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Dare mo shiranai

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"Nobody Knows," a profoundly moving film from the acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Koreeda, proves that the greatest movies don't need flashy action or CGI effects to achieve significant emotional impact. Despite its immediate appearance of stripped-down starkness, it is a film of technical virtuosity and carefully orchestrated sequences. But the true heart of the film -- which is loosely based on the true story of four children abandoned by their mother in Japan in 1988 and discovered six months later -- lies in its shocking realism.

"Nobody Knows" begins when Keiko (played by the Japanese pop star You) deserts her young children in a run-down apartment in a nameless Japanese city with barely enough money to pay the bills. Her oldest son Akira (Yuya Yagira) must fend for himself and protect his younger brother Shigeru (Hiei Kimura) and his sisters Kyoko (Ayu Kitaura) and Yuki (Momoko Shimizu). Akira tries his best to be a parent, borrowing money from dishonest family acquaintances, buying Christmas gifts for his siblings and relying on new friends for help, including the young Saki (Hanae Kan).

Many films have captured the gritty experience of urban survival in a busy and unfriendly city, and plenty are told from the perspective of children. But unlike movies such as the recent "In America," this story is characterized by an utter lack of sentimentality and an extraordinary subtlety. The movie merely hints at the family's past before the opening of the film -- Koreeda is wisely content to develop his characters through action without succumbing to unnecessary narration or expository dialogue.

As such, the storyline of "Nobody Knows" is a loose framework rather than an intricate plot. With sparse dialogue and minimalist production, the film feels wholly authentic, even documentary-like (not coincidently). Koreeda actually hired unprofessional actors, working with them in free-form improvisation and filming the story chronologically. As a result, the performances are astonishingly convincing -- the actors literally age on-screen. (Yuya Yagira, a novice, won Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival.)

Koreeda is keenly aware of the power that a slowly unfolding story can have. The film's quietness and slow pacing make the few plot developments and revelations all the more emotional. Rather than relying on dialogue, Koreeda reveals characters' emotions and thoughts in ways that many directors never attempt, through lingering smiles and exchanged glances. The intense connection to these characters and the ultimate emotional payoff at the climax are results of these stylistic choices.

Above all, Koreeda is a brilliant visual storyteller. With his cinematographer Yamazaki Yutaka, he creates a style that perfectly complements the fly-on-the-wall nature of his movie. The camera is patiently kept in one place, and as result much of the action takes place on the edges, even outside, of the frame. Although Koreeda and Yutaka carefully plan each shot, the film's cinematography still feels experimental and beautifully authentic. Yutaka's garish lighting and the set's close quarters, emphasize the seclusion and loneliness of the children's apartment. This symbolism extends to the repeated isolation of visual patterns (Akira on staircases, for example) to demonstrate the hopelessness of the children's existence: As the children revisit old places, each time things seem worse than before.

But, as he did with 1998's "After Life," Koreeda finds unexpected humor and optimism even in the darkest of situations. At one point, Yuki's hilariously squeaky shoes represent the joyous privilege of leaving the house for the first time. In another scene, hand-held camera movement and rapid editing are used to show Akira's exhilaration as he watches a train pass quickly by, dreaming that one day it will take him far away.

Too many contemporary Hollywood films are content to tell rather than show. Koreeda's authentic direction is a refreshing reminder of cinema at its quiet best. But more importantly -- and perhaps more surprisingly, given the simplicity of its style and its plot -- "Nobody Knows" is highly affecting and entirely engrossing. It also constitutes a major social statement: In the late 1980s, when the plight of the four abandoned children came to light, many Japanese were shocked that their society had ever allowed this to happen. But the film, with its patient camera work and natural storyline, make their dark fates seem all too familiar.

(Originally published in the Yale Daily News, February 25, 2005.)

I have been a fan of Kore-eda Hirokazu films for a couple of years now. Like many of his viewers my first exposure to his body of work was his film After Life that touched my heart because of its humanistic quality. After viewing that gem, I watched Maboroshi and Distance both of which I enjoyed as well. Generally dark colored, I enjoy Kore-eda's films because of their general simplicity, the character driven stories, and their almost documentary quality that is not surprising because first became known as a documentary filmmaker. When I heard that his latest film, Nobody Knows was receiving critical acclaim not only in his native Japan but in Western countries as well, I was quite please and looked forward to viewing the film myself.

After moving into their new apartment, Akira and his mother Keiko are quick to open two special suitcases. They do not contain precious family heirlooms, but two of Keiko's younger children: Shigeru and Yuki. After fetching another sister, Kyoko, at a station, Akira returns home and the family enjoys a boisterous meal. Keiko, whose voice sounds like a she has been sucking up a bit too much helium and quite a few cigarettes, tells the younger of her three children, since the landlord does not know of their presence, that they must remain as quiet as possible and that they must remain inside the apartment. Akira, being the eldest, is responsible for the well being of the family. Keiko, who seems to be a bar hostess, is rarely home so Akira is responsible for the preparation of meals while Kyoko takes care of the laundry. To keep this "well-oiled" machine running Keiko does not allow her children to attend school. What learning they seem to have seems to come from their own personal endeavors.

Although their family life is quite abnormal, the four children do not resent their mother. However, trouble begins after Keiko becomes involved with yet another boyfriend. Akira, Kyoko, Shigeru, and Yuki, while sharing the same mother, are the products of four different fathers. One morning, Keiko leaves a note stating that she will be gone for a few days. A few days becomes a month, but because the children are accustomed to looking after their own persons and because Keiko left a bit of money, they manage. Keiko eventually returns, but only stays for a day and promises that she will be back by Christmas. However, when Christmas comes there is no sign of Keiko.

Like Kore-eda's other films, the charm of Nobody Knows rests on the shoulders of its characters. Akira, although only twelve years old, does his best to look after his family while he searches for friendship with other boys and a special girl named Saki. Kyoko, the somber older daughter, desires to go to school and learn how to play the piano. A good portion of the films scant background music consists of Kyoko playing a few melancholy notes on a toy piano. Shigeru, the most energetic of the four children, is a source of brightness in an otherwise dark time. Yuki, a little six-year-old-girl, bears the torch of hope that their mother will soon return.

Based on true events, Nobody Knows is a wonderful film created by Japan's leading humanist director.

I hadn't heard of this movie before, and only rented it on a whim because the cover blurb interested me. I didn't expect it to be so emotionally draining-- I watched it yesterday, but I still feel like I might cry just thinking about it!-- but this is definitely one I'll watch again, and one I would like to own.
This seems at first the story of a loving, if selfish and immature mother. . . sure, she raises her family in an unconventional way, but they seem to be a close-knit, generally happy bunch. They even seem fine at first when she leaves them alone with nothing but a note and an envelope of money, but the money starts to run out, and Akira is forced to borrow from his siblings' fathers to keep afloat. When their mother does return, there seems to be a hint of resentment, especially from the older children.
Then we find out just how selfish she can be, as their mother leaves her job and children outright to be with a man. She doesn't even tell them what she's doing-- Akira finds out by calling around to check up on her. I don't think he actually tells his siblings where she's run off to, but Kyoko, at least, seems to know they've been abandoned from fairly early on. She tries to shelter the others with promises their mother will return, but even they become more doubtful as time goes by.
Akira does an admirable job of holding the household together at first, but goes through his own selfish period when he befriends some schoolboys, and spends more time playing games with them than caring for the home and his siblings. By the time he learns their true nature and returns to his home life, the place is in squallor and the utilities are all being turned off. Though their living situation gets worse all the time, surprisingly, the children remain close, and pull together to survive as best they can.
The fact these children are all amateurs makes their acting in this film all the more amazing-- they can convey more emotion in a glance than many Western actors can in a page full of dialogue. I felt connected to these children, and concerned for their well-being, more than any other movie characters I can think of. The adults who seemed to see the situation, yet did nothing to help, infuriated me! Even just the passers-by who saw a group of poor, dirty children in the street yet didn't stop to help, or even question why, made me angry. For all the concern of what might happen if anyone saw them, these children seemed pretty much invisible most of the time.
The ending is incomplete, yes. We never know whether their mother comes back, or whether social services step in at any point. The lack of resolution is mildly annoying, but it also leaves one with the impression that these children are still out there, still doing whatever it takes to survive and stay together. That's the sort of movie this is; salvaging hope from even the darkest and most dire situations.

Kore-eda's achievement in this film is startling. This is film art grounded in the minimalist traditions of the Ozu school of Japanese filmmaking; leisurely story development, very little camera movement, minimal dialogue, perfectly-pitched performances from the actors. It references much of the best of contemporary Japanese cinema; the abused outcast child seen in Village of Dreams, the rites-of-passage trials in Firefly Dreams, the pagan rituals exhibited in Swallowtail. And yet, added to these elements, is a devastating critique of the anomie afflicting contemporary Japanese society. In recent years we have heard stories of a child found dead in a box in a residential area, a young woman kidnapped and held in a house between the ages of nine and nineteen, children suffocating in a car while their parents play pachinko, and a mother and son who starved to death in the middle of Tokyo because they were too proud to ask for welfare. The film is based on one true story, but I was reminded of all of these stories while viewing. All of these incidents happened in heavily-populated areas, but nobody knew. It is quite a feat that the director manages to indict more than the damaged, neglectful mother; the disinterested neighbours (always shot in an alienating manner, lower-body only or head turned away), the landlord, the utility companies, the convenience store clerks who fail to act. This film fuses social criticism with a beautiful cinematic aesthetic, and it will resonate long beyond the contemporary issues it addresses.

Four stepsiblings (two boys and two girls) living in present day Tokyo, Japan are suddenly abandoned by their charismatic, yet irresponsibly idealistic mother. Left with only a little money and a vague hope that their mother may return from her romantic escapades (hoping to find a father for her kids), the children struggle to survive on their own.
As unbelievable as the plot sounds, this film succeeds because it is surprisingly believable. The simple piano score, the raw, "documentary-style" of the film, and the slow, but precise pacing all compliment the memorable, realistic acting, especially from Yagira, playing the oldest boy.
Yagira's performance is touching and heartfelt without being "cute" (steven speilberg would be apalled). When the food and water run out, he does not waste time crying or throwing a tantrum. Instead, he tediously pumps water from the local playground pump and shamelessly bums leftover sushi from a restaurant for him and the others, all the while smiling from time to time, dreaming of baseball and school (which he has never attended).
Though they live day to day, looking more grungy and detatched from society,ironically, out of their harsh living, they acquire a compassion and vitality for life much stronger than that of most of their peers in the civilized world. Their newfound strength ultimately helps them to cope with an almost unthinkable tragedy that evokes scenes so powerfully simple that they are likely to remain in the viewer's mind long after the movie is over.

This is a great film and an extremely important one as well. Amazingly, it is brought to life through a screenplay acted out primarily by children, with relatively little dialogue. After about the first quarter of the film, the absence of the mother brings the dialogue to a near halt. Occasionally it is punctuated by the babblings of the smaller children however Akira and Kyoko, the two older children, exist in relative silence. Interactions amongst store clerks and others are limited to mechanical discourse of mere formality. Never do we hear what Akira is feeling. Hence, the viewer is forced to watch and attempt to understand what is going on in each child's mind. In a sense, viewing this movie is an exercise in child psychology.

With their mother absent, their living conditions degenerate. Although the younger children seem oblivious to their squalid living conditions, the senses of Akira and his sister Kyoko seem to further dull with each passing day. They show relatively no emotion. At one point Akira seeks to obtain some money from his younger sister's father. They meet behind a pachinko hall where he works. He gives him 5000 yen and then tells young Akira that even though he is giving him money, Yuki (Akira's sister) couldn't possibly be his daughter because he never had unprotected sex with his mother. The discussion of one's mother's sexual promiscuity would seemingly be traumatic to a young child, but the fact that this statement doesn't seem to faze him, reveals how deep his emotions are set inside.

During the whole movie there are numerous signals that one would think neighbors would see. The landlord's wife seems to be somewhat aware of their situation but does not investigate. Even a convenience store clerk, who is fully abreast of their dire condition, does nothing. The fact that in a developed nation and in an urban environment, this story could be played out leads one to question the safeguards established within our own communities and cities.

Although watching Nobody Knows is painful, a careful viewing will allow you take in all that it has to offer. Along with its excellent visual presentation, its simple music complements the acting. Some might feel that the movie is a little on the long side, to which I would agree. Some scenes seemed a little tangential and non-critical to an understanding of the children, but I would not categorize them as completely superfluous. It is definitely a film worth your time, but perhaps not the $20 for the DVD if you get easily bored. If nothing else, watch it to find out the meaning of my review title.

****1/2

Keiko is a single mother living with her four children (all from different fathers) in a cramped apartment she's recently rented in a middle class section of Tokyo. Fearful that they will be thrown out onto the streets if the neighbors or landlord discover the existence of the kids, she makes the three youngest ones stay indoors and out of sight while the oldest, 12-year-old Akira, is allowed to venture out to run errands and enjoy at least some semblance of a normal life. None of the children attend school. Despite his youth, Akira, in many ways, has been forced to assume the role of parent, providing for the other children while Keiko stays away for months at a time, ostensibly earning money working (though we are inclined to speculate that there may be a far more nefarious truth behind the absences that is never fully revealed to us).

Based on a true story, "Nobody Knows" is more of an observational study on human behavior than a full-fledged narrative; it is a film that uses the minutiae of everyday life, rather than heavy-handed plot points, to generate its drama. As virtual prisoners in their own apartment, the children survive as best they can without adult supervision or guidance. Indeed, in its own quiet way, the film serves as an allegory of a much larger issue, a stinging indictment against a society that too often abandons and neglects its children to pursue its own selfish interests - most often to devastating and disastrous results both for the youngsters themselves and for the society as a whole.

Beautifully written and directed by Hirokazu Koreeda, this is a heartrending film filled with moments of quiet perceptions and unforgettable images. The actors portraying the children are all truly amazing - wholly natural, unaffected and believable in front of the camera. Yuya Yagira, as young Akira, is basically called on here to carry the film and he does so in a way that leaves one awestruck and breathless. His is an exquisitely internalized performance, serious and stoic on the outside, yet with a sly mischievousness that peeks through from time to time to remind us that Akira is really just a kid at heart, forced to grow up much too fast and assume the mantle of adult responsibility that the actual "adults" around him have been all too eager to abandon. What's so heartbreaking about this film is watching these sweet (but never cloying) children being deprived of all the true essentials of a happy childhood - freedom, fresh air, open space, education, even food and electricity, not to mention the all-important feeling of security and belonging that comes with the love and guidance of a fully engaged parent. Yet, although they yearn for all these things, the children seem to accept their plight with a sort of uncomplaining fatalism combined with a love of one another and a resourcefulness and spirit of survival that is both astonishing and inspiring.

Nothing about "Nobody Knows" is ever obvious or underlined, not its message and certainly not its emotions. These seep into the film gradually and unobtrusively so as not to disturb the near-documentary nature of the movie. We feel almost as if we are eavesdropping on the children, as if we were the very neighbors from whom they are trying so desperately to hide. There's no point in denying that the movie requires patience from the viewer, for it achieves its power subtly and slowly, through an artfully arranged accumulation of activities and details. Yet, this is precisely what draws us into the world of the film and makes us, finally, not mere observers but rather empathetic participants with the characters.

It takes time to get to where it's going, but "Nobody Knows" will leave an indelible mark on your heart.

I saw After Life when it first made the rounds here in the States and, to be perfectly honest, I wasn't terribly impressed. After Life was a decent film, with a great concept, but somehow it failed to resonate --- something about Kore-Eda's execution seemed a little "off" (for lack of better terminology). Several years later, in early 2005, I managed to see Nobody Knows without a clue as to who directed it, or even what it was about---- I simply wanted to get outta the house, so there I was. Imagine my surprise, then, when I spent the next 141 minutes in the dark watching one of the most thoughtfully rendered, emotionally complex films I've seen in my entire life! I was quietly blown away, and, fortunately, not the only one in attendance caught off-guard by what an aesthetically attuned and socially relevant work of art this film is. Not a single person in the sold-out theater left before Nobody Knows' conclusion. For a sub-titled movie clocking in at almost two and a half hours, this sort of commitment from an unassuming audience is quite uncommon and usually a sign of greatness on the part of teh director.

I've always wondered what it would be like to be cinematically discerning amidst the initial release of a great film that we now, in retrospect, regard as "classic" --- something like Tarkovsky's Stalker, Varda's Vagabond, Bresson's Pickpocket, or Cassavetes' The Killing Of A Chinese Bookie. While watching such superlative films, it's hard to imagine any critic "in the know" having passed them up during their heyday. And yet this is exactly the sort of cultural climate we exist in today. Nothing has changed. (If you don't believe me, take a look at the Onion AV Club's "The Year In Film: 2004" and ask yourself why an insufferably shallow film like Sideways is on each and every reviewer's top ten list, and yet Nobody Knows, an obvious masterpiece [Yagira Yuya won Best Actor at Cannes 2004], receives no mention whatsoever.) This is why it's important for you, the self-respecting moviegoer, to take a chance on films like Nobody Knows that are barely blips on the pop culture radar. The hipster intelligentsia may never wise up. Thankfully, for those who don't live in big cities like New York, LA, and Chicago, there are DVDs. The color transfer on this release is quite faithful to the original print so home audiences aren't missing a thing. The more Ozu-esque Maborosi is also worthwhile and beautifully shot, and Distance has a highly intriguing narrative, but if you only see one of Kore-Eda's films, do yourself a favor and buy or rent this one. Nobody Knows strikes a rare balance between artfully purposeful realization and accessiblity without compromise. It's a rare treat. And how many other films in recent memory feature children at once adorable and dignified as their main characters? (No, Look Who's Talking Too doesn't count.)

A graceful and haunting film from Japanese writer-director Hirokazu Kore-eda. Four children struggle to survive on their own in a tiny Tokyo apartment after their childlike mother abandons them. The oldest, Akira (Yûya Yagira) and his sister Kyoko (Ayu Kitaura) try to maintain some semblance of family life for the younger children, Shigeru (Hiei Kimura) and Yuki (Momoko Shimizu), but ultimately tragedy befalls the four.

This is a long, slowly paced, minimalist film, but it rewards the patient viewer with its tender attention to the simple beauty and minutia of the children's world as well as the utterly natural performances of the child actors.

"Dare mo shiranai" (Nobody Knows) by Kore-eda Hirokazu is all the more poignant for being based on a real-life scandal in Japan. In 1988, four children were found abandoned by their mother, living for six months in a squalid Tokyo apartment with no running water, electricity, or food, where one of the children, weakened by malnutrition, was accidentally killed.

As the film begins, the family is moving into yet another apartment; they are continuously evicted for having too many children. The two youngest children arrive smuggled in suitcases, already a sign of the startling neglect to come, as the mother portrays this as a game. The hot, tired children unfold from their suitcase prisons as the mother laughs, claps her hands and tells them "Good job!" in her Minnie Mouse voice. The children's flighty mother is barely more than a child herself, unable to cope with real life and care for her large brood (each child has a different father).

It is never explicitly stated what her job is, but she frequently leaves the children for long stretches of time, expecting eldest son Akira (Yuya Yagira) to care for ten-year-old Kyoko, seven-year-old Shigeru, and five-year-old Yuki. The children are like children everywhere: they long to play outside, be rambunctious, play in the park, be free to dream. Instead, they are virtual prisoners, unable to leave the apartment lest they be caught. Even the small balcony is off limits. Akira does all of the outside shopping, bill paying, and cooking. None of the children go to school. "Why do you want to go to school?" their mother asks. "Famous people don't go to school." Like who? Akira demands. His mother can't come up with a suitable answer.

The inevitable happens: their mother is infatuated with the latest boyfriend, and skips town for good. Akira holds off telling the other children for as long as possible; after all, their mother is frequently gone for months at a time. He is forced to spend down, but it isn't enough. The utilities are eventually cut off, and the apartment descends into a pit of hell, with garbage covering everything. The children must use the bathroom in the park and wash their clothes in a fountain, and survive off of leftover sushi handouts. Akira falls in with a group of thug-like high schoolers who use him, taunt him, and try to get him to shoplift, and the youngest children suffer the most. Somber Kyoko taps out melodies on her toy piano, Shigeru breaks the rules by running wild outside, and Yuki colors and draws pictures that cover every inch of the apartment. Their situation becomes more and more dire; even though the landlord's wife has seen the state of the apartment, no social services are called in. The children are left to fester as their clothes unravel and they slowly succumb to malnutrition. An accident occurs, prompted out of boredom, that changes their close-knit lives. The ending is sparse, haunting, and we are not told what becomes of the children, or if their mother was ever found.

The child actors were essentially filmed living in the apartment throughout an entire year of filming, so in some ways, "Nobody Knows" plays out like a documentary. The scene where they play in the park for the first time was really their first time leaving the apartment in months. It is heartwrenching to watch them spying on "normal" children down below, children who take school for granted, are allowed to ride bikes and play in the park. There is no creative outlet, no exercise, no nourishing food, and yet, although weakened, their spirits still demonstrate the resilience of childhood. Kore-eda's haunting portrait of solitude and survival at its darkest is difficult to watch, but worth the journey.