2024 Top Ten List #8 Monster (Kaibutsu)

 

Director Hirokazu Kore-eda

Kore-eda on the set

Hinata Hiiragi and Sōya Kurokawa

MONSTER (Kaibutsu)                      A-                                                                                         Japan  (127 mi)  2023 ‘Scope  d: Hirokazu Kore-eda

What actually happened doesn’t matter.                                                                                        —Makiko Fushimi (Yûko Tanaka), school principal

Throughout his career Kore-eda has made heartfelt films known for their subtly crafted storytelling, made with genuine purpose and hope, where the humane spirit he generates makes him one of the few directors you’d actually want to meet and personally hang out with, hopefully delving into endless conversations, as what’s so fascinating about him is his appreciation for what makes us truly human, where perhaps more than any other director it’s his open tolerance and empathetic sensitivity that stand out.  This unusual film starts out like a hot mess, one disaster after another, where it’s all about some hidden trauma, told out of sequence from an adult’s perspective, using a labyrinthine structure that’s hard to follow, before eventually lurching into the protected world of Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman (2021), with two kids just being themselves, ultimately becoming a film about love and friendship, told with a quiet sensitivity, with an incredible musical score by Ryuichi Sakamoto, his last composition before succumbing to cancer just months before the release, with the film dedicated to him, where the tenderness at the end veers into Miyazaki territory, yet also the imaginary realms of Kurosawa’s DODES’KA-DEN (1970).  This guy does amazing things with kids, probably better than anyone else, as he showed us with Nobody Knows (Dare mo shiranai) (2004), where what he really reveals is that kids have their own secret universe separate and apart from that of adults and their parents, yet it can be transfixing to see them in their own element.  According to Kore-eda, the perspective of children is a world completely inaccessible to adults, who are often unaware of the unintended impact they can have, “As adults, we’re completely ignorant that we might be monsters.”  What’s really surprising is how it appears to be about one thing, but then the perspective is completely altered, revealing an entirely different point of view, actually returning back to the same moment in time, but seeing it with fresh eyes, suggesting truth is elusive, often spiraling out of control, deliberately twisted and contorted into something it is not, where it is often hard to tell the difference.  One of the rare instances when Kore-eda directs a film he didn’t write himself, his first since Maborosi (Maboroshi no hikari) (1995), as the script was written by Yûji Sakamoto, perhaps best known writing for television, winning the Best Screenplay award at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, yet meticulously staged and skillfully edited by the filmmaker, becoming a triptych puzzle film about subjective perspectives and truths, where a seemingly straightforward narrative is retold from three different points of view and shifts subtly as new details emerge.  What appears to be a film about a teacher bullying a young student ultimately becomes something more complicated, where even the title is ambiguous, with viewers continually changing who they identify as the monster, becoming a fascinating study of the human condition, exposing the full extent of how we misinterpret one another, failing to grasp each other’s full humanity, revealing a sense of disconnect and miscommunication, opening up our eyes to worlds we rarely see, told with exquisite poetry and grace.  This is one of the better films in exposing the nature of bias, as assumptions are made with some but not all the facts, where there are always pieces of a story we never see, some of which remains shrouded under a cloud of lies, making it difficult to ascertain the real truth, but this film exposes the dangers of prematurely drawing conclusions without grasping the whole picture, where our rush to judgment in this day and age of social media may be the real monster, a world of judgment, accusations, fear, and mistrust, where things we don’t really understand are given scornful labels like evil or monster.   

Shot in ‘Scope by Ryûto Kondô, who also shot Shoplifters (Manbiki kazoku) (2018), which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes, carrying over actress Sakura Andô, who was the heart and soul of that film, appearing here as a single mother Saori raising her moody fifth grade son Minato (Sōya Kurokawa), whose existential travails comprise the moral complexity of the film.  In the opening sequence they watch a raging fire completely demolishing a high-rise building, resembling a towering inferno, which brings the image of a catastrophe front and center, accompanied by recurring shots of water streaming out of a dam, offering the possibility that eventually the dam could break.  This sense of foreboding continues throughout the film, suggesting a potential disaster awaits, yet this is a film that continually changes before our eyes, where it takes a while before viewers comprehend just what’s going on, instead remaining indecipherable, as it’s often hard to believe what we see, literally altering our expectations moment by moment.  When Minato comes home from school with bruises, or just one shoe, then inexplicably cuts his hair before disappearing out of the house altogether, she eventually discovers him alone splashing around in the darkness of what appears to be an abandoned railroad tunnel.  Seeking answers for his erratic behavior, his perplexing response is alarming, Monster - Official Clip - Pigs Brain YouTube (1:18).  Concerned for his safety, she seeks out the school authorities in an attempt to find out what’s going on, but rather than offer any understandable explanation, they instead uniformly apologize to her in an exaggerated spectacle that borders on the surreal, robotically repeating the same scripted mantra, “We accept your opinion with seriousness, and we will provide appropriate instruction in the future.”  Undeterred by their non-answers, she makes repeated visits to uncover the truth but is stonewalled each and every time.  By sheer accident, the suspected teacher, Mr. Hori (Eita Nagayama), blurts out that Minato is actually bullying one of his fellow students, Yori Hoshikawa (Hinata Hiiragi), leaving Saori utterly shocked by the accusations, but when she visits the alleged persecuted child, he has nothing but kind things to say about Minato, calling him his friend.  Adding to the mystique is Yori’s alcoholic father, a violent, often abusive man, introducing bizarre, even nonsensical expressions that the kids are often heard repeating, especially when they’re alone, like some kind of game.  The film shifts from Saori’s viewpoint to that of Mr. Hori, revisiting some of the same events through flashback sequences, but they play out substantially differently, as we see the incredibly cruel and demeaning treatment of Yori coming from his fellow classmates, viewing him as being different, like he’s an alien, as he’s always siding with the girls, which is another way of saying they suspect he is gay.  To his credit, Yori (which is primarily a girl’s name in Japan) ignores most of this vicious homophobia playing out in the classroom, but Minato injures himself trying to divert attention away from their sadistic behavior, but relents to pressures of conformity and doesn’t want to appear to be defending Yori, as then he’ll become a target, so he blames Mr. Hori, perhaps a perfect example of the idiom “hurt people hurt people.”  School authorities are seen steering Hori away from the conflict, not wishing to put the school in a negative light, insisting that he apologize for things he didn’t even do.  Eventually, however, he’s the subject of a mob mentality newspaper article blaming him for the ugly scandal in the classroom, where he’s made the scapegoat by school authorities and loses his job, where fear is the driving factor, avoiding outside scrutiny at all costs, viewing truth as an inconvenience, part of a system that devalues both parents and teachers, while actual events reveal he is wrongfully accused, but this knowledge only comes later in the film, challenging viewers to rethink their own perceptions of what they’ve seen.   

The third section explores the depth of the relationship between Minato and Yori, exposing how intimately close they really are to each other, including Minato’s public denials of friendship in front of their classmates, as this film veers into the same territory as Lukas Dhont’s Close (2022), where too much same sex intimacy is subject to hostility and cruel heckling in the classroom, who mercilessly humiliate Yori on a daily basis, where it’s positively stunning how matter-of-factly the queerness of children is repressed (same sex marriage is still illegal in Japan), with the film also winning the Queer Palme for the best LGBTQ story.  Even when they’re alone, Minato instinctively pushes him away during an embrace, not wanting to get drawn into something he doesn’t really understand.  Toxic masculinity is on display, something Yori is routinely used to putting up with, but not Minato, discovering how difficult it is to open himself up after the death of his father, afraid of being seen as vulnerable, so instead he blames his teacher.  Similarly, the school principal Makiko Fushimi (Yûko Tanaka) is equally challenged, as she was the driver in a tragic car accident running over her grandchild, but due to concerns about the school’s reputation, she may have placed the blame on her husband who is currently serving a jail sentence.  Fushimi (a former music teacher) and Minato come together in a beautiful scene where she teaches him to play the trombone, to literally blow his troubles away, reminding him “happiness is something anyone can have,” offering invaluable insight into their character.  These added layers of nuance truly complicate what we see, where there is a constantly shifting canvas, providing a disturbing context of how difficult it is to come to terms with the truth, as parents never know what’s going on at school with their kids, and the teachers never know what’s going on at home with their students.  Rather than the monster he is portrayed to be, Mr. Hori is actually helpful to his students, even out of the classroom, yet his reputation for kindness is trashed by a student who hasn’t any idea of the havoc he’s caused, where the consequences of a schoolroom accusation recall similar exacerbating circumstances in Thomas Vinterberg’s The Hunt (Jagten) (2012).  In much the same way, Yori is not the monster the other kids accuse him of being, as his kind-hearted nature is emotionally affecting, though only Minato seems to pick up on that, yet he’s afraid to publicly come to his defense, as he doesn’t want to become the object of classroom derision and abuse.  He’s not strong enough to ward off that kind of meanness in the world.  When there is word of an approaching typhoon, as in Kore-eda’s After the Storm (Umi yori mo mada fukaku) (2016), the two kids go missing amidst dangerous mudslides in the mountains, causing immense distress for Saori and Mr. Hori, who are willing to bypass a cautionary restricted area and enter the danger zone to look for them.  As tension mounts, accompanied by torrential rain, they grow more frantically desperate in their search.  In a nod to a film like Gaspar Noé’s provocatively controversial Irreversible (Irréversible) (2002), which is actually told backwards in time, opening in horrific tragedy before retreating to a much sunnier time, Kore-eda playfully explores the innocent dynamic of their childhood friendship when it is just them, tucked away in an abandoned railcar with no outside interference, coming very close to an expression of pure love and tenderness in a protected refuge where nothing is taboo, where the soft tones of Sakamoto’s piano are a perfect compliment.  In contrast to the confusing outset of the film, the simplicity of their budding friendship that blossoms into a love affair is a thing to behold, just a marvelous expression of true joy, leaving viewers completely shocked by how quickly our perceptions can change, opening up our eyes to untold possibilities that we didn’t even know exist.  Yet there are no sensational, shocking twists, as we might expect, where the patient, subdued tone leads to an undeniable pleasure, offering a transcendent finale that literally soars, becoming one of the best and more disturbingly complex films of the year.  

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.