Matt Cooper Films

Lonely Glory (2022) by Keitaro Sakon

When she loses her job, a young woman moves back in with her siblings and attempts to sort out their lives for them. Haruka (Kokoro Morita) is a confident, forthright businesswoman, appointed as a leader at the counselling company she helped found. Due to her overbearing attitude, she is accused of workplace harrasment and asked to leave the firm by the CEO. When Haruka’s mother dies, her siblings are faced with difficult choices. Her eldest brother wants to continue running the small shop owned by their parents, while also pursuing a younger woman he wants to marry; her sister Miwako (Eriko Nakamura) is unhappy at having moved home after a divorce six years before, leaving behind a daughter; while Haruka’s younger brother, Takuji (Haya Nakazaki) is long-term unemployed. Haruka’s get-up-and-go attitude sees her clash with her siblings as she tries to force them to make tough decisions, pursue their romantic interests or start businesses of their own.

A fun take on the family drama, setting up a sibling rivalry and tension between the different world-views and characters of the four adult children. Writer-director Keitaro Sakon’s “Lonely Glory” tackles familiar problems among families, such as how to best carry on their parents legacy; dealing with relationship problems; lack of motivation; and different perspectives on how these issues should be addressed. Kokoro Morita gives a great central performance as Haruka, garnering sympathy in her attempts to help her family, while at the same time being brash and pushy, a black sheep in a family who would rather not disturb the status quo. There is a subtle tragedy in the background to the narrative, highlighted when the family give only cursory congratulations on learning it is Miwako’s birthday. It seems they are siblings who have little interest in each other’s lives, to the extent of not realising when one has a birthday. Keitaro Sakon’s direction captures the family dynamics in the way the characters seat themselves around their ramen shop; and the active camerawork helps bring us inside their lives.

Like a placid lake disrupted by a stone, Haruka’s return to the family fold sees their comfortable lives disturbed, with dramatic consequences. Haruka comes to have doubts about her businesslike approach to life, realising that she is overly demanding of others. She is constantly active and wanting to solve what she sees as problems, while the family are more bound by traditions of not rocking the boat. While Haruka’s actions largely lead to positive outcomes, we are left to wonder, along with Haruka, exactly what her own happiness would look like and why she has this restless energy to improve herself and those around her. This unique family story will resonate with people who have ever had a difference of opinion or approach with their siblings.

Matt Cooper Films

A Muse Never Drowns (2022) by Nozomi Asao

Sakuko Kizaki (Miku Uehara) is a member of her high-school art club along with her friend Emi Otani (Kokoro Morita) and talented fellow student Hikaru Saibara (Kogarashi Wakasugi). While the group are out sketching at the docks, Sakuko is knocked into the water. Hikaru paints the flailing Sakuko and the picture is hung up in the school stairwell and praised for its quality. When Hikaru asks Sakuko to model for a new portrait, she is at first unwilling, not understanding the reason for her classmate’s interest in her. Meanwhile, Sakuko is being forced to pack up her things at home as her family, her father (Yota Kawase) and his new heavily pregnant wife Satomi (So Hirosawa), are moving out. Believing she has little talent for art she bags up her sketches and drawings, but soon finds a new creative outlet, collecting bits and pieces from the things they are throwing out and constructing a boat from the discarded scraps.

“A Muse Never Drowns” is a beautifully composed film, with each element helping drive forward the themes of growth and creativity. From the first moment we see Sakuko sketching the boat, to the final moments when we see the wildly creative construction she has made from junk, we see her develop in a way that is relatable and believable. Writer-director Nozomi Asao focuses on the relationship between Sakuko and Hikaru, creating an incredible depth of emotion between them. The power of their scenes is in the subtle everyday concerns that are driving them, anxieties about their own talents, and fears for the future, as well as uncomfortably new feelings of affection. The performances of Miku Uehara, Kokoro Morita and Kogarashi Wakasugi are note perfect, reflecting their immaturity alongside a growing sense of self-confidence and yearning for independence without veering into melodrama. Sakuko’s home situation is likewise understated; she has a good relationship with both parents, but with an underlying tension due to the loss of her birth mother. Asao’s use of visual and narrative metaphor works well without being too obvious. Some great examples of this are the fantastical boat that Sakuko constructs from the broken pieces of her home; and the sequence in which we see this home being demolished. Characters occassionaly philosophise on life and relationships, but the script manages to work in these more poetic moments with the characters and situations.

A coming-of-age film that expertly weaves plot and theme together in its tale of young women confronting the future and themselves. Sakuko is typical of many young teenagers, having been passionate about something, but later realising that there are more talented individuals out there. Hikaru, who seems to Sakuko to be achieving everything she wants, is also anxious about the things she is unable to attain. Together they are able to see life more clearly, finding solace in each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and reassess what it is they want from life. They come to realise the importance of creativity and constant reinvention. We learn early in the film that they are the only two who have yet to submit their applications to higher education, emphasising this sense that both are lost and unable to see the path forward. They have spent so long trapped in their own hopes and anxieties that they are unable to see that they need to change in order to progress. The film ends with this positive message that people are able to change, to adapt, and to reinvent themselves constantly in order to face a world that can be full of unexpected disappointments. A wonderful coming-of-age story that is sure to resonate with audiences young and old.

Matt Cooper Films

Ice Cream and the Sound of Raindrops (2018) by Daigo Matsui

A theatre troupe rehearse in a small drama workshop for a play. As they work through their lines and several of the scenes, the film switches back and forth between the actors preparing themselves, performing and hanging out with one another. Further blurring the lines between reality and fiction, the characters they are playing are given their own names. Kokoro Morita is the lead in the play (and the film) and we learn more about her character through her interactions with her brother Yuzu, boyfriend Taketo (Taketo Tanaka), and best friend Reiko (Reiko Tanaka). Although Kokoro is the lead she seems alienated at times from the rest of the group and struggles with confidence, often being told her performance is not good enough, or that she needs to emote more. As the film progresses, the two stories, both of the play being rehearsed, and the rehearsal period itself, intertwine and build to a dramatic conclusion.

Writer and director Daigo Matsui runs a small theatre company and his love of the art of drama is captured here beautifully. The film takes place over one long take, with simple staging, and relies on dialogue between small numbers of the actors to tell it’s story. Along with the hand-held camerawork this presentation gives the sense of a theatre production and takes us right inside the action. It blurs the lines between art and life, not only having the characters take the names of the actors, but also in the way that there is little distinction between what is ‘performance’ and what is ‘real’. The film changes to a widescreen aspect when they switch to theatrical mode, to emphasise the notion that this is acting, however it becomes apparent that there is very little dividing the trial run performances of the characters and their own emotions. The film goes out of its way to create this sense of theatrical alienation, by having a guitarist and rapper duo appear at various points almost as a Greek chorus to echo the themes of the drama. Their seeming omnipresence is one example of the film toying with the notions of art and life as reflective of one another. The performances of all of the actors in the film is emotional and poignant and you find yourself completely immersed both in their own stories, and in the play despite being fully aware that it is theatre. In particular, Kokoro Morita, who is in almost every scene and whose character builds with each moment, is incredible in the nuanced role of the young actress. The switching back and forth between the two styles, one melodramatic and one realistic, showcases an exceptional talent. The direction and staging are crafted so elegantly to build the sense of a real world around the action without drawing attention to the skill on display. It is thoroughly captivating and only in hindsight do you realise the effort required to achieve the effect of many of the transitions from scene to scene. In the latter half of the film the action moves out of the theatre into the damp, rainy streets, and later to a theatre, so smoothly that you are completely swept along with the characters in a way that feels entirely natural.

“Icecream and the Sound of Raindrops” is a film that ruminates on the idea of art as a reflection of life. In the performances of the cast we see people who are dealing with genuine emotion, albeit in a constructed reality. The scripted dialogue is representative of something real, and likewise the real world is also to an extent portrayed as performative. The relationships we form with others are no more than a stage play for our own benefit. As the film progresses we come to understand that these actors are constantly involved in performance, whether knowingly or not, but without the prospect of an audience seeing it. This metaphor for life, that of a performance going on without an audience, is one that the film captures perfectly. Matsui seems to be questioning the purpose of art, theatre, film, in a way that is entertaining yet nevertheless has a melancholic undertone. The ending suggests that art has a powerful significance in human life and culture, both helping us to understand trauma and reflect on our experiences; and also that life itself is a performance perhaps in turn inspired by our internalisation of the same art we create.