Tokyo Sonata

After Kiyoshi Kurosawa's film Sakebi (2006), a horror one, comes out his last film Tokyo Sonata in which funny, dramatic, passionate and frustrated attitudes seem to be each one of the characters of the four personages in this film (the husband, the mother, the youngest son and the oldest son respectively) which catches spectator interest through the life of this Japanese middle-class traditional family. With a simply story depicted in Tokyo city and structured with events which show social-economic issues of ordinary people who try to manage without the century present problems, there is no lost for watching Tokyo Sonata. Also, enjoyable the breath of Japanese culture representation.

Tokyo Sonata is a masterclass in the art of the Asian family drama-a genre deeply rooted in exploring the quiet, often suppressed, struggles of ordinary lives. Kiyoshi Kurosawa's film dissects the facade of societal normalcy through the slow disintegration of a seemingly average Japanese family. It's a story about identity, expectations, and the existential void lurking behind routines.

At its heart lies the father, a middle-aged salaryman abruptly cast adrift after losing his job. He hides his unemployment from his family, a desperate attempt to maintain the illusion of stability. But this deception sparks a domino effect, unraveling each family member's carefully constructed reality. The mother, trapped in domestic passivity, the rebellious elder son, and the younger son, secretly pursuing his passion for music-all confront the emptiness beneath their roles.

What makes Tokyo Sonata so gripping is its delicate balance of stark realism and near-surreal intensity. Kurosawa's restrained direction contrasts hauntingly with sudden bursts of chaos and rebellion. The unexpected actions of peripheral characters, such as the enigmatic burglar, feel both disruptive and symbolic-a call to break free from societal constraints.

Much like Parasite or Shoplifters, Tokyo Sonata reveals how fragile the fabric of family can be when stitched together by societal obligations rather than genuine connection. Its characters aren't heroes or villains; they're people, suffocating under expectations they neither chose nor understand. In their quiet implosions, we see reflections of our own lives-lived for others, or perhaps not lived at all.

For a foreigner like me, Japan is a mystery, both wonderful, weird and hard to understand, especially since most of my information about the country is anecdotal or (worse?) coming from mangas. I've met people having the greatest respect for Japanese customs and people who completely badmouth the country.

From this perspective, Tokyo Sonata is a bit of a gem, showing me how ordinary Japanese people live and think. There is the family, standard issue of father, mother and two children, and there are the roles: head of the family, respectful housewife, rebellious teenager and confused child. What do they do when the economic crisis and the traditional value system clash?

I thought the actors were good, the soundtrack as well (to be expected given the title), and the plot was slow but crisp. There must have been a lot of expectations on a guy directing movies when his last name is Kurosawa and not related to Akira, because the movie was overall an excellent film. However, given its two hour length and slow pace, I advice you look at it when in the mood for cinematography, not some easy entertainment. Also, it is a pretty sad drama in places, so be ready to empathize with some hard hit people.

The film tells the story of Ryūhei who is laid off at the start of the movie, due to his company's employment of cheap labour from China. Afraid to tell his wife and family, in fear that he will no longer have the authority and respect that he deserves, he pretends he still has a job and goes to work every day as usual. The film deals with the fear of losing everything one has in life. It deals with themes of dishonesty, pride, anger, fear, anxiety, rejection, suicide, rebellion, starting over, lust and in my personal view, the human need to depend on a system of laws and norms.

In its early stages, the film often tries to depict redundancy in funny moments. I loved the character of Kurosu, who tries to hang on to what he has left by looking busy and setting his mobile phone alarm to ring to show people how busy he is. It reminds me of what I did in the early stages of my redundancy and how it gave me a massive sense of wellbeing. He even invites Ryūhei to dinner, by asking him to act like a colleague at work and discussing a fake business meeting at the dinner table, while his wife and daughter are there. At this dinner, we learn that all is not what it seems and Kurosu's wife knows that something is not right. There is an uncomfortable silence in this scene, which suggests to the viewer that the good manners and politeness that the scene encompasses are only acting as a veil to prevent us from seeing what redundancy has done to this family. It is not long before the film takes a darker, more depressing turn as Kuruso and his wife, commit suicide. In reality it is very sad and true that some people will not survive job loss and will be so ashamed of their position, that they will eventually take their own lives. I think the director is very right to place emphasis on this, as many films that have been made about redundancy in the past, have failed to do so.

Based on my experiences, the film accurately portrays the emotions a person will go through after loss of a job. If I have one criticism of the film it is that it fails to addresses the issue of materialism and spiritual emptiness that many modern day white collar, office jobs encompass. There is an old saying, which I am sure many of the readers are familiar with, which says "the bigger you are the harder you fall". We are all part of a hierarchal society, a 'dog eat dog' world, where we want to go higher up as fast as we possibly can. We want to live under the veil of a middle class, bourgeoisie lifestyle, wear the best suits, have the best hairstyles, drive the best cars, eat the best food and live in the biggest houses. The cost of this though is that there is no guarantee that the profession that you have chosen, despite the fact that you have dedicated your life to it, with love you back but rather will resent you and leave you with nothing. I think that one of the main reasons why Ryūhei struggles with unemployment is his lack of spiritualism and dependence on such a hierarchical role for so long, until he has been made redundant. He is unable to find work, because his skills as a Administrative Director are no longer required. Therefore when he is made redundant, we really get to see how insecure the guy really is, not just in his work life but also his family life. He is the sole money provider in the house but is very rarely there for his wife and kids. He wants to maintain authority in the house and is afraid to lose power, whether it is to his elder son, who despite his parents requests, joins the US military or the younger son, who wants to learn how to play the piano. In most of the film, the character shows very little attention to his wife and kids and is only seen eating with them in moments of uncomfortable silence. In one moment after returning to work, he even ignores his wife's request to take her to bed, despite her being the only person who is actually holding the family together. The film takes a much darker turn near to its closing stages, with the stories of the wife, husband and younger son being looked into more deeply. We learn that they are all want to 'start over' again by somehow erasing their lives, in the wife's case (who becomes ashamed after finding out her husband is working as a janitor) wishing that her life was a dream despite originally and despite giving perception of caring angelic mother, we learn even she is capable of prejudice against her own loved ones. Without giving too much of the ending away, I will say that the family does eventually come to terms with the changes that it has gone through and things do get better over time.

I liked Tokyo Sonata, because it is one of those rare films that deals with a serious issue that very few people will truly sympathise with, unless they have experienced the situation for themselves. It is a wakeup call collar professionals and people in power, because is sheds light on how meaningless their lives are likely to be when the veil of 'normality' is lifted from their lives.

In a July 2025 article for The New York Times, Carlos Aguilar stated that director Kiyoshi Kurosawa "is to psychological fright what David Cronenberg is to body horror." Indeed, over the last 30 years, Kurosawa has become a master at weaving sinister, slow-creeping dread into the everyday- elevating the mundane into something almost imperceptibly menacing. However, he has not been constricted to the realm of the macabre. From dramatic comedies like 'Licence to Live,' to sci-fi and espionage flicks like 'Before We Vanish' and 'Wife of a Spy,' Kurosawa has shown himself to be a stylistic shapeshifter, crafting films that transcend the boundaries of genre.

This versatility finds one of its most poignant expressions in 'Tokyo Sonata', where Kurosawa turns his eye from the supernatural to the everyday disquiet of family life. It follows the Sasaki family after the father, Ryuhei, loses his job, hiding the truth from his wife, Megumi, and children, Kenji and Takashi. As each family member begins concealing their own desires and frustrations, the household's fragile harmony unravels, exposing the subtle unease beneath ordinary life. Here, the spectre is not a ghost or a curse, but the erosion of equilibrium- both economic and emotional.

It is a powerful drama, anchored by believable characters whose struggles feel both intimate and universal. Ryuhei's pride and secrecy, Megumi's quiet yearning for freedom, Kenji's defiance through music and Takashi's impulsive search for purpose, all unfold with understated precision. Kurosawa's dialogue is spare yet piercing, allowing silence and gesture to carry as much weight as words. In this restraint lies the film's strength: the ordinary rhythms of family life become charged with tension, revealing how repression and concealment corrode trust.

Beyond its domestic focus, the film examines broader themes of economic precarity, generational conflict and the fragility of identity in modern Japan. The collapse of Ryuhei's career mirrors a society grappling with instability, while Kenji's piano lessons symbolize the possibility of self-expression amid constraint. It could be said that Kurosawa is suggesting that true horror lies not in supernatural forces but in the unravelling of stability, leaving individuals isolated even within the family unit.

Kurosawa's craft amplifies these themes with quiet precision. Akiko Ashizawa's cinematography favours static, wide frames that emphasize distance and alienation within the family home, turning ordinary interiors into landscapes of unease. Koichi Takahashi's editing is restrained, with long takes allowing silence to stretch into tension, making the inevitable eruptions of conflict therein feel all the more startling.

Further, Masayuki Iwakura's sound design heightens the atmosphere by amplifying everyday noises- doors closing, footsteps, the hum of appliances and crinkling of crisp packets- while dialogue remains spare. Against this muted soundscape, a beautiful sequence of Kenji playing piano stands out as a moment of catharsis, where music becomes a fragile counterpoint to repression and collapse. Additionally, Claude Debussy's 'Clair de Lune' has rarely been used to such effect.

All in the cast deliver powerhouse performances. Teruyuki Kagawa subtly displays Ryuhei's frustration and emotional turmoil, while Kyoko Koizumi's Megumi is a heart-rending masterclass in moderation. As their son Kenji- and in his big-screen debut- Kai Inowaki delivers a remarkably nuanced performance, while supporting players Haruka Igawa, Kanji Tsuda and the great Koji Yakusho contribute brilliantly to the ensemble.

Kiyoshi Kurosawa's 'Tokyo Sonata' is a quietly devastating work. By stripping away the supernatural and focusing instead on the fractures within an ordinary household, he reveals that the most unsettling spectres are those born of everyday pressures- economic uncertainty, emotional repression and the slow erosion of trust. With its composed craft, nuanced performances and thematic resonance, the film demonstrates Kurosawa's ability to transcend genre and speak to universal human anxieties. In short, 'Tokyo Sonata' hits all the right notes.