Miho Kanazawa – Windows on Worlds

Ryosuke (Shono Hayama) is about to marry the love of his life, Mizuki (Hiroki Iijima), but there’s just one snag. He’s never got round to telling his family or any of his friends that he’s gay, and a sizeable contingent of the wedding party are under the assumption that he’s going to be marrying a woman. A recent addition to the wedding farce genre, Koji Tanaka’s We’re Both Grooms (僕もアイツも新郎です。, Boku mo Aitsu no Shinro desu.) explores both the lingering homophobia in the contemporary society and the internalised shame and fear that prevents people from fully committing to what it is they really want out of life.

It is after all perhaps a little bit strange to meet your child’s intended for the first time at the wedding, but no one really seems to remark on the fact that they have no idea who the groom is supposed to be marrying. But then again, it seems Ryosuke didn’t invite half of these people, they were reeled in by his overzealous mother who, like everyone else, has made a massive assumption. That in itself may imply that Ryosuke doesn’t have many friends. He doesn’t seem to have invited anyone to the wedding aside from his boss, the headmaster of the school where he works, whom he also hasn’t told he’s gay leading to some last minute wedding speech panic. Though his boss is keen to assure him he’s fine with that sort of thing, it’s clear his original speech was full of misogynistic jokes and male banter, while his attempts to correct himself reveal a latent homophobia.

Meanwhile, a childhood friend, again invited by Ryosuke’s mother, is on the one hand hurt he never shared this part of his life with her, and resentful as it seems she had romantic designs on him that prevented her from pursuing other relationships. Mizuki has also invited an ex to the wedding who takes Ryosuke to task for treating Mizuki like a dirty secret, asking how they can live a happy life together if Ryosuke can’t even acknowledge their relationship in public let alone tell the world of his love for Mizuki. Mizuki is also starting to feel guilty and conflicted, realising that he’s insensitively forced Ryosuke into coming out because of his desire to paper over his own anxiety about their relationship through a public commitment ceremony. Japan does not currently legally recognise same-sex marriages, but Mizuki is hoping that the wedding will clarify their relationship status and what they mean to each other, only it seems to have backfired.

The main obstacle is Ryosuke’s traditionalist, civil servant father (Mantaro Koichi) who outright tries to stop the wedding claiming that his son is just “easily led” and must have been led astray by Mizuki. While all of Mizuki’s family know and accept that he is gay and have also warmed to Ryosuke, Ryosuke’s family do not seem to understand and cannot get their heads around the idea of two men being in a committed relationship despite the grandmother’s public telling off of her son and unexpected announcement that she too is bisexual and that her first love was another woman. Surprisingly, Ryosuke’s father explains that he used to be a delinquent so he faced familial disapproval when he married too but was warmly supported by his wife. Though he confesses that he really just wanted to see Ryosuke marry someone who would make him happy, it takes him quite a bit longer to figure out that he’s trying to do just that.

The biggest problem remains, however, Ryosuke himself who has evidently not reached the level of self-acceptance that would allow him to fully commit to a romantic relationship, as he’s advised by the ever-helpful wedding planner trying to keep the event on track. Only once he becomes more sure of himself, can tell people proudly that he is gay and that Mizuki is the love of his life, do those around begin to see the authenticity of their relationship and accept it as they would any other. Even Mizuki’s incredibly stiff father eventually comes around with a speech to the effect that the true beauty of life lies in diversity. Despite the farcical comedy at its centre, the film ends on a surprisingly touching note as the couple reaffirm their love for each other and also see it embraced by those around them.

Trailer (English subtitles)

Names are a complicated business. Most people do not choose them for themselves, yet they come to define an identity or at least provide a substantial peg on which to hang one. If you give someone a fake name you are by definition shielding your essential self from view, refusing connection either in fear of discovery or intention to harm. The protagonist of Akihiro Toda’s The Name (名前, Namae) adopts several different titles as a part of his increasingly disordered everyday life in which he takes a hammer to his original identity in an ongoing act of guilt-ridden self harm. Meanwhile, his teenage would-be saviour, engages in a little role play of her own hoping to discover an essential truth about herself only to be disappointed, in one sense, and then perhaps find something better.

Masao Nakamura (Kanji Tsuda), if that is his real name, is not just leading a double life but is currently engaged in a number of iffy scams each compartmentalised under a different title and in which he plays an entirely different version of himself. Once a successful businessman, personal tragedy, marital breakdown, and bankruptcy have left him a floundering, cynical mess living in a rundown rural hovel with a pernickety neighbour and a decidedly lax approach to housekeeping. Masao’s main “job” appears to be working in a recycling plant where he’s managed to wangle a preferential contract by telling the higher-ups that his (non-existent) wife is seriously ill in hospital. Just as Masao’s scheme is about to be discovered, a mysterious teenage girl suddenly appears out of nowhere and plays along with Masao’s sob story, claiming to be his daughter come to remind him that he needs to leave earlier today because mum has been moved to a different hospital (which is why his boss’ contact had never heard of her).

Emiko Hayama (Ren Komai), as we later find out, is a more authentic soul but has decided on a brief flirtation with duplicity in observing the strange and cynical life of the morally bankrupt Masao. Facing similar issues but coming from the opposite direction, the pair meet in the middle – regretful middle-age and anxious youth each doing battle with themselves to define their own identities. Like Masao, Emiko is also living in less than ideal circumstances with her bar hostess single-mother, forced into adulthood ahead of schedule through the need to take care of herself, purchasing groceries, cooking, and keeping the place tidy. Thus her approach to Masao has, ironically enough, a slightly maternal component as she tries to get him back on his feet again – cleaning the place up and giving him something more productive to do than wasting his idle moments in bars and other unsavoury environments.

Masao’s current problems are perhaps more down to a feeling of failure rather than the failure itself. Once successful, happily married and excited about the future, he felt it all crash down around his ears through no real fault of his own. Nevertheless he blamed himself – his intensive work ethic placed a strain on his relationship with his wife and his all encompassing need for success blinded him to what it was that really mattered. By the time he realised it was already too late, and so it’s no surprise that he longs to escape himself through a series of cardboard cutout personalities, enacting a bizarre kind of wish fulfilment coupled with masochistic desire for atonement.

Now cynical and morally apathetic, Masao lets Emiko in on a secret about the grown-up world – it’s all lies. You have to put on disguise or two to get by; the world will not accept you for who you really are. Teenage girls might know this better than most, though Emiko is a slow learner. She might tell Masao that pretending to be other people is fun, but the one role she hasn’t yet conquered is that of Emiko Hayama – something which particularly irritates the demanding director of the theatre club she’s been cajoled into joining. Like Masao, Emiko’s life begins to fall apart through no fault of her own as she finds herself swallowed up by a typically teenage piece of friendship drama when her best friend’s boyfriend dumps her in order to pursue Emiko. Branded a scheming harlot and ejected from her group of friends, berated by the director of the theatre troupe, and having no-one to turn to at home, Emiko finds herself increasingly dependent on the surrogate father figure of Masao who is happy enough to play along with the ruse so long as it is just that.

Through their strange paternal bond, Emiko and Masao each reach a point of self identification, figuring out who it is they really are whilst facing the various things they had been afraid to face alone. Lamenting missed opportunities while celebrating second chances, The Name makes the case for authenticity as a path to happiness in a world which often demands its opposite. Melancholy but gently optimistic, Akihiro Toda’s peaceful drama is a heartwarming tale of the power of unexpected connection and the importance of accepting oneself in order to move into a more positive future.

Screened at the 20th Udine Far East Film Festival.

Tag: Miho Kanazawa

We’re Both Grooms (僕もアイツも新郎です。Koji Tanaka, 2022)

The Name (名前, Akihiro Toda, 2018)