Radiance (2017)

Misako Ozaki (Ayame Misaki) works as a writer of audio-descriptions for films for the blind and partially sighted. She is working with a test group to write the script for a moving film about dementia and loss. One of the group, Masaya Nakamori (Masatoshi Nagase), was once a famous photographer who is now coming to terms with a  degenerative condition meaning the slow loss of his sight. The two have an uncomfortable relationship, with Masaya frustrated about his loss of sight, and Misako frustrated about her inability to convey the emotional content of the film in words. Slowly the two come to an understanding of one another.

Naomi Kawase writes and directs this touching drama on the subject of loss and understanding. It is great to see a film focussing on the issue of visual impairment and the film is in part about understanding those whose experiences are different from your own. The lead actors do a fantastic job with their characters. Ayame Misaki has a sharp edge beneath her kind-hearted exterior. Frustrated by her inability to accurately describe the film for her test group, and also suffering her own troubles with the slow deterioration of her mother’s dementia, Misako is a relatable and interesting protagonist. Masatoshi Nagase is also excellent as Nakamori. We can feel through his performance that this is a man who has lived a full life before losing his sight and is finding it hard to adjust. Both are somewhat prickly characters, understandably so, and this lack of sentimentality makes the film more enjoyable than a predictable romantic drama. The supporting cast, especially those playing the test subjects for the audio commentary do a great job. Oftentimes those with disabilities are used to gain sympathy, but here they are given time to share their feelings and, to some extent, speak on behalf of the blind community regarding their treatment in society. The only moment I found was undeserved was between Ozaki and Nakamori as they look out over a sunset. It seemed to come from nowhere, but even this can be read as a moment of exasperation rather than a romantic trope. Kawase’s script is lively and well-paced, moving between Misako and Masaya’s stories and using variations on the theme of loss and multiple perspectives to keep things interesting. The direction is intimate and beautiful at times, further emphasising exactly what Masaya has lost.

The film has a lot to say about how people perceive the world. In contrast to many portrayals, the blindness here acts not as a metaphor for ignorance, but rather gives us a gateway to a deeper level of perception. Misako comes to understand that it she is the one who is unable to see things clearly. Her group explain to her that some things, such as emotions, cannot and should not be explained. There are some things that simply cannot be described in words. This may seem obvious and cliched, but the film does a great job of showing this as well as explaining it. In a scene where Misako is walking around describing her actions we are made aware that this is not telling us everything. For example, it tells us nothing about what she is thinking, her emotional state, her history, her background. “Radiance” also acts as a commentary on film and art too, in Misako’s work and Masaya’s photographs. Art is a way for humans to make sense of the world and communicate with one another. It is necessarily imperfect, but it is one of the best ways we have of translating our inner lives to a medium where they can be appreciated, if not fully understood, by others.

The idea of loss is also a defining theme of the film. The loss of sight, the loss of a loved one, and the loss of memories or even of self through dementia. A constant refrain in the film refers to the unbelievable tragedy of something disappearing before you. Again, Kawase approaches the subject in an interesting way, using the visuals of burning photographs and layering the film with several different interpretations of this concept to make the point forcefully. A moving film that rises above simple sentimentality to tell a story that is powerful and timeless.

I Want to Eat Your Pancreas (2017)

As a high-school teacher (Shun Oguri) is sorting the books in the library by Dewey numbers with a group of students, he is reminded of his former classmate, Sakura Yamauchi (Minami Hamabe), with whom he had a close relationship at school. The film then turns to this story with the younger boy, a retiring, lonely figure, meeting the popular, chirpy Sakura. While at hospital he finds her diary and learns that she has pancreatic cancer, with perhaps only a year to live. With her secret exposed, Sakura becomes friends with him as he is the only person with whom she can share her inner turmoil. The two of them spend time together on what might be described as a series of dates, although their relationship does not move beyond a fond friendship. Unlike other films of its kind, in which a terminal illness provides a tragic basis for a romantic relationship, this is not a saccharine story of young sweethearts. Sakura’s reasons for confiding in him are as much selfish as driven by romantic interest, with the main reason being an unwillingness to distress her best friend Kyoko.

The film utilises flashbacks to tell its story and without a doubt the scenes with the younger actors are the strongest parts. The framing device of the older characters does resolve itself into an emotional climax at the end of the film, but for the most part is a distraction from the genuinely enjoyable interaction between the young boy and Sakura. Minami Hamabe is incredible as Sakura: bright, charismatic, but harbouring deep fears and sorrow which occasionally surface. Takumi Kitamura provides a good foil, being the polar opposite in many ways, he is initially awkward, his stoic acceptance of life and Sakura’s fate complimenting her outgoing, fun-loving persona. Later in the film he also has scenes of deep sadness that are more impactful following his quiet, subtle performance earlier. Another enjoyable performance is that of Yuma Yamoto, the gum chewing classmate, who appears regularly as comic relief, with one major recurring joke. Sho Tsukikawa’s direction is beautiful with some interesting transitions between the past and present. For the most part the direction and music are what might be expected from a high-school romance. The story is adapted from a novel by Yoru Sumino, with a screenplay by Yoshida Tomoko. The dialogue is well-written and the moving back and forth through time gives the film a good sense of rhythm as you wait to see where both stories are leading.

A heartbreaking story with a poignant message about treating each day as if it were your last. This is a common theme and there are a few films of this type, but by keeping things unsentimental for the most part makes the final dramatic scenes here more impactful. Sakura is not under any illusions about her fate and both the young character’s acceptance of this tragic fact is a great example of enjoying life despite adversity.