Evil Does Not Exist
“Evil Does Not Exist,” the new Japanese drama from director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi, following his Academy Award-winning film “Drive My Car.”opens with a long tracking shot through the trees, looking at the sky, with the sounds of nature bleeding into a score that initially seems more suited to a horror film. However, as the film progresses, this tonal choice becomes clear. Hamaguchi invites patience and time to accept the pace of Mizubiki, the peaceful village outside Tokyo where Takumi lives with his daughter, Hana.
The film evolves into a deliberately paced drama about the struggles between peace and violence, city and countryside, and humanity and nature. The story centers on a large company in Tokyo that buys land in the village to create a glamping site near Takumi’s home, where his daughter enjoys exploring the woods, and he works odd jobs around town. The company sends a talent agency firm to host a public meeting to inform the locals about their plans. It quickly becomes clear that the meeting hosts have no real authority and are merely messengers for their clients in Tokyo. The town recognizes this and demands transparency before the company disrupts the village's balance.
The film unfolds slowly, peeling back layers to reveal a damning and unsettling examination of tourism's dialectics and how the human desire for peace and beauty often leads to destroying what we love. This serves as a microcosm of the larger issues we face as a species, particularly regarding climate change and the destruction of our planet’s balance.
“Evil Does Not Exist” may not be for everyone, but I found it profoundly beautiful yet unsettling, featuring layered performances that are paradoxically opaque and vulnerable. The film goes to places you anticipate from the beginning yet still finds ways to shock you without feeling unearned. I would also be remiss if I didn’t mention how genuinely funny some the scenes can be in the film as well.
I love a film that trusts its audience, one that doesn’t spoon-feed answers and allows you to sit with it, lingering long after you leave the theater. This is that type of film. It’s been a couple months since I’ve seen it, and it still sits with me, begging to be revisited.
Sing Sing
"Sing Sing," the latest film from A24 starring Oscar-nominated Colman Domingo, wasn’t on my radar until an early screening last week. Now, it’s quickly become one of my favorite films of the year, leaving a lingering impression.
The film follows a group of incarcerated individuals participating in a program that stages theatre productions within the walls of Sing Sing prison. This film feels deeply important and incredibly human. The production itself deserves its own spotlight: the cast comprises formerly incarcerated men who were part of the organization on which the film is based. This program not only puts on plays but also gives participants a sense of purpose, helping them reconnect with their humanity in a dehumanizing environment. Additionally, the film was made with everyone, from the director to the first-time actors to the Oscar-nominated star, receiving equal equity in the project.
"Sing Sing" is brimming with emotion, and I felt deeply connected to everyone in the film. Their struggles felt real, the script was honest and restrained, and the performances were powerful and grounded. Colman Domingo truly shines, and if he isn’t up for an Oscar nomination this year, there’s no justice in that world. Also, I feel the need to mention the cinematography. The movie was shot on gorgeous film stock that exudes warmth, creating a dreamlike yet natural atmosphere. The camera roams through the rooms with a fluidity reminiscent of Cassavetes at his best, with subtle nods to "Opening Night."
I was fully wrapped up in this film, reminded that even if cinema can’t save the world, participation in creating art can be transformative. I love this film and I think you will too.
Sing Sing is now paying at The Alamo Drafthouse and Film Streams.
