Nobody Knows

"Nobody Knows," a profoundly moving film from the acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda, proves that the greatest movies don't need flashy action or CGI effects to achieve significant emotional impact. Despite its immediate appearance of stripped-down starkness, it is a film of technical virtuosity and carefully orchestrated sequences. But the true heart of the film -- which is loosely based on the true story of four children abandoned by their mother in Japan in 1988 and discovered six months later -- lies in its shocking realism.

"Nobody Knows" begins when Keiko (played by the Japanese pop star You) deserts her young children in a run-down apartment in a nameless Japanese city with barely enough money to pay the bills. Her oldest son Akira (Yuya Yagira) must fend for himself and protect his younger brother Shigeru (Hiei Kimura) and his sisters Kyoko (Ayu Kitaura) and Yuki (Momoko Shimizu). Akira tries his best to be a parent, borrowing money from dishonest family acquaintances, buying Christmas gifts for his siblings and relying on new friends for help, including the young Saki (Hanae Kan).

Many films have captured the gritty experience of urban survival in a busy and unfriendly city, and plenty are told from the perspective of children. But unlike movies such as the recent "In America," this story is characterized by an utter lack of sentimentality and an extraordinary subtlety. The movie merely hints at the family's past before the opening of the film -- Koreeda is wisely content to develop his characters through action without succumbing to unnecessary narration or expository dialogue.

As such, the storyline of "Nobody Knows" is a loose framework rather than an intricate plot. With sparse dialogue and minimalist production, the film feels wholly authentic, even documentary-like (not coincidently). Koreeda actually hired unprofessional actors, working with them in free-form improvisation and filming the story chronologically. As a result, the performances are astonishingly convincing -- the actors literally age on-screen. (Yuya Yagira, a novice, won Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival.)

Koreeda is keenly aware of the power that a slowly unfolding story can have. The film's quietness and slow pacing make the few plot developments and revelations all the more emotional. Rather than relying on dialogue, Koreeda reveals characters' emotions and thoughts in ways that many directors never attempt, through lingering smiles and exchanged glances. The intense connection to these characters and the ultimate emotional payoff at the climax are results of these stylistic choices.

Above all, Koreeda is a brilliant visual storyteller. With his cinematographer Yamazaki Yutaka, he creates a style that perfectly complements the fly-on-the-wall nature of his movie. The camera is patiently kept in one place, and as result much of the action takes place on the edges, even outside, of the frame. Although Koreeda and Yutaka carefully plan each shot, the film's cinematography still feels experimental and beautifully authentic. Yutaka's garish lighting and the set's close quarters, emphasize the seclusion and loneliness of the children's apartment. This symbolism extends to the repeated isolation of visual patterns (Akira on staircases, for example) to demonstrate the hopelessness of the children's existence: As the children revisit old places, each time things seem worse than before.

But, as he did with 1998's "After Life," Koreeda finds unexpected humor and optimism even in the darkest of situations. At one point, Yuki's hilariously squeaky shoes represent the joyous privilege of leaving the house for the first time. In another scene, hand-held camera movement and rapid editing are used to show Akira's exhilaration as he watches a train pass quickly by, dreaming that one day it will take him far away.

Too many contemporary Hollywood films are content to tell rather than show. Koreeda's authentic direction is a refreshing reminder of cinema at its quiet best. But more importantly -- and perhaps more surprisingly, given the simplicity of its style and its plot -- "Nobody Knows" is highly affecting and entirely engrossing. It also constitutes a major social statement: In the late 1980s, when the plight of the four abandoned children came to light, many Japanese were shocked that their society had ever allowed this to happen. But the film, with its patient camera work and natural storyline, make their dark fates seem all too familiar.

(Originally published in the Yale Daily News, February 25, 2005.)

I hadn't heard of this movie before, and only rented it on a whim because the cover blurb interested me. I didn't expect it to be so emotionally draining-- I watched it yesterday, but I still feel like I might cry just thinking about it!-- but this is definitely one I'll watch again, and one I would like to own.

This seems at first the story of a loving, if selfish and immature mother. . . sure, she raises her family in an unconventional way, but they seem to be a close-knit, generally happy bunch. They even seem fine at first when she leaves them alone with nothing but a note and an envelope of money, but the money starts to run out, and Akira is forced to borrow from his siblings' fathers to keep afloat. When their mother does return, there seems to be a hint of resentment, especially from the older children.

Then we find out just how selfish she can be, as their mother leaves her job and children outright to be with a man. She doesn't even tell them what she's doing-- Akira finds out by calling around to check up on her. I don't think he actually tells his siblings where she's run off to, but Kyoko, at least, seems to know they've been abandoned from fairly early on. She tries to shelter the others with promises their mother will return, but even they become more doubtful as time goes by.

Akira does an admirable job of holding the household together at first, but goes through his own selfish period when he befriends some schoolboys, and spends more time playing games with them than caring for the home and his siblings. By the time he learns their true nature and returns to his home life, the place is in squallor and the utilities are all being turned off. Though their living situation gets worse all the time, surprisingly, the children remain close, and pull together to survive as best they can.

The fact these children are all amateurs makes their acting in this film all the more amazing-- they can convey more emotion in a glance than many Western actors can in a page full of dialogue. I felt connected to these children, and concerned for their well-being, more than any other movie characters I can think of. The adults who seemed to see the situation, yet did nothing to help, infuriated me! Even just the passers-by who saw a group of poor, dirty children in the street yet didn't stop to help, or even question why, made me angry. For all the concern of what might happen if anyone saw them, these children seemed pretty much invisible most of the time.

The ending is incomplete, yes. We never know whether their mother comes back, or whether social services step in at any point. The lack of resolution is mildly annoying, but it also leaves one with the impression that these children are still out there, still doing whatever it takes to survive and stay together. That's the sort of movie this is; salvaging hope from even the darkest and most dire situations.

Kore-eda's achievement in this film is startling. This is film art grounded in the minimalist traditions of the Ozu school of Japanese filmmaking; leisurely story development, very little camera movement, minimal dialogue, perfectly-pitched performances from the actors. It references much of the best of contemporary Japanese cinema; the abused outcast child seen in Village of Dreams, the rites-of-passage trials in Firefly Dreams, the pagan rituals exhibited in Swallowtail. And yet, added to these elements, is a devastating critique of the anomie afflicting contemporary Japanese society. In recent years we have heard stories of a child found dead in a box in a residential area, a young woman kidnapped and held in a house between the ages of nine and nineteen, children suffocating in a car while their parents play pachinko, and a mother and son who starved to death in the middle of Tokyo because they were too proud to ask for welfare. The film is based on one true story, but I was reminded of all of these stories while viewing. All of these incidents happened in heavily-populated areas, but nobody knew. It is quite a feat that the director manages to indict more than the damaged, neglectful mother; the disinterested neighbours (always shot in an alienating manner, lower-body only or head turned away), the landlord, the utility companies, the convenience store clerks who fail to act. This film fuses social criticism with a beautiful cinematic aesthetic, and it will resonate long beyond the contemporary issues it addresses.

› Go to Amazon.com to see all 63 reviews  4.3 out of 5 stars