Le mal n'existe pas

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.

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.

Ryusuke Hamaguchi has made some interesting movies in his career like Drive My Car, Happy Hour, and Asako I & II. While I haven't been wowed by his works, I appreciate many aspects of his style and approach.

Throughout, this movie has some wonderful colorful productions, camerawork, sound designs and atmosphere which helped add layers of the nature landscapes and environment. The narrative provides some interesting themes of nature, conflict of interest, humans and humans vs. Nature issues and explores some interesting aspects that are strong. The performances are all pretty good as well.

However, I am a bit underwhelmed with certain aspects as I found some of the themes feeling a little uneven to work Hamaguchi is wanting to express. Especially when it comes to the characters as while I did found some of the characters interesting, I didn't feel too emotionally connected with their personalities and purpose which made it a bit difficult to fully invest at times.

The soundtrack is wonderful and the dialogue is solid. The film does suffer some pacing issues and with an ending that leaves to many interpretations which may be frustrating for some. Overall, despite it's flaws, it's mediative and nature experience made this movie pretty good.

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.

Ryûsuke Hamaguchi's Evil Does Not Exist is a very slow burn of a film, a character study disguised as an eco-drama. Nestled in the serene Mizubiki Village, a community thrives on a deep connection to nature. Their tranquility is shattered by the arrival of slick Tokyo suits proposing a glamping resort-a luxurious "escape" to nature for city dwellers. What follows is a clash of values, a meditation on the complexities of progress, and the blurry line between good and evil.

Hamaguchi doesn't hit us over the head with environmental messages. Instead, he lets the beauty of the Japanese countryside speak for itself. Lush forests and tranquil rivers become characters, a stark contrast to the sterile, neon-lit world the city reps represent. This visual poetry is amplified by the film's score, a melancholic blend of strings and woodwinds that perfectly captures the tension between tradition and modernity.

The acting is understated, mirroring the film's pacing. Hitoshi Omika, as Takumi, the gruff but conflicted villager, delivers a nuanced performance. We see his internal struggle-the fear of change wrestling with the desire to protect his way of life. The Tokyo reps, played by Ryô Nishikawa and Ryûji Kosaka, are initially portrayed as villains, all smiles and empty promises. However, as the film progresses, their own vulnerabilities peek through, reminding us that there's rarely a clear-cut bad guy in real life.

The plot of Evil Does Not Exist unfolds deliberately, sometimes feeling glacial. There are long stretches of dialogue that, while beautifully written, could test the patience of viewers expecting a more action-oriented film. The ending, too, occurs at a point where there is no resolution to the story, leaving us to scratch our heads wondering what might happen rather than being told. But there is a reason for this. By ending the movie (but not the story) in this way, Hamaguchi forces us to confront our own perspectives on the story, a tactic that might backfire for those seeking easy answers. There aren't any.

This won't be a film for everyone. Forget it if you want a fast-paced thriller. You will be disappointed. However, if you appreciate slow cinema and nuanced character studies, Evil Does Not Exist offers a rewarding experience. While the untranslated credits rolled, I just sat there, reflecting on our relationship with nature, the allure of progress, and the shades of grey that exist between good and evil. If you enjoyed contemplative films like Burning or Drive My Car (I enjoyed Evil Does Not Exist more), Evil Does Not Exist is definitely worth a watch. Just be prepared for a slow burn and an ending that will leave you pondering.