Stepping into Neo Sora’s Happyend, one might expect something much closer to a sci-fi film with a dystopian hook. And in many ways, the film, celebrating its U.S. premiere in the Main Slate of the 62nd New York Film Festival, is just that. Sora is grappling with the prospect of a near-future Japan where rapid climate change is stirring fear of a cataclysmic earthquake, peaceful protests are being dispersed with unnecessary violence in the streets, and those in charge (both wide-scale and within the mere confines of the school most of the film takes place in) are extending their powers far beyond the norm in the name of keeping the peace during extenuating circumstances. So, of course, like any great sci-fi hook, this “possible future” looks a lot more timely and relatable than many would like to admit. Still, I wouldn’t really call Happyend a sci-fi. It has occasional elements that may lean a bit into the genre, but this is a coming-of-age film set amidst the groundwork of a time period eerily reminiscent of our own. It’s clear that Sora’s biggest interests lie in how his small cast of characters react to the world around them. He even admitted that much of the interpersonal drama in the film was mined from certain personal experiences. Rather than look at Sora’s film to see how it balances these two halves (InSession Film’s Will Bjarnar already handled that), what was most essential to this column is how Sora melds the initial surveillance hook of Happyend with the emotional core of his characters. Through the inspired visuals of cinematographer Bill Kirstein, the raw emotions of these students are depicted in ways that are not only honest but human.
It wasn’t until about a third of the way through the film that Kirstein’s work began to click into place for me. Much of his initial work is rather subtle. It isn’t until Sora introduces the concept of the unsubtly titled Panopty that Kirstein’s intentionality reveals itself. The company is installing surveillance cameras around school. Meant to track and dole out demerits to unruly students, the several ideas floating around Happyend begin forming a complete picture when the campus grounds take on the form of a brash panopticon. In the most basic of terms, a panopticon is a form of control set on the idea that a group will never know whether or not they’re being watched. The hope is that, under the worry of even thinking they’re being constantly surveilled, groups are more likely to “behave.” The key difference in Happyend is that Sora crafts an idea where the students always know they’re being watched; their transgressions are broadcast on a giant screen for all to see. The fascinating element of Kirstein’s cinematography is how he’s able to manipulate the traditional look of surveillance cameras so directly.
There’s a very standard way to frame surveillance camera footage in a way that immediately translates to an audience. We’ve all seen it at one point or another, whether in film or reality. Often placed in corners, surveillance footage takes the form of a high, wide angle, capturing (hopefully) everything in a single space. One of the greatest examples of surveillance footage being used in recent memory is this sequence from Lynne Ramsay’s 2017 film, You Were Never Really Here. Surveillance footage is stationary, designed to capture something specific at a locked-in place. There’s a cold, methodical feeling to seeing footage from a security camera. And the same can be said for the footage shown in Happyend. Kirstein’s crystal-clear digital imagery is replaced by something slightly grainy. It feels intentionally less than by design. The students stare blankly into the Panopty cameras as rectangular grids with their student ID numbers hover around them. Any semblance of cinematic excitement is intentionally stripped away. These rich, varied characters who are captured with such fervor in their daily lives are stripped of their individuality. In the rest of the film, whether out clubbing, making DJ mixes in their private classroom, or hanging out amidst a disco ball and under warm lighting, Kirstein gives these characters such character in the way he films them! But when these hollow Panopty cameras come into play, there’s a clear push-and-pull in terms of the visuals of Happyend. It removes any sense of humanity, something Happyend grapples with both thematically and visually.
With each new look at the massive Panopty screen, one can’t help but think about the more emotionally potent sequences of Happyend. As written earlier, Sora’s film very much plays out as a coming-of-age film. Specifically, it’s a film about being forced to grow up in a world that would much rather you remain comfortable in your pre-formed status quo. It’s about sometimes growing apart from lifelong friends. So with that, there’s obviously a lot of emotion running through these high school students. And that will always lead to arguments and emotional revelations. But rather than capture these arguments and painful discussions head-on, Kirstein takes a bold approach to hiding them. Within the visual language of Happyend, it certainly pays off.
The juxtaposition between the themes of the film and its visuals certainly won’t be lost on the audience. In a film so centered around every part of us being made public, Kirstein literally shies away from catching the heat of its more intense sequences. He instead chooses to capture them in a myriad of interesting, often gorgeous, ways. The two lead characters, Kou (Yukito Hidaka) and Yuta (Hayato Kurihara), argue shortly after Panopty is installed in their school. The rest of their friends are on a balcony overlooking the two. Just as the argument gets heated, the group gets startled and drops a lightbulb attached to a long wire. The wire goes taut, and as the bulb begins swinging back and forth, Sora cuts. We then see the image Kirstein captured to reflect this particular argument: It’s merely their oversized shadows reflected onto the blank wall. The scene, completely silent, takes on a striking quality. It’s the first time we have really felt the tension that has been growing between Kou and Yuta. Chances are, it’s also the first time either one of them is really acknowledging it. Sora described finding himself in the heat of an argument sometimes, unsure of how he got there in the first place. This image succinctly captures such a strange feeling. It’s the instant realization that, internally, things are shifting, and they can no longer be kept silent. It’s a moment when these feelings become larger than us; instead of being something we silently contemplate when alone, they’re projected onto a wall for all to see. Something like this also occurs in the several sequences where Sora decides to add a layer of levity to the film. Kirstein captures a handful of conversations in really wide shots. Both parties are in the frame, and the camera doesn’t move, zoom, or shift at all. It merely exists, and it’s too far to hear anything. The rest of the group comically provides their own commentary as we lean forward and hope to pick up kernels of information. Through this, we see a human approach to surveillance. The Panopty cameras in the film may literally capture everything they see. But technology could never fill in the blanks with as much character as we see showcased by friends.
No matter how many cameras are put up in this school, they can never capture the intricacies of how this group of friends feel. It will never allow us, or anybody else, to view the surveillance footage in the minds and feelings of a developing crush. A rising resentment. A social and political curiosity. Kirstein’s camera often peeks around corners or peers through slats in a windowpane. We see everything from tender embraces to nervous interactions and confused emotions. These purely human moments are mostly captured through barriers. But they aim to show us more than any surveillance camera could hope to capture with its cold, unflinching lens: the intricacies and the pains of growing up. Through his cinematography, Kirstein captures the unseeable. In a world that has been designed to leave no individual with any secret for themselves, Kirstein provides these characters the solace of solitude while also allowing us to gaze from afar. As an audience, we, too, are surveilling these characters. But it’s out of a warm curiosity rather than a cold grasp for dominance. No matter how much surveillance is present in the world of Happyend, or our own world, those cameras will never be able to capture the true intricacies of our internal moments. Only through the beautiful power of cinema can cameras reveal the wondrous, frightening, and complex potential of human emotion. And how Sora and Kirstein go about revealing such a fundamental truth about capturing imagery is as exciting as can be.
Happyend is celebrating its U.S. premiere in the Main Slate of the 62nd New York Film Festival.
