Mogari no mori

I love asian movies. But this is not the case. The photography is good, the actors are decent, but after 20 min, you realise the story is empty, very superficial. Can you visualise a good looking person with no charm? Or the picture of a nicely arranged fruit salad that actually has no taste at all? The movie lacks substance. Sometimes, in Cannes, they reward movies merely by aesthetics. This is the case. Movie has little or no soul.

The story is deceptively simple, but the psychological depth of the characters and the deep symbolism captured in the everyday scenes of rural Japan are astounding. This movie never gives you too much, never lets you take anything for granted, never lets you have a clear resolution. Some of the symbols, I admit, may not be as resonant with non-Japanese audiences, and lack the emotional weight that they'd give someone familiar with Japan. The subtle changing of the foliage from early to late summer, the association of summer with the return of spirits, the idea of "mogari" as an ancient mortuary ritual of "temporary burial" that implies a return from beyond-- all of this is set far in the background of the central story of two grieving people, who, despite so many other differences between them (old/young, caregiver/cared for) can find some sort of healing connection with each other. Perhaps this is why some think it is boring. They're following the movement of individual characters rather than the whole movement of the story. The story moves from the close-shot, narrow confines of life in the old folks home, to the field (cultivated nature) in the chasing scene, to the forest (wild nature). Along the way, the psychological strain of grief becomes gradually more wild, more natural, and more capable of finding meaning, however incomprehensible. Watching "mogari" requires an eye for these subtle changes, which the actors portray compellingly, (almost as if it was a documentary), as well as a deep willingness to empathize with the characters. If you can do this, the movie will take you on an emotional roller-coaster throughout. Perhaps that's just part of the nature of grief.

I found The Mourning Forest a poetic and hauntingly beautiful meditation on death, old age, sadness and letting go. I haven't actively sought films that fit into the 'contemplative cinema' category at MIFF, but this is one of several I've seen so far.

The film is effectively a two-hander: Shigeki, an elderly and energetic resident of a retirement home, and Machiko, a young and inexperienced caregiver. The film focuses on their interactions and what happens when Machiko takes Shigeki for a drive on his birthday. While other characters assume fleeting roles, there is a recurring theme of death and mourning, a point that is reinforced by both the title and on-screen comments at film's end. While this may sound morbid, it is anything but.

The cinematography is stunning, capturing the beauty of wind-swept fields, overhead shots of finely-trimmed symmetrical arrays of hedges, and mountain forest scenery. There are long takes where nothing of much significance seems to transpire and yet the film remains completely engaging. The human drama is depicted as inexplicably linked to nature, a poetic theme that Japanese cinema sometimes conveys so effectively.

One slight negative: there was a little bit of unnecessary camera shake that distracted slightly. I saw The Mourning Forest when it screened at the Melbourne International Film Festival.

Machiko is a caregiver at a nursing home, Shigeki is one of the residents. Machiko is grieving the (apparently recent, though it's unclear) death of her young son, while Shigeki still mourns the loss of his wife, 33 years earlier. Their relationship to each other and to their grief during an excursion when they get lost in the woods. Their bond is complicated by Shigeki's dementia, whose often childlike behavior surely resonates with Machiko. It's an interesting, contemplative and spiritual exploration of grief with some lovely moments. Without spoiling anything, a charming early scene of Shigeki at the piano takes on a heartbreaking twist. Later, as Machiko desperately tries to control his reckless quest through the forest, we get hints of how she lost her child and the unresolved feelings she has.

Although there are gorgeous scenes (the two playing amidst rows of geometrically carved hedges, for example) the hand-held cinematography isn't doing the film any favors. It may have been more appropriate in the latter half, as their journey takes them deeper into the wild. But the shaky camera-work throughout the entire movie adds nothing. Maybe it just comes naturally to Naomi Kawase, whose work is primarily in documentaries (although she's no stranger to drama).

I don't know if this is an accurate representation of a Japanese senior facility, or an idealized one. I know that respect for elders is more ingrained in their culture. The home certainly appears to be a great deal more comfortable, dignified and serene than what we have. Perhaps it's a very expensive one, though we get no hints that Shigeki is particularly wealthy.

I thought it could have explored its themes a bit deeper, and there are the aforementioned camera issues, but overall I liked the film a great deal. It ends on a strikingly beautiful note. I'd like to see more by Kawase.

Second only to The Limits of Control (or as I like to call it, The Limits of My Patience), this is the most excruciatingly boring and constipated film I've ever seen. Had it not been for the fact I had to watch this for a Japanese Film Club, I would have given up after the first 15 minutes. I regret not giving up, and am considering not going to Japanese Film Club next week to save wasting another 60 minutes of my life energy on it.