A Girl Missing (Yokogao)

Piet Mondrian’s Dying Sunflower III (1908)

A GIRL MISSING (Yokogao)                     C-       

Japan  France  (111 mi)  2019  d:  Kôji Fukada                  Official site [Japan]

Following up on the fractured identity territory of Harmonium (Fuchi ni tatsu) (2016), creating another world where reality and horror intersect, evolving into yet another revenge saga, this film is similarly told in two parts, but both are presented simultaneously, jumping backwards and forwards in time, veering into a melodramatic hysteria that defies belief, with the lead protagonist going bonkers right before our eyes, defying expectations, becoming something else altogether.  Mariko Tsutsui returns in a dual role, transformed from a highly compassionate individual to a vengeful soul, where she’s introduced as Risa Uchida, a morose recluse that identifies with the death and decay of Piet Mondrian’s “Dying Sunflower III (1908),” Rabih Alameddine on Twitter: "Piet Mondrian - Dying Sunflower I ... (click on third photo), finding herself gazing at a rotting flower while visiting an art museum, in stark contrast to the abundance of bright color found in Van Gogh, though perfectly reflective of her current mindset, having turned bitter and revengeful.  She also appears as Ichiko Shirakawa, a kind and genuinely concerned caregiver, seen as a nurse for the elderly and terminally ill, caring for Tôko Oishi (Ookata Hisako), an elderly artist, becoming a role model and integral part of her wealthy family, remaining close with her granddaughters, the older, more serious Motoko (Mikako Ichikawa) and Saki (Miyu Ogawa), a high school student, tutoring Motoko for the nursing exam while helping Saki with her math homework.  The jumps back and forth are jarring and confusing, offering the impression of a personality disorder, yet the telling of the story is also exaggerated and extreme, wildly over the edge, like a cheap exploitative drama.  The violent mood swings are a bit over the top, like Risa getting down on all fours and barking like a dog, where some may be laughing hysterically while others might cringe at what they see, as it’s almost a parody of the restrained and orderly depiction of a stable Japanese society.  The extent to which it accentuates a modern malaise, particularly the hyper-intrusive media and the way they infiltrate and disrupt otherwise normal lives, planting themselves on people’s doorsteps, constantly screaming out intensely personal questions that no one in their right mind would answer, literally destroying any traces left of normalcy, suggests an epic tragedy, like the opening of a Pandora’s Box where we can’t return the harm done back into the bottle.

Fukada has a habit of crafting layered stories about flawed individuals where seemingly small mistakes blow up in their face with dire consequences that are totally out of proportion to the initial error in judgment.  With a script that appears weak, one of the problems of the film is how unengaged people are, where everyone feels emotionally disaffected, with no one seeming to enjoy themselves, as instead it’s a portrayal of empty lives filled with endless drudgery.  Ichiko’s life seems content, engaged to a wealthy and successful physician, Dr. Totsuka (Mitsuru Fukikoshi), though he seems more of a father figure than a fiancé, yet she carefully balances her work with the existing relationship, maintaining the respect of her coworkers, yet she doesn’t seem to realize the extent of the affection Motoko has for her, bordering on the sexual, often inadvertently hurting her feelings.  This doesn’t seem to matter that much until an incident changes everything, as Saki is kidnapped for a week by a man she never sees, returned unharmed and apparently unfazed, but Ichiko is shocked to see news footage revealing the abductor was none other than her nephew Tatsuo (Sudo Ren).  Recalling in horror that she was the one that introduced Tatsuo to Sako, and was with him in the moments just before Saki vanished. Ichiko is consumed by guilt, even though she had nothing to do with the crime, and is ready to speak to the police until Motoko talks her out of it, not wanting her to be connected to the scandal, as it could come at a cost, like her job, and Motoko doesn’t want to lose her from the family inner circle.  However, once the media gets hold of the details it becomes a tabloid sensation, publishing explosive headlines, “TERROR NURSE: Did She Plan the Kidnapping?”  It soon turns into a media circus as frenzied reporters surround Ichiko wherever she goes, literally hounding her day and night, no longer feeling safe in her own home.  From there things go downhill, as she’s immediately fired from her job, yet Dr. Totsuka initially thinks the intended marriage can endure a public scandal.  But when Motoko talks to the press, revealing a private story told to her by Ichiko about her nephew, of course taken out of context, turning her into a sex pervert, all bets are off, as nothing can withstand that kind of avalanche of public scorn and repudiation, with news reports plastered round the clock all over the airwaves, becoming the most despised woman in the country. 

The director shows little interest in the actual crime, delving instead into the horrific consequences, becoming a manic roller-coaster ride of losing one’s grip with reality.  Changing her name and her persona, even dying her hair color green, the aftermath of the scandal leaves a bitter taste in Risa’s mouth, particularly when she was rejected by a victim support organization, as she was not the target of a crime.  Her life divided by whether it happened before or after the traumatic incident, the kind and generous qualities of Ichiko have dramatically disappeared, still fuming about what happened, with surrealistic revenge fantasies occurring in her head, shifting the audience’s perception of reality, which has nearly disappeared altogether, instead consumed with malicious intentions.  Early on we see her make an appointment with a handsome young hairdresser, Kazumichi (Ikematsu Sosuke), displaying a surprising level of intimacy that positively shocks the young man.  Not only do they have repeated sexual liaisons afterwards, but Risa curiously rents an apartment overlooking his, spying on him obsessively and monitoring his every move.  Only after a period of time do we realize he is Motoko’s boyfriend, showing a much more intense passion for Ichiko than he ever receives.  Nonetheless Risa stalks this man with a deviously understated rage, turning into a hilarious moment when her vindictive plot backfires, emailing graphic sexual evidence of their affair to Motoko, but this barely concerns Kazumichi, who’s not upset in the least, having broken up with her ages ago.  This only begins to explain how irrationally off-kilter this film gets, often making little sense, losing all contact with reality, feeling more than a little disoriented and disconnected, with Risa continually plunging into a netherworld consumed by a mad hatred, falling deeper into a labyrinthian trap of darkness that swallows her whole, losing control of her own fate.  Unable to stop this obsessional drive, Risa is destroyed by a crime she never committed, yet she’s driven to feel the brunt of the blame, perhaps having something to do with how women are perceived in Japanese society, largely subservient to their own circumstances, never in control of their own fate, viewed as significantly less than who they are.  So even if she’s driven to sort out the chaos of her past, she’ll be blamed anyway. 

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.