Review of 'Evil does not exist': small town versus invasive company

“Evil Does Not Exist” is quite a title to ponder, as Ryûsuke Hamaguchi's big new film begins with a serene tracking shot through a winter forest, accompanied by a score by Eiko Ishibashi that is at once subdued and premonitory Could this be the unbroken calm before a malevolent disturbance? We're primed to think so, especially when the music cuts off abruptly and the sound of a chainsaw is heard.

And yet, expecting such genre mechanics from a patient, gently digging narrator like Hamaguchi is foolish. Details may abound, but the only certainties here are the mysteries, wherever this director takes us. The last ride was the exquisite “Drive My Car,” the Oscar-winning film that established Hamaguchi as a master with stories about modern lives and the strange workings of resilient hearts. The situation is more nervous, however, with “Evil Does Not Exist,” an equally fascinating and meditative sequel that charts the emerging clash between a tight-knit rural community and a large corporation with intrusive development plans.

Takumi (an expressively stoic Hitoshi Omika), a single father of few words, lives a simple life with his 8-year-old daughter, Hana (Ryo Nishikawa), who likes to explore nature by walking home from school when her father is away. too busy. She searches for wild wasabi at her friend's noodle shop to remember picking it up. However, looming over his city is the imminent arrival of a luxury glamping site for high-end tourists, a potential disruption not only to a way of life but to a carefully considered ecosystem.

When a pair of company representatives, leader Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and his soft-spoken colleague Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), come to a briefing with the village, all the seats are taken. No one is impressed by his win-win spin, liking a dryly funny version of “Columbo” at a town meeting, in which each local resident offers a polite “one more thing” comment on issues of pollution, personnel, fire risks and general respect for the environment, the company reveals itself to be completely ill-prepared. Their presenters aren't even real employees, but rather talent agents hired by a consulting firm.

It is a fascinating sequence. One of Hamaguchi's supreme gifts is capturing every tense current of spoken communication in a long verbal exchange, and this is another masterclass, like watching James Cameron handle an action scene, only he lays bare the human risks in a fight between impersonal speculators. and nature-conscious citizens.

The director is also a proven heavyweight with shifts in focus. After the meeting, we follow Takahashi and Mayuzumi back to nearby Tokyo, first seen in an almost exaggeratedly unattractive establishing shot after the crisp beauty of the countryside in cinematographer Yoshio Kitagawa's camerawork. In contrast to the warmly interconnected townspeople we first meet, these salaried accomplices, who open up to each other on a long car ride, lead tight, lonely, unfulfilled lives.

But they want to help, regardless of their greedy supervisors. And when this pair returns with an embarrassingly naive notion of how to persuade the secretive Takumi to join the project, our sense of where this next confrontation might lead creates all kinds of unease. It's a mood exacerbated by each numbing resurgence of composer Ishibashi's searching score, which is always interrupted, as if a plug has been pulled. The effect never ceases to be a surprise. After such a fruitful collaboration on “Drive My Car,” Hamaguchi and Ishibashi may have crowned themselves with something even more compelling.

Finally, as the day lengthens and circumstances and visual cues recall how we were first introduced to this world, a narrative darkening brings us to the final moments of “Evil Does Not Exist.” The ending will probably confuse you, but its power lies in the details provided and how it leaves us wondering about the unstoppable dreams of humans and the eternal realities of nature. It's as if Hamaguchi wants to confirm our worst fears and, at the same time, reveal that the title is strangely, infuriatingly genuine.