Evil Does Not Exist begins a simple enough parable about the dangers of disrupting the delicate balance of nature, particularly through capitalistic greed. It’s easy to follow and root for the right characters, while the majestic views of rural Japan and the curious ways the film is edited (all abrupt musical cuts and shaky cameras) add to the movie’s charm. But fans of director Ryusuke Hamaguchi (Drive My Car, Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy) know better than to trust a seemingly straightforward path, which is of course not what you get in Evil Does Not Exist. The film takes a turn for the supernatural, maybe too late in its run, but it’s beguiling and thought-provoking nonetheless. It’s worth watching for many reasons, but the jarring realization that you might not know what this film—and indeed life—is really about is the true highlight.
"Hamaguchi is a master craftsperson, and this beautifully strange film leaves its mark."
— Xuanlin Tham
"In its own discreet, modest way, Evil Does Not Exist leaves us with a haunting sense of personal and ecological apocalypse."
— Bilge Ebiri
Takumi and his daughter Hana live in Mizubiki Village, close to Tokyo. One day, the village inhabitants become aware of a plan to build a camping site near Takumi's house offering city residents a comfortable "escape" to nature.
When a company decides to set up a luxurious campsite in a small town just outside Tokyo, the locals protest because of a possible contamination issue. The people caught in between then find themselves in a strange but subtle battle against the forces of nature.
That unsettling and divisive ending. Is it a smart cautionary end or an unearned 180-degree twist? I imagine audiences will spend more time pondering this question than thinking about the eco-lessons the movie initially put forth, for better or worse.
Consider this the thinking, brooding man’s Erin Brockovich.
Venice
2 wins
