Film: Still Walking
By Jana Perkovic • Jul 29th, 2009 • Section: Film
Still Walking
Melbourne International Film Festival
Screening Wednesday July 29 at 12.15pm
Hirokazu Kore-eda’s films – a retrospective of which Melbourne International Film Festival presented in 2007 – all share a preoccupation with death and loss. His cinematic debut, Maborosi (Maboroshi no hikari) follows a young woman as she struggles to cope with her husband’s sudden death. After Life (Wonderful Life), a whimsical fairytale, centred on a dilapidated social services building in which recently deceased go through the bureaucratic process of chosing one memory they will keep in the afterlife; and the widely acclaimed Nobody Knows (Daremo shiranai), looked at a year in the life of 4 children after their mother abandons them in their apartment to live with another man. Yet despite the grand themes, Kore-eda’s films are gentle, humane and thoughtful, sharing an unintrusive, almost documentary notation of interpersonal dynamics.
Still Walking, his second-last feature film, shows clear influence of his mentor, Yasuhiro Ozu, and may be his most universally accessible film so far. Set at the anniversary of the death of their eldest son, it brings together three generations of the Yokoyama family for a lunch, a lazy summer afternoon, and a sleepover.
What’s most remarkable is how unremarkable the premise is: indeed, countless Australian (and American) films look at prodigal sons returning for a visit to their parents, and the tensions revived, the expectations dodged, the disappointments re-simmered. A layered crosswords of love, reproach and rivalry builds up between the siblings, their partners, their children, and their parents. There is never anything so crass as a confrontation, or melodramatic as an argument. For the most part, the family members cook, clean, converse over meals, visit the deceased son’s grave, and have afternoon tea with the boy whose life their son died saving. They discuss jobs, future plans, past memories. Formally and emotionally restrained, it abstains from glib conclusions.
Yet Kore-eda’s gentle touch draws out the complexity of the familial relationships in all its nuance. It is an immensely satisfying film, whose poignance lies in the richness of observation. Kore-eda is able to draw out magnificent performances from his actors, particularly children, and captures the essence both of young (his children blow bubbles in soda, snoop around offices, pick flowers and brag to strangers) and old age (Yokoyama matriarch will gently, but firmly command her son and daughter-in-law, confess to small meanness and hide great generosity). In one scene, a bother and sister discuss the ways their parents approach life while carrying a coffee table down a staircase. Despite the grand arguments they are making, the actors are talking absent-mindedly, paying more attention to manouvring the table than to the weight of their lines. Such small, careful scenes build up into a wonderfully subtle family portrait. There is no superfluous repetition; every detail adds a layer of complexity to the characters. The film that results is utterly captivating despite having, essentially, no central conflict.
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