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The quiet and progressive rhythm of Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s direction remains as mesmerizing as ever in Evil Does Not Exist. His previous film, Drive My Car, had a way of slowly revealing the sadness between drives for a widow, tapping into the melancholy of human nature. His latest film aims at a broader subject that could be given a swooping stroke of embracing environmentalism over corporate invasion. Yet the film never reduces itself to a simplistic view, presenting a weirdly haunting depiction of beauty with a darkness that seems to lurk beneath its frozen lakes, bubbling up like an unpredictable force of nature.
The film takes its time to make a case for the wilderness by quietly taking in all the ambiance. The first few minutes are without dialogue, letting the wintery trees consume the screen. Then comes Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), a local handyman widow for his small town. He lives with his daughter as he tends to his home with chopping firewood and helping out businesses by supplying them with water from the stream. Stoic and steady, he is silent amid his treks and softly instructional around his daughter (Ryo Nishikawa), pointing out different trees and deer tracks. Shots will hold long enough to appreciate the gorgeous splendor of his local wilderness, lingering long after he leaves the frame as though we can’t pull ourselves away from the beauty.
Into town comes some developers who want to reserve a portion of the land for “glamping,” a fusion of glamour and camping for wealthy folks. The many residence of the town, also introduced as passively and steadily as Takumi, voice their concerns. Some are heated while others are timid with voicing their concerns for the impact on the environment. Takumi, however, speaks of the biggest concerns with great consideration and calculations. His disapproval will only fall on the deaf ears of two talent agency representatives, ill-equipped to answer questions or offer alternatives. As one resident accurately remarks, it’s like talking to a brick wall.
The questions are brought back to uncaring and inconsiderate boss, but the film doesn’t settle so easily for cartoonish corporate villains. While the leader of this glamping project speaks with harsh declaraitons of greed, the representatives of Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) are given more time to be seen as human. A long drive back to the village brings out their dreams and desires, tinged with a chuckle about they ended up being in this job they’d rather not have. As we get to know them better, they also experience more of the village and its local wonder by following around Takumi. The distant gunshots at deer signal something dangerous on the horizon and it arrives with great surprise and confusion, as though the primal aspects of the woods have taken over and proceed beyond our understanding of the balance between humans and nature.
Hamaguchi treads on fairly familiar ground but also ventures out into new territory akin to Jean-Luc Godard. There’s a fascination with language in how the film darts between grounded discussions of the environment and wordless actions that blend into the landscape. It’s telling that Hamaguchi had originally intended for this to be a short film without dialogue but found just the right story to keep it going longer. What’s so fascinating is how there’s a narrative worth following and visuals that are easy to get lost in, preserving plenty of time to do just that. The wonder takes hold so hard that the story seems to almost crumble under the tremendous intimidation of the towering trees and gazing deer.
There’s an aching grip of the eyes and the spirit coating every frame of Evil Does Not Exist. Hamaguchi’s direction lures the viewer in like a decadent trap, where it’s weirdly satisfying to have its woodland jaws clamp down. The thrill of being lulled by the Japanese winter only to be sucker-punched by its untamed cruelty has such a wild rush. It’s like getting a slow serving of Goddard with a shot of adrenaline at the end. It leaves the mind with as much to contemplate by the final scene as the eyes are transfixed throughout in gorgeous cinematography. No matter how you interpret the ultimate resolve, Hamaguchi’s masterful direction is impossible to look away from.
