Rei (莉の対, Toshihiko Tanaka, 2024)

As the opening title cards of Toshihiko Tanaka’s Rei (莉の対, Rei no Tsui) somewhat paradoxically explain, Rei is a kanji character that has no real meaning on its own but can gain it by joining with another kanji as it has in the name of the heroine, Hikari, who does indeed feel herself to be “colourless” to the extent of being transparent. The implication seems to be that human connection is essential to fulfilment, but there’s precious little empathy on show between the disparate and isolated protagonists. 

A mild stigmatisation of singledom is displayed in the opening sequence in which Hikari attends a play alone and seems embarrassed by her unattached status while catching up with old university friend Asami who has since married and had a daughter. Yet it quickly becomes apparent that Asami is struggling as a young mother to a disabled child left largely without support while unbeknownst to her, her husband Ko has been having an affair with a young nurse. The implication seems to be partly that Ko resents his daughter Hina for not living up to his ideals or those of his rather snooty mother who seems to think Hina is an embarrassment to their family. We’re not exactly told what Hina’s disability is save that it involves some degree of learning difficulties and the doctor advises it would be better to put her down for a special school, but are instead uncomfortably focussed on the burden of her care which falls entirely on Asami.

The film then equates Hina’s condition with that of Masato, a photographer who happens to be deaf who had a troubled relationship with his mother while his brother hints that he may also have had some kind of mental disturbance that has left him fragile, too delicate for city life and instead living amid the peaceful mountain vistas of Hokkaido. In an effort to communicate with him, Hikari begins learning sign language only to discover he doesn’t know it but prefers to communicate through written language. Hikari finds herself caught between these different kinds of communication, at once walking with a dejected stage actor who insists words are essential and liberated by the their absence in her tentative relationship with Masato. Nevertheless, there is perhaps a degree of projection going on given that Masato cannot hear what she’s saying and directly respond to it allowing Hikari to interpret her own responses.

Masato’s estranged brother later suggests that Masato may be able to hear at least a little but pretends not to because it’s easier that way. In any case, he given little right of reply while others seem to make decisions on his behalf denying him any kind of agency. His friend, Shinya, tells Hikari to back off, that Masato is too fragile for relationships and she’s just making things hard for him though it seems clear to us that Shinya is in love with him himself and carrying a degree of shame for his repressed sexuality. Shame and a sense of inferiority also seem to be at the heart of Ko’s infidelity revealing to his lover that he feels he has to work twice as hard as anyone else just to get average results and be scolded by his boss. It’s clear that he has already begun to pull away from his family, resenting his wife and daughter for deepening his sense of personal failure while the lover, Rie, ironically presents a more progressive counter to Asami’s dilemma in telephoning her mother to say she plans to have a child and raise it alone in a society in which births outside of marriage are still rare.

No one really connects with anyone else nor are they fulfilled by their connections. Hikari’s relationship with Masato is frustrated by those who either infantilise him or act out of self interest but given the dark path he eventually takes they might have has a point in saying that love was too much complication though Hikari’s determination to reconnect may seem odd given the circumstances. Over long and meandering, the narrative progression cannot help but seem contrived in a manner out of keeping with the otherwise naturalistic treatment even before it rockets into the melodrama of its second half or the meta subplot with the dejected actor. Even so there is something poignant in the beauty of the Hokkaido landscapes and their endless vistas of snowbound isolation tempered by the gently bending trees.


Rei screened as part of this year’s JAPAN CUTS.

International trailer (English subtitles)

Shrieking in the Rain (雨に叫べば, Eiji Uchida, 2021)

“Let’s change Japanese film” a duplicitous distributor tries to convince a diffident director though his “creators first” stance predictably turns out to be somewhat disingenuous. Inhabiting the same territory as Netflix’s Naked Director, Eiji Uchida’s meta dramedy Shrieking in the Rain (雨に叫べば, Ame ni Sakebeba) finds a young woman struggling to take charge of her artistic vision while plagued by workplace sexism, commercial concerns, and absurd censorship regulations but finally claiming her space and along with it her right to make art even if not quite everyone understands it, 

Set entirely on a Toei lot in the summer of 1988, the film opens with rookie director Hanako (Marika Matsumoto) locking herself inside a car with her hands clamped over her ears, fed up with the chaos that seems to surround her. How Hanako got the job in the first place is anyone’s guess, but it later becomes clear that she is in a sense being exploited by the producer, Tachibana (Kazuya Takahashi), who thinks a pretty young girl directing a softcore porno is a selling point in itself. Meanwhile, he’s teamed up with an US-based production company and its Japanese producer, Inoue (Kiyohiko Shibukawa), who seems fairly exasperated by the Japanese-style shoot and despite his pretty words is all about the business. For him, the main selling points are the actors, one a young idol star intending to boost his profile by getting into films and the other a veteran actress stripping off for the first time in an attempt to revitalise her fading career. 

Surrounded by male industry veterans, Hanako struggles to get her voice heard and feels under confident on set as they encircle her and bark orders she doesn’t quite understand. Her decisions are continually overruled by the male AD, cameraman, and finally Tachibana who always has his mind on the bottom line while Hanako’s inability to express herself to the crew results in endless takes of scenes that others tell her are “pointless” and should be cut despite her protestations that they are essential to the piece. A forthright female makeup artist (Chika Uchida) asks if filmmaking should really be this heartless as she watches Hanako humiliated by the chauvinistic cameraman who forces her to get on her knees and beg for help, while a more sympathetic grip (Gaku Hamada) later tells her that becoming a successful director has little to do with talent and a lot to do with the art of compromise. 

Nevertheless, Hanako tries to hold on to her artistic vision even while some roll their eyes considering the project is a softcore romantic melodrama revolving around a love triangle involving two brothers in love with same woman. Inoue claps back that film is a business, admitting that when he said creators first he just meant the ones that make money. According to him, anyone could direct the film because all anyone’s interested in is the actress’ bared breasts and the teenybopper appeal of top idol Shinji. Or in other words, it doesn’t really need to be good, it’s going to sell anyway. In any case, it seems incongruous to cast a squeaky clean idol in an edgy erotic drama especially considering that if they want to market it to his fans then they need to secure a rating which allows them to see it without adult supervision. Business concerns and censorship eventually collide when the rather befuddled censor puts a red line through some of their kink and explains that the actress’ third hip thrust has just earned them an X rating. 

Unlike Hanako and her similarly troubled junior camerawoman Yoshie (Serena Motola), veteran actress Kaede at least knows how to advocate for herself and get what she wants on set so that she can do her best work. Only in this case doing her best work means she wants to go for real with arrogant idol star Shinji who refuses to wear a modesty sock or trim his pubic hair to fit in with the arcane regulations of the censors board. Shinji is brought to task by aspiring actor Kazuto who is pissed off by his unprofessional behaviour while struggling to get a foothold in a difficult industry and apparently finding one through a romantic relationship with the producer which otherwise seems to be a secret from cast and crew. 

In any case a final confrontation prompts a rebellion against Inoue’s production line metaphor as the crew reaffirm that they are a team working together on an artistic endeavour not mere cogs in his machine. Reemerging in bright red lipstick, Hanako returns to retake what’s hers boldly claiming her artistic vision and taking charge on set before descending into an unexpected musical number. With a retro sensibility, the film neatly echoes late 80s production style with a cutesy background score often heard in movies of the era while posters for top Toei movies from the 70s and 80s such as Yukihiro Sawada’s No Grave for Us line the walls. A meta rebuke against the constraints placed on filmmakers by those who shout “creators first” to bolster their image but never follow through Shrieking in the Rain, is at once a homage to the classic days of low budget Toei erotica and an inspirational tale of an artist finding her voice in a sometimes repressive industry.


Shrieking in the Rain screened as part of this year’s Camera Japan.

Original trailer (no subtitles)