Matt Cooper Films

Mio on the Shore (2019) by Ryutaro Nakagawa

Mio (Honoka Matsumoto) lives in a picturesque rural village in Nagano with her grandmother who runs a bathhouse. When her grandmother becomes sick, Mio moves to Tokyo to live with Kyosuke (Ken Mitsuishi), an old friend of her mothers. After failing to find work, Mio begins to help out at Kyosuke’s bathhouse. She makes friends with a local film-maker and a man who runs an Ethiopian restaurant.

Directed by Ryutaro Nakagawa, from a script by Nakagawa, Hikaru Kimura and Keitaro Sakon, “Mio on the Shore” is a contemplative slice-of-life drama, its story unfolding slowly with plenty of time for ruminating on the characters state of mind. There is some stunning scenery to look at of the rural waterside town where Mio lives, beautifully captured by cinematographer Rei Hirano. The long lingering shots, accompanied only by ambient noise, create a meditative atmosphere, allowing us to sit quietly with Mio and experience her own sense of anomie or aimlessness. Some of the film’s most powerful moments are these wordless scenes of visual poetry, looking out over an expanse of water, or sitting in a dark bathhouse. It is very much a film that forgoes plot for a fragmentary approach, highlighting several incidents and conversations that build up a portrait of everyday life. The charming score by Hisaki Kato provides the perfect accompaniment. Mio is a likeable protagonist, shy and enigmatic, her inner world often closed to us, but nevertheless intriguing. Mitsushi’s Kyosuke also seems to be harbouring a secret, a conflicted character dealing with his own demons. There are allusions to their pasts, but very little is made explicit.

Towards the end of the film we see a montage of businesses closing down, perhaps the closest the film comes to making a statement on its theme. “Mio on the Shore” is a film about things drawing to an end and what is left behind when they are gone. Whether businesses, relationships, or human life, all of these things are finite. The English title “Mio on the Shore” perhaps a reference to this borderline between being and not being, while the Japanese title “Holding Light in your Hand”, referencing a poem that is recited in the film, speaks to the ephemeral, ineffable, ethereal, spiritual world, the transience of all things and how humans live in a society where nothing lasts forever. While it may seem like a depressing notion, the film offers a hope in the sense that there is light in the world, even if we are not able to hold on to it for long. We cannot hold on to the past, but we can enjoy life while it is here. A poetic ode to the fleeting nature of existence. A beautifully shot film that reminds us that while everything in life is temporary, there is beauty in its transience.

Matt Cooper Films

Not Quite Dead Yet (2020) by Shinji Hamasaki

A surreal comedy about a difficult father-daughter relationship. Nanase (Suzu Hirose) has never forgiven her father Kei (Shinichi Tsutsumi) for not being by her mother’s bedside when she passed away. As lead singer of a death metal band she pens excoriating lyrics about how much he stinks and how much she dislikes him. Her father seems oblivious to this, focussing only on his research at a pharmaceutical company. When the company develop a drug that allows a person to die and later return to life, Kei finds himself temporarily deceased for two days. There is a plot afoot by a rival company to take them over, which Kei learns about shortly after dying. His assistant Taku (Ryo Yoshizawa) hears about this attempt to steal the company and its research; and along with Nanase they attempt to save her father’s company, while Kei tries to contact them from the spirit world.

Writer Yoshimitsu Sawamoto and first time director Shinji Hamasaki deliver a hilarious look at death that delights in poking fun at tense parent-child relationships. Odd characters, wordplay jokes, visual humour, and surreal moments all work together to create a film that has no intention of being taken seriously. The excellent comedic central performance of Suzu Hirose (Our Little Sister) as Nanase, gurning and howling her way through the film, alongside the equally amusing straight man act of Shinichi Tsutsumi as Kei, is a fantastic dynamic, the wild child teenager conflicting with her boring father. A fantastic supporting cast, with Yukiyoshi Ozawa as Kei’s assistant, Kyusaku Shimada as the rival company head, and cameo roles for Lily Franky as a spirit guide and Den Den as a ramen chef, give the whole thing a variety show feel, with some scenes playing almost as standalone sketches. The rock music sets off the riotous punk aesthetic, sticking one finger (the index finger) up to the norms of family dramas. There is little surprise in the resolution of the film and it never attempts to flesh out the narrative or characters, instead using every moment to cram in more jokes. The film even actively pushes back against convention at times, with Nanase telling Taku that this is not some kind of romantic drama.

“Not Quite Dead Yet” follows a long cinematic tradition of poking fun at death, puncturing any sense that it is something to be concerned about. By having a pill that allows people to die temporarily it further distances us from the fear of death. In this universe death is simply another state humans might be in, no different than being asleep. Nanase and Shinichi’s relationship deteriorates after the passing of her mother, with Kei burying his head in his work while Nanase vents her frustrations through her music. The film shows a slow coming together of the two and the realisation of the importance of living life and not forgetting those people who are left behind. With its whimsical premise and a short run time packed with laughs, the film is an easy watch that is sure to raise a smile.

Matt Cooper Films

Eriko, Pretended (2016) by Akiyo Fujimura

Losing someone is never easy and this film looks at how people deal with grief. Eriko Yoshioka (Haruka Kubo) is a struggling actor, her main claim to fame being a brief appearance as a background dancer in a beer commercial. She lives with her flatmate who has dreams of being a famous stand-up double act comedian. When her sister dies, she heads back to her hometown for the funeral. Her sister Yukiko has left behind a son, Kazuma (Atsuya Okada), whose father is unknown to the family. After the ceremony, Eriko agrees to stay for a while to look after Kazuma while they decide what will happen to him. Eriko is then contacted by a Hanae (Miki Nitori), Yukiko’s old boss, who recruits Eriko as a “mourner for hire”; their job being to attend funerals and grieve, a process which is intended to help the soul pass to the afterlife.

“Eriko, Pretended” is an interesting look at how people behave following a death. The simple story allows time to contemplate the themes as Eriko deals with her sister’s passing. Haruka Kubo gives an understated performance in the lead role, displaying a complex and believable response to her sister’s passing. Miki Nitori is good as Hanae, a strong businesswoman, but also someone who has absolute belief in the value of her profession. Although short the film does feel stretched at times, not helped by the depressing nature of the story. It does not establish much attachment to the secondary characters, even Kazuma and Eriko’s relationship feels a little shallow. Much of the film is workmanlike, in direction and music, lacking the visual metaphor, use of colour and lighting that might have enlivened and enhanced the narrative. Towards the end of the film there is a scene of the empty rooms of the house that is effortlessly impactful, but these moments are too infrequent, with the majority of the film lacking that sense of a deeper meaning.

The concept of performative grief is one that can be found throughout history, with wailing and pulling of hair, the wearing of black, and other outward displays of loss and sadness common across many cultures. Early in the film we see Eriko at an audition in which she is asked to show emotion for a character who has died. Unable to realistically express sadness she is passed over for the role. When she later takes up the job of a hired mourner, she is at first confused by the job and later annoyed at another hired group of mourners whose exaggerated wailing borders on parody of the grieving process. Eriko’s seeming inability to mourn appropriately, or vocally, enough is offset by her caring for her orphaned nephew. In showing the falseness of what they are doing as hired mourners, it helps to highlight the real sense of loss that she is feeling and the difficulty in coming to terms with the death of a family member. Crying is a physical response intended to release pent-up emotions and therefore it is part of the healing process for those left behind. Characters discuss the role mourning has in helping the spirits of the dead reach the other side. The notion of grieving breaking some metaphysical barrier to the afterlife can perhaps be better understood as the living finally ‘letting go’ of their loved ones and allowing their soul to travel on ahead as a happy memory, rather than dwelling on their death. “Eriko, Pretended” has an interesting story, dissecting the often peculiar customs surrounding death, but often fails to develop an emotional connection to its characters.

Matt Cooper Films

Ainu Mosir (2020) by Takeshi Fukunaga

Kanto (Kanto Shimokura) is a young boy living in the small town of Akan in Hokkaido. He wants to escape from his rural hometown and Ainu heritage, telling his mother that he feels he is constantly reminded of his culture in their songs, festivals and traditions that are an integral part of life in their community. Having lost his father, Kanto’s confusion about whether to embrace or shun his heritage, takes on a greater personal significance for him; the absence of a paternal role model leaves him feeling cast adrift and having to his own path in life. Kanto is not without help on this journey of self-discovert. His mother (Emi Shimokura), who runs an Ainu craft store, is caring, though hurt at her son’s seeming disinterest in his culture. He also has a substitute father-figure in the shape of Debo (Debo Akibe), an Ainu elder, who attempts to teach him their traditions. Debo fully embraces their heritage, wearing his culture as a badge of honour and believing in the absolute necessity of preserving their traditions and values. Along with others, he is preparing for a cultural festival that has not been performed for many decades, in which they must raise a bear cub before killing it. The spirit of the god inside the bear will then return to the heavens carrying word of their good deeds and other gods will come to inhabit the animals of their lands.

Born in Hokkaido, writer-director Takeshi Fukunaga shows great respect for the native Ainu. He worked with the local community in creating the script, and cast Ainu locals. The film documents various aspects of Ainu culture, music, dress, festivals, traditions and beliefs. We also see the friction, and subtle discrimination, between the Japanese and the Ainu; with Kanto’s mother being praised by oblivious tourists on her excellent Japanese. As well as insights into the Ainu culture, the film also shows the difficulty faced in attempting to hold on to these traditions. The Ainu are taking classes to learn the Ainu language, and must read from scripts when performing their rituals. It is a constant struggle to keep these cultures alive as languages and traditions are forgotten or eradicated. At heart “Ainu Mosir” is a coming-of-age story with Kanto facing the added pressure from those around him to take on the role of an ‘Ainu’ individual. Kanto himself is a typical teen, playing in a rock band and watching Hollywood films. He feels pigeonholed as an ‘Ainu’, railroaded into becoming what is expected of him, where he wants a future of wider possibilities. He sees his culture as restrictive; while Debo sees it as a source of pride, his deep roots giving him confidence and a sense of identity. Casting Ainu actors in the main roles helps lend an authenticity to the film and genuine emotion to the performances. The cinematography by Sean Price Williams, with stunning vistas of rural Hokkaido and the passing of the seasons, provides the perfect background for this story of people shaped by their environment.

‘Ainu Mosir’ is a significant film for what it says about the value of culture and the difficulties experienced by native peoples who feel their past is being erased. However, it wears this lightly and never lectures the audience on matters such as colonialism, xenophobia, racism, and the struggle for the rights of indigenous groups. Rather these issues are refracted through the personal story of Kanto and his own difficulties coming to terms with his heritage and the loss of his father. While the film focusses on a specific culture, its message is universal. A worthwhile film for its moving portrayal of a young teen at a crossroads in life, who must learn what is important to him, while navigating the turbulent waters of family, culture and heritage.

Matt Cooper Films

Funuke Show Some Love, You Losers! (2007) by Daihachi Yoshida

18-year old Kiyomi (Aimi Satsukawa) witnesses the death of her parents in a horrific traffic accident after they ran out into the road to save a cat. Following the funeral her older sister Sumika (Eriko Sato), who has been living in Tokyo attempting to make it as an actress, returns to the family home in the countryside. The two of them are staying with their step-brother Shinji (Masatoshi Nagase) and his wife Machiko (Hiromi Nagasaku). Far from a congenial family unit, Sumika repeatedly bullies Kiyomi, having never forgiven her younger sister for drawing an insulting manga of her. Sumika dreams of returning to Tokyo, but is unwilling to confront the debts she has left behind, and her own lack of talent as an actress. Meanwhile, Shinji is abusive towards the downtrodden Machiko, their sexless arranged marriage a product of circumstance rather than love.

Based on the novel by Yukiko Motoya, “Funuke Show Some Love You Losers” is a film about a completely dysfunctional family. Sumika is an irredeemably hideous character, overbearing and narcissistic, she blames her sister for her own failings. Eriko Sato gives a terrific performance as the delusional Sumika, convinced of her own abilities and oblivious to those around her. Meanwhile, Aimi Satsukawa’s Kiyomi is the polar opposite, a talented manga artist who suffers all the indignities her sibling piles on her. It is this relationship that represents the heart of the drama, with Sumika believing in her right to a successful career, while Kiyomi keeps her head down and works quietly on her goals. The secondary story of Machiko and Shinji’s relationship complements this with their clashing personalities also leading to a strained relationship. Machiko is bottomless well of positivity, played eccentrically by Hiromi Nagasaku; while Shinji is depressive, his unreadable expression giving little away. The film deals with the darker side of family, with verbal, physical and emotional abuse. This often sits uncomfortably alongside the humour, which is light-hearted and playful, reinforcing the complexity of family relationships, where laughter and tragedy are all part of the mix. The cinematography showcases some of the picturesque landscapes of rural Japan, with the vivid greens of farmland stretching out to forested mountains. The direction also keeps things interesting, with low angled shots and artistic framing giving the film a stylish look. There is a great lived-in feel to the house where the four protagonists are forced to cohabit, with background details such as the funereal photographs, piles of books, and the inversion of usual tropes regarding food and dining bringing families together.

The film gives us four strongly defined characters, representing particular archetypes perhaps (the dominated housewife; the dour, stoic husband; the selfish, vindictive elder sister; and the timid younger sibling). Sumika’s return to the house is the spark that lights a powder keg of repressed emotions and old grudges. The film deals with themes such as jealousy, sibling rivalry, domestic abuse, and depression, among others. It is a powerful depiction of the hostility and lack of understanding that can occur between people who are prone to selfishness. The tragedy for these characters is that they are unable to change their behaviours. Kiyomi states at the end that she is unable to change, in the same way that her sister is also incapable of reform. In Sumika’s case, she is unable to even accept the possibility that she may be mistaken and not be as wonderful as she believes. “Funuke Show Some Love You Losers” is a call to consider those around you and examine your own shortcomings that you might come to a better understanding of your place in the world and the importance of building better relationships.