By Matthew Moorcroft

Highest Recommendation

• Directed by Ryusuke Hamaguchi
• Starring Hitoshi Omika, Ryo Nishikawa, Ryuji Kosaka, Ayaka Shibutina
• Not Rated

Once upon a time, there was a village.

Evil Does Not Exist takes place in this village, a village that almost seems like it’s from another time period. As the film begins, gazing up at the sky through the barren trees of winter, we see the slow, yet methodical, everyday life of the people who live there. They take from the forest, they give back to the forest, and the forest from them takes from and gives to them in return. It’s a delicate balance, yet it is home.

When that balance is upended is when our story truly begins, as a group of investors come in. Ryusuke Hamaguchi, having exploded onto the mainstream with the Oscar nominated Drive My Car, has stated that he formed the narrative out of the musical score that was composed for the film and that “he doesn’t really know the meaning of it himself” yet, which immediately makes Evil Does Not Exist a fascinating dissection. On first glance, it seems like this is your standard tale of capitalism run rampant, how we fail to see the benefits of leaving nature alone or living in harmony with it. The “simpler life” so to speak.

But what’s great here, and ultimately what’s always been great about Hamaguchi, is that his films are not easy nuts to crack. Evil Does Not Exist has elements of nature vs. man, yes, but it’s to say it’s just about that is actually doing it a disservice. Halfway through the film, the perspective shifts from the village to the investors, who are equally as tired and concerned as our villagers about the prospects. “Doing their job” means doing something morally bankrupt; the only way out from it is to simply stop. This perspective shift also changes the story and theming extensively to the point where it’s almost a spoiler to discuss it.

Hamaguchi’s slow burn approach to the storytelling here is mainly the reason this works so well, with a focus on long take wide shots and careful, methodical dialogue sequences. There is always something haunting in it’s presentation too, like there is something deadly outside of the edges of the screen. And then it does begins to creep in, albeit slowly and almost imperceptibly. A gunshot in the distance. Blood on the leaves. A deer near death. A child gone missing. If evil indeed doesn’t exist, then why do terrible things happen?

But evil does and will exist, and it’s not anything we can perceive. No, it’s a lingering, more pervasive kind of evil, one built on the foundation of our natural ability to empathize and understand. When nature is disturbed, said evil arises and that what causes our destruction. In the final moments, the story takes a turn that almost seems cautionary and fable like – a story that’s less meant to be taken by any literal means and more of an expression of the lengths that we as people will go to protect the delicate balance of life so we too do not fall into evil.

I’m still thinking about Evil Does Not Exist long after the fact, and like all of Hamaguchi’s work I will likely continue to. It’s a fairy tale without a fantasy, a modern day fable that cautions while also comforting. It’s a chilly, beautiful film with a magnificent (and I mean truly magnificent) score by Eiko Ishibashi and it’s worth every second of it’s runtime. Hard to say if this is his best in a career of masterpieces, but it’s another addition to said collection and a must watch for anybody who is familiar with his work.