Tag: 2025

Love Doesn’t Matter to Me (愛されなくても別に, Aya Igashi, 2025)

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Two young women find solace and solidarity in each other after escaping toxic familial environments in Aya Igashi’s adaptation of the novel by Ayano Takeda, Love Doesn’t Matter to Me (愛されなくても別に, Aisarenakutemo Betsuni). Though some might say that parents always love their children even if that love was not conveyed in the optimal way, the two women struggle with their contradictory impulses in craving the love of a parent who in other ways they know is past forgiveness.

The problem for Hiiro (Sara Minami) is that the roles have become reversed. She is effectively the parent of her irresponsible mother (Aoba Kawai) who treats her like a housekeeper and is intent on exploiting her labour. Hiiro’s mother didn’t want her to go to university and is still charging her rent and board to live at home while Hiiro works several part-time jobs to jobs to support them. She believes that her mother lives beyond her means, but is unaware of the extent to which she’s been financially abusing her by keeping both the child support her absent father had been sending and the student loan she’d taken out as a safety net. Having to work so hard also means that Hiiro is tired all the time and is prevented from taking part in normal university life or social activities which leaves her unable to make friends. At times she resents her mother so much she’s worried she might end up snapping and killing her to be free, but at the same time loves her and therefore puts up with her ill-treatment.

Enaga (Fumika Baba), meanwhile, is ostracised because her father is on the run after killing someone, though the reason she is resentful of her family is a history of sexual abuse and exploitation that have left her feeling worthless. As she later says there’s no point comparing your unhappiness to that of other people, otherwise you just end up making yourself more miserable as if you were trying to win an unhappiness competition. Nevertheless, learning of Enaga’s situation wakes Hiiro up to the possibility that other people are unhappy too and her life may not have been as comparatively bad as she felt it to be in the depths of her isolation. 

Yet what both women seem to crave is the positive maternal relationship they’ve each been denied. Hiiro gets to know another student, Kimura (Miyu Honda), who also has no friends partly owing to a judgemental attitude and poor social skills whom she later discovers to be from a wealthy background despite her being desperate to find a job and working alongside Hiiro at the convenience store. Kimura resents her mother (Shoko Ikezu) for being overly controlling and possessive. She’s come all this way to university to escape her, yet her mother calls every few hours and is angry if she doesn’t answer and makes frequent visits leaving Kimura with no freedom or social output. To Hiiro, Mrs Kimura’s actions seem to come from an obviously loving place and she might have a point that Kimura is naive, having been kept sheltered all life by her own helicopter parenting, which is why she’s been sucked into a cult. Hiiro sees in Mrs Kimura the love and affection she’d have liked from her own mother and is jealous rather than seeing how seeing Kimura feels suffocated and is driven to despair in being unable to escape her mother’s control.

Lady Cosmos (Yoko Kondo), the cult leader in whom Kimura has found salvation, tells each of the girls that they were loved by their imperfect parents and ought to love them back, but they seem to know better. Though she makes some perspicacious comments, Lady Cosmos also tells them exactly what they want to hear and attempts to occupy a more positive material space to be the loving mother they never had. But, of course, not so different from Hiiro’s mother, she’s bleeding Kimura dry by forcing her to pay extortionate amounts for readings and holy water. Ironically she’s still controlling her much like her own mother had, but Kimura thinks she’s found freedom in cult and resents any attempt to undercut Lady Cosmos’ belief system even if she’s at least on one level forcing herself to believe it rather than being a true believer. 

What might be surprising is that the two women effectively break free of the “cult” of family in accepting that their parents aren’t good for them and the decision to cut them out of their lives is valid rather than the breaking of a taboo or an unnatural rejection of the sacred bond between a mother and a child. Instead they effectively remake the image of family for themselves as one of mutual solidarity and unconditional love between two people who aren’t related by blood but have discovered a much deeper bond rooted in shared suffering.

Love Doesn’t Matter to Me screens as part of this year’s Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Strangers in Kyoto (ぶぶ漬けどうどす, Masanori Tominaga, 2025)

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A former capital city, Kyoto is renowned as a historical centre and seat of tradition. But on the other hand, no one wants to live in a museum and while some of these old-fashioned ways of life might seem quaint or comforting, they’re also burdensome and for some an unwelcome imposition. Madoka (Mai Fukagawa), the wife of the 14th heir to a Kyoto fan seller is full of earnest wonder, but she’s also an outsider here and bringing with her own preconceptions and anxieties. 

To begin with, she’s come as a kind of cultural anthropologist directly interviewing local people to gain material for the manga she’s drawing with a friend. When one of the ladies she’s talking to explains that she runs a cafe in a former bathhouse that’s been sensitively adapted so that his traditional space can find new purpose in the modern world, Madoka is visibly disappointed which of course causes offence to her interviewee. Something similar happens when she interviews a woman running a traditional sweet shop who explains that their top-selling items are their halloween specials. They no longer sell anything that would have been on sale when the shop opened a few centuries ago. 

Madoka, who is not from Kyoto, is obsessed with preserving the city’s “true face” and fails to see that these businesses have survived because they’ve been able to adapt to the times when others could not. Repurposing old buildings to house modern businesses is one way of keeping the city alive. Meanwhile, she idolises her mother-in-law’s traditional lifestyle, but is after all experiencing it from the perspective of a guest. It may very well be much nicer to eat rice cooked over an open flame, but she’s not the one who’s got to get up early to stoke the fire or spend hours stirring the pot. She takes her responsibility as the wife of the 14th heir so seriously in part because she doesn’t understand what it entails. Her husband, Mario, meanwhile is keen to remind his mother that he has a life in Tokyo and won’t be returning to take over the shop, at least as long as his father is alive. 

Mario tries to warn Madoka about the complex nature of Kyoto social etiquette, but she fails to understand and makes a series of embarrassing faux pas that gradually destabilise the local equilibrium. In Kyoto, a particular brand of politeness rules in which one’s true feelings are never expressed openly but only through barbed comments that everyone nevertheless understands. So, when someone wants you to know that the party’s over and it’s time you went home, they’ll politely ask if you want any green tea over rice. This level of subtlety is lost on Madoka who comes from a city where size of the community means you have to be explicit.

It never really dawns on her that mother-in-law might have become so fed up with her that it’s easier just to sell the house and end 450 years of tradition than to tell her go home. Then again, it seems like she may be missing some social cues in Tokyo too, while it’s also fairly obvious in any culture that putting her awkward interactions into the manga could end up upsetting those around her. They do, after all, have a point that it’s inappropriate for her to make herself the self-appointed guardian of a place she’s isn’t from and doesn’t live in, disregarding the thoughts and feelings of those who do (not that they really told her what they were). 

Perhaps as she said she’s beginning to understand Kyoto in this regard by fighting back passive aggressively to claim her right to take over the fan shop. She might have a point about the comparatively ugly and utilitarian apartment blocks taking over the city as old buildings are bulldozed to make way for the new, but on the other hand it may not be possible to continue this business as it is and simply bringing in more tourists who’ll just clutter up the place and not buy anything may not be the answer. What the answer is may not be clear, but Madoka at least seems to have found her little niche in the heart of Kyoto, even if it is no longer so polite as to keep its irritation to itself.

Strangers in Kyoto screens as part of this year’s Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Images: ©2025 Strangers in Kyoto Film Partners

Streaming (스트리밍, Cho Jang-ho, 2025)

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There’s a kind of collective fantasy that lies at the centre of live-streaming. A bargain between the streamer and the viewer not to break the illusion, but the power dynamics between the two are vague and shifting. The viewers give “stickers” to express their appreciation or try to manipulate the streamer, while the streaming tries to fulfil the viewer’s wishes in the hope of getting more stickers without being too obvious that they’re letting the viewers lead them by the nose.

What Cho Jang-ho’s Streaming (스트리밍) suggests is that the snake is eating its own tail and the desire for streaming success has led the streamers to make ever more questionable decisions and the viewers to demand increasingly extreme action which may cause harm to the streamer or others. There are several points at which we might wonder why Woo Sang (Kang Ha-neul) does not appear to have alerted the police nor do his viewers do so for him. They sit and watch passively while another streamer apparently gets up and takes her own life, some wondering if what’s just happened is for real and they ought to try calling someone or if it’s just another bit.

We might even wonder if any of this is “real” or just a game being played for the benefit of the viewers who each join in with what amounts to a kind of scavenger hunt as Woo Sang tries to track down a missing streamer, Matilda (Ha Seo-yoon), who went missing after he recruited her to help him investigate a series of murders. In his interactions with Matilda, we can see Woo Sang’s own insecurity. He’s clearly brought her on as a glamorous assistant, but she keeps upstaging him and he’s finding it increasingly hard to hide his irritation. When they role play what they think might have happened between the killer and his victim after they snuck out of a nightclub, he takes things too far and shows a dangerous capacity for misogynistic violence. Some of the viewer’s concerns that he may have harmed Matilda in some way in revenge for her taking the lucrative top spot on the streaming charts away from him may be understandable.

But at the same time, Matilda doesn’t quite seem to be on the level either and may, in fact, be using Woo Sang to further boost her popularity and stay number one which would allow her to keep 100% of takings rather than pay the 50% commission to the streaming service. Despite his critiques of other streamers, Woo Sang too is shown to be an amateur detective exploiting the serial killer case for his own gain while somewhat cavalier about Matilda’s safety after using her in his video. In truth, solving the serial killer case might be quite bad for his business because without it Woo Sang wouldn’t have any more material for his show. But then, while shows like this exist, content may also rise to meet them and the film almost implies that true crime gives rise to a kind of bloodlust that simultaneously glorifies the host and the killer who are profiting in terms of notoriety even if the streamer is taking all the money. 

“When interest becomes excessive, it turns into an obsession,” Woo Sang tells his viewers somewhat disdainfully of a man who may have become fixated on the public image of “Matilda”, though it might as well apply to himself and his audience of armchair detectives. “Staging means death,” he intones, though there’s no way to know he hasn’t made all this up himself and it wouldn’t really be surprising given the streamers’ obsession with being number one. Some of the viewers maybe be sceptical, but the truth is they’re all playing this game too and it’s all good fun until it’s not, leaving Woo Sang and his audience in way over their heads. Or then again, maybe his old-fashioned battle of wits with a Moriarty-like killer is just that, which would explain Woo Sang’s strange conviction that he will honour the terms of their agreement not to kill Matilda until the deadline expires even though Woo Sang thinks he’s seen through his attempt to throw him off the tracks. A little muddy in its messaging, the film nevertheless makes plain that it’s Woo Sang that has become dangerously obsessed and deluded by the persona he’s crafted for himself into believing that he alone can bring a killer to justice.

Trailer (Korean subtitles only)

Another World (世外, Tommy Kai Chung Ng, 2025)

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The Another World (世外) in title of Tommy Kai Chung Ng’s animated adaptation of Saijo Naka’s novel SENNENKI -Thousand-year Journey of an Oni-, most obviously refers to that beyond our own which belongs to the dead and those who exist outside of time, but it also hints at the other worlds that might be possible if only we could find ways to channel our negative emotions into something more positive rather than allowing ourselves to be consumed by rage and resentment.

As Soul Keeper Gudo (Chung Suet-ying) says, the seeds of evil lie within us all though he does not necessarily believe that they destroy humans, rather that they may also push us to survive. Throughout his wandering adventures, the souls he encounters are angry for reasons that are not irrational but a natural consequence of the world in which they live. Goran is a powerless princess resented by her subjects for being the apparent victim of a curse. She blames herself for her mother’s death in childbirth and is consumed by feelings of worthlessness even before her father the king dies and riddles the court with conspiracy. Coming to believe that he was murdered, her rage blossoms turning her into a cruel despot inflicting crazed violence on her subjects until eventually fleeing the palace. Flower City is reduced to Wheat Village where the farmers are pressed by the occupying force which demands half of their already poor harvest and does not much care if they starve to death despite warnings that they won’t eat either if the peasants are either too weak or too dead to farm the land.

It’s starvation that is really the true evil most particularly when it is caused or exacerbated by human greed and cruelty. Echoing Yuri (Christy Choi Hiu-Tung), a young girl who does not know she is dead and is intent on finding her brother from whom she has been separated, Gudo makes this simple act of sharing food a means of connection and identification. Farmer Keung, meanwhile, believes that he can only free the village by becoming a “Wrath”, a creature of indiscriminate violence that arises when the seeds of evil blossom and threatens to destabilise both this world and the other. Gudo tries to dissuade him, showing him that those who succumb to their rage and anger often end up harming those closest to them no matter how much they say they’ll be different. But Keung’s eventual conviction that their salvation lies solidarity and standing together against the oppressive regime eventually backfires when they’re betrayed by its duplicitous soldiers. Ying too, a young orphan exploited as child labour and forced to work in a factory during the Industrial Revolution, witnesses someone close to her literally consumed by the machinery.

The film does not suggest that this rage is wrong or misplaced, only that giving in to it is a choice that only puts more fear and evil out into the world. Gudo suggests the solution is solidarity after all in that anyone can offer salvation, but it also requires time and faith in one’s self. His various charges must learn to forgive themselves before they can let go, lay down their burdens and prepare for reincarnation. This is really the only way it is possible to endure this impossible world, which is not to say that it cannot be changed or resisted but that the means of resistance is to live in the better world that does not yet exist rather than succumb to violence which will result only in more of the same.

Beautifully animated, the film appears to draw inspiration from the work of Studio Ghibli including a few homages in particular to Castle in the Sky, though relying more on verbal exposition than purely visual storytelling or thematic resonance. Nevertheless, there is something satisfying in the depiction of resentments as a series of knots to be untied leading to a gradual liberation as if symbolising the work to be done. The closing scenes perhaps imply that this world cannot be cured, even if the other one may be, but is not itself without hope, and that whatever else may be human warmth and the desire for the world to be better will endure.

Another World opens in UK cinemas 29th February courtesy of Central City Media.

UK trailer (English subtitles)

Back to the Past (尋秦記, Jack Lai & Ng Yuen-Fai, 2025)

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Can history be changed, and if it can, should it be? In a way, Jack Lai & Ng Yuen-Fai’s Back to the Past (尋秦記) is an attempt to change history in itself in that it’s a long-awaited sequel to a television series that concluded more than 20 years ago. A passion project from star Louis Koo, the film opens in contemporary Hong Kong where the inventor of the time machine that sent Hong Siu-lung back in time to witness the ascension of the Qin emperor is released from being “wrongfully imprisoned” for attempting to change history.

Lung (Louis Koo) seems to have told those back in the Qin Dynasty that he came from a mysterious “hometown” . He’s now estranged from his former pupil, Qin Emperor Poon (Raymond Lam), after becoming disillusioned with his despotic rule. It seems that Lung’s inability to return to the present due to a broken amulet somehow contributed to Ken (Michael Miu) getting sent to prison. Now he’s out, he’s sending himself back to the past because, for otherwise unexplained reasons, he wants to become the Qin emperor himself to prove that it is possible to change history after all. Though it is apparently still 2025 in contemporary Hong Kong, Ken and his team have access to a lot of futuristic gadgets like metal discs that can suddenly transform into motorcycles, transparent holographic communication devices, and a headset that can give you the appearance of another person.

Thus Lung is a man doubly trapped in the past in that he has no way of knowing how the society developed in the years since he left. He’s essentially fighting a war on two fronts as he’s ambushed by Ken’s team, some of whom are only there to loot “ancient antiques”, while in fear of his life from Poon who blows hot and cold over wanting to kill him as a potential traitor. The TV series had ended on a cliff hanger in which Lung’s son Bowie changed his name to “Yu”, meaning eagle, but also giving him the name of the warlord who overthrew the Qin emperor but ended up becoming a dictator himself.

The incongruity of Qin Dynasty warriors facing off against Ken’s ultramodern kit with bows and arrows is indeed fascinating, though the puzzling lack of confusion among Lung’s friends and family is possibly explained away by having seen various other odd things from Lung’s “hometown” in the past. No one is very surprised when he puts on his future clothes either, while the bun clip hair extension one of his wives made him wear gets dropped pretty quickly. Aside from the clash of eras, there’s also a commentary on the nature of family as is perhaps expected for a (Western) New Year movie. Ken is given the opportunity to trade his captured daughter for Lung’s captured wife, but refuses, insisting that he only wants the Qin emperor. When one of his men is killed, Lung tells Poon that he won’t help him any more so he’ll have to make his own way to back to the palace. His wives, however, tell him that Poon is still family even if he did turn a bit evil, and after all he risked his life to save Bowie, so it would be mean to leave him behind.

Poon is the spiritual son who has disappointed his father, Lung by turning to the dark side but Lung can never quite give up on him while as much as he bangs on about having Lung killed, Poon can’t bring himself to do it either and seems to still want Lung’s approval just not as much as absolute power. Trapped in the past, Lung has come to realise that it’s family that’s important so it doesn’t really matter where you are as long as you’re all together. A tacked on “alternate ending” sells the New Year theme with the entirety of the Qin Dynasty cast being beamed to 2025 to enjoy some nice food and a fireworks display all together as a family after which Lung returns to the past and says he’ll never come back to the future. It’s tempting to read his declaration as an expression of the nostalgia inherent in the premise, that Lung wants to go back to an earlier time when things weren’t as complicated as they are now even if he’s still living under an oppressive regime. But at the same time, history can’t necessarily be reclaimed in that way and even for him things have moved on, though of course for those in the present it is still possible to change “history” and perhaps more difficult to do so if you can’t let go of an idealised past.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Left-Handed Girl (左撇子女孩, Tsou Shih-Ching, 2025)

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A small family’s attempt to start over by moving to Taipei is frustrated by the baggage they take with them and that which was already there in Tsou Shih-Ching’s whimsical family drama, Left-Handed Girl (左撇子女孩, zuǒpiězi nǚhái). As women alone, they must contend with a patriarchal society and harsh economic environment along with a conservative culture that is often unforgiving of difference and reluctant to grant second chances to those it believes have transgressed its boundaries.

The titular left-handed girl, I-Jing (Nina Ye) describes the city as seeming like a magical place, though it’s certainly noisy and indifferent to her presence. Her mother Shu-Fen (Janel Tsai) laments that their apartment is smaller than it looked in the photo, as if signalling a sense of disappointment even before their new life has started. Oldest sister I-Ann (Ma Shih-Yuan) never finished high school and has got at a job at betel nut stand where the boss explains to a new recruit that her job is to create a sexual fantasy for the customer. I-Ann’s grandmother chastises her for her revealing outfit, warning her about “perverts and psychos” and that it’s dangerous to dress like that in the big city.

The grandparents are representative of a generation who grew up under an authoritarian regime and are fiercely traditional. Though the grandmother tells him to let it go, I-Jing’s grandfather is outraged and offended by her left-handedness. He tells her that it’s the Devil’s Hand meant only for doing the Devil’s work and bans her from using it in his home. I-Jing takes him a little literally and comes to believe that her left hand is an evil entity, but rather than being afraid, sees it as somewhat liberating in allowing her to do morally questionable things such as shoplifting. Only when an action habitually conducted with her left hand while forcing herself to draw with her right has unforeseen and tragic consequences does she begin to believe that her hand is a liability and consider cutting it off.

While her grandmother appears to be involved with some kind of human trafficking gang to make extra money, she’s reluctant to supply any more financial aid to Shu-Fen partly because of complaints from her siblings and particularly her sister. Though the grandmother had said the apartment would be left to the three of them equally, Shu-Fen knows she’s planning to leave everything to their brother whom she continues to idolise, though he’s long since moved to Shanghai and rarely visits. Awkwardly turning down another gig from her handler, she tells him her son has organised a lavish celebration for her 60th birthday. In reality, the daughters have planned everything with the son only arriving to mop up the glory. That it’s other women who perpetuate these outdated, patriarchal social codes is fully rammed home by the arrival of the wife of I-Ann’s boss with whom she has been having an affair. On learning that I-Ann is pregnant, she demands that I-Ann give the baby to them to raise if it’s a boy as they only have three girls. 

Shu-Fen, meanwhile, finds herself returning to care for her estranged husband who is dying of terminal cancer despite his abandonment and ill-treatment of her. Her decision doesn’t seem to be motivated by compassion or lingering affection so much as obligation. She feels she has to do this for him because he has no other family and she is still technically his next of kin. I-Ann in particular, along with the rest of her family, does not approve and is irritated that she’s once again allowing herself to be dragged down by a man. After he passes away, Shu-Fen is liable not only for all his medical fees but his funeral too, leaving her unable to meet her current expenses such as the rent for her pitch at a local hawker site where she supports the family with a noodle stand.

Her family also don’t seem to take to Johnny (Brando Huang), a man who seems nice and supportive, but also works as a market trader. The family appear to look down on him and implicitly on Shu-Fen for being engaged in what they see as a lowly occupation in much the same way that I-Ann becomes a figure of fun on bumping into some people from high school who are all now in university, though she left with no qualifications. Because of her betel nut store occupation, the boys treat her like a sex worker, while the boss, whom she did not know was already married, evidently never took their relationship very seriously. A desire to avoid reputational damage results in a series of destructive secrets that are abruptly blown open during the emotionally tense 60th anniversary party, but it does perhaps clear the air allowing the three women to reinforce their bond and finally begin living their own lives.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Revelations (계시록, Yeon Sang-ho, 2025)

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A put upon pastor’s life begins to spiral out of control when he comes to suspect a recently released sex offender has kidnapped his child in Yeon Sang-ho’s grim spiritual drama, Revelations (계시록, Gyesirok). Less about the crime at its centre, the film is more an exploration of our intense desire to justify our actions and remake the world in a way that makes sense to us while refusing to see or accept the reality of others.

Min-chan (Ryu Jun-yeol) runs a small evangelical church that is part of a larger religious organisation and like any other ambitious employee is hoping for advancement. With the area undergoing redevelopment, a larger church is to be built and Min-chan’s wife Si-yeong (Moon Joo-yeon) comes to the conclusion that his mentor Pastor Jung gave him this smaller church to build a congregation in preparation for heading up this larger one. But Jung rather insensitively asks him if he can think of anyone to run it while suggesting that ideally he’d prefer to give it to his son, Hwan-su, though Hwan-su doesn’t feel ready and thinks Min-chan would be a better fit. Min-chan consoles himself by repeating the pastor’s words that God will show them the right person for the job and is secretly heartened when Hwan-su is out of the running due to the exposure of an extra-marital affair with a parishioner. But on the other hand, he’s recently discovered his wife has been having an affair with her personal trainer, which means he wouldn’t get the job either if anyone found out.

As such, he’s under an intense amount of pressure and increasingly dependent on revelations he believes are from God. When Yang-rae (Shin Min-jae) walks into his church, Min-chan is intent on recruiting him but is unnerved by his ankle bracelet. When his own child goes temporarily missing, he becomes convinced that Yang-rae has taken them, especially when he sees Yang-rae loading up his van with shovels. Though this is an example of Min-chan’s latent prejudice and a contradiction in his religiosity given that he has no idea what Yang-rae might have done and is uninterested in helping him only in increasing the numbers of his congregation, it turns out that Yang-rae has taken another child from among his parishioners. Having had an altercation with Yang-rae and attempting to cover up his crime, Min-chan pretty much forgets about A-yeong (Kim Bo-min) and believes he has received a revelation that she’s dead and it’s his mission to purge the evil of kidnappers by killing Yang-rae, coming over all fire and brimstone and ignoring Yang-rae when he points out they’ll never find A-yeong if he dies.

For Min-chan, Yang-rae has become a faceless figure of evil in a similar way he has for traumatised policewoman Yeon-hee (Shin Hyun-been) who is haunted by the ghost of her sister who took her own life after being kidnapped and tortured by Yang-rae. A psychiatrist she meets explains to her that the ghost isn’t real but only a manifestation of the guilt she feels for not being able to save her sister. Her desire to save A-yeong is also a means of making peace with the traumatic past, but even she is caught between the desire for revenge and that of finding her in being at least tempted to pull the trigger and kill Yong-rae herself. She had also been further harmed psychologically by the fact that Yong-rae got a reduced sentence on the grounds of the horrific childhood abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his step-father. But it’s only by acknowledging that he wasn’t a faceless evil but a real person with his own feelings and trauma that she can come to understand him and put the clues together to find A-yeong. 

As the psychiatrist says, Min-chan’s God, Yeon-hee’s ghost, and Yang-rae’s one-eyed monster are all the same thing. They’re trying to overcome the reality that most tragedies in life are caused by things we can’t control. Placed into a police cell, Min-chan has a large square window that floods the room with light, but also a large smudge in the wall that looks sort of like Jesus. He begins scrubbing at it, trying to clarify the image, but it just becomes muddier and could just as easily be a demon rather than God, leaving him finally uncertain as to from whom he was receiving his “revelations”, be they from God, the devil, or just his own confused mind, while dealing with the stress of having his masculinity and career progress undermined in being cheated on by his wife and passed over by his mentor. While Yeon-hui has laid her ghosts to rest, all Min-chan is left with is uncertainty.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Gezhi Town (得闲谨制, Kong Sheng, 2025)

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Fleeing the Japanese, a collection of former munitions factory workers and displaced soldiers take refuge in an abandoned village in Kong Sheng’s wartime action drama Gezhi Town (得闲谨制, dé xián jǐn zhì). Another in a series of films released to mark the 80th anniversary of the Chinese People’s War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression and the World Anti-Fascist War alongside Dongji Rescue and Dead to Rights, the film is much more overtly propagandistic and an old-fashioned patriotism epic in which the hero’s quest to defend his home against the Japanese is quite obviously intended as a declaration that the modern China too will defend itself from incursion.

Indeed, Dexian (Xiao Zhan) says as much when risking his life to fire the artillery gun at a Japanese tank insisting that his resistance is not just for his own wife and child but for the future generations of the Chinese people. Getting in a few digs at Chiang Kai-Shek and the KMT, the film finds the heroes on the run implicitly denied their homeland in being forced into constant retreat. “I don’t want to die, I just want to go home,” the soldiers are fond of exclaiming, though already traumatised by their experiences, they’re effectively hiding from the war while attempting to create a new homeland in Gezhi Town after deciding to settle there rather than carry on along the road.  

Captain Xiao (Peng Yuchang) might actually be the worst artillery officer in history and has a habit of making exactly the wrong decisions that put all his men in danger while fiercely defending an artillery gun he doesn’t really know how to use and has little intention of doing so anyway. A former munitions worker, Denxian was press-ganged into accompanying them to do maintenance on the guns, but Xiao has only been paying him in IOUs. Like everyone else, he just wants a home and is wary of being made “homeless” again if the Japanese turn up, so has been sharpening many of his tools and his wife’s domestic implements into makeshift weapons, much to her chagrin. Xia Cheng (Zhou Yiran) objects in part because she thinks it’s dangerous for their young son Dengxian who seems to have hearing loss as a direct result of his exposure to warfare when they were on the road.

But the problem is that when the Japanese actually arrive, the villagers are largely clueless. One challenges a Japanese soldier with a bakeshop bayonet but drops it and grins when the soldier lowers his weapon slightly. The soldier then bayonets him. Others run directly into the Japanese soldiers’s blades, while Xiao’s men randomly shoot all their bullets in one go then realise that they have no idea what to do now they’re essentially unarmed even though there are only three Japanese men in the village at this point. Only Denxian, the plucky civilian, knows what to do though even he originally gives the sensible advice to hide and wait for the Japanese soldiers to go away because they won’t have time to do an intensive search of every house.

Then again, the Japanese are quite stupid too and arrogant rather than cruel as they were in Dead to Rights even if constant references are made to Nanjing. Despite the grittiness of its storyline, the film is essentially a comedy filled with goofy humour along with Denxian’s winning hero antics as he resolves to do whatever he can to save his wife and son even if it costs his own life. When the Japanese first arrive, a kind of defeatism sweeps across the village that is only eventually broken by Denxian’s realisation that they don’t have to give in to their fate but might as well go out fighting. The film paints him as a kind of folk hero, echoed in the closing song recounting his exploits while the final title card says that he went on to use his skills in the resistance against American imperialism and the assistance of Korea. Xia Cheng fares a little less well. Despite singing a song about the new women, her role is limited to motherhood while Denxian’s love of his family is a metaphor for love of the nation as he desperately tries to reclaim a home in the wake of constant incursions. Nevertheless, the use of silent-film style intertitles and flashback scenes shot in the style of pathé news sequences add a degree of poignancy to this boy’s own adventure story.

Trailer (Simplified Chinese / English subtitles)

Murderer Report (살인자 리포트, Cho Young-jun, 2025)

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“Call it a psychodrama,” the psychiatrist/serial killer at the centre of Cho Young-jun’s psychological thriller Murderer Report (살인자 리포트, Salinja Report) suggests in a meta moment, and the film is, in some ways, a battle of wits between down on her luck journalist Sun-ju (Cho Yeo-Jeong) and a man who claims to have killed 11 people. There is, of course, more going on than it first seems, but also a push and pull between interviewer and interviewee in which the tables are always turning.

One might debate the wisdom of entering a hotel room with a man who says he’s a serial killer (Jung Sung-Il), but Sun-ju insists she’s agreeing to meet him not because she could really use an exclusive, but because he told her she could save his next victim by agreeing to interview him properly. She has no way of knowing whether he’s telling the truth, but leans towards assuming he’s a crank seeing as the victims he named didn’t have any obvious connections and were all killed in different ways, but still it’s a risky business. Despite assuring him that she hadn’t told anyone about their meeting, Sun-ju is being watched over by her policeman boyfriend Sang-woo (Kim Tae-Han) who is in the room below waiting to strike.

As for why the psychiatrist might want to be interviewed, he describes it as if it’s a kind of therapy session in which he can interrogate himself to ensure his practice is still justified. He believes it is because he only kills bad people that have harmed his patients and sees it as just another part of his treatment plan in alleviating his patients’ suffering as if he were excising a painful tumour from their lives. To that extent, it’s as if he’s providing extrajudicial justice in the face of a justice system in which he believes many have lost faith when criminals get off with light sentences while victims and their families will suffer forever. According to the psychiatrist, revenge is the best way to alleviate their pain. 

Or perhaps, as Sun-ju says, he just likes killing people and is trying to rationalise his actions. After all, even if he doesn’t, the patients probably feel guilty, though the psychiatrist claims to treat that too as part of his holistic service. Little by little he chips away at Sun-ju’s civility, pushing her towards an admission of her hypocrisy that if it were her in this situation and someone caused harm to her child, then she’d probably want them dead too. The psychiatrist obviously knows more about her than she does about him, including her career setbacks and difficult relationship with her teenage daughter whom she fears might rather live with her father instead.

That Sun-ju’s workplace troubles are concerned with a failed attempt to expose the wrongdoings of a major corporation who leaked toxic substances into the water supply leading to an increase in childhood cancers, further deepens the sense of rottenness in contemporary society. The corporation managed to cover it up by bribing prosecutors and politicians, implying that only a man like the psychiatrist is capable of providing true justice despite his claims that he isn’t trying to cure the slickness in his society only alleviate the pain of his patients. The doctor challenges Sun-ju’s ethics too, insisting that she as a duty to social justice and the safety of citizens, so rather than being here interviewing him she should have alerted law enforcement. Of course, Sun-ju has actually done that in having Sung-woo watch her, breaking her promise to keep it confidential, but perhaps trying to have her cake and eat it too. 

Still, the jury’s out on who is really interviewing who as the doctor and Sun-ju each attempt to dominate the narrative. This is indeed a psychodrama, or an extreme form of therapy in which the doctor is trying to force Sun-ju into a self-examination in order to alert her to things going on in her life that she is ironically unaware of. She, meanwhile, begins to get under his skin to the extent that he is mildly shaken from his mission, until hearing that there is another patient waiting to see him so his services may once again be needed. Tense, if eventually outlandish, the film reaches a rather troubling conclusion but is truly at its best in the verbal sparring between the doctor and Sun-ju each of whom has hidden agendas and a singular goal in mind.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Blazing Fists (BLUE FIGHT 蒼き若者たちのブレイキングダウン, Takashi Miike, 2025)

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Ryoma (Kaname Yoshizawa) and Ikuto (Danhi Kinoshita) are boys without brakes trying to get some kind of a handle on lives on that are racing away from them. Caught between compromised father figures, an oppressive social structure, and the overriding despair of a life without prospects, they feel themselves to be beaten down and defeated. But then Ikuto isn’t the sort of guy to be cowed by authority and is willing to speak truth to power even if it might not be advantageous for him to do so.

Indeed, Ikuto becomes a kind of saviour as a figure of idealised masculinity that embodies the paternal presence the other boys are lacking for one reason or another. Ryoma’s father isn’t really mentioned, though he appears to have a strained relationship with his mother’s boyfriend and freely admits that until he met Ikuto in juvenile detention he was floundering. Picked up for a series of petty crimes, he blames another boy, Kosuke, for his predicament having been forced to steal to pay an exorbitant sum to bullies he was unable to defend himself from. Ironically enough, Ikuto has actually been framed and for a crime that Ryoma himself committed and perhaps it’s their sense of defiance against injustice that allows him to stand strong in the face of a corrupt authority represented by the prison guard Hakamada (Wataru Ichinose). 

Though the warden at Ryoma’s admission had told him that he should think of his time there not as a punishment but an opportunity while the reformatory was a space of rehabilitation, but Hakamada openly tells the boys that they are inherently bad and their lives will amount to nothing. In the prison yard, they tend to the pigs which is what Hakamada deems them to be. He abuses his authority because he is weak and cannot bear it that Ikuto might be right when he says that the reason he’s working here as a guard is because he too has failed at life. When Hakamada tries to take revenge by jeopardising Ikuto’s parole, it’s his mother, Haruka, who stands up to him by wielding her old righteousness to insist that he too abide by the rules he is supposed to represent thereby presenting another more positive vision of resistance that goes beyond the purely physical and allows a petite middle-aged woman to challenge a physically opposing man in a position of authority.

Part of the reason that Hakamada had said that Ikuto was doomed was because his father was prison and Ikuto too had rejected him for that reason. He resented his father because of the way the stigma of crime was visited on him, that he became an undesirable child tainted by his father’s transgression. At this time, he presumably had a solid faith in the justice system and believed his father to be guilty but given his own experience of false imprisonment has now come round to the idea that his father could be telling the truth and is innocent after all. Their struggles become directly linked when Ikuto is scheduled to square off against the prosecutor’s son, but in a more spiritual sense they are both battling against an oppressive society.

This Ikuto slowly comes to see on realising that he and primary antagonist Jun are basically the same as Jun is also battling the spectre of his father, a yakuza. Rejected by those around him because of the stigma of being a yakuza’s son, Jun (whose name means “pure”), has turned inward in bitterness and become a violent thug attempting to order his life through physical dominance. Accepting that he too was careering towards a cliff edge, Ikuto reflects that Jun is still hanging on if barely by the skin of his teeth which is to say he can wants to be saved in the way that Ikuto has been. But it wasn’t the reform system or the prison guards that helped him see a way forward but an inspirational lecture from real life MMA star Mikuru Asakura on whose life the film is loosely based. Asakura tells the boys that they have a right to dream and that their goals are achievable if only they can put their minds to them. That they hear this from a big brother figure rather than an older man in a paternal position makes it clear that these boy must save themselves through mutual solidarity in place of the positive paternal presence that is missing in most of their lives.

The film is filled with figures of those who have turned their lives around from Asakura himself to the former yakuza who runs the dry bar where the kids hang out. The coach at their gym also provides a supportive presence that makes the ring a safe place. But the ring is of course life and the point is to keep fighting. Winning and losing aren’t important, all that matters is getting back up when someone knocks you down and staying in the fight. The young men are not adversaries but comrades supporting each other as they battle a world with few rewards and endless temptations. In Ikuto, Ryoma finds the strength to stop blaming others for his failures while trusting more in himself and learning to value this new community that he’s discovering. Harking back to the Crows Zero series and a wider tradition of high school delinquent movies, Takashi Miike makes a series of loving jabs at the genre but at the same time transforms it into something a little less angsty as these blazing fists are turned not on each other but against the world that refuses to give these young men a chance as they band together to demand the right to their dreams.

Trailer (English subtitles)