One of the major coups of the Japanese Film Festival this year was Takahisa Zeze’s latest feature, Life Back Then (アントキノイノチ), winner of the Innovation Award at the 2011 Montreal Film Festival. Even more impressive was the timing of the release, coming out in Japan during the 15th Japanese Film Festival and debuting in Australia as the closing night film. We last saw Zeze’s handiwork in Australia at JFF13, with the contagion epic Pandemic, but his four-and-a-half hour epic Heaven’s Story debuted at festivals across the world last year. With Life Back Then, Zeze pairs it back to a more restrained melodrama.

Troubled and emotionally stricken by the events of his high school years, Kyohei (Masaki Okada) has shut himself off from the world. Taking a job as a “cleaner”, the company he works for specialises in the removal of the possessions from a deceased’s residence. There he meets Yuki (Nana Eikura), a similarly damaged person who has closed herself from human interaction. As the two begin to grow close enough to discuss their emotions, they discover that neither of them may be ready for that yet.

Life Back Then draws on themes from two major Japanese films of the last few years. The obvious comparison is with Departures, a film that dealt with the taboo subject of handling death via a recent employee at a mortuary. Yet where that film handled the subject with humour and grace, Life Back Then is more about the intimate and fragile emotional states of two individuals, and its handling of the difficult subjects of school bullying and suicide often feel like Japan’s 2010 official entry to the Oscars, Confessions. While Kyohei’s means of dealing with his past in no ways take the often violent and disturbing paths of that film, there is a cold and often crushing angst in the flashback scenes. These do not so much sit at odds with the emotionally detached Kyohei as give a context to them.

Yuki has her major childhood trauma kept under wraps until the last third of the film, which is deliberately paced until a forced tearjerker of a moment forces certain things to come to light. It is followed by some emotionally overwrought scenes, although Zeze seems to have purposefully done so to contrast the slower earlier moments. Okada and Eikura carry this two-hander effectively, in a fairly straightforward adaptation of Masashi Sada’s novel of the same name. Yet the otherwise gentle pacing and intriguing mysteries at the heart of the film carry this (almost) feel-good film over the finish line.

Life Back Then played the closing night of the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia on 27 November (Sydney) and 6 December (Melbourne) 2011

The works of Osamu Tezuka have the distinguished honour of being considered masterpieces in both the East and West, with his manga works adapted into anime series that became popular all around the globe. If you don’t know the name instantly, you might recognise some of his more famous works: Astro Boy, Kimba the White Lion and Black Jack. “The Godfather of Manga” is also known as the “Walt Disney of the East”, which may reduce his works to a simple comparison, but also give an indication of just how significant his works are in their native Japan. Along with Phoenix, the 14 volume Buddha is one of his most significant and spiritual works, taking 10 years of Tezuka’s life. An adaptation to the big screen might be considered madness.

Buddha – The Great Departure (手塚治虫のブッダ赤い砂漠よ！美しく) takes elements from the first three volumes of Tezuka’s work, and begins with the birth of Siddartha Gautama and the death of his mother shortly after. As the country is torn apart by famine, drought and bloody warfare, Siddartha tires of his life as a prince and seeks a higher calling. This is the start of his journey towards enlightenment, as he will eventually become the monk that is revered by millions across the globe today.

Even with a planned three-film saga, the reduction of any literary work into the compressed format of cinema is always a tricky affair, especially when the source material is a whopping great set of shelf-fillers from a revered manga artist. Buddha proves to be something of a contradiction in this sense, rapidly squishing some of the significant elements of the source material into mere seconds of screen time. For example, a number of commentators have picked up on the abbreviated telling of the tale of the rabbit who sacrifices himself for a starving monk at the start of the film. Yet at the same time, director Yasuomi Ishito revels in extending battles out to epic proportions that seem to be contrary to the spirit of the Lord Buddha. As the film drags its bloodied feet into the prolonged second hour, one would be forgiven for crying out “Is he Buddha yet?”

When Prince of Egypt was released by the fledgling DreamWorks back in 1998, it went out of its way to be careful to depict an Old Testament religious figure that was revered by half the world in such a honourable way as to suck all the life out of the story. Buddha suffers the opposite problem, in that it seems to spelling Buddha with a capital B for Blood. The chaotic editing muddies any semblance of a plot that viewers not intimately familiar with the legend of Siddartha, lurching from one moment to the next so as to give that B a tertiary meaning of boring.

The animation, from the giants at Toei Animation (Digimon) has stripped all the Tezuka out of the piece, with a “barely there” animation style that is reminiscent of the “illusion of animation” style of the mid-1990s. This cheap-looking approach lessens the impact of the scattered story even more, and with the exception of a few pretty backgrounds, most of the action on screen is a disengaging mess. If the aim is to either pay respect to the creator of the anime or its subject, very little ground will be gained on either front by the end of this first film.

Buddha – The Great Departure played at the Japanese Film Festival on 26 November (Sydney) and 6 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

The Imazu Line is the longest of three branch-lines of the Hankyu Railway’s Kobe Line, connecting the cities of Nishinomiya and Takarazuka in Hyogo prefecture. The trip is only 15 minutes, and you know that will be a precise period of time in a country that prides itself on its punctual railway system. As anybody who regularly catches public transport will know, the sardine-like environment can forge single-serving enemies and friendships, but more often than not results in a casual awareness of some of the regulars on the timetable. Based on the novel by Hiro Arikawa, TV drama veteran Yoshishige Miyake makes the move to the big screen and explores those lives that intersect as the trail rolls by.

After Shoko (Miki Nakatani) loses her fiance to a younger office worker, she attends their wedding in a beautiful white dress in an attempt to make him feel regret. On her way back on the train, her story collides with college student Misa (Erika Toda), who has been emotionally abused to the point of submission by her attractive but domineering boyfriend. There’s also the kindly grandmother Tokie Hagiwara (Noboku Miyamoto) who rides with her young granddaughter, a house wife and various school children.

Hanyku Railways – A 15-Minute Miracle is a simple, yet heartwarming, story about the everyday. There are no Babel-like hyperlinks to make grand declarations on the butterfly effect of actions around the world, but rather how the little things in life can make all the difference (for better or for worse) in a person’s life. An overheard conversation, for example, inspires one woman to make up her mind about a difficult dilemma in her life. Similarly, an argument between the same woman and her boyfriend causes a small girl to start crying in fear. These are all small picture things, but they make the world of difference to the people that they directly impact on.

Holding together the film is veteran Miyamoto, who is the all-too-perfect grandmother figure, dispensing matronly advice to all and sundry whether they want it or not. The sentimentalism is undoubtedly manufactured, designed to tickle the part of the brain that responds to kittens and portraits of rolling hills. The deeper issues that it deals with here, which include domestic abuse and school bullies, are only dealt with in a superficial manner. Yet this is kind of the point: the relationships formed on the railways are fleeting, but “miracles” can happen in this short trip. It’s a feel-good movie that might use some manipulation to get its results, but still lives up to its name.

Hanyku Railways – A 15-Minute Miracle played at the Japanese Film Festival on 26 November (Sydney) and 6 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

Touring Australia for the first time, Hirayama brings with him two of his most recent films, Oba, The Last Samurai and Shinsan: A Serenade in a Coalmine Town. We were lucky enough to be able to ask him a few questions, although the director proves to be a man of few words. This direct approach reflects the simple and straightforward, but no less powerful, way that Hirayama tells his stories on screen. The interview was arranged via questions prepared in advance for translation.

We need to thank Hirayama-san for his time, along with Programme Coordinator Evon Fung and all the good folk at the The Japan Foundation and the Japanese Film Festival in Sydney.

The translation for this interview was done by Makoto Miyama.

Welcome to Australia and congratulations on the success of both Oba, The Last Samurai and Shinsan.

Thank you. It’s my first time being able to see my movies before the audience. It pleases me that the movie was such a hit.

What first attracted you to the story of Sakae Ōba and Ōba, The Last Samurai?

I found the choice of life over war intriguing.

At what stage in the development of Ōba, The Last Samurai  did you decide to collaborate with Cellin Gluck?

The offer was made at the very beginning of the production.

Did the twin shoots prove challenging to keep the story together?

The twin shoots provided no problem during shooting, but at the time we foresaw that it would cause difficulty with editing.

What qualities did you see in Yutaka Takenouchi that led you to cast him as Ōba?

The decision to cast Takenouchi was made from the start. I believe his performance has done us very proud.

Were there any challenges in the Thailand shoot?

I found it difficult to adjust to the heat and climate. However, I was given a fresh sense that the goal of movie making knows no bounds.

You were born Kitakyushu City, Fukuoka Prefecture. Does Shinsan bring with it a personal element for you?

Being my home town, I did feel a little awkward doing a historical shoot there.

What intrigued you about Tomoki Tsujiuchi’s novel?

That children have so much energy.

Shin-san has a talented cast of young actors. How did you go about finding them?

Just through auditions.

Is it different working with children to directing adults?

Adults to a degree can picture what life was like in this period but children live in a world that is far from such thoughts, so I was very pleased to be able to capture this in my film.

Several of the cast (including Sosuke Ikematsu) are from Fukuoka.  Did this happen naturally, or did you deliberately choose this?

I specifically sought out those who can speak with the unique Fukuoka accent. So, inevitably, many actors from Fukuoka were cast.

The film is set in the 1960s and captures this period perfectly: did you look to particular films or filmmakers, or any other source materials, for influence or inspiration?

Not particularly. The reference material that I did use for the movie was generally material on Fukuoka that I had amassed.

Including Sword of Desperation, your last three films have been historical or period pieces. Does history have a particular importance to you?

With technology coming as far as it has, we have entered an era where one can make a movie simply by taking a camera and filming. But when you are dealing with historical films you must pay attention to every corner and every subtle detail. In that tediousness is where the true essence of film making lies.

What do you have planned next?

I don’t know how many films I have left in me, but I am grateful that I could share with you all what I already have.

A time-travelling samurai who learns to make pastry? Yes, we’re deep into the Japanese Film Festival now with an adaptation of Gen Araki’s Chonmage Purin (ちょんまげぷりん). Yoshihiro Nakamura has gathered a solid following over the last few years, especially with the recognition that Fish Story and Golden Slumbers earned him. On the surface, the premise of A Boy and His Samurai sounds a little silly, but one could say that about so many films when stripped down to their basest of elements.

Kijima Yasube (Ryo Nishikido, TV’s Full Throttle Girl), a samurai from the Edo Period of Japan, suddenly finds himself 180 years in the future in present day Tokyo. Initially unable to comprehend his surroundings, he soon becomes attached to single mother Hiroko (Rie Tomosaka, Abraxas) and her son Tomoya (Fuku Suzuki). Yasube takes on domestic chores in return for food and shelter, but soon finds an incredibly talent for making desserts. Entering a local competition, all of their destinies will soon change forever.

The premise of A Boy and His Samurai would be enough to get it over the line as a curiosity at the very least, but it would also be nothing if not for the heartfelt writing behind the three principal characters. The initially taciturn Yasube overcomes the problem that most fish-out-of-water comedies have, in baffling their subject with mod-cons and then not knowing where to take this character. Infusing him with unexpected intelligence, Yasube becomes the ultimate samurai of domestic duties, folding laundry with precision and fussing over his cooking. The gives both the actors and the audience something to work with, ensuring that while there are some inevitable unrequited moments of romance, this largely steers clear of both rom-com and Encino Man territory. Likewise, both Rie Tomosaka and Fuku Suzuki are capable performers in their own right.

When the film rather unexpectedly takes a turn into the joys of cooking, we are treated to an extended set of montages of cooking. “Food porn” is almost a genre unto itself in Asian cinema (see JFF15′s Patisserie Coin de Rue), and A Boy and His Samurai can’t resist the lure of lingering long over luscious layers of lavish cakes and puddings. During the ultimate cake-off, a giant Edo-era castle is built out of cake, complete with tatami mats and little samurai, it looks good enough to eat, and probably is.

A pure joy of a film, A Boy and His Samurai once again proves that Yoshihiro Nakamura deserves to be recognised outside of his home country. Mixing time-travel with cooking is not your everyday event, but Nakamura somehow grounds this and makes it work within the context of modern Tokyo.

A Boy and His Samurai played at the Japanese Film Festival on 26 November (Sydney) and 6 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

Now for something completely different. Milocrorze: A Love Story (ミロクローゼ) comes to us with a reputation preceding it. That is made its debut at the aptly named Yebisu International Festival for Art and Alternative Visions should be indicative that Milocrorze is not your average bear, but that it also took out Best Director, Audience Award – Best Asian Feature (Silver), Most Innovative Feature and the Guru Prize for the Most Energetic Feature (Silver) at the Fantasia Film Festival this year makes it harder to dismiss as just another flash in the pan work of a commercial director. Indeed, director Ishibashi Yoshimasa’s work on television variety shows and commercial work could have scarcely prepared the world for the onslaught of this feature, easily one of the most original creations of the last decade.

Milocrorze is, as the extended title would imply, a story about love. Actually, it is three stories about love that all intersect and intertwine in a visual feast of dance, storybook charm, samurai violence and just plain eye-candy. Yamada Takayuki (13 Assassins) plays three different characters, each who doggedly pursue love. The first of these, Ovreneli Vreneligare, is a seven-year old boy who lives with his cat Verandola Gorgonzola, before falling in love  with Milocrorze (Maiko, Space Battleship Yamato). They live together, until one day she disappears. Then there’s Kumagai Besson (Yamada Takayuki), a celebrity counsellor for young men who is just as likely to insult his clients before engaging a dance routine than actually help them. One day, he runs over three men in his limousine. This brings us to the third story, where one of those men Tamon (Takayuki), seeks his kidnapped wife, gradually turning from a flower seller to a ronin. Finally, we return to the adult Ovreneli Vreneligare, who now wears a saucepan lit on his chest to cover the hole in his heart.

It may be going for aesthetic appeal over substance, but that doesn’t stop anything in this bat-shit crazy film from being undeniably cool. From the storybook styling of the opening and closing sequences, through to the bloodbath that surrounds Tamon, everything is playing on the hyper-kinetic cinema that has proven to be a winner for Japanese film-goers over the last few decades. The strongest of the sections is undoubtedly around Kumagai Besson, who has the uncanny ability to summon a spontaneous synchronised dance sequence. It distills everything that is terrific about Milocrorze: it is short, sharp, irreverent and completely off the wall. If Sion Sono makes a musical, it will probably look like this.

Not all of the sections are as consistently strong, although the problem is not necessarily one of quality as too much of a good thing. Case in point is Tamon’s ronin-like journey, while being incredibly cool and full of the kinds of samurai bloodletting that would make any jidai-geki fan squeal with delight, it goes on for a little too long, perhaps losing sight of the fact that this is, after all, a love story. However, the fact that we can switch from a musical to a bit of decent swordplay within a few scenes is a phenomenal achievement, especially given that Yoshimasa manages to maintain a cohesive feel throughout the film. By the time we return to the story of an adult Ovreneli Vreneligare, and a seemingly ageless Milocrorze, you will have completely bought into the world or be desperately looking for water to help you get down off the trip you’ve found yourself on. Both are valid responses in this one-of-a-kind work of a twisted genius, who will hopefully have many more of these in the bag.

Milocrorze: A Love Story is playing at the Japanese Film Festival on 25 November (Sydney) and 5 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

One of the most popular and enduring anime creations in Japan, if you don’t recognise the name Space Battleship Yamato (SPACE BATTLESHIP ヤマト), North American and Australians viewers may know the 1970s cartoon series by its alternative heavily-dubbed version, Star Blazers. The series has led to a number of animated films over the last three decades or so, the last of which was released in 2009. Always: Sunset on Third Street helmer Takashi Yamazaki commissioned the top special effects houses in Japan to bring the SFX up to spec for the first live action outing of the popular series.

In the last years of the 22nd century, beings known as Gamilons attack the Earth with giant meteor objects that wipe out much of the life on the planet. Five years later, the Earth is left irradiated and nothing will grow, with most of the population of the planet living underground. Former pilot Susumu Kodai (Takuya Kimura, Redline) discovers a communications device from the planet Iscandar which indicates that there is a device that will allow the Earth the clean up the radiation. He is soon whisked aboard the Earth’s last hope, the Space Battleship Yamato where he must bond with his crew-mates including rival/potential love interest Yuki Mori (Meisa Kuroki, Andalucia: Revenge of the Goddess) and find a mentor in captain Juzo Okita (Tsutomu Yamazaki, Departures) in order to save his homeworld.

There’s been a string of anime/manga films adapted to the live action format over the years, and the problem with most of them is that they were trying to do things with the format that wasn’t meant to be seen with real people. Reportedly inspired by Avatar, star Kimura is said to have urged Yamazaki to improve the quality of the CGI effects, which accounts for 65 minutes of the final product. The proof is in the pudding, as the producers have managed to pull off  the spectacle of the grandest of sci-fi epics on a “mere” $24 million budget, something that compares favourably with Hollywood movies that cost six times that amount. An impressive array of space battles and things exploding on a mass scale give the illusion of grandeur, and its a pretty successful ruse. This looks at least as good as a top-notch episode of Star Trek, and one of the Gamilon ships is too impressive for words. One would be forgiven for forgetting the anime origins.

The narrative itself is fairly mired in Top Gun stylings, with pretty-boy Kimura the central object of swoonage. There’s not much too it really: fallen hero must find his mojo again in order to save humanity. We may have seen it all before, but just because it’s a formula it doesn’t mean that it isn’t going to work. All plot developments, the few that there are at least, are telegraphed long before the ship even dusts off, but it is nevertheless a high-spirited action adventure with enough moment-to-moment action to keep engagement rolling through to the inevitable conclusion. Whether this is the start of a new chapter in Yamato‘s history or a one-off entry into the ongoing saga, this is a worthy addition to the (space) canon.

Space Battleship Yamato is playing at the Japanese Film Festival on 25 November (Sydney) and 3 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

There is a manga around practically any genre you can think of, from tennis to reverse harems. Mountaineering manga may not be the most globally recognisable form of the art, but it exists, and there is a certain sense of comfort in that. Based on the manag “Gaku: Minna no Yama” by Shinichi Ishizuka, running in serial form since 2003, Peak: The Rescuers (岳-ガク-) brings the manga into the real world by exploiting the magnificent backdrop of Japan’s stunning mountain ranges.

Kumi Shiina (Masami Nagasawa, From Up on Poppy Hill) follows in her father’s footsteps to become the latest in a long line of volunteer rescue workers. After a series of setbacks and failed rescue missions, Kumi starts to lose her confidence and her reason for being there. However, under the tutelage of leader Masato Noda (Kuranosuke Sasaki, The Lady Shogun and Her Men) and fellow rescue volunteer/mountain fanatic Sanpo Shimazaki (Shun Oguri, Bayside Shakedown 3: Set the Guys Loose), she learns to respect the mountain.

There is a moment early in the film where Peak: The Rescuers could be mistaken for a parody of Cliffhanger or any other mountaineering movie of the last few decades. However, it soon becomes rapidly obvious that this is not the case, and instead director Osamu Katayama (Heat Island) has borrowed from every cliche in the playbook. From the reluctant apprentice to the heroic poses, there is no mistaking the trajectory of this avalanche and for the most part this is fine. However, in Kumi, we have a wholly unlikeable lead, who does nothing but complain for the first three quarters of the film. It’s actually tough to work out why she volunteered to be a mountain rescue worker, as she doesn’t seem to like mountains, be terribly good at climbing and has a universal disdain for practically anybody who gets themselves into minor strife. This is all a simple conceit designed to give her character an arc, and an obstacle to overcome. Otherwise we’d be watching two hours of people who really enjoy being good at climbing.

The cinematography is stunning, and the crisp winter wonderland of Japan’s Northern Alps is beautiful to behold. The fanatic Shun Oguri’s character is there to regular point this out, but it goes without saying. Were it not for the characters, this might be one of the best bits of footage we have seen of the ranges in recent years. Yet when the disaster inevitably hits (its a blizzard in this case and a once-in-a-blue-moon storm that was telegraphed earlier), Kumi has to get her act together and start appreciating everything the landscape has to offer and learn the value of Christmas (or something). It’s a fairly straightforward affair, and were it not for the wonderful backdrop, it’s the kind of tale that could have just as easily been told about a woman who was resentful, but eventually respectful, of the deep fryer at McDonalds.

Peak: The Rescuers is playing at the Japanese Film Festival on 24 November (Sydney) and 3 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

Nagasaki native Shūichi Yoshida is one of those so-hot-right-now writers in Japan, with his previous works having been adapted into films such as Christmas on July 24th Avenue. Despite a number of competing bids to bring his award-winning novel Akunin (Villain) to life, it was Korean-Japanese director Lee Sang-il who has adapted it to the screen, following the success of his previous award-winning Hula Girls in 2006.

Yoshino Ishibashi (Hikari Mitsushima, Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai, Love Exposure), who sells insurance in Fukuoka, meets Yuichi Shimizu (Satoshi Tsumabuki, Villon’s Wife), a social outcast from a fishing village in Nagasaki, via a dating site. Not terribly impressed, she also dates Keigo Masuo (Masaki Okada, Life Back Then), or at least she think she is dating him. He is just an disinterested in her and she is with Yuichi. When Yoshino is found dead, Keigo is the prime suspect, while Yuichi  goes on with his life in fear. When he receives an email from Mitsuyo Magome (Eri Fukatsu, A Ghost of a Chance), a woman he had previously met online. As the two become closer, Yuichi is now on the run from the law.

The central question behind Villain (悪 人) is “Who is the real villain?”. Yet do not mistake this for a simple whodunnit, as it is established fairly early on who the criminal is. The question of villainy remains ambiguous throughout, as our protagonist navigates through a sea of horrible people. If anything, Lee Sang-il makes it too easy for us to point fingers at the miscreants and social ills and forgive the acts of the central figures. Indeed, the observational approach of the film leaves a wide range of possible interpretations, right up until the twisty finale. The question as to whether Yuichi is a “bad person” is not cut and dried, especially when compared with the people who surround him. We have, as a comparison, Keigo, who not only abuses the women in his life, but publicly brags about it.

Yet as more people are drawn into the web, the mysteries take on another form. Mitsuyo, played by the magnificent Eri Fukatsu, is the richest puzzle in the film. We never wholly get a grasp on her motivations, and even after certain revelations are made about Yuichi, her love for him remains steadfast. Yet even this is ambiguous. Do either of the characters have a true love for each other, or is there a mutual obsessive need on both of their parts to be wanted wholly, without acknowledgment of any other. The parallel stories involving  Yuichi grandmother (the incomparable Kirin Kiki, A Honeymoon in Hell: Mr. and Mrs. Oki’s Fabulous Trip) and Yoshino’s father (Akira Emoto, Life Back Then) may be tangential to the main narrative, but they are indelibly touched by it. Their encounters with the media and shady conmen to name a few bring home the point that there are villains around every corner. Does this excuse the actions of the killer? Does love and an appreciation of lighthouses eradicate the crime of murder?

The understated photography makes terrific use of the southern island of Kyushu, with much of the action taking place between Saga and Nagasaki. The film does feel as though it is taking place in an isolated pocket, and coupled with a score by the legendary Joe Hisaishi (known for his music for Studio Ghibli and Takashi Kitano) there is a subtle majesty at play here. Neither the photography or the music overwhelm, but rather they play the same unobtrusive and observational role that the director’s eye does. This keeps the morality of the film, and indeed the motivations of the players, ambiguous til the end.

Villain is playing at the Japanese Film Festival on 23 November (Sydney) and 3 December (Melbourne) 2011 at the 15th Japanese Film Festival in Australia.

Based on a serial story “Yôkame no semi” (The Eighth Day) by Mitsuyo Kakuta, Rebirth (八日目の蝉) had previously been brought to the small screen in Japan. Indeed, it was only screened on NHK last year, so the transition to the big screen has been an incredibly rapid process. Dealing with the weighty issues of the loss of innocence, confronting pain and the past, Rebirth is never an easy film, but it is also one of the strongest dramatic contenders at this year’s Japanese Film Festival.

After the collapse of their relationship, Kiwako (Hiromi Nagasaku, Wandering Home) abducts the 6-month old child of a man she was having an affair with. Raising the child as her own, it is four years before the authorities catch up with her and the young child, Erina, is returned to her birth parents. Etsuko (Yoko Moriguchi, TSY) blames rival Kiwako for depriving the child of her real parents during her developmental years, and lashes out at both Kiwako and ultimately Erina. Twenty years later, the adult Erina (Mao Inoue, Oba: The Last Samurai) struggles to come to terms with what happened as a child. She too is having an affair with a married man, and when she becomes pregnant she decides to return to where she was raised by Kiwako and confront her past.

There is a great temptation when adapting a tale such as this to aim for maximum melodrama, although director Izuru Narushima manages to avoid much of this in a very straightforward telling of this tale. Using a series of flashbacks to the now damanged Erina’s childhood, we are given two arguments. The first is the impassioned birth-mother Etsuko calling for Kiwako’s blood in court, playing every bit the part of the aggrieved mother. So too has Erina come to blame “that woman” for much of her emotional damage throughout her life, but as the flashbacks play out, the allegiances of the audience may begin to shift. Erina’s return home was not a happy one, with the child initially urinating herself upon her return to her birth parents. We soon find an abusive mother who is unable to reconnect with her absentee daughter, and her father is emotionally disengaged. It is not simply the pain of the return of their daughter either: we discover that Etsuko would frequently taunt and abuse Kiwako over her barren womb.

Perhaps this is simply because, as the tale unfolds, there is a persistent truth that Kiwako was a better mother to Erina than Etsuko was ever capable of being. As Erina literally journeys to the places of her past, the memories unfurl like the petals of a flower. Narushima’s beautiful photograph is ofttimes stark, but also delicate and dreamy. It is almost as if viewing the movie is like walking through a fog-like state of being, only to be met with shocking states of clarity.

Anchoring the film are the amazing performances from the largely all female cast. After her successful run on the Boys Over Flowers TV series, Mao Inoue’s theatrical star has risen with a series of high-profile gigs, including starring opposite superstar Yutaka Takenouchi in Oba: The Last Samurai. As the film slides neatly into a temporal two-hander, she and Hiromi Nagasaku find ways of incorporating elements of their characters into each others performances, despite not sharing at screen time together. Rebirth is a deeply moving tale that will have you questioning your own beliefs as it makes a firm stand in the “nature versus nurture” debate.