On the verge of a mountain range from which you can almost see Tokyo, there is a gigantic forest that remembers the Earth before humans appeared on it. However, even his age-old silence recedes when a man, driven by routine affairs, leaves the hut. The creaking of snow under the boots and the sound of an ax spread for miles, bringing confusion to natural harmony.
A man does not at all seek to disturb the surrounding serenity. On the contrary, a widower living with his daughter on the outskirts of a village maintains a balance between man and nature in every possible way. Don't take more than you need from the forest and give it back proportionately — these principles guide not only the forest, but also the entire small community.
People in the village are scrupulous about the forest that feeds them. Spring water — perhaps the most delicious in all of Kanto County — is delivered daily throughout the area, feeding both kindergartens and the local noodle house. And residents, having found a new forest with fragrant herbs, are sure to share their discoveries with their neighbors.
But careful consumption still takes away the forest's precious beauty, making it a little poorer each time. Man noisily invades the life of fauna and destroys valuable plants for his own existence, although he tries to limit himself to little things. And there is nothing nature can do to respond to progress.
Occasionally, hunting rifles shake the air over the valley. The fight between man and deer is rarely fair, and sometimes ends with wounded animals hiding in the thicket of the forest and finding their demise there. But even such a timid animal becomes aggressive from its injuries, which does not bode well for those who meet it on the way to the unexpected grave.
Ryusuke Hamaguchi, director of the asphalt-gasoline drama “Drive My Car”, suddenly moves to a completely different world — to the realm of calm and silence. His characters, confused by how loud the fresh snowdrifts creak under their feet, keep the sad world still. A world that is hardly able to stand up for itself, but much bigger than a single insignificant person.
Uninvited guests bring chaos to the serene village, where you rarely hear lively conversations even at general gatherings. A businessman from Tokyo planning to build a luxury campsite in the area is falsely discussing the project with local residents for government subsidies. To prevent their anger from reaching the addressee, actors are sent to the meeting, who have pledged to obediently nod and record all local questions.
People whose lives don't matter to anyone grieve about the purity of the water, the reindeer trails and their own peace in such a way that even front specialists are imbued with their quiet pain. An attempt to convince the main character of the need for cooperation turns into a picturesque tour of the enchanting valley for the aliens, which foreshadows future changes with silent sadness.
Ryusuke Hamaguchi observes two different worlds in the melancholic spirit of Akira Kurosawa. In the realm of nature, there is no evil — a completely human, artificial absolute — here only survival writes equal laws for everyone. But in people's domain, morality is always fighting evil, hidden behind false smiles or standing at full height.
The truth is in the picture “Evil Does Not Exist” the road to bad intentions is paved not with bad deeds or outright lies, but by banal inaction and the little man's willingness to accept any fate. Heroes do not go into conflict, but obediently accept the future. It's as if they deep down suspect that powerful nature will stand up against interference in its affairs.
A mighty forest always responds to imprudence, just as a wounded animal attacks a hunter it meets. The nature in Ryusuke Hamaguchi's movie allows people to live next door, but is ready to take this right away from them at any moment. Gradually, quiet sadness turns into anxiety, showing that a weak human lack of will is opposed by powerful forces that do not care about man-made morality.
The music for the film, created as an independent work, echoes the thickening colors in a whisper of omens. But the worst thing is the occasional silence, when all the melodies and sounds stop, and silent nature comes to the fore, whose judgmental gaze has neither pity nor evil intentions.
In a slow story, Ryusuke Hamaguchi raises the question of man's place on the planet. He recalls that nature does not need approval or help — it simply exists, independent and indifferent to others' passions and struggles. And man will have to find a way to harmony, or the forest will one day reject it, finally plunging its possessions into measured silence.
