All the Long Nights

Misa and Takatoshi are unlikely protagonists who seem to have nothing in common. Yet through the journey of sharing their inner struggles and helping each other with them, an unnamed bond -- somewhere between love and friendship -- forms. Considering the topic, this could have been a "heavy" film, but I left the screening with a sense of hope and love. As an aside, this is one of the only films I know of that centers PMS in its storytelling, and what a beautiful way to do it!

For me, the only shortcoming is that I'd have liked to learn more about the supporting characters. We see glimpses that make the narrative richer, but leave me wanting more.

Despite taking on some difficult subjects, Sho Miyake always meets them with a slow, steady approach (see what I did there?!), offering silence rather than sensationalism; and objectivity rather than sentimentality. "All the Long Nights" takes on a lot of different subjects, each handled in a measured way, showing the need for a slow and measured approach to each other in an ever changing world.

Fujisawa (Mone Kamishiraishi) and Yamazoe (Hokuto Matsumura) have both seen their struggles with anxiety lose them their upwardly mobile jobs, and now find themselves side-by-side at a company providing science kits for children. It is a more mundane job, but an environment where their difficulties are increasingly met with sympathy, rather than a meeting with HR.

Discovering they take the same medication, the pair gradually develop a platonic bond, helping each other out and working on a project together. Despite an increasing comfort, however, situations change, and the friendship has allowed each to have the confidence to find their way on their own.

Based on Maiko Seo's novel, this shows both a serious and humorous side to their conditions. Fujisawa jokes how Yamazoe appears to rank her severe PMS as something less than his panic attacks, dismissing them as 'women's problems.' But we also see how their conditions can see them snap at friends, if taking up their invites at all, and have randoms outbreaks in the workplace, where all employees become involved.

But much as their boss Kurita (Ken Mitsuishi) has taken them in, Yamazoe takes the time to understand Fujisawa's condition and works to support her through it. Rather than dwell on it, he tries to distract, making it a moot point.

And Miyake makes it as everyday as possible. Theirs is not a blossoming romance, but two colleagues supporting each other. Nothing more, nothing less. His previous work with Hi'spec on soundtrack stood out, but here he has aimed for a more sedate, almost silent use of music. There are no tonal shifts, with scenes as they are, with no grander meaning. The ending is not a major revelation, other than tomorrow is another day in a world where changes happen.

Anxiety aside, there are other subjects tackled. Yamazoe finds himself at the educational company due to his former boss Tsujimoto (Kiyohiko Shibukawa) meeting Kurita at a suicide survivors' support group, adding an element of sympathy from his previous life, despite his need to withdraw. In fact, both Fujisawa and Yamazoe find themselves more suited to their new roles than the fast-paced demands of their old jobs. Here, there is a need to find a role that suits you, rather than the job having to fit you in. It can be necessary to take a step back and evaluate your options. We may expect workplaces to meet the needs of all, but in reality, they never will.

Fujisawa also moves back to her hometown to look after her now disabled mother (Ryo). After years of relying on her support, she is now in a position where she feels she can repay her mother's years of patience, as the young increasingly have to support the ageing.

Miyake is leaving us with a message that life should support you, not you working to fit in. Despite the societal view that you should hide problems and create a public persona, if you just live your life and let people in, you'll generally find people are pretty decent and warm, and you should never be blind to what makes you you. What are all those long days at work really for?

These are questions increasingly being asked the world over, but particularly in Japan, where workplace stresses are under increasing scrutiny to modernise. Some may enjoy those pressures, and good for them. But some of us just want to look up at the night sky and be allowed to take it all in...at a reduced salary.

Politic1983.home.blog.

All the Long Nights is a quiet, patient film that understands something many louder stories miss: the night is not merely the absence of light-it is a necessary condition for seeing clearly. Where most films chase illumination through constant motion, dialogue, or emotional catharsis, this one retreats into stillness, allowing meaning to surface slowly, like stars emerging once the glare has faded.

The film treats darkness not as danger, but as refuge. Its characters move through long nights shaped by inner turbulence-anxieties, emotional cycles, and unspoken pain that daylight routines often suppress rather than heal. In the brightness of daily life, they function, perform, and endure. But it is at night, when expectations loosen and noise recedes, that their truest selves become visible. This aligns perfectly with the idea that light can illuminate, but it can also blind. The constant demand to be "okay" in the daylight world narrows perception, trapping people within what is immediate and socially acceptable.

What All the Long Nights does beautifully is resist the urge to "fix" its characters through dramatic breakthroughs. Instead, it suggests that understanding comes from balance, not domination-between light and dark, stability and vulnerability, isolation and connection. The night allows distance: distance from urgency, from judgment, from the myth that clarity must arrive quickly. In that distance, reality expands. Pain is no longer an emergency to be erased, but a landscape to be navigated.

Visually and emotionally, the film is restrained. This restraint is its strength. It mirrors how real healing often works-not through blinding revelations, but through gradual adjustments in how we see ourselves and others. The quiet moments do not feel empty; they feel honest. They acknowledge that some struggles do not announce themselves loudly and that endurance itself can be a form of courage.

Ultimately, All the Long Nights argues that true enlightenment does not come from endless brightness or forced optimism. It comes from learning when to step out of the light, when to rest in the dark, and when to let both coexist. In recognizing the night as vital rather than shameful, the film opens a wider vision of reality-one where human fragility is not a flaw, but a shared condition under the same vast sky.

This is not a film that dazzles. It is a film that stays with you-like the night itself-quietly expanding your sense of how large, complex, and gentle the world can be once you stop fearing the dark.