Evil Does Not Exist
The longer I think about Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s “Evil Does Not Exist,” and the meaning of its title, I find myself thinking about Stanley Kubrick. Kubrick once said, “The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile, but that it is indifferent, but if we can come to terms with this indifference, then our existence as a species can have genuine meaning. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.” I’m not sure if Hamaguchi had this in mind as he was making this film, but I think it connects to his film, where nature is never changing in how it reacts to man; it’s only through our actions that we see negative consequences in dealing with it.
For many, Hamaguchi became a household name in world cinema with his Oscar-winning film, “Drive My Car,” but for me, his other 2021 film, “Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy,” hit closer to home. While formally very different, that feels more in keeping with the film he has made here. But connections seem to be at the heart of Hamaguchi’s films, and I think the ones by the characters in “Evil Does Not Exist” are impactful in a way that just resonates with me a bit deeper.
Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) is a man who does odd jobs in the mountain village of Mizubiki. When we first see him, it is in the middle of the woods; he lives on the outskirts of town, collecting jugs of water from a stream and chopping wood. He is a widower, with an 8-year-old daughter, Hana (Ryô Nishikawa). There’s something simple and lovely about this type of living that, if it were open to me, I’d be very tempted. He spends his time helping people around the town, as well as teaching Hana to respect nature. One day, at a community meeting, the residents of the village are confronted with a proposal for a “glamping” site. (Think high-end camping.) Presenting it are two representatives from the developer, Takahashi (Ryûji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), whom are not prepared for the challenging questions the community has for them. When they go back to the developer with the concerns, the response has them questioning their place in this project.
One of the things that is so potent about “Evil Does Not Exist” as a narrative is that, to an extent, the central drama about the possible development going up is secondary once Takahashi and Mayuzumi make their choice, and find themselves siding with the village. It then becomes about how these two people, outsiders, become enmeshed in a community not their own (Takahashi more than Mayuzumi, who returns to the city). When they return after discussing with the developer, the intent is to give Takumi a job offer to be caretaker of the glamping site, but Takahashi, after attempting to chop wood, wants to learn from Takumi. At that point, it becomes a character piece about connection, only disrupted by Hana going missing, and the search for her. Even so, the burgeoning bond between Takumi and Takahashi remains vital, especially as Takumi is teaching him about the perils of nature, often brought forth by man’s greed and narcissism.
This is a beautifully crafted film in how it sees the world it presents. The cinematography by Yoshio Kitagawa captures the natural beauty of the woods Takumi spends his time in, as well as the charms of small-town life, while also emphasizing the dangers of nature when Hana is missing. And I love the score by Eiko Ishibashi, who helped come up with the concept with Hamaguchi; it is a collection of orchestral pieces that capture beauty, peace and the pace of life off the grid, away from people. This is a striking work of art that has left an impression in how it captures the nature of nature, and the way it can pull people in to feel like home.
