After last year’s New York Film Festival screening of Evil Does Not Exist, director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi shared that he still wasn’t sure what the film meant to him. While this may be due to its unique conception as a visual piece alongside singer-songwriter Eiko Ishibashi’s live performances, it also could be because of the work’s contradictions surrounding perplexing violence amid quiet contemplation. In certain sequences, Ishibashi’s score and cinematographer Yoshio Kitagawa’s camera are cut abruptly to create an unsettling atmosphere—almost as if the sound and images function independently—and long, static shots feel like they are from the point of view of nature itself, viewing the characters’ actions from a great distance. The film’s beginning and ending are the best examples of this, both containing a lengthy tracking shot gazing up at trees across the wintry sky. The only difference is that one shot is tied to a distinct calmness while the other is filled with apprehension.
Unlike Hamaguchi’s Academy Award-winning Drive My Car, on its surface, Evil Does Not Exist has a relatively simple narrative that can be thought of as a fable with conservationist and anti-corporate ideas. It centers on the small Japanese village of Harasawa where everyone pitches in for the betterment of the community. Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), a self-proclaimed odd-jobs worker and the widowed father of the young and adventurous Hana (Ryo Nishikawa), collects water for a local chef from enviably clear streams, which she uses to make her udon. But Harasawa is just a short drive from Tokyo, and developers see its potential as a booming tourist spot. In a move indicative of late capitalism, a talent agency called Playmode buys a plot of land in the area to turn into a glamping—or “glamorous camping”—site for what turns out to be pandemic subsidies.
In a spellbinding extended scene, two of the company’s employees present their construction plans to the village, but the locals rip them apart, pointing out the negative effects the proposed attraction would have on their way of life and the overall health of the region. Takumi asserts that the septic tank would pollute the spring water, while another resident says that visitor campfires could mark disaster for an area that has suffered wildfires in the past. The village chief talks about the duty those upstream have for those who live downstream, and Takumi, advocating for the need to maintain balance, explains that everyone who lives in Harasawa is in fact a “settler,” as the land was only opened up for farming after the war. Solidarity, sustainability and responsibility—these heavy concepts float above the story, emerging in unexpected moments.
But because it’s Hamaguchi, the film takes it a step further by humanizing its presumed antagonists, capturing the Playmode representatives, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), demonstrating empathy for the villagers in a follow-up meeting with their boss. They complain about the absurdity of their jobs in show business and discuss perspectives on dating apps and marriage. This results in a detailed portrait of people just getting by, attempting to understand each other despite their various backgrounds and experiences.
However, as the story progresses, a sense of foreboding creeps in as warning signs become more noticeable. Gunshots from a distance interrupt the land’s tranquility, blood appears scarlet red on a thorny branch and dark bird feathers drift in icy cold water. This third act, filled with haunting imagery, is when the plot gets moving, hurtling toward an ambiguous conclusion where nature and instinct come alive. Since the film’s world premiere at the Venice International Film Festival last September, its radical turn of an ending has garnered a great deal of discussion. Does it change what we thought Hamaguchi previously suggested about the film’s characters and themes? Considering again what the director revealed after the screening in New York, maybe art carries weight and is most interesting when elements are left inexplicable and clash with logic and reason. Like the natural world, there are things beyond our comprehension that never offer a definitive answer. Perhaps the films that reflect this are the ones that get close to saying something true.
Photo courtesy of Sideshow / Janus Films
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