Every fall, when the heyday of the summer blockbuster is over, theaters are flooded with "serious" films. From historical epics to quirky indie dramedies, it is difficult to separate films of genuine quality from shallow prestige pieces. It is even more unfortunate that most moviegoers will probably overlook a mini-masterpiece like "Still Walking" (2008) because of its apparent lack of excitement and drama.
The film, the latest from writer-director Hirokazu Koreeda ("Nobody Knows," 2004), is a slow-paced, meticulously composed slice of family life. The story follows a modern Japanese family over the course of two days as it gathers together to remember the death of its oldest son, who drowned 12 years earlier while saving someone's life. Long-buried grievances and generational tensions slowly rise to the surface as the family members go about their everyday routines.
There are no long, emotional speeches and no taut confrontations. Mr. Koreeda instead opts for the more realistic and ultimately more effective technique of focusing on the little exchanges and quiet interactions between the characters. The cumulative power that the film achieves through this method emerges so naturally and so quietly that it doesn't seem at all contrived.
The film mainly focuses on the only surviving son, Ryota Yokoyama (Hiroshi Abe), and his family as they come to stay at his parents' house for the night. He is palpably anxious about bringing his new wife and stepson to finally meet his family, and his animosity towards what he feels is a tired mourning ritual seeps out in half-muttered comments. There is also a deep rift between Ryota and his father, a retired doctor who makes it clear that he preferred Ryota's brother over him.
The other members of the family are also preoccupied with their own troubles. Ryota's sister, Chinami Kataoka (You), suggests that the former move into their parents' house with her family in order to help their aging mother. Ryota's stepson, Atsushi (Shohei Tanaka), tries to fit in with his new cousins while being haunted by the death of his own father. Everyone tries to respect the memory of Junpei, the late brother, while at the same time moving on with their own lives.
There might seem to be an overabundance of plot, but nothing in "Still Walking" feels forced. Director Koreeda doesn't oversell any of his points, and most of the characters' issues remain unresolved. But the depth of emotional experience that emerges from the smallest details remains incredible throughout. A picture of Junpei framed prominently in the dining room shows his importance to the household even before he is ever mentioned. A hat left in the background of a shot provides insight into Chinami's personality. Different images and relationships slowly begin to mirror each other, and each generation seems to influence the next.
If this makes "Still Walking" sound overly academic, somber and artsy, it isn't. Scenes of melancholy are balanced with unexpected humor, and the film never seems to strive for anything greater than what befits the focused snapshot of life it explores. It is a tribute to the film's power that its epilogue works as a perfect ellipsis to the story: It's clear that the characters' lives continue and are not merely confined within the limits of the film's runtime.
The audience is finally left to contemplate the intricacies of the lives of a single family as the film's closing credits roll over a picturesque view of the city in which the family lives. It is then that the slow crescendo of emotion that Koreeda has been slowly building toward for the entire film comes to a head, and the specifics of the plot seem to recede in the wake of a larger theme of living life. The surprising thing is that what at first seemed to be a simple story of a family during a very particular part of their lives becomes a parable about how everyone must be continually moving on, and the film's title becomes a reminder of how the experience of life is universal.
