Andando

Oh, my heart. This is a quietly devastating film about family dysfunction. The elderly parents in the story are deeply sympathetic and yet also deeply flawed, caring more for their dead son than their living son or daughter, both of whom bring their families over for a mini-reunion of sorts. We gradually see the cracks in the various relationships, and that events of the distant past are still top of mind for all of them, leading to a family gathering that's civil but not joyous, all of which I could relate to. Kore-eda tells this poignant story masterfully, with restraint and simplicity, and the cast is strong from top to bottom (Kirin Kiki as the mom, and Hiroshi Abe as the son in particular).

Part of what makes the movie so good is that the characters feel so authentic, and nothing is black and white. The mother is sweet and hospitable but has a lot of negative things to say, displaying some of the rougher points of her character when she talks about putting the guy her son saved through the annual torture of visiting them, or when she says she doesn't want to be cramped by her daughter or her noisy grandkids living with her. The father, meanwhile, is gruff and emotionally distant to say the least. And yet, they also have their own stories - she sings along fondly to a song playing that reminds her of a time when life was still so full of hope, but she tells her husband she first heard it when she discovered his past infidelity, dropping quite a bomb on him when he's in the tub. The couple are still together but they bicker, and we see various uncaring behavior such as him not recognizing her housework as ever having "worked" (ha!), not helping her across the street, or her only finding out he goes off to karaoke by reading Christmas cards sent to him.

Maybe the film is just showing that this is what was "normal" for families in that generation (the word "normal" is used a few times), but also what the consequences of that are. The parents both express disappointment in so many ways, rather than embracing the people their kids turned out to be (and in turn, their spouses and kids as well). It's so sad, and so cautionary. Like the song says, the love you take is equal to the love you make - instead of the reunion making the kids want to come more often, it has the opposite effect. Sometimes someone has to take the first step or make an effort, beyond saying it will happen "one of these days," as the son puts it. Maybe that's how many grown-up kids and families are, I don't know. I felt my heart in Kore-eda's hands throughout the whole film, but rather than squeezing it mercilessly he just made it ache, and in the gentlest way possible, part of his talent.

This film by writer/director Koreeda is a triumph of simplicity. Telling the story of a family who meet annually to mark the death of oldest son Junpei at the parent's house, you're struck by how well this flows. The acting is uniformly very good and the story never lags. The best thing I found about this film is how it could have been done without a script, if the actors were given this scenario. There is bitterness, pettiness and even selfishness here, all earmarks of the subject matter. I found the stylistic similarities to Ozu films to be very touching and not a bit off putting. When I watched this film in a theater in New York, people applauded at the end. This is about as real life as it gets. Its a universal theme, not a Japanese one. My hat is off to the writer/director, its a fine film.

I very much enjoyed Nobody Knows (Dare Mo Shiranai) and After Life (Wonderful Life) immensely and found another good and engaging movie with Still Walking. Kore Eda seems to be in a small group of directors who use minimal music and other traditional movie elements in order to convey the story to the viewer. Just as talking in a low voice will elicit the heightened command of a listener, so too does Kore Eda use subtle dialogue and action to focus the viewers attention to what's going on.

I can totally relate to the family in Still Walking because they come across as anyone's family. Literally. I felt as though I could have been watching my own family and not some Japanese family to whom I could not relate. All the elements are there from the big-city adult children coming to visit their small-town parents with their children en tow. The interplay between the fast pace of urban life and slow pace of rural life meet somewhere in the middle. Throughout, I felt as I usually do in a Kore Eda movie: a silent and invisible observer.

The premise of the movie is that the family gathers together once a year on the anniversary of the death of the eldest son who we learn had drowned saving the life of another person who himself was attempting to commit suicide by drowning in the sea. As you may know, in Japanese society, if you save the life of someone who wishes to commit suicide, you effectively are responsible for their life going forward. In this case, the person doing the saving, the eldest son, had died in the process. So we see the person who he saved return year after year to be reminded in an indebted but somewhat cruel manner that he is alive and that he will be, for the rest of the parent's of deceased lives, be required to suffer the (cultural) humility of "being alive" while their son is dead.

We also see the typical social dilemma of what to do as ones aging parents and additional interplay between the surviving son and his new, but widowed, wife and her child. We've seen the transaction a million times in other movies: mother in law has her comments and opinions, wife complains to the husband about her and her son's treatment, son has to either stand up to the parents or find some middle ground.

All in all, it's well played out and I was very pleased by this film. It's an amalgam of growth, change, sacrifice, forgiveness, and the road we all have to travel as we get older or if we have children ourselves. Oddly though, the film's title doesn't make sense until near the end of the movie.

"Still Walking" aka "Aruitemo Aruitemo" Yet another superb delivery from Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda who gave us "Nobody Knows" in 2004. It's like we're eavesdropping on a private family reunion event. Central to the story is from the viewpoint of the second son, Ryota at age 40, going home to his parents' house via public transport with his new wife, a widow, and her 10 year old son from previous marriage. Yes, he doesn't own a car like his sister and brother in law. He's actually wary about hiding the fact that he doesn't have a substantial job and asks his wife not to breathe a word at the family occasion. His parents will be disappointed, especially his father who has counted on the second son to take on the family medical clinic business and be a doctor rather than any other trade - since the eldest died 15 years ago. Ryota has 'imprisoned' himself by these expectations which he is unable to, and frankly does not want to, fulfill. Underneath the pleasant bantering with his mother, we can tell he is struggling to find himself, make peace with himself and go on with his life.

Writer-director-editor Koreeda's passion provided us a close look (ever so casually, unhurried at its own pace so we get to be familiarized with each member of the family) on how a Japanese family might function on such a reunion gathering. We are put at ease watching mother and daughter preparing food in the kitchen, the whole family huddled around the meal table, the spontaneous exchanges. By and by, subtle clues are displayed and we may see the other side to each person's personality and hidden desires. Then there are pause moments to relish some family coziness or mother-son cordial exchanges. The storyline is far from 'flat' at its leisurely pace: "familiarity breeds contempt" or "absence makes the heart grows fonder" - either could be true. As the evening goes on, more aspects surface - be it mother, father, son, daughter in law, or grandson - we share their sentiments, satisfied or empathized.

"Still Walking" is a rich film. We are fortunate to experience it with so many levels rendered to us. I appreciate the reverence paid to the traditional family ritual of honoring the dead. Yes, a chance for a family outing, seeing Ryota and his 'new' family - wife and stepson - together is encouraging. The 'yellow butterflies' folklore is heartening.

The film also brings to mind quotes from Louise L. Hay's book, "Heart Thoughts - A Treasury of Inner Wisdom" on forgiveness (page 90): "We do not have to know how to forgive. All we have to do is be willing to forgive. The Universe will take care of the how." And on happiness (page 94): "Happiness is feeling good about yourself."

The theme music by Gonchichi is just right for the mood and state of inner peace - its guitar playing chords and melodic strains is quietly serene. What a soothing melody, giving the film a resigned, calming, happy with himself again leisurely tempo - simply apt to the story of "Still Walking." Visit the official site 'www.aruitemo.com' and you can listen to the music and check out 'Director's Statement' with Koreeda talking about his film.

Koreeda's Aruite Mo Aruite Mo is a consideration of family that is part homage, part vivisection. The comparisons to Ozu that have been made are fitting, the film a return to the Golden Age of Japanese film-making when a distinctly Japanese setting was employed to convey universal themes. The domestic setting, limited time-frame, and even knee-high camera placement all deliberately connote Ozu, but not so much to bow before him, as to re-invent him, to update or even evolve the form. Koreeda seems to have set out less to pay his respects to Ozu, as to surpass him.

Ryota brings his new wife and stepson home to to meet his family on the anniversary of his older brother Junpei's passing. The cycle of pettiness, accusation, pouting and recrimination soon kicks in, familiar theatre of family that will have people recalling Thanksgiving get-togethers, Hogmanany parties, Christmas fall-outs... The joy is in the details of Koreeda's observations, and the forceful animation of them by the cast. From the opening conversation between mother and daughter, playful banter on lessons never learned, wisdom refused, the tone of interdependence with tense undercurrents is set.

YOU as Chinami is more straightforward than her mis-maternal role in Nobody Knows, angling to move in with her parents by talking to her mother as a type, rather than as a person. Kirin Kiki is best known these days here in Japan for her comic outing in the Fuji film commercials. She excels there and here, sweet and doddering at one point, and yet scary, almost vicious at others, as when she reveals the depth of her loathing for Yoshio, the boy-now-man whom her son Junpei died saving from drowning. Her cool gaze upon her grandchildren is evidence of Koreeda's consummate ease in avoiding sentimentality. Hiroshi Abe holds up his end more than competently as the brooding Ryota. Recently 're-structured', he finds his conflicting roles as failed breadwinner, failed heir, struggling stepfather and less-favoured son all brought to salience in this one event. He is too proud to admit his jobless status, but not man enough to help his wife carry the bags. He reacts just as his father reacts to the shock of retirement, or his mother reacts to facing life's disappointments - by lashing out. He is a grown man in gaudy cheap pajamas bought by his mum. He competes with not one ghost, but two - his brother, and his wife's first husband. Who can shine in comparison with martyrs?

Families can be joyous and awful, and Koreeda captures that to a tee. The film seems to go on a beat too long, past a line on the bus that seems the natural ending, but then the final narration (reminiscent of Twilight Samurai) and graveside scene pull it all together poignantly. Granddad thinks they will be back at New Year - they won't. Chinami thinks her mother wants them to move in - she doesn't. Yoshio thinks he is welcome every year - he isn't. Families are destined to misunderstand each other. And yet the honouring of Junpei, the father cracking water-melons with his children, Granddad reaching out to his step-grandson - the succour of family is also portrayed here.

No one does bitter-sweet and elegiac quite like Koreeda, and in Aruite Mo Aruite Mo he achieves the quintessential mix that he was arguably striving for in After Life and Maboroshi. This is a film both comforting and challenging, that may just turn out to be Koreeda's masterpiece.