Director Kôji Fukada’s cinematic career so far has been rather bumpy. His latest drama, Love Life, showcases the Japanese filmmaker at his most mature and accomplished yet, effortlessly blending a wide variety of themes into a coherent whole. Quiet and subdued, the film somehow embraces the heaviest subjects, those of life and death and grief and love, in the most graceful, understated fashion.
Taeko (Fumino Kimura) leads a tranquil, middle-class existence with her husband, Jirô (Kento Nagayama), and her son Keita (Tetta Shimada). They live in a small but tidy apartment in one of the numerous complexes in their area. Her father-in-law doesn’t seem to accept her, calling her a “cast-off.” His disdain prevents Jirô from officially adopting Keita.
One day, Keita dies in a tragic accident at a birthday party. Taeko blames herself. Taeko’s ex and the boy’s original father, the deaf and homeless Park (Atom Sunada), arrives at the funeral and makes a scene. Overwhelmed with guilt, Taeko eventually finds the man. Jirô supports her at first – in fact, he urges her to do it. They get Park a job at a warehouse. When Jirô leaves for a while – and has “adventures” of his own – Taeko invites Park, and his newfound kitten, to her home—emotions between the three protagonists flare up.

“…Taeko invites Park and his newfound kitten, to her home…”
In Fukada’s hands, this means prolonged silences punctuated by meaningful and heartbreaking exchanges. He speaks volumes in a whisper. There’s nothing worse than the death of a child, and the writer-director wisely accentuates this with stillness as opposed to histrionics. Each shot is carefully planned out. Each gesture is nuanced. Questions of faith, compassion, and loneliness arise and then fade, leaving traces in the viewers’ minds. Is Fukada showing us the trials and tribulations of the titular love life, or is it a direct plea to love life despite all of its trials and tribulations? Or both?
Fukada knows how to beautifully compose a sequence, down to each frame: a resounding slap at a funeral, an empty apartment basked in apricot sunlight, a sudden earthquake. During one poignant sequence, Taeko’s reflection on a TV doubles her palpable grief. Then there’s the scene wherein Taeko communicates with Park through a mirror while in the bath where her son died, or Jirô’s resentful speech to Park, who can’t hear him. The list of beauts like that goes on.
When questioned about her son’s age after Keita’s death, Taeko replies, in a daze: “Six… but he will be seven next week.” Fumina Kimura mesmerizes in the lead, her vocal intonations, micro-expressions, and body language communicating more than mere words ever could. Kento Nagayama has plenty of moments where he shines. However, Atom Sunada steals the show as the hapless but kind and profound Park, sporting a wrinkled yellow shirt.
After several hit-and-misses, Fukada finally proves himself a real craftsman, a filmmaker to watch, and yet another unique voice in Asian/Asian-American cinema, which has certainly surpassed Hollywood’s output in terms of innovation, depth of emotion and intellect; it doesn’t talk down to audiences, instead inviting them to experience something relatable, something that both challenges and provides answers. How refreshing.