The opening shot is mesmerising, disorientating, as Yoshio Kitagawa’s camera pans under the tree tops to Eiko Ishibashi’s haunting score. The start of Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s “Evil Does Not Exist” reminds of Bela Tarr’s “Satantango” (1994), with a slow-moving, natural, extended take. Not as extreme, but it sets the tone for what comes next.
Mizubiki village is a quiet mountain town a manageable drive from Tokyo. A minor holiday destination, investors want to set-up a glamping site, which naturally meets resistance from the locals. Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), a local odd-job man is cautious, but willing to meet the proposals halfway if they take the local environment into consideration.
Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) are the employees tasked with meeting the locals and convincing them of the project. Sympathetic to their hosts, they are people doing a job they don’t necessarily believe in, and so are neither one thing or the other. Seeming to connect with Takumi, they feel a solution can be reached, but the reality is they are met with contempt from both sides.
Straightaway this enraptures you and you are immediately drawn into the small village and its humble ways. The brilliance of nature is emphasised throughout, and the opening moments show this perfectly. And as Takahashi and Mayuzumi try to deliver the initial presentation, key members of the community voice the importance of the environment on their health, community, work and business.
The last of these is the only focus the glamping project has in mind, thinking of the pretty landscape, and not the impact a modern resort will have on it. As Alex Kerr emphasises in his book “Hidden Japan,” once you have been somewhere, you’ve already ruined it. The village elder (Taijiro Tamura) puts his point across succinctly: those living upstream must think of their impact on those downstream.
Often, I’ve found Hamaguchi’s films, while good, can feel a little awkward. Characters and their interactions can feel wooden (perhaps due to his use of novice actors) and their motivations hard to grasp. “Drive My Car” (2021) was a step-up for him, and “Evil Does Not Exist” is by far his strongest in its script. It feels tighter, with arguments better put forward, in both the initial presentation and Takahashi and Mayuzumi’s drive back to the village, where they share their career decisions. It is much more natural, though Takahashi’s sudden desire to change careers may be a bit much for some.
Takumi’s daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa) is a key character, but perhaps from the standard use of a young girl to represent pure innocence. The true star of the film is the forest of its setting and the film’s true lasting memory, working in unison with the soundtrack.
The title of the film is enigmatic, as is the atmosphere throughout. The isolation of the forest community, and their connection to nature, show an innocence. But clear in their desires, they show they will fight to keep what’s theirs. Takahashi and Mayuzumi may be the face of the more sinister corporate body behind them, but also show themselves to be useless pawns, simply carrying out their job.
Is simple self-sufficiency more noble than misguidedly following orders from above for profits? The ending confuses this question, its incompleteness difficult to process. The real question is whether it is better to do bad to protect what you believe in, rather than trying to diplomatically do something you don’t believe in out of expectation. Silence is complicit.
The forest is deep, and it’s easy to lose yourself.
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