living on the margins of society in the empty shell of a rusted out car, this is not a depiction of miserablism, instead theft feels like part of a daily routine to supplement their meager income, revealing how easily people adapt to their shortcomings, perhaps influenced by the Japanese Recession where for years the economy has been in a downward spiral.  In this rousing Three Musketeer “one for all, and all for one” philosophy, where all collectively contribute, Osamu occasionally works day labor jobs on a construction site, Nobuyo works in an industrial laundry, pilfering what she can from what’s left in pockets, while Aki does soft-core porn shows that seem right out of Paris, Texas (1984), giggling how much attention she gets just by showing a side boob, while Yuri joins Shota on shoplifting excursions, though their tactics are so lame that one of the corner store owners simply hands them a few items, urging Shota not to teach his little sister how to steal.  While Yuri is used to apologizing for everything, as if everything bad that happens is all her fault, they quickly rid her of that habit, claiming there’s no need, with Nobuyo explaining that families who love each other don’t hit, wrapping her arms around her head and holding her, suggesting they do this, which is a momentous moment in the young girl’s life, as it’s obviously the very first time anyone’s ever showed her affection.  What makes them a family is that they actually enjoy each other’s company and share experiences, where each willingly sacrifices for the others without hesitation.  And while Shota has a little trouble sharing excursions with her that were formerly father and son occasions, he pouts for a while, but gets over it, especially when he understands that they all have to look out for each other, as that is the tie that binds, as they’re stronger as a family than all alone on their own.  Grandmother illegally drawing her pension from her deceased husband is the only reliable source of income, which she herself supplements by visiting his family from time to time, which always gives her a little something extra.  There’s no room to spare in their little bungalow, with Shota sleeping in a closet, and everyone else bundled together on the floor, nice and snug. 

Television reports finally announce Yuri as missing, so they cut her hair and give her a new look, even call her by a new name, Rin, but have no intention of returning her back to a family that doesn’t want her.  Aki expresses an interest in how Osamu and Nobuyo came together, thinking it was probably over money, but is surprised to learn it was a matter of their hearts, which makes her rethink her own occupation and developing a better rapport with her clients.  This cues a key love scene between Osamu and Nobuyo that couldn’t be more flattering to them both, especially Nobuyo’s down to earth style, as both are surprised they’ve still got it, preening like proud peacocks afterwards, spirits elevated, as if rejuvenated.  The entire group spends an afternoon at the beach cavorting in the water and having fun, yet Granny takes a moment to remark upon the beauty of Nobuyo’s face while joyfully thanking them all for granting her wish to never die alone.  To capture the warmth the director was looking for, cinematographer Ryûto Kondô shot the film on 35mm, which does wonders for the look of the film, offering a softer sheen and more pronounced colors.  After the sunny moment of the family outing, they discover Granny died in the night, which seems to alter the family dynamic, as it’s never the same afterwards.  Quickly covering their tracks, they resume to normalcy, but it seems more half-hearted, lacking the necessary precautions, as Shota is caught stealing a bag of oranges, with the police catching up to him.  Their cover exposed, all are arrested, making headline news, as the stark shift in tone observes some of the interrogation scenes, as the world judges them from a criminal perspective, blaming them for kidnapping and for their lifestyle of petty crime, shown through a near documentary lens, where all the cute familiarity has been ripped away, replaced by dour confessions and a great deal of humility, as it’s impossible for the police to comprehend what they did was anything but wrong.  The hard edge of exposure is difficult, as the audience knows them in a way the investigating officials don’t, so a little of us dies right along with them as they face the consequences.  Surprisingly, Nobuyo takes the fall for all of them, assuming total responsibility, getting five years in jail, where her eloquent prison monologue is nothing less than stunning, one of the most powerful scenes Koreeda has ever written, where few could pull it off with the ease and dexterity of Andô.  The film concludes with what could be multiple endings, showing a brief postscript of life returning to normal, but the final shot is devastating, as Yuri has been returned to her abusive mother, once again getting blamed and ordered to say she’s sorry, where that blank look on her face conveys complete and utter surprise, yet she is totally imprisoned with no way out, looking out over the balcony at the world of possibilities she will miss.  

Like Father, Like Son (Soshite Chichi Ni Naru)

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON (Soshite Chichi Ni Naru)                    B+                  

Japan  (120 mi)  2013  d:  Hirokazu Kore-eda               Official site [Japan]  Trailer

This is a film that reaches across international barriers, becoming as much a brilliant family drama in the understated style of Japanese filmmaker Yasujirō Ozu, yet may also be seen reflected in the gentle lyricism of an early Spielberg movie, an American director that headed the Cannes Jury that awarded this film a Jury Prize as the 3rd best film in competition.  Like Ozu, Kore-eda returns again and again to examine the minutia of Japanese family life, focusing on issues of abandonment and separation, along with themes of divorce and death that are prevalent in many of his films.  This film also examines issues of class, morality, and the clash between capitalism and traditional values, where one questions the increasingly competitive nature of entrance standards for quality primary schools.  Early in this film we see a family and their child interviewed for one of the more elite schools, where we quickly learn the child was prepped for the occasion, and even fictionalized some of his answers to create a better impression.  Nonetheless, this gives us a window of insight into this family, when a successful Tokyo architect Ryota (Masaharu Fukuyama, also a singer/songwriter) and his wife Midori (Machiko Ono) are asked which parent their 6-year old son Keita (Keita Ninomiya) actually favors, with Ryota suggesting he has the kind and gentle disposition of his mother.  Following the family at home in their modern but sterile apartment, without anything out of place, we see the aggressive determination Ryota displays at work, always staying late and working on weekends, meticulously planning his family’s activities, including rigid demands for Keita to help prepare him for a highly successful future.  Ryota expresses traditional Japanese ideals, which include hard work, discipline, and fierce competitiveness, where he’s somewhat perplexed and disappointed that his son lacks the aggressive drive he hoped for, where instead he’s shy, introverted, and compassionate, lacking the cutthroat instincts of his father who is overworked and mostly absent from home, maintaining an emotional distance to his son.  

Kore-eda originally intended to become a novelist, which may explain why his films have such an unusual depth and curiously explorative quality about them, where in many ways the completely unsentimentalized style feels like documentary exposé’s, especially NOBODY KNOWS (2004), a story of parental abandonment based on a real life incident, the Sugamo child abandonment case, when a mother irresponsibly deserted her four children who were smuggled into a Tokyo apartment and then left alone for nine months to survive on their own.  The searing humanity on display results from such tragic, near inexplicable misfortune.  Similarly, Ryota’s plans are shattered by a single phone call from a hospital reporting there was a mix-up at the hospital when Keita was born, that another family is raising their biological son who was accidentally switched at birth, detected by a standard blood test needed for primary school.  The hospital brings the two families together, where Yudai (Lily Franky) and Yukari (Yōko Maki), who run a small appliance shop in a rundown working class neighborhood, living in the cramped quarters above the shop, have been raising their biological son Ryusei (Shôgen Hwang), and have actually had two more children since then.  While the hospital lawyers suggest the parents usually switch back to their biological parents in almost all instances, they initially recommend visits, followed by sleepovers, weekends, and then longer visits, all in an attempt to make the adjustment as painless and as natural as possible.  Meanwhile, Ryota enlists the aid of a fellow classmate who is a high priced lawyer, and the two families sue the hospital, while Yudai amusingly splurges on food every chance he gets during the meetings, sending the hospital the bill.  But Ryota has other intentions as well, believing Ryusei’s poor standard of living is so compromised that both children would be better served living in their wealth and extravagance.  Certainly initially, Yudai doesn’t represent the traditional standard for success, as he tends to be lazy and easily distracted, always preferring to put things off for another day, where he doesn’t exhibit even a hint of the dedication and discipline shown by Ryota.  But he spends all his available time playing with the kids, where his family doesn’t have all the rules for children to follow, where they’re not overly obedient or overworked from all the pressures their parents put them under, as instead they freely run around and actually enjoy childhood.   

The real key here is Ryota’s arrogance, as he looks down on everyone who doesn’t have his economic advantages, including his own family, where making sacrifices means working harder and longer hours, which in his view is taking care of his family.  Of course it leaves Midori as the sole nurturer and provider for Keita, and she’s perfectly comfortable if he’s a quiet and sensitive child without an ambitious streak.  He’s an adorable child, and as is the case in most Kore-eda films with children, they are notorious scene stealers just by acting naturally.  While the film tends to focus on the two fathers, both openly suspicious of one another, whose manner couldn’t be more opposite, the two mothers actually get along and share helpful information about their kids, as they still feel attached to the kids they’ve raised since birth, and are concerned about this huge undertaking they’re going through.  Both families are hugely supportive of the new arrivals, and it feels only a matter of time before an exchange is made.  Midori, on the other hand, is fiercely against the idea, as Keita is her son, where there is nothing remotely as close as a mother’s bond with her child, especially one she feels takes after her, and she’s afraid of losing him.  Ryota on the other hand is going by the book, doing what is expected, providing leadership for this new adjustment, addressing the situation much as he would a work project.  In one of the more extraordinary moments, Midori is on the train with Keita, where she’s so fed up with her husband’s stubborn resistance that she actually considers running away with him, returning back home with her family where they could stay together.  But Keita is not the kind of kid that rocks the boat, and he quickly realizes that running away is not what all these new family visits are all about.  Instead he’s developing an appreciation for just being a kid, where now he doesn’t have to pick up after himself every second of the day, as he’s allowed to make a mess, or play with other kids and just have fun.  In traditional Japanese style, Yudai has communal baths with his children, who also sleep communally, and he has unique repair skills to fix broken down toys, where he gets them up and working again, like valued members of the family, while Ryota would simply buy another one. 

Typical of Kore-eda, the film is an accumulation of small moments, divided into chapters by seasons, covering a full year, beautifully captured by Mikaya Takimoto’s artful camerawork and the use of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Bach - Goldberg Variations: Aria (Glenn Gould) - YouTube (2:54), evoking a range of moods from profoundly contemplative to frenetically energetic.  The children prove to be an interesting study in contrasts, where Ryusei is a bundle of energy and cheerful enthusiasm, almost always smiling, where he’s not at all used to being quiet or following rules, and refuses to call his new parents mom and dad, while the overly shy Keita slowly blends into the hustle and bustle of a larger family unit, where Yukari is the driving force out of necessity, as otherwise nothing would ever get done.  Midori, on the other hand, assumes the traditional submissive posture in a patriarchal society, where in a rare visit to his father and stepmother, we learn Ryota’s father also maintained an emotional distance while assuming the role of a domineering authority figure, literally continuing a cycle of parental abuse through neglect.  Kore-eda is an exceedingly patient filmmaker that takes his time showing how different people construct their own lives, where he’s extremely patient with children and has developed especially subtle observational skills, where the audience becomes extremely familiar with each of the characters, their unique habits, and the changing perspectives they must adapt to.  Kore-eda creates such richly compelling scenes, where the film’s complexity is largely due to the depth of character that he explores.  The emotional rigidity of Ryota is slowly exposed, where the orderly discipline he imposes on his family is a self-constructed veneer protecting his own underlying vulnerability.  Yudai, for instance, spends more time with Keita in just a few months than Ryota will all year, suggesting fatherhood, from a child’s view, is all about spending time together.  This certainly raises questions about the professional elite who work hard in their profession to reach the top, where it’s always a balancing act finding family time.  The final scenes together of Ryota and Keita are truly moving, and really not like anything else in modern cinema due to this uniquely gifted director’s ability to gain such rare insight into a child’s character.