In
early September of 1945, most Japan thought WWII was over, but not the residents
of Karafuto (now Sakhalin) Island. They were still being razed and rounded-up
by the marauding Soviets. That grim historical episode played a pivotal role in
the history of the Suzuki family, in ways that are only now coming to light as
they gather to mourn their patriarch in Nobuhiko Ôbayashi’s Seven Weeks (trailer here), which screens
during Japan Cuts 2015, the Festival of New Japanese Film in New York.
At
ninety-two, Mitsuo Suzuki had quite a run, but it was not always a bed of
roses. Due to random post-war tragedies, the
doctor-turned-local-cultural-curator survived all of his sons and daughters-in-law.
He had already lost his great love during the war, through circumstances that
will be revealed over time. Still, he was never lonely, having personally
raised his granddaughter Kanna and third grandson Akito, with the help of his
nurse, Nobuko Shimizu, whose position in the household is ambiguous but
significant.
Following
his death, Kanna plans the traditional seven seventh day mourning rituals,
along with Suzuki’s grandsons, his sister, and his great-granddaughter Kasane,
but most of the work falls on her, until Shimizu mysteriously reappears. As
they pay their respects, Suzuki’s spirit offers his own running commentary,
seeming to inspire flashback reveries for most of his family.
Eventually,
we learn exactly how the Suzuki family reached this point in time. Yet, Seven Weeks is more than just a family
saga. Ôbayashi essentially turns the Japanese national psyche inside out, making
connections between the Suzukis and the Soviet occupation of Karafuto (still
going on, by the way), the fall of Imperial militarism, the bust and boom of
the Japanese coal industry, and the Fukushima nuclear crisis.
If
you only know Ôbayashi as the mad man responsible for the utterly insane cult
classic House (Hausu), you don’t know
the half of him, at least not anymore. Seven
Weeks is an achingly sensitive work, yet there is a symbol stylistic
boldness—a willingness to go for broke—shared by the two films. Ôbayashi
restlessly segues between point-of-views, throwing realism to the wind with frequent
fourth wall breaches, some stunning super-imposed visuals, a Greek chorus of
strolling troubadours, and a substantial element of magical realism hiding in
plain sight. Yet, he maintains a visceral connection to the Suzuki family’s raw
and formerly repressed emotions. If you cried during Departures, Ôbayashi will probably get you misty-eyed too, even though
he breaks every possible rule of tear-jerking melodrama, several times over. To
that end, he gets a critical assist from Kôsuke Yamashita’s unclassifiably
mournful theme.
Seven Weeks is generous with
its large ensemble, giving just about every character of standing an
opportunity for a grand, telling moment. However, the film is anchored by the
trio of Toru Shinagawa, Saki Terashima, and Takako Tokiwa, as Old Man Suzuki, Kanna,
and Shimizu, respectively. You will be hard-pressed to find three performances
of such mature reserve and expressive power in another film. However, Hirona
Yamazaki might just provide the film’s X-factor as young Kasane, who is shallow
and self-centered, but also so much fun she energizes and elevates all her
scenes.
Frankly,
it is exhilarating to see a film that is so big in its conception and so
intimate in its execution. Somehow, Ôbayashi reconciles the micro with the
macro, offering a very personal and idiosyncratic perspective on some
profoundly turbulent national history. When it is all said and done, you really
feel like you understand this family and share its grief. Very highly
recommended, Seven Weeks is the
absolutely-can’t-miss film at this year’s Japan Cuts. It screens this Saturday
(7/11) at the Japan Society.
