After giving up on baseball, highschooler Yosuke (Eita) spends his time after school practicing guitar, hoping to pursue a career in music. His classmate Yu (Aoi Miyazaki) comes to watch him play, although Yosuke seems uninterested in her. Yu is left in tears after kissing him when Yosuke runs away from her. He seems more interested in Yu’s elder sister (Sayuri Oyamada), who has lost her partner in a tragic accident. On her way to meet Yosuke, Yu’s sister is involved in an accident that leaves her in a coma. 17 years later, Yosuke (Hidetoshi Nishijima) and Yu (Hiromi Nagasaku) are reunited when Yu arrives at the music studio where he works to perform the song that he himself created in highschool, finally offering them both the chance for closure.
Written and directed by Hiroshi Ishikawa, “Su-ki-da” is a subtle romantic drama that leans heavily towards realism, with long pregnant silences as the characters sit beside each other, unwilling to express their inner thoughts. Aided by captivating performances by both the younger and older actors, we get a real sense of character, albeit largely confined to nuanced reactions or lack of communication rather than melodramatic set-pieces. Ishikawa’s measured cinematography captures these moments of tension as we wait expectantly for something to happen, creating genuine compassion for the protagonists. The plot is strikingly sparse yet effective, with a contemplative mood that gives the audience time to simply sit and ruminate with the characters.
“Su-ki-da” will not be for everyone, with its languid pacing and narrow focus on the two protagonsists, but there is plenty here to enjoy for fans of slow cinema. The film’s central drama is in the inability of characters to truly connect with one another, and the difficulty of genuine communication or understanding. We see this in the drawn out silences as we ourselves are forced to wonder what the characters are experiencing in these moments. The broad expanse of blue sky above the characters gives the impression of humanity as small, fragile creatures, albeit with dreams that stretch to unknown horizons. The repeated strains of Yosuke’s guitar riff, endlessly practiced but never perfected, are a perfect metaphor for humanity’s failure to realize an ultimate goal. Life is a work in progress, a journey without a destination. The time jump from high-school to adulthood shifts the drama from rural greens to urban greys, indicating a change in the characters from absolute freedom and opportunity to the more constrictive bounds of adult life. The final moments of the film come as catharsis from the mounting tension throughout, signifying not so much an ending as a new beginning. This quiet, contemplative film will deter some, but there is a beauty in its simplicity that speaks to real artistry.
