Evil Does Not Exist

I would describe this intriguing movie as made up of three main elements. The first one is the classical conflict between a rural community and the power of business here represented by a glamping (glamorous camping) project. This is the plot setting, but it is not the most important. The second element is represented by the consciousness and emotion of the characters, by their interactions inside the community and with the two representatives of the glamping company. The third element is the surprising and ambiguous ending where the title of the movie "Evil does not exist" becomes meaningful.

The collaboration of the director and the score composer Ishibashi Eiko is particularly interesting since the film originated from a request to create images to accompany a piece of music.

Ryusuke Hamaguchi's followup to his masterful DRIVE MY CAR confronts the audience with its title but eases the viewer in with a long pastoral credit sequence. Then, an abrupt cut. Hamacuchi and cinematographer Yoshio Kitagawa do this a few times during the movie, as if jarring the viewer to pay attention.

Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) is a local jack of all trades in a small secluded Japanese mountain village. He lives his daughter, Hana (Ryo Nishikawa). Takumi and his circle of friends are happy with their quiet life, but their tranquility is threatened when a large firm decides to build a glamping (glamour camping) development in the area. The company is so large that when they hold a town meeting, they outsource the task to a pair of publicists (Ryuji Kosaka and Ayaka Shibutani) - further alienating the residents.

Writer-Director Hamaguchi isn't so much interested in the nuts and bolts aspects (although that meeting amusingly delves deeply into such details as sewerage), as setting up a parable about man and nature. Hamaguchi meticulously reveals how even one small change to the Eco system can upset the natural order and balance of life.

This isn't to say that Hamaguchi completely abandons the fine tuned dialogue that made DRIVE MY CAR so indelible. There's an extended sequence when the two corporate flacks have a lengthy and fascinating personal discussion as they drive out to try and offer Takumi a role in the glamping scheme. The one significant critique here is that the movie does strain a bit in trying to make its argument. Hamaguchi has said that he began the project as a half hour dialogue free short subject. The seams do show. Still, the filmmaking is top notch and the mostly amateur cast gives it a grounded reality no matter how high-minded the themes get. The finale is devastating and will stay with you long after the fade-out.

It's funny to see people who no doubt gushed over "Perfect Days" dismiss "Evil Does Not Exist" as "boring" and "obscure". Like PD, it begins by following a man's quotidian routine: chopping wood, drawing water, identifying wild plants, teaching his daughter the names of trees. Perhaps the fact that he lives in a mountain town of no architectural or historical significance is what turns them off, but I found Takumi's activities as riveting as those of PD's public toilet cleaner.

As in "Drive My Car", we're exposed to a Japan that a few visitors--including many Japanese--have seen. As someone who was raised in Japan and returns regularly, I was thrilled to see a mountain location like the places I visited last year. I also found the plot--the incursion of a glamping company on the town's pristine land--riveting. What began as a fight-the-power, urban-rural plot turned out completely differently from the norm, a surprise I'm still thinking about days later.

A local benri-ya-san (handyman), a single father in a provincial town near Tokyo, gets involved with big city interlopers looking to see up an ill-conceived glamping project in the area.

I am not a fan of slow cinema or the long take, and feared the worst when this film opened on Takumi taking an age to chop firewood, then taking an age to gather water from a stream. But as the film stuck to its pace and Takumi gives daughter Hana a piggy-back through the forest, pointing out species of trees and wildlife tracks, I was drawn into the rhythm of Takumi's day-to-day existence. A discordant note arrived jarringly, as the haunting soundtrack abruptly cut out on the edit. As a device to create a sense of foreboding it could have been heavy-handed, but here it is a bold choice that sits in counterpoint with the natural beauty on display.

The story plays out the theme imbibed in the title resolutely. Takumi is no Crocodile Dundee; he knows nature and has an even temperament, but his forgetfulness leads him to forgetting to pick up his daughter once too often. And even at home, he obsesses over drawing when his daughter craves attention. His deceased wife is never mentioned, but her presence-through-absence hangs over every scene of family life.

The big city interlopers as first appear like pantomime villains. But then another side to them, too, is revealed. Takahashi comes across as a pompous fool in the village meeting, but there is a sincerity to his attempts to live a meaningful life, and we believe him when he talks during a long drive about wanting to dedicate his life to making his partner happy. His subordinate Mayuzumi at first appears to be the voice of pragmatism and common sense. But during the same drive we hear that she left a job as a carer to work in TV, a world she is fully aware is full of "lowlifes." She, too, has a shallow side. No one in this world is without shadows. When these three characters are thrown together in the film's last act, it is impossible to fathom where events will lead.

Where they do lead is to a point that audiences will either love or hate. Perhaps conditioned by the bum-numbing running time of Hamaguchi's previous film, Drive My Car, I for a fleeting moment thought the real action of the film was just beginning, when it suddenly ended. In a film full of jarring moments, this was the most impactful. Some might say egregious.

The performances Hamaguchi draws from his cast are flawless. I was stunned to read that Hitoshi Omika was an AD before this. His magnetism is simply off the scale. Ryûji Kosaka captures a certain kind of frail but annoying masculinity to a tee. Ayaka Shibutani shines in an understated but pitch perfect outing.

Evil Does Not Exist throws up a more questions than answers. It is an intriguing film, frustrating even, but Hamaguchi makes bold choices here and displays a confidence and maturity that is admirable. Three days after going to the cinema, I am still thinking about this film, still actually wondering if I liked it. Some are calling it a masterpiece, but I'm not so sure. It is though, without a doubt, well worth seeing.

The opening shot is mesmerising, disorientating, as Yoshio Kitagawa's camera pans under the tree tops to Eiko Ishibashi's haunting score. The start of Ryusuke Hamaguchi's "Evil Does Not Exist" reminds of Bela Tarr's "Satantango" (1994), with a slow-moving, natural, extended take. Not as extreme, but it sets the tone for what comes next.

Mizubiki village is a quiet mountain town a manageable drive from Tokyo. A minor holiday destination, investors want to set-up a glamping site, which naturally meets resistance from the locals. Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), a local odd-job man is cautious, but willing to meet the proposals halfway if they take the local environment into consideration.

Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) are the employees tasked with meeting the locals and convincing them of the project. Sympathetic to their hosts, they are people doing a job they don't necessarily believe in, and so are neither one thing or the other. Seeming to connect with Takumi, they feel a solution can be reached, but the reality is they are met with contempt from both sides.

Straightaway this enraptures you and you are immediately drawn into the small village and its humble ways. The brilliance of nature is emphasised throughout, and the opening moments show this perfectly. And as Takahashi and Mayuzumi try to deliver the initial presentation, key members of the community voice the importance of the environment on their health, community, work and business.

The last of these is the only focus the glamping project has in mind, thinking of the pretty landscape, and not the impact a modern resort will have on it. As Alex Kerr emphasises in his book "Hidden Japan," once you have been somewhere, you've already ruined it. The village elder (Taijiro Tamura) puts his point across succinctly: those living upstream must think of their impact on those downstream.

Often, I've found Hamaguchi's films, while good, can feel a little awkward. Characters and their interactions can feel wooden (perhaps due to his use of novice actors) and their motivations hard to grasp. "Drive My Car" (2021) was a step-up for him, and "Evil Does Not Exist" is by far his strongest in its script. It feels tighter, with arguments better put forward, in both the initial presentation and Takahashi and Mayuzumi's drive back to the village, where they share their career decisions. It is much more natural, though Takahashi's sudden desire to change careers may be a bit much for some.

Takumi's daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa) is a key character, but perhaps from the standard use of a young girl to represent pure innocence. The true star of the film is the forest of its setting and the film's true lasting memory, working in unison with the soundtrack.

The title of the film is enigmatic, as is the atmosphere throughout. The isolation of the forest community, and their connection to nature, show an innocence. But clear in their desires, they show they will fight to keep what's theirs. Takahashi and Mayuzumi may be the face of the more sinister corporate body behind them, but also show themselves to be useless pawns, simply carrying out their job.

Is simple self-sufficiency more noble than misguidedly following orders from above for profits? The ending confuses this question, its incompleteness difficult to process. The real question is whether it is better to do bad to protect what you believe in, rather than trying to diplomatically do something you don't believe in out of expectation. Silence is complicit.

The forest is deep, and it's easy to lose yourself.

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