Somewhere around the middle of Evil Does Not Exist, the latest film from Japanese director Ryusuke Hamaguchi, I thought I'd mistakenly stumbled into a Japanese version of a Frederick Weisman documentary, a careful detailing of the issues and personalities at a high-stakes community meeting.
I thought of Weisman when Hamaguchi's fictional work arrives in a small town outside Tokyo for a meeting between the village residents and representatives from a company that wants to build a "glamping" site. No, I'd never heard the term either.
As it turns out, glamping refers to luxury camping for high-end travelers who want to commune with nature without sacrificing comfort or safety.
The locals are unpersuaded by the faux friendliness of the company's two representatives (Ryuji Osaka and Ayaka Shibutani). Actors who've been hired to make the case for the camp, they're ill-equipped to talk about construction issues.
The reps face challenging questions about the placement of septic tanks, the possible misuse of post-pandemic grants, and other matters that threaten the environmental balance the villagers hope to preserve.
The meeting clearly defines one of the movie's themes: the corruption of nature by businesses that attempt to grease the wheels of profit with ample helpings of blather.
Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), the movie's main character, lives in the village with Hana (Ryo Nishikawa), the eight-year-old daughter he frequently forgets to pick up after school, perhaps because he's busy selling wood and pure stream water to a local noodle restaurant.
Hamaguchi adds layers of complexity. Moved by the villagers, the two company reps experience pangs of conscience. They wonder whether they aren't helping despoil the small forest settlement that was established by the government after the land was ravaged during World War II.
All of this may sound prosaic, but winds of mystery blow through the film as Hamaguchi skillfully and subtly asks us to acknowledge another character, the landscape. Takumi's daughter, a child at home with her natural surroundings, augments this thematic thread.
When her widowed Dad is late to pick her up after school, Hana walks through the forest alone, a Little Red Riding Hood oblivious to possible dangers. She's been cautioned about attacks by wounded does trying to protect their young after attacks by hunters.
And then, there's the title. What the hell does it mean? How exactly does the film deal with such a provocative claim? Does Hamaguchi want to caution us against drawing hard conclusions about which of his characters might be right or wrong? And if there is no evil, can its opposite exist?
The ending of Evil Does Not Exist has an inscrutable quality that's out of synch with much of what precedes it. I have ideas about what Hamaguchi wants to say but I wouldn't argue with anyone for whom the finale proves an enigmatic dealbreaker.
Hamaguchi's previous movie -- Drive My Car -- won high praise from many critics, myself included. I can't say that Evil Does Not Exist lived up to my expectations for this talented director, but I couldn't dismiss it, either.
Evil Does Not Exist gives us plenty to chew over, whether you leave the theater baffled by its ending or eager to bore more deeply into Hamaguchi's intentions. I'd say a filmmaker of Hamaguchi's caliber deserves the latter.
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