Love At Least (2018): Written
and directed by Kosai Sekine. Starring: Shuri, Masaki Shuda,
Riisa Naka, Naomi Nishida, and Yutaka Matsushige. Running Time:
109 minutes. Based on the novel of the same name by Yukiko
Motoya.
Rating: 3.5/4
Though things have gotten better in
recent years, mental illness in all its stripes remains an
underappreciated and undertreated phenomenon, something with so much
stigma attached that far too many people need years to come to terms
with it, if they ever do at all. Seen through the eyes of one
particular couple, Love At Least looks at how mental illness
is handled within modern Japanese society. It is a difficult watch,
but has a deft and gentle touch that makes it one of the year's best
films.
Yasuko sufferes from severe and, as
far as we can tell, completely untreated depression and hypersomnia.
As the film opens, she is in the midst of another long depressive
patch, one that keeps her almost entirely at home, while her
boyfriend, Tsunaki, provides for them both. There seems to be
nothing that can shake her out of her malaise- both Tsunaki and her
sister seem to have long given up on getting her to at least try
job-hunting again- until Tsunaki's ex forces her way back into their
lives. Finally, Yasuko makes a push to reenter everyday life by
working at a local cafe, but immediately starts to doubt she can make
the job work.
Tsunaki, meanwhile, has his own
struggles; though not clinically depressed like Yasuko, his job
writing pulpy smut for a scandal-ridden gossip publication is way
below the hopes he'd had for his life. Each and every day at a job
that he finds abhorrent drags him further and further into his own
rut, and like Yasuko, he too approaches a possible breaking point,
not knowing how on Earth he can keep going.
That both characters, each with
different issues, are given such thorough and nuanced attention is
one of the main things that give the film its power; each character,
even the less sympathetic ones, are whole people, and while clinical
depression and a bad job are obviously not exactly the same thing,
they are both real problems with real consequences for people who
have to endure them. That the film is able to give both the
consideration they need, and to present both characters as having
particular struggles that they need to overcome, shows an
intelligence that far too many films trying to tackle mental illness
tend to lack.
If there is one main weakness in the
film, it is that this nuance does not ever really extend to the
character of the ex. She struck me as an intended commentary of
so-called "normies," the mass of people who blithely
dismiss the symptoms of mental illness as sinple laziness or some
moral failing, unworthy of care or consideration. But if that was
indeed the case, it does not land well; she remains entirely
one-dimensional to the end, less of a character and more of a plot
device to get Yasuko from her apartment to the restuarant she starts
working at, whose owners and staff are far more engaging and
interesting.
The revolving center of the film,
though, is Shuri's lead performance as Yasuko, and my God, is she
incredible. Every moment with her is gripping in the sense that you
can feel the helplessness and despair in her worst moments, and
genuinely not know what she will say or do next as she continues to
spiral downwards. She is a vibrant figure, treated with tender care
by the camera, which offers a tactile feel to every shot, pulling us
ever-closer into her world.
This movie is hard an unyielding at
looking at the daily pains of fighting one's own mind, but it is not
harsh or callous. There is strength and hope to be found, even in
the moments when one could easily assume all is lost. And there is
always love, at least.
-Noah Franc
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