On "Evil Does Not Exist"

One of the best films of the year, Ryusuke Hamaguchi's "Evil Does Not Exist"is a tantalizing, challenging wonder. Part eco-thriller, but mostly a deliberate drama about the entrenching scale of urban growth into peaceful forestry, Hamaguchi employs his distinctive observational style to subtly shift gears between both. Imagine if Frederick Wiseman film were present in this peaceful natural village to film a board meeting about the possibilities of tourism advancement versus the quiet disdain of its townsfolk. For about twenty minutes, this is what we get, and (like Wiseman's films) it's an utterly mesmerizing act of ebb and flow emotion as the villagers raise their concerns, and the two Japanese mouthpieces deflect their concerns.

Outside of that, "Evil Does Not Exist" primarily focuses on the quiet day-to-day activities of Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) and his daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa). They live off the land.... he chops wood.... helps a local food establishment owner collect water for their udon noodle shop.... and Hana wanders the woods experiencing all of its natural glories. That's the lulling rhythm the film settles into, until the aforementioned Japanese company decides to build a "glamping" site nearby for upscale outdoor tourism. Dividing the film down the middle as before and after the existential ecological disaster comes upon Takumi and his fellow villagers, "Evil Does Not Exist" then dovetails into unexpected narrative sidelines as it shifts focus from the serene ways of Takumi to the corporate shells caught in the middle (Ryuki Kosaka and Ayaka Shibutani). It's in the second half that Hamaguchi lays clear the title of the film. Everyone is doing what they think is right and the only casualty is the perception of those involved. It's a master stroke of storytelling, reverting expectation and providing a broad, gentle ethos to everyone involved.

And then there's that ending. Initially shocking.... outwardly confusing, but upon introspection (which is needed for all of Hamguchi's films), it makes perfect sense. All along, the film has been establishing the worrisome encroachment of civilization on an environment that is completely natural and subsistent to simple people. The main point of contention- a septic tank for the glamping site that will surely contaminate all the water downstream- is just the least of Takumi's fears. For most of the film, daughter Hana is a virtually wordless, wide-eyed young girl wandering by herself through the woods. Without completely spoiling the shattering finale, Hamaguchi seems to be saying that no outside force should dare touch the innocence of Hana. If father Takumi can't, ultimately, stop the impending ecological disaster of big business, he can stop the metaphorical poisoning of anyone coming close to Hana. Alongside Eiko Ishibashi's mournful score, "Evil Does Not Exist" is a masterpiece of shifting storytelling, intelligent underpinnings, and shimmering cinematography that ranks as one of the best films in Hamaguchi's now renowned career.