Ryusuke Hamaguchi's "Evil Does Not Exist"

Evil Does Not Exist (悪は存在しない) (2023) - Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Japan

“A mesmerising experience which kept me thinking about it for weeks.”

★★★★★

REVIEW (Some spoilers)

The film opens with a 10 minute sequence of tree branches and shadows which plays like the shimmering reflections of water on a ceiling all to the accompaniment of Eiko Ishibashi’s ethereal score. This sequence acts as a bridge which immersed me into the world created by Hamaguchi; a smooth entrance that stands in stark contrast to the sharp, violent exit which ends the film while also mirroring this placid beginning.

Progressing at a contemplative pace principally in the pastoral setting of the remote mountain village of Mizubiki, the serene atmosphere continues though is marked by hints at obscure menace; the distant sound of gunfire, harsh transitions, a child being forgotten or simply isolation itself. Ishibashi’s music is mercurial in that it always feels serene while also hinting at something more dangerous. All this leads to a vague tension that simmers until the final act.

The relationships between characters are subtle, similar to Hamaguchi’s previous work where intimacy is understated. Principal characters, widower Takumi and his eight-year-old daughter Hana are each independent and self-sufficient, the latter probably more than should be expected of a child of her age. (Hana is quite similar to Ana from Victor Erice’s The Spirit of the Beehive, a key inspiration for Hamaguchi) Takumi spends time on chores and is the odd job man in the community while Hana often spends time alone wandering the wilderness sometimes as result of her father forgetting to pick her up from school. Their relationship is intimate but with a clear separation.

Muzubiki is a tight knit community which has found a balance with nature and is relatively young having been settled just two generations prior. Spring water is at its heart but with the arrival of representatives from XXX (a talent agency making its first foray into glamping) with a proposal for development of a glamping site, the community is faced with disruption in the tainting of its water supply, increased risk of fires and loss of business to existing holiday accommodation. The community meeting itself leads to Hana once again being left alone.

Suruga, the village chief points out that other communities downstream would also be impacted by the plans. Flow is a key thread throughout from tracking shots, water, vehicles, mist, deer migration patterns and even community habits. And here I believe is one of the key themes of the film which is the unexpected consequences of interrupting a flow, something which the outsiders fail to grasp.

After hearing the community’s objections, representatives Takahashi and Mayuzumi return to Tokyo and we are presented with a wide shot of town, cars and trains flowing between the buildings and a background noise not unlike the babbling of the village stream, a sound which is present throughout the film either as wind rustling through leaves, pots boiling, cars humming as well as flowing water.

Reporting back to their boss and a consultant brought on board to support their glamping endeavour, the community’s concerns are quickly rebuffed and Takahashi and Mayuzumi are promptly sent back to Muzubiki to offer Takumi the position of caretaker at the new site as well as a bottle of liquor to curry his favour. While driving back, the two discuss their work and ambitions and it becomes clear that both are dissatisfied with where their lives are and Takumi expresses an interest in moving to the countryside for a simpler life though it soon becomes clear he has a glamorised vision of what that would entail, not unlike the concept of glamping itself.

The two meet Takumi who is splitting logs as they arrive and in a long continuous shot mirroring an earlier scene, Takumi spends several minutes splitting logs but this time as he finishes, Takahashi asks if he can have a go. He’s unable to do it until Takumi offers him direction and upon successfully splitting a log, Takahashi says he’s not felt so good in years underlining his romanticism and ignorance of what country life entails.

It’s at this point in the film where it becomes pronounced in terms of how Hamaguchi is using colour. Takahashi wears a bright red coat and he fails to blend in while many in the village wear blue or more muted colours. His colleague, Mayuzumi, wears white and she is more self-aware of her ignorance. When the three of them go for lunch at a local eatery, Takahashi takes off his coat and now sports a purple jumper and decides that he will move to the village. Other instances of colour include vivid red blood dripping from a thorn and in a photograph of Takumi’s family in happier days, both him and Hana are wearing white while it’s his wife who sports red.

The final act quickly escalates, there are more cuts and tracking shots are no longer at a sedentary pace. Kettles boil, darkness descends, mist rolls in, obscuring Takumi’s home. In terms of the above mentioned unpredictability of how a flow can be affected, we the audience are not prepared for the results. Primal instincts mirroring the nature around come to the fore and I was left thinking about how I might impact communities I meet, places I visit or the balance in the life I now lead. I think the film is more than an ecological drama. Ecology is part of its story but it applies to a much broader understanding of how we fit into the wider world. A mesmerising experience which kept me thinking about it for weeks.