'Renoir' review: A peculiar 11-year-old girl processes her father's imminent death

Japanese filmmaker Chie Hayakawa is not afraid to look death in the eyes. The writer-director's 2022 debut feature, “Plan 75,” imagined a disturbing future in which the government offers the elderly a subsidy to be euthanized. For his follow-up, he travels to his own past, drawing on memories of his father's battle with cancer.

But while “Renoir” does not feature elements of science fiction, the proximity of oblivion remains equally prominent. Stripped of sentimentality, this gentle drama follows a quiet, observant fifth grader who feels the grim shadow of mortality around her. How the character will absorb that understanding is anyone's guess, including Hayakawa's.

Newcomer Yui Suzuki plays Fuki, who lives in a nondescript Tokyo suburb in 1987. Her soft-spoken father, Keiji (Lily Franky), is suffering from terminal cancer in its final stages and the emaciated man spends as much time in the hospital as he does at home. However, Fuki's mother, Utako (Hikari Ishida), doesn't seem too downcast: one senses an emotional exhaustion that comes from preparing for the inevitable for so long that she's now almost numb, her anticipatory pain having given way to frayed nerves.

Fuki's pre-grieving process is equally complicated. Outwardly, she shows no signs of being devastated by her father's imminent passing, happily playing with him, almost denying her destiny. But “Renoir” subtly suggests that the impressionable girl is more conscious than she seems, and surrounds her with random reminders of death. Local news breathlessly reports random domestic murders. Even as Fuki walks away from the city, the camera remains on her, watching the dying embers of a campfire. The film derives its title from the girl's interest in “Little Irène,” a painting by the influential French impressionist Pierre-Auguste Renoir. She asks if Renoir is still alive. No, he's dead too.

Hayakawa draws inspiration from his childhood in multiple ways for his second feature film, which premiered in competition at Cannes last year. “Renoir” takes place in 1987 specifically because that is the year she turned 11 and, like its protagonist, was in love with “Little Irène.” But there is a refreshing absence of nostalgia in Hayakawa's conception of Fuki and his mocking processing of his father's fatal illness.

For school, Fuki writes an essay about her wish to be an orphan. He becomes obsessed with hypnotism and mind reading, an unorthodox strategy for creating a sense of control. And occasionally he delves into dreams that Hayakawa presents so matter-of-factly that viewers can sometimes be unsure whether what they're seeing is really happening. In “Renoir,” Fuki’s fantasies are as naturalistic as her daily life—a sharp reminder that, for children, imagination and reality are often indistinguishable.

If death has been an integral part of both of Hayakawa's features, his main focus is society's callous reaction to aging. “Plan 75” eschewed the conventions of the dystopian thriller to reflect on how Japan might one day treat its elderly citizens, considering them little more than a waste of resources. “Renoir” makes a similar point in a memoir piece. Keiji is the one dying, but it's telling that Hayakawa focuses the story on Fuki and Utako, who, each in their own way, seem more concerned with their own personal dramas.

As Keiji's situation becomes more serious, Utako enters the orbit of Toru (Ayumu Nakajima), a career consultant with whom she instantly falls in love and considers pursuing him romantically. Ironically, Toru preaches the importance of having good communication skills in the office, a lesson the film's cautious family would do well to heed. While Utako hides her feelings for Toru, Fuki begins a secret odyssey in which she impulsively joins a phone dating service and strikes up conversations with a creepy college student (Ryota Bando) who pushes her to meet in person. This potentially traumatic subplot is the closest “Renoir” comes to traditional suspense, but even here Hayakawa takes a muted approach, eschewing shock value in favor of bittersweet commentary on young people's confusion about love. Both Utako and Fuki pursue human connections fraught with danger, each trying to isolate themselves from the tragedy that awaits them at home.

“Renoir” may be a delicate film, but it is peppered with thoughtful questions about whether childhood pains leave permanent scars on us as adults. Suzuki exudes the fragility and vitality of adolescence, playing Fuki as someone who constantly absorbs the world and rarely reveals what she is doing with that stimulus. The simplest moments are the ones that resonate the loudest, like when the moody 11-year-old girl holds a balloon over the balcony of her family's high-rise apartment, casually releasing it so it falls to the ground far below. Does she speak of a desire to jump herself? “Renoir” doesn't say it, but the character is so serene that you are sure he will survive his father's death. Who knows: maybe in a few years I'll even make a moving, emotionally astute film about it.