Director: Kore-eda Hirokazu
Writer: Yuji Sakamoto
Stars: Sakura Ando, Eita Nagayama, Soya Kurokawa
Synopsis: A mother demands answers from teacher when her son begins acting strangely.
Hirokazu Kore-eda has adopted a more schmaltzy approach to telling his stories for the past few years. This has made his most recent features, except for Shoplifters, somewhat detached from reality. They never reach a satisfactory emotional point. It is quite disappointing, considering his brilliant early features that channel the energy of Yasujirō Ozu’s narrative style. Kore-eda knows how to portray domestic melancholy in a humanistic way, unlike other directors who might do so in more theatrical and melodramatic ways. The tangible and grounded emotions have made cinephiles worldwide heavily relate to his films. So, when you see such a talent falter, even slightly, you ache for them to regain their mojo. Indeed, Kore-eda has done so with Monster, a heartbreaking Rashomon-like style picture divided into three sharply written parts.
After a quick trip to South Korea with Broker, Kore-eda is back in his native land of Japan. His latest project begins with blazing fires in the night sky, where we see a hostess bar burning to the ground. As the chaos emerges and the sirens continue to drown out the sound of worry and sadness, people gather around the flames. They are curious as to what might have caused it. The film starts with a simple premise, yet as it extends, it transitions into something equally heartbreaking and hopeful in its examinations of truth. We first see a fifth grader, Minato (Soya Kurokawa), and his mother, Saori (Sakura Ando), who have tried to live a humble life after the tragic death of his father. But the young boy hasn’t been the same since; lately, something has been bothering him to the point of changing his attitude from quiet and sweet to troubled and disturbed.
One day after school, Minato comes home with a strange look on his face. Saori can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong with him at first glance. His looks are distant, and he feels separated from the person his mother knows. But when Saori hears that her son’s teacher, Mr. Hori (Eita Nagayama), has been bullying and behaving violently against him, she asks for justice for his actions. However, the meeting between her and the principal, with Hori present, doesn’t go the way she expected. She’s received with fake apologies and no motive for improving the care of the students. Kore-eda leaves plenty of details behind in each different perspective so that in the next angle, we can slowly connect the dots. Whether the detail is minor or consequential, a lighter or a bruised arm, they all have a place within the story’s search for truth. They are connected with the introductory flames that Kore-eda uses as a scene to separate each perspective.
You can compare Monster’s narrative structure to the likes of Rashomon and, most recently, The Last Duel. But Kore-eda doesn’t copy the exact format of the aforementioned films. Unlike them, this film’s three perspectives tell one version of the story – but through three different sets of eyes. Meanwhile, Kurosawa (brilliantly) and Scott offer iterations of the tale. The first stance in Monster leaves you with many questions and little to no answers, leaving room for contemplation. And as it continues with the other two perspectives, it recontextualizes what you saw before. The title of Kore-eda’s latest is misleading, referring to the beast that surges from within – forged by our emotions and painful experiences – rather than a literal figure of malevolence. None of the characters are handled in a way that could be lessened to such superficial traits.
It is the idea behind being a monster, a person eaten alive by their suffering, and how that causes one to make brash decisions. The viewer ponders around to whom this title should apply, whether it is Minato, Hori, or the educational system and its corrupt nature. Kore-eda wants you to reevaluate how we see their actions – taking glimpses through each perspective – instead of targeting them wholly, diminishing them as simple personas of protagonists and antagonists. Kore-eda is known for using empathy as his way of “manipulating” the viewer. But in Monster, that constant swindling comes in a matter that doesn’t feel forced or excessively maneuvered. The root of this film’s empathy is sourced from the inability of people to accept or embrace incomplete pictures.
There are constant conversations between characters about what they know and don’t know, referring to the actions taking place and the backstories accompanying them. Your opinion of them changes from one side to another, from malevolent to innocent and vice-versa, upon each detail and mystery unraveled. For the first time since 1995’s Maborosi, Kor-eda is not the credited screenwriter. This shows you why this film deviates from his usual form of storytelling, depending on techniques he isn’t accustomed to. Its mood and atmosphere are more lenient on bleak and melancholic tones rather than hopeful, like most of Kore-eda’s filmography.
This moral tale of the effects words and actions have on children does have some unnecessarily convoluted moments; Sakamoto does these narrative tricks with some much-needed subtlety and cautiousness. Yet some parts of the web-like narrative don’t work because of Sakamoto’s need to over-entangle each plot point. If Kore-eda had written this, he likely would have made it far more straightforward – and, coincidentally, more effective in the process. Another element that elevates the film is the cinematography of Ryūto Kondō, who has previously worked with Kore-eda in Shoplifters. He creates beauty out of internal damnation, using a slightly poetic visual language that adds notes of melancholy to the film. Kore-eda’s previous films lacked those piercing effects in their cinematographies, which led them to have less of an identity. Kondō’s work makes Monster stand out because of its different ways of expression, varying from the perspectives. It is a fascinating change of pace, creating a more pensive piece rather than one more open on an emotional level.
