Kore-eda’s Broker

If you peruse the list of past Cannes Ecumenical Jury Award winners, some of them might look a little forced. The truth is it can be tough to find films that express the experiences and concerns of the Christian communities of faith in major film fests, but Japanes auteur Hirokazu Kore-eda’s latest film was a fitting selection. It might just be the most pro-life film ever—especially since it was not conceived with the American Evangelical market in mind. More importantly, it is a profoundly moving film that also won the Cannes best actor award for Parasite’s Song Kang-ho. For his character, every unwanted baby has value, especially those he can facilitate black market adoptions for in Kore-eda’s Broker, which opens tomorrow in New York.

After helming his first film in France with The Truth, Kore-eda shifts to the current cultural capitol of the world, South Korea, for a tale inspired by the controversial baby boxes, designed to safely accept unwanted babies, no questions asked. The vast majority of such babies are placed in adopted home. However, when the mother leaves a note promising to return, they are sent to an orphanage instead—as sort of an escrow arrangement. The thing is the mothers almost never really return, consigning their abandoned foundlings to orphan-limbo. “For the sake of the babies,” part-time church employee Dong-soo erases the records of those babies deposited with maternal notes, so baby-broker Ha Sang-hyeon can facilitate a black-market adoption—for a fee of course.

Moon So-young is the exception. The morning after leaving her baby, she returns to reclaim him. Fortunately, He and Ha manage to intercept her. In his regular life, Ha is a workaday hand launderer, but he is sufficiently persuasive to talk Moon out of making trouble. In fact, he convinces her to help screen prospective parents for her baby. However, on the first stop of their road trip, they pay a visit to the orphanage that raised Dong-soo.

As a result, Moon starts to understand his ill-concealed resentment towards her. They also pick up a young stowaway, Hae-jin, who secretly joins their journey out of a need for belonging. It is actually a caravan if you include the two women are hot on their trail. Soo-jin and her junior colleague are detectives hoping to catch Ha and Dong-soo in the act.

Broker exemplifies the humanism and forgiveness found in all of Kore-eda’s very best films. The emotional pay-off lands brutally hard, but it never indulges in cheap sentimentality. Kore-eda does not serve up a conventionally “happy ending,” but he still takes viewers to a very uplifting place. This is one of Kore-eda’s best films to date, ranking alongside the classic After Life. It is a shame it is not getting the critical acclaim it warrants, probably because of its pro-life implications.

Rest assured, Kore-eda’s screenplay is never didactic, but over and over, his characters argue every baby deserves a chance. Honestly, if the Evangelical community does not embrace Broker, then go ahead and call them dumb philistines.

Kore-eda’s The Truth

Fabienne Dangeville was no Joan Crawford, but she wasn’t the paragon of maternal virtue her new memoir makes her out to be. Instead, she has always been more interested in career than anything else. That is how her daughter Lumir remembers their family history, but her memory is also subjective. No matter whose recollections are more accurate, family is still family in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s The Truth, the first French-language production from the Japanese auteur, which opens today in very select cities and also releases on VOD.

Lumir has returned to Paris with her TV actor husband Hank and their daughter Charlotte, to celebrate the publication of her mother’s book, but Dangeville’s reluctance to send her an advance copy has aroused her suspicions. Meanwhile, the great actress struggles to relate to her latest film role, playing the aged daughter of a terminally-ill woman, who has used the relativity of interstellar space travel to stretch her time, but as a result, she has been almost entirely from her husband and daughter’s lives. Frankly, she only accepted the part to work with Manon Lenoir, the daughter of a former friend and colleague, whom she may have done wrong, at least according to Lumir.

If that premise sounds familiar, it is because associate producer Ken Liu’s story “Memories of My Mother” was previously adapted as the short film Beautiful Dreamer before becoming the source of Kore-eda’s film-within-the-film. It is quite a unique distinction for Liu among his fellow sf writers, but it is easy to see how the themes of his story overlap with those of Kore-eda’s family drama (and his entire oeuvre).

Of course, patrons of French cinema will be much more interested in the first-time pairing of Catherine Deneuve and Juliette Binoche as the mother-daughter tandem. They will not be disappointed. Admittedly, Deneuve is playing with her own image to some extent, but her grand diva act is certainly entertaining to behold. She also has some terrific scenes with young Clementine Grenier, as her granddaughter. However, Binoche is totally believable as the down-to-earth Lumir, who nurtures her resentments without wallowing in them. She plays Lumir as a functional adult rather than an over-the-top cliché. (Thank heavens, Meryl Streep is not in this film.)

Kore-eda’s Shoplifters

In many ways, Hirokazu Kore-eda’s latest feature has been a gift to the Japanese film industry. Yes, it won the Palme D’Or at Cannes, but on a more sentimental level, it provided an opportunity to mourn for the late, great Kirin Kiki, who passed away three months after the film’s Japanese release. Admittedly, her character eventually receives a rather unconventional funeral, but she has a rather unconventional family in Kore-eda’s Shoplifters (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Technically, Osamu Shibata is the head of the household, but he is uncomfortable with the authority such a term would imply. On the other hand, he would very much like his “son” Shota to call him “dad,” but the pre-teen is not ready for that yet. Viewers quickly deduce Shota is a runaway who has been adopted by this unruly but protective family of small-time grifters. Osamu’s only proper legal tie could very well be to his wife Nobuyo, but they also live with their twentysomething “daughter,” Aki, and the clan’s matriarch, Hatsue, who is their primary source of economic support, from her fraudulent claims to her long-dead husband’s pension and periodic guilt money extracted from the son born to his second wife. Shoplifting is also an important supplement for them.

The Shibatas are petty crooks, but they are also working poor. Both Osamu and Nobuyo toil long hours at menial jobs. Yet, they are still a fun and loving family unit. Frankly, when Yuri, an abused and neglected six-year-old is also adopted into the family, it is the best thing that could happen to her. Her thuggish parents are also happy to be rid of her, until they suddenly find themselves accused of her presumed murder.

Kiki is terrific and Lily Franky was truly born to play a sad hound dog like Osamu, but it is the heartrending and utterly unaffected portrayal of young Miyu Sasaki as Yuri (renamed Rin) who will leave you emotionally ruined. Through her eyes, Kore-eda definitely asks what exactly it means to be a family—and clearly suggests society’s more legalistic definition is sorely inadequate. Shoplifters is also a prime example of his ability to elicit subtle yet revealing performances from his cast. Sakura Ando (probably still best known for 100 Yen Love), whose work as tough-talking, warm-hearted Nobuyo sneaks up on viewers and then really lowers the boom.

Kore-eda has maintained the preeminence of heartfelt Japanese family dramas, very much in the tradition of Yasujiro Ozu. This time around, he makes a conscious decision to incorporate more social commentary, with respects to issues of poverty and the somewhat disproportionate approbation the crimes of the Shibata family-gang faces versus that of Yuri’s mother. It is clear what Cannes and subsequent critics have responded to, but Kore-eda is such a consistently sensitive and accomplished artist, it seems almost unfair that this film should be anointed for rather arbitrary, non-cinematic reasons, especially since his previous three films, The Third Murder, After the Storm, and Our Little Sister were less reminiscent of his prior work and personally resonated for us considerably more. However, you can only have these debates over a filmmaker with filmography of such uniform quality.

There is probably no other filmmaker of Kore-eda’s stature who is so reliable. Shoplifters is “another excellent film” and a lovely coda to Kiki’s illustrious career. Shrewdly logically, Japan has selected it as their foreign language Oscar submission and it deserves to be considered a serious contender. Highly recommended, Shoplifters opens this Friday (11/23) in New York, at the IFC Center.

NYAFF ’18: The Third Murder

This will be an awkward case for hotshot attorney Tomoaki Shigemori. It will remind him guilt and culpability are not necessarily the same thing. The case against Takashi Misumi also illustrates the systemic advantages enjoyed by Japanese prosecutors. Yet, most vividly, the pitched court battle demonstrates how elusive the truth can be, as a tangible, knowable thing. Shigemori will try his best to uncover the truth while obeying his clients instructions—ironically, two objectives that never really concerned him much before—in Hirokazu Koreeda’s The Third Murder (trailer here), which screens during the 2018 New York Asian Film Festival.

Misumi confessed and his lawyers never laid the groundwork to question his culpability. By the time Shigemori is called in, the best he can hope to do is challenge the charge of felony homicide, by separating the alleged murder and robbery of Misumi’s former factory boss into two discrete acts. The way Misumi keeps changing his story makes his task even more difficult. Nevertheless, as Shigemori digs in, he starts to question many of his assumptions.

Frankly, a fact-finding trip to Misumi’s frosty Hokkaido hometown only raises more questions and uncertainty, starting with his previous two murder convictions. During his previous trial, Misumi never denied killing two loan sharks who were preying on the town’s dispossessed blue-collar workers. Shigemori starts to see a pattern emerging when the sins of his latest “victim” become apparent, but his client refuses to give him the confirmation he so earnestly desires.

In the hands of a lesser filmmaker, Third Murder could have been a ridiculously overwrought and symbolically overblown film, but Koreeda exercises rigorous restraint. He only hints obliquely at possible religious and spiritual interpretations, which makes them exponentially more tantalizing. Every step of the way, he focuses on the mundane and absurd bureaucratic rituals of the Japanese legal system, which keeps the film firmly grounded in reality. Yet, there is always a sense of some greater truth just beyond our reach.

Third Murder also proves Koji Yakusho is one of the absolute best in the business. He makes Misumi acutely human but also profoundly inscrutable. He might be a cypher, but he still expresses remorse and compassion, in ways that will hit viewers hard. Suzu Hirose is even more poignant and affecting as Sakie Yamanaka, the dead man’s daughter, who clearly feels a greater emotional connection to Misumi. Masaharu Fukuyama is also terrific subtly portraying Shigemori and the slow re-awakening of his integrity and idealism. He and Yakusho are riveting whenever they face-off together, even though they both usually tack an understated, slow-burning course.

This is the kind of film that will reward periodic revisiting over the course of decades. It chronicles injustice, but it is a deeply, deeply moral film. Thematically, it is a dramatic departure for Koreeda, but it still examines relationships between parents and children through an undeniably humanistic lens. Yet, if you strip away the Christian imagery and potential allegorical readings, you will still have a compelling legal procedural. Very highly recommended, The Third Murder screens Saturday afternoon (6/30) at the Walter Reade, as part of this year’s NYAFF.

Kore-eda’s After the Storm

Given the more rigid social norms, it must be especially difficult coming to terms with personal and professional failure in conservative Japan, but at least Ryota Shinoda has a lot of experience with it. He has not written a word since the publication of his award-winning debut novel fifteen years ago and is now in danger of losing all contact with his son due to his inability to make child support payments. His angst and regret are real, but he just keeps making things worse in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s After the Storm (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Supposedly, Shinoda started working at Koichiro Yamabe’s sleazy divorce detective agency to conduct research, but he has been there so long, it has become what he does—poorly. At least, he is competent enough to use his skills and connections to keep tabs on his ex-wife Kyoko Shiraishi. He is not happy to discover she has been dating a responsible white collar professional, who has taken on some of the fatherly duties Shinoda has been unable to fulfill (notably the purchase of a baseball glove).

Even though Shiraishi still might have a kernel of feeling left for Shinoda, she can see him for what he is. Believing his unreliable nature is not healthy for their son Shingo, she is on the brink of completely severing his limited access. However, his eternally indulgent mother will convince her former daughter-in-law to spend the night at her flat with Shinoda and Shingo, while a fierce typhoon blows by, in hopes that the closeness will bring them back together. It probably won’t work, but it will definitely be one of those quietly significant nights.

Indeed, quiet significance is Kore-eda’s specialty. Even though Shinoda’s self-defeating behavior often induces cringes, Kore-eda’s forgiving humanism is still reflected in every frame of Storm. We feel sorry for him (and his family), even when appalled by his actions. Kore-eda regular Hiroshi Abe always manages to maintain our sympathy even when scraping rock bottom. He is indeed perfectly cast for the man-childish Shinoda, like a Japanese Warren Beatty—tall, square-jawed, and confused looking, as if life has supplied him a steady stream of envelops that say: “best actress, Emma Stone.”

As Shingo, Taiyo Yoshizawa follows in a long line of excellent young thesps in Kore-eda films. Kirin Kiki (another Kore-eda repertory player, who was so memorable in Sweet Bean) anchors the film with grace and gravitas. Sosuke Ikematsu adds some edge and verve as Shinoda’s equally shady yet scrupulously loyal partner Kento Machida, but Lily Franky is largely wasted as their boss, Yamabe. However, Yoko Maki’s Shiraishi really puts the exclamation point on the film, with a performance of such mature restraint, it just sneaks up on you and then lays you flat.

Kore-eda is one of the most assured filmmakers working today. Storm might not be quite as exquisitely beautiful as Our Little Sister, but it is another unobtrusive minor miracle of a film that will leave you profoundly sad and deeply satisfied. Very highly recommended, After the Storm opens this Friday (3/17) in New York, at the Lincoln Plaza uptown and the IFC Center downtown.

Kore-eda’s Our Little Sister

Only Japanese cinema could produce such an effortlessly uplifting film about a fractured family. The three Koda sisters have long been estranged from their prodigal father, but when they attend his funeral, they discover their fifteen-year-old stepsister is a keeper. The same is true of her film. Hirokazu Kore-eda brings his characteristic grace and sensitivity to the adaptation of Akimi Yoshida’s slice-of-life manga, Our Little Sister (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Sachi Koda is the responsible one. She pays the bills as an RN and serves as a maternal stand-in for her two (then three) sisters. Yoshino is a binge-drinker, but somehow she slacks by working in various financial services jobs. Chika Koda is the kooky one, but at least she and her retired mountain-climber boyfriend have steady jobs at a sporting goods store. Not so surprisingly, Suzu Asano really doesn’t have her thing yet. For the last several years, she has tended to their ailing father. When the sisters attend his funeral (including Sachi, a late game-time arrival), they are quickly charmed by the shy young girl. Deducing her problematic relationship with her home-wrecking mother, they invite her to stay with them in Kamakura.

You could say very little happens from here on out, except that the four sisters proceed to live their lives. The three Koda sisters have absolutely no trouble accepting Asano as one of their own, but she will finally have to start asserting her place in the world. Sachi Koda is supposed to be the smart one, but she is conducting an affair with a married doctor due to transfer to America for advanced specialty training. Presumably, she will have to make a choice between him and an offer to head-up the new geriatric-hospice ward. It would be a big promotion, but an awfully depressing one. Yet, she seems to have the compassionate skillset for that kind of work.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Yoshino Koda might kind-of sort-of be getting it together as the assistant to a bankruptcy advisor. Unfortunately, Sachiko Ninomiya, the beloved proprietress of the Kodas’ favorite diner, might need his services when she is diagnosed with aggressively terminal cancer. Of course, Chika Koda continues to drift along. Occasionally, the Kodas’ even more estranged mother turns up, but Sachi does her best to vibe her away. He just wants to provide a stable environment for Asano, but it would probably help if she worked on a few of her own issues.

OLS is definitely a quiet film that might even be uncharitably described as meandering, but what exactly would you like to see befall these charming sisters? A zombie apocalypse, perhaps? The pleasures of Kore-eda’s film comes in meeting these characters—and they are considerable. As Asano, Suzu Hirose is deeply endearing, but her performance in grounded in exquisite sadness. She is terrific, but the luminous Haruka Ayase might even shine brighter as profoundly complicated and humane Sachi. Masami Nagasawa and Kaho add plenty of zest and attitude as the younger Koda sisters, while Jun Fubuki and Lily Franky quietly lower the emotional boom as Ninomiya and her loyal partner.

Our Little Sister is just a lovely film, in every way. Cinematographer Mikiya Takimoto captures the beauty of Kamakura’s changing seasons, nicely complimenting Kore-eda’s graceful touch. This is not the sort of film that will ever hit viewers over the head, but there are moments of understated significance that will warmly resonate with receptive audiences. It is a subtly terrific film from a master filmmaker. Very highly recommended, Our Little Sister opens this Friday (7/8) in New York, at the Angelika Film Center downtown and the Lincoln Plaza uptown.

Tribute to Donald Richie: After Life

Eventual all film critics will go to the great screening room in the sky. According to Hirokazu Kore-eda, there really will be screenings for those who have shuffled off their mortal coils. Whether or not it takes place among fluffy clouds hardly matters. It is really about the process of taking stock of the lives the recently deceased led and choosing the best part to hold onto for the rest of whatever.  Fittingly, Kore-eda’s modern classic After Life (trailer here) screens on the one year anniversary of Donald Richie’s death, as part of the Japan Society’s tribute to the highly influential film scholar, who indeed championed Kore-eda at a crucial point of his career.

When you die during earthly winter, you will find it is still winter when you arrive at After Life’s processing center, which is a shame, because the cherry blossoms are lovely there during the spring. Regardless, recently departed souls will only spend one week there.  Counselors Takashi Mochizuki and Satoru Kawashima will help them chose the one memory they wish to retain and oversee its production on film. At the end of the week, everyone will gather for the screening of their group’s memories and then continue on their cosmic ways with their sole designated memory preserved.

At least that is how it is supposed to work. Some souls cannot or will not choose.  They are known as difficult cases.  Several are on the docket this week. However, Mochizuki and his trainee Shiori Satonaka cannot judge them too harshly.  They too were unable to chose, which is how they came to be employed at the celestial halfway house. Presumably their earthly lives were somewhat disappointing, but Kore-eda will only reveal so much—that is until a chance connection sneaks up on everyone.

The spiritual element of After Life might sound out of place in Kore-eda’s work, considering his reputation for gently mining the terrain of family dysfunction and drama, in the tradition of Ozu. Yet, his subsequent films, like Still Walking and I Wish are very much about observing those small but tellingly significant moments the souls in After Life struggle to remember. In a sense, it is like a summation film that came early in his career.

Of course, there are no floating clouds in After Life (well, actually there are, but they are merely special effects for one of the memory films. Kore-eda deliberately keeps everything low-fi and low key to emphasize the basic humanity of the characters and the memories that mattered to them. For added realism, many of the sessions involve real people relating their own memories.  They are often quite moving, especially those of an elderly lady, who still fondly remembers dancing for her doting brother as young girl. Yet, perhaps the most powerful element of the film is the sad and touching way the pseudo-romantic relationship between Mochizuki and Satonaka never comes together.

In his first big screen role, Arata (Iura) is quite impressive slowly establishing Mochizuki’s angst and regrets. It is a role that gets progressively trickier with each reveal. Likewise, Erika Oda is extraordinarily moving as Satonaka. The way their performances evolve and deepen is also a tribute to Kore-eda’s firm but nearly invisible directorial hand. Indeed, he shows a knack for dispensing necessary information in a way that is unobtrusively organic.

There is no cheap melodrama in After Life.  Kore-eda does not set out to play on viewers’ emotions. Yet, by treating his characters’ afterlives with such respect and gravity, he lowers a mighty boom in third act.  Highly recommended, Kore-eda’s After Life perfectly concludes the first part of the Japan Society’s tribute to Donald Richie when it screens this Wednesday (2/19) in New York.

Kore-eda’s Like Father, Like Son

This will be one of the most wrenching O. Henry-esque stories most viewers could ever hope to see. When an over-achieving father learns his six year old son was switched at birth, he assumes biology trumps their parental bond.  However, exchanging children proves to be far more complicated than he expects in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Like Father, Like Son (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The driven Ryota Nonomiya has always excelled at everything, except maybe parenting.  He always assumed his gentle son Keita simply took after his passive wife, Midori.  However, when their maternity hospital announces the mistake (deliberately caused by a mentally disturbed nurse), everything suddenly makes sense to him.  Initially, he agrees to meet the Saikis, a big, sloppily affectionate working class family, along with his biological son, Ryusei, ostensibly adopting a wait-and-see attitude.  Yet, his wife can tell he has already made up his mind and is constitutionally incapable of protesting.

You might think Ryota Nonomiya and his severe father are vampires, considering their preoccupation with mere blood.  Of course, emotional bonds are not so easily severed. To make matters worse, he starts to wonder if the Saikis got the better end of the deal. Frankly, many parents will find it absolutely flummoxing the Nonomiyas could ever let go of a sweet-tempered moppet like Keita, but Kore-eda’s screenplay is examining and to an extent critiquing attitudes rooted in a very specific cultural context (forthcoming DreamWorks remake notwithstanding).  Without question, he advocates greater emphasis on nurture over nature, in just about every sense.

As his near namesake, young Keita Ninomiya is a major reason why Like Father is so massively poignant.  He is ridiculously cute, but also devastatingly effective in his big dramatic scenes. Likewise, despite Midori’s submissive nature (which might set some western viewers’ teeth on edge), Machiko Ono’s arrestingly sensitive performance is deeply affecting. In contrast, Masaharu Fukuyama is rigorously disciplined as the coolly detached Nonomiya, earning his payoff the hard way.  To their credit (and that of Kore-eda), the Saikis are also given real heft and dimension by Lily Franky and Yoko Maki, rather than serving as anti-Nonomiya strawmen.

Again, Kore-eda demonstrates a distinctly wise and forgiving sensibility for family drama as well as an unusual facility for directing children.  It might be a cliché, but it is hard not to dub the natural heir to Ozu based on Like Father and his previous films, like I Wish and Still Walking. A mature work from a contemporary master, Like Father, Like Son is highly recommended for general audiences when it opens this Friday (1/17) in New York at the IFC Center and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

Kore-eda’s I Wish

Never dismiss the characters of Hirokazu Kore-eda’s latest film just because they are elementary school children.  Unlike the parade of hipster man-children audience see in indie after indie, many of these youngsters will amount to something in life.  They are also facing some very real drama at a relatively early age in Kore-eda’s unusually wise and gentle I Wish (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

When their parents split up, Koichi decided to go with his mother to live with his grandparents in Southern Kyushu. His younger brother Ryunosuke opted to stay with their irresponsible garage-rocker father in the north.  Always close, it is a difficult separation for the brothers, but they think their respective parents need them more.  Still, it seems to weigh more heavily on Koichi, troubled to find himself not regularly fulfilling his duties as a big brother.

Koichi sees potential deliverance in the imminent opening of the new bullet train linking north and south Kyushu (completed in a mere fraction of the time needed for the still unfinished Second Avenue subway).  Word has it that anyone standing on the exact spot where the maiden north and south bound trains cross will have their wish granted.  Koichi convinces Ryunosuke to meet him there so they can both wish for their family to be reunited.  Finally, a real world application for those “two trains” math problems.  Of course, it is easier said than done.  Arranging train tickets and school absences without the knowledge or consent of their parents will require caper-like planning.

As a result, both brothers bring along their co-conspirator friends, each of whom has a wish of their own.  The way Kore-eda draws out their distinct personalities and captures their subtle interaction is a joy to behold.  Likening Kore-eda to Ozu is a danger critics often succumb to, but I Wish particularly lends itself to such comparisons.  He coaxes some remarkably rich and grounded performances from his youthful cast, placing them in situations of conflict with one another, but harboring malice for none.

Real life brother-performers Koki and Ohshiro Maeda clearly had an intuitive sense of how to distill the essence of their own fraternal relationship and infuse it into their on-screen roles.  They are smart, resourceful, and sensitive, but never in an overly cloying way.  Frankly, I Wish has a wealth of talented young actors, including the particularly noteworthy Kyara Uchida as Megumi, one of the older girls Ryunosuke befriends (remember, his dad is in a band).  If, like her character, her driving ambition is to become an actress, she should be well on her way to a brilliant career.

As with Still Walking, Kore-eda’s last film to have significant American distribution, I Wish depicts serious family issues with a remarkably light touch, but it is the spirit of forgiveness and the acceptance of fate that make the films so special.  Yet, the earnest young cast represents a potentially far greater crossover appeal for I Wish.  Highly recommended, it opens this Friday (5/11) in New York at the Lincoln Plaza and Angelika Film Center.

Extreme Private Ethos: Death of a Japanese Salesman

They were not Mad Men, they were Salarymen. Tomoaki Sunada was part of the postwar generation of professionals who rebuilt Japan into a leading world economic power. Unfortunately, just as Sunada begins to enjoy his sunset years, he is diagnosed with advanced-stage cancer. True to methodical form, Sunada develops an action plan for his impending demise, as his youngest daughter, director-cinematographer-editor Mami Sunada documents in Death of a Japanese Salesman (a.k.a. Ending Note, trailer here), which opens Extreme Private Ethos, the Asia Society’s new film series surveying provocatively intimate Japanese documentaries, this Saturday in New York.

While the current title sounds like an echo of the Miller play that is purely accidental (or inappropriate). When Sunada retires from his chemical company, he is a well respected member of the board. He has good relations with his son and two daughters, while absolutely doting on his granddaughters when he visits America. Though the Sunadas’ marriage had been increasingly strained, they had reconciled mere months before his diagnosis. Sunada’s end will be a happier tragedy than Willie Loman’s, dying before his aged mother, but leaving with few regrets.

Intimate hardly begins to describe Sunada’s documentary. She filmed some of the most private moments a family can have, frequently exasperating her father. Yet, somehow it does not feel voyeuristic or exploitative. Through her narration, in her voice but her father’s words, she seems to come to terms with his passing in a way that is quite touching.

DOAJS will interest cineastes beyond its up close and personal drama. It was produced by Japanese auteur Hirokazu Kore-eda, on whose recent films Mami Sunada worked as a production assistant, including the thematically related Still Walking. Yet for many, the bittersweet relationship between the salaryman and his vexing single daughter will more readily bring to mind the Ozu canon.

For obvious reasons, DOAJS is often hard to watch, but much like GONTITI’s soundtrack for Still Walking, alt-folker Hanaregumi’s music helps keep the tone more wistful than maudlin. Nowhere near as manipulative as one might expect, it still packs a tremendous emotional punch. As a result, it is rather earnestly recommended to those currently in a good mental place. Indeed, all but the most jaded viewers are certain to get choked up when it kicks off Extreme Private Ethos this Saturday afternoon (3/10) at the Asia Society.

Kore-eda's Still Walking

Family is family, even when parents break the unwritten rule prohibiting unequal affection for their children. Of course, that kind of favoritism can lead to deep psychological repercussions throughout the family unit. Such is unfortunate case with Dr. Yokoyama, his wife, and the entire Yokoyama family in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Still Walking (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Fifteen years ago, Junpei, the eldest son and focus of all the Yokoyama parental pride, died in a senseless accident. Though the Yokoyamas still had two perfectly good grown children, younger brother Ryota and older sister Chinami, neither is able to fill Junpei’s place in their hearts. As a result, Ryota usually avoids family visits, but he cannot beg off his mother’s annual memorial for his late brother on the anniversary of his death.

Outside factors further complicate the Ryota’s awkward homecoming. His parents are at best ambivalent about his marriage to Yukari, an understanding widow with a young son. Ryota also recently lost his job as a museum art-restorer, which he is determined to keep secret, even though he must frequently excuse himself to make networking calls on his cell-phone. At the same time, Ryota’s distant father silently grapples with feelings of powerlessness and inadequacy brought on by advanced age, while Dr. Yokoyama’s wife deliberately nurses all her resentments and disappointments, acerbically giving voice to them as she cooks with Chinami.

While this might sound like a thoroughly unhealthy family get-together, they are still a family, dysfunctional though they might be. In Kore-eda’s emotionally realistic screenplay, characters never really “have it out.” They just carry on as best they can.

Walking is a film of great subtlety that builds slowly but steadily, thanks to the steady hand of the acclaimed writer-director-editor. Its wistful spirit is nicely underscored by the soundtrack music of GONTITI, the Japanese acoustic guitar duo who blend light jazz and polite world music influences into a mix well suited to the intimate simplicity of Kore-eda’s approach.

Throughout Walking, the Yokoyamas seem like a credible real-life middleclass family, thanks to the utterly natural and perfectly complimentary ensemble performances. Abe Hirosi’s quietly understated portrayal of Ryota holds the audience’s sympathy and delivers the film’s restrained but moving dramatic payoff. Surprisingly, former Japanese pop-star and professional celebrity YOU is also quite convincing as the dutiful daughter. Perhaps most crucial though, is the work of veteran Japanese actor Harada Yoshio, who deftly suggests the inner fears of the once powerful doctor, now forced to watch his vitality slip away.

Though Kore-eda has a global reputation, there is the risk Walking might be overshadowed on the art-house circuit by other Japanese family dramas recently released in America. While it lacks the visceral intensity of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Tokyo Sonata or the overwhelming punch of Yojiro Takita’s Departures, it is a very honest and direct film, whose elegiac conclusion has an undeniable power that lingers in the consciousness long after its initial viewing. It opens this Friday (8/28) at the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas and Angelika Film Center.