Evil Does Not Exist (2023): Enigma in Paradise

by Len Weiler

Evil Does Not Exist is the latest feature film by Japanese director Ryusuke Hamaguchi, his 15th. His previous picture, Drive My Car (2021) was a world-wide phenomenon - the one which put him on the short list of truly notable international auteurs. If you can tolerate a leisurely pace and uncomplicated plot, I recommend it.

Drive My Car was/is a low-key, three-hour long, voluptuously slow*, novelistic**, visually gorgeous, character driven movie centering on a grieving theatrical director and the unexpected bond he forms with the young woman assigned as his driver; a film that explores themes of – among many other things – grief, solitude, and emotional renewal. It was a surprisingly big hit with audiences and critics alike [with a 78% favorable audience rating, and an incredible 97% rating from critics on RottenTomato.com]. In addition to numerous nominations and awards on the film festival circuit, the movie won the Oscar in 2022 for best international feature film and also nominated for best picture of the year, best director, and best screenplay.                                                                [*Diego Semerene, Slant  **Justin Chang, LA Times]

Evil Does Not Exist is a much shorter film at just 104 minutes, yet still with Hamaguchi’s trademark slow pacing and focus on character, rather than action. His style here is in service of a quite different story and broader, more impersonal themes. Perhaps most notably, the movie has a different feel to it – more ominous and unsettling, even as it exalts the natural world. Unlike Drive My Car, which exist in a generally cosmopolitan milieu, Evil Does Not Exist is set largely in a rural community on the edge of a pristine forest. The forest, along with its streams and meadows, its flora and fauna, gets loads of screen time. It is the true star of the movie. Like Drive My Car, the new film has received strongly favorable critical reviews and several awards, including the Grand Jury Prize at the Venice Film Festival, and the award for Best Film at the London Film Festival.  

The human story pits the residents of the little village - a few thousand folks who depend on the natural world and try to live symbiotically with it – against those who see the arboreal landscape as nothing more than a commodity to be exploited for profit. This might suggest at first that the movie will be another of those pictures featuring eco-heroes vs eco-villains. That’s not what Hamaguchi primarily has in mind. 

The film opens with trees – an over four-minute tracking shot of the forest canopy, silhouetted against a cloud grey sky, as seen from the snow-covered ground far below, accompanied by a moody, atmospheric, somewhat ominous instrumental score by composer Eiko Ishibashi (who also composed the music for Drive My Car). Then the music suddenly cuts out, the camera shifts to ground level and we see a young girl, Hana, gazing upward, much like the camera had been, at the top of the trees looming above her. Eventually, she turns and walks along alone toward her home. 

Her dad is Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) a loner handyman-everyman living just inside the woods with Hana, his ten-year-old daughter. Takumi, the first adult character we meet in Evil Does Not Exist, makes his living in a variety of ways: scooping up clear spring water for an esteemed local udon shop, advising neighbors with his forest lore and deep practical knowledge, cutting and selling firewood. 

We hear the harsh, jarring noise of Takumi’s chainsaw through the trees before we actually see him, cutting logs into fireplace lengths. He is practiced and meticulous about this work. After awhile, he walks down to a special place along the nearby creek to gather the crystal clear water for the udon chef, fastidiously ladling it, cup by cup into large jugs. We watch Takumi performing these tasks for several minutes before we see another human being – an employee from the restaurant, who arrives to help with the water gathering. We’re over ten minutes into the film already, and theirs are the first spoken words. Surprisingly, while I was glad to move on at that point, I hadn’t gotten bored at all watching Takumi at work.  

Not long after, Evil Does Not Exist livens up with a tour de force scene introducing us to the town’s residents, humanizing them and recruiting our support for their concerns. It’s a town meeting to discuss a Tokyo company’s plans to build a glamping site on a nearby tract of forest land. Attending the meeting are two city-slicker reps for the developers - a young man, Takahashi, and a young woman, Mayuzumi – with a company powerpoint advertising what a boon the touristic camping site will be to the local economy. The two PR folks likely were expecting a bunch of provincial yokels, but the villagers, Takumi among them - while not antagonistic – turn out to be serious-minded people who raise thoughtful, critical questions. Like, for example, whether the planned location and inadequate capacity of the development’s sole septic tank will endanger the town’s water supply. Or its effect on the forest itself and its wildlife. Takahashi and Mayazumi don’t know anything about such technical details or much at all beyond their given pitch. Nor do they have any negotiating authority. At the end of the meeting, though, they promise to bring the community’s concerns to their bosses.

The bosses are not flexible about their plans in any meaningful way.  Even so, Takahashi and Mayazumi return to the town a short while later, hoping to engage Takumi as a consultant. Along the way – and this is one of the outstanding aspects of Hamaguchi’s filmmaking – we are given a chance to get to know these two a little better, only to discover that they are not one-dimensional corporate lackeys and, in fact, not particularly bad people at all. While certainly naïve, they are well intentioned young people just trying to do a job. The job - as they (and we) come to realize – sets them up as pawns in someone else’s sketchy business scheme. The fact that they were duped does not, however diminish their humanity. As the town meeting did for the local residents, the time we spend with Takahashi and Mayazumi serves to humanize them both in our eyes.

Evil Does Not Exist has a quiet power that grows over its 105 minutes. Throughout Hamaguchi encourages our empathy not just for the human characters in his film, but for the natural world in which the story is set.  David Rooney in The Hollywood Reporter called it “a penetrating study of character and milieu.” Peter Bradshaw in The Guardian described it as “a realist film teetering on the edge of the uncanny.” One of the things that’s uncanny is the sense of personality attributed to nature itself. Another is the quiet suspense that feels tethered to nearly every scene. At some point, you may begin to wonder, as I did, where is this all going?

Everything in Evil Does Not Exist comes down to the surprisingly powerful, enigmatic last few minutes of the film.  Part of its power is the shock of its unexpectedness. It may piss you off or it may beguile you. Or both. Either way, it will be a conversation starter. 

1 hour 46 minutes         In Japanese with English subtitles

Grade: B+

Available to rent [ppv] on Amazon, AppleTV, Fandango at Home and other services