Mizuki
and Yusuke never actually use the “g” word. It carries too much baggage. After
all, Yusuke still has physical form. He can walk around during daylight hours
and be seen by others. It just so happens that Yusuke drowned three years ago.
However, there are still rules to his current state of being, but Mizuki will
accept them as best she can, to reacquaint herself with her dead husband in Kiyoshi
Kurosawa’s Journey to the Shore (clip here), which screens
during the 53rd New York Film Festival.
Since
Yusuke’s body was never recovered, Mizuki never had the closure she needs.
However, when Yusuke suddenly appears, she sees it as an opportunity to renew
their relationship. In a situation like that, you might as well be optimistic.
Rather than fall into their old rut, Yusuke convinces her to take a road trip
with him, visiting all the good decent people with whom he spent considerable
time as he worked his way back to Tokyo from the coastal scene of his demise.
Most
of them will be living, but some are also spirits, like Shimakage, the
provincial newspaper distributor, whose persistent guilt for mistreating his
wife keeps him tethered to the terrestrial world. It is all very instructive
for Mikuzi, especially when she learns Yusuke worked as a cook in the
traditional take-out restaurant owned by the very much alive Jinnai and Fujie.
Yet, the latter is also profoundly haunted by mistakes from the past.
Unfortunately, as they travel on, Mikuzi will start to understand their extra
time together is probably not sustainable when she meets a similar couple suffering
from supernaturally and stress-induced forms of mental instability.
Journey is an achingly
delicate, profoundly humanistic film that will choke you up several times over.
It is all about forgiveness and acceptance, fully understanding there are no
easy answers in life (or death). It is doomed to be compared to Kore-eda’s Afterlife, but with good reason. Both
present an unfussy vision of the afterlife limbo, finding acutely human drama
in such a metaphysically significant situation. They are both just great films
that renew our faith in cinema without resorting to any special effects or gimmickry.
Although,
strictly speaking, she is the one being haunted, Eri Fukatsu is absolutely haunting
as Mizuki. It is a performance of quiet power and maturity, the likes of which
we rarely see. She also develops believably complex and ambiguous chemistry
with Tadanobu Asano’s Yusuke. However, her most emotionally devastating scene
probably comes opposite Nozomi Muraoka as the guilt-ridden Fujie. (It is so overwhelming
in its simplicity and honesty, it almost unbalances the narrative flow.)
