Maborosi is one of the most assured first films ever. As if Hirokazu Kore-eda came out of the gate a fully formed stylist, with an artistic and intellectual acumen that maintains its consistency for over 20 years.
Similarly to other great humanist filmmakers like Loach or Kieślowski, Kore-eda began with documentaries – a sure path to understanding the intricacies of existence from the ground up. Aesthetically, Kore-eda carries the torch of the grandmaster Yasujirō Ozu, with nods to Mikio Naruse. It was Ozu who first lowered the camera closer to the perspective of his characters sitting down on a tatami mat. Kore-eda matches that, but his frame is even more symmetrical, and the light much darker. While Ozu enhanced the brightness and radiance of his scenes, Kore-eda prefers a bleaker approach. His scenes are moody, some play out in complete darkness punctuated by sparse dialogue.
There is not much warmth in the interiors – the space is claustrophobic, encroaching, almost oppressive. As if the spirit of Ozu traipsed through a quagmire, reluctantly emerging into a new and uncharted territory of a different, much more turbulent Japan. This is precisely the power of Kore-eda's vision: to find kindness and purpose in the frightening unpredictability of life.
Maborosi, as most of his films, is not out there to amuse us with cleverly paced three-act-structure stories. He is not an orthodox filmmaker. Even in his recent Shoplifters he was reluctant to share too much too soon. He withholds crucial information to the point of encryption. Some issues are never resolved. But that is never frustrating once you give in to Kore-eda's method. His is a cinema of engagement, not of passive reception. What is not told, or not fully explained, is an invitation to share in its mystery. I cannot think of another filmmaker alive who has such power of weaving a story out of sheer emotion of characters, as opposed to a plot-driven narrative.
Kore-eda is the personification of the Japanese concept of Mono No Aware– an instant nostalgia for gentle moments which haven't yet passed. Nothing is permanent in this world, but we do have the power to enclose our memories for everlasting contemplation. Isn't that what cinema is all about? And that, in a sense, is as close we get to infinity. To me, such is the essence of Maborosi, and of Kore-eda's art in general.
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