'Evil Does Not Exist' Review: A Hypnotic Lullaby on Humanity and Nature [TIFF 2023]
In his follow-up to Drive My Car, Hamaguchi has created a quiet fable that reminds the viewer of how painfully human they are.
Since the wildfire praise that caught on for Academy award-winning Drive My Car, Ryusuke Hamaguchi has been a filmmaker to watch for viewers around the world. While he has been creating films since 2001, often as both writer and director, it is only in recent years that he has begun to be recognized outside of Japan. Drive My Car walked away from the festival (and award) season with numerous accolades, including Best Screenplay at Cannes, and Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, released in the same year, was awarded the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize at the Berlin International Film Festival. At this point in the year, Evil Does Not Exist has followed in its predecessors’ footsteps, taking home the Grand Jury Prize from the Venice International Film Festival. Despite not being Japan’s selection for submission to the Academy, this movie still has great potential for awards in other places (or in other categories) and will likely gain the appreciation of many viewers as it travels, expanding to different countries.
Interestingly, Hamaguchi had originally intended to create a silent short film, but due to the natural process of production, he decided to turn into a full feature with dialogue, albeit quite limited. In what seems to be Hamaguchi fashion, he is releasing two films this year (as he did in 2021 with Drive My Car and Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy), with one being Evil Does Not Exist and the other titled Gift: the short film he initially intended to make independently. This concept may be easier to consume as a short film, but the feature is a gorgeous creation, and if a viewer can lose themselves in it, they can be completely consumed.
Evil Does Not Exist is an introspective look at humanity through the eyes of two communities of people: those employed by a talent agency looking to build a glamping site in small village Harasawa, and those living in this village. Each have opposing interests, seeing the other as too alien to relate to, and this film pushes that boundary for everyone involved. Employees of Playmode, the aforementioned agency, arrive in the village and present their plans, and are taken off guard but the immediate backlash from residents of Harasawa. Certain issues seem to have been given little to no thought, and with different priorities from both sides, tension begins to grow. The viewer is shown the lifestyles of both communities. We spend minutes watching one village resident chop wood and spend time with his daughter, and we sit in with employees in a frustrating meeting and listen to co-workers discuss their dreams.
As soon as the film begins, the viewer is immediately submerged in a hypnotic view of the trees, a long sequence that sets the mood and allows the viewer to let the film take over.
While the first two acts are quite mundane, lulling the viewer into a quiet, calm state, the third act takes a twist, and fear begins to run through both the village and the viewer themselves. This film discusses our connection to one another as humans, despite our surface-level differences, our connection to nature, and our primal urges that mirror the natural world.
The cinematography is stunning, depicting wintry forests, with the score as a perfect accompaniment. It effectively sets the viewer’s mood, creating a sense of unease and anxiety when there seems to be nothing happening on screen to inspire this. This conflict, or mismatch, puts the viewer on edge and has them waiting with bated breath. The limited dialogue makes it slightly harder to get to know the characters, but it also makes everything they do say that much more important.
This film may not be for everyone, as its slow nature, lack of dialogue, and lengthy sequences may challenge attention spans. The first minutes are so deliberate and careful, the viewer living life along with one main character as he does, in real time. While this could come across as boring, it’s really quite beautiful. Each film has a purpose to serve, and this did just what it set out to do. This film acts as an art-piece, and with the final scene so impactful, it follows the viewer home and stays with them longer than they may expect. For fans of Hamaguchi and arthouse cinema, this comes highly recommended.