Society has long had a complicated relationship with the truth. In these times of undisguised deception, the world (especially America) now lives in a time where what actually happens means less than how it is presented. The way we think, and our desires and fears, can cloud our subjectivity when it comes to the truth. With a strikingly emotional screenplay from Yûji Sakamoto, Kore-eda Hirokazu’s Monster is a tender and meticulously crafted supplication for acceptance and a sharp commentary on, as one character states, “perceiving the essence of things.”

Kore-eda crafts this story in a skillfully precise manner. Showing the events through three different pairs of eyes, the director carefully unspools the reasons behind each character’s perspective of the events that will connect their lives. Unlike Akira Kurosawa’s classic 1950 picture, Rashomon (where every character told a different tale), In Monster, what happened is what happened. The occurrences don’t change. It is in the way the characters experience them where the perceptions differ.

Saori (Andô Sakura), a widowed single mother, is trying to understand why her 5th grade son Minato (Kurokawa Sôya) has become so troubled. Saori discovers that her son’s teacher, Mr. Hori (Eita Nagayama), may be bullying the young boy and acting out physically towards him. The distraught mother demands justice from the principal (Tanaka Yûko) and the school’s administrators, but their initial response is filled with insincere apologies. When shifting the view to Mr. Hori, the film forces the audience to reevaluate how they see the character and reassess the accusation of whether or not he was acting aggressively towards Minato.

Most importantly, in the final act we see things from Minato’s perspective. Revealing a heartfelt sincerity, as the young boy navigates the depths of his feelings for classmate and friend, Yori (Hiiragi Hinata), the innocence found in their relationship gives the film a gentle eloquence that goes straight to the heart.

In Monster’s design, every detail is significant; the connections weaving together a mystery of the human condition. Yûji Sakamoto’s screenplay allows for contemplation, as Kore-eda’s ability to restructure the vantage point of each character creates a humane and sensitive portrait of souls in disorder.

The late Ryuichi Sakamoto creates a minimalist score of beautiful piano compositions that are used sparingly. The composer and his director have faith in the drama and will not let the music dictate the feeling. Sakamoto’s work enhances the beauty of the piece rather than seeking to overpower while cinematographer Ryūto Kondō colors the film with a poetic visual style, observing the characters through the beauty of the world around them. While the people who populate the film are in distress, there is beauty within their hearts and in the breath of the world that surrounds them. Again, it is how one perceives what they see.

The cast is exceptional. Andô Sakura as the stressed out mother and Eita Nagayama as Mr. Hiro have an innate understanding of their character’s drive to prove what is right, when no one is listening. The two actors share some excellent scenes that give an early fire to their combative association and set the tone for the dramatic rugs to be pulled out from under the audience as the film progresses.