Among the many North American premieres on offer at this year's New York Asian Film Festival is Akihiro Toda's Ichiko, a devastating slice-of-life drama reminiscent of the achingly human works of Hirokazu Kore-eda or Shunji Iwai.
Dropping viewers straight into its central mystery, Ichiko begins with the titular character (Hana Sugisaki) suddenly running out of her seemingly peaceful life. Her boyfriend Hasegawa (Ryuya Wakaba) has just proposed, to which she tearfully accepts. But the very next day, Ichiko has gone. Enlisting the help of Detective Goto (Occult's Shohei Uno), Hasegawa attempts to unravel the layers of mystery behind her disappearance, discovering long-buried secrets that will forever change not only the way he sees his wife-to-be but the way he sees the entire society around him.
Ichiko's fragmented narrative is divided into sections which each tell the story of various people that fall into Ichiko's orbit throughout the course of her life. Childhood friends, ex-boyfriends and college roommates all flesh out the backstory of Ichiko's complicated existence, but there's a continued vagueness to her story that goes slightly too far, meaning that by the end of Ichiko, we almost feel as if we know less about her than at the start.
This is arguably intentional, as from the film's opening of crashing waves, Toda continually emphasizes the natural world – the droning buzz of cicadas provides a hypnotic and ceaseless soundscape, while Ichiko's story plays out against the lush greenery of thunderous Japanese summers. Viewers are consistently reminded of the inherent apathy of the world these characters exist in, and how easily people can slip through the cracks to disappear entirely.
Without drifting too far into spoiler territory, for non-Japanese audiences, even a brief understanding of the term mukosekisha will undoubtedly help to clarify some of Ichiko's more poignant themes. Put very simply: In Japan, all citizens are required by law to be registered at birth in a koseki, or family register. Failure to do so – which can happen for a variety of complicated reasons – leaves a person (known as mukosekisha) effectively stateless – they are not classed as a Japanese citizen and are therefore not granted any legal or social rights in the country. In a collectivist society like Japan, belonging is paramount, which Toda continually refers to by referencing how fractured families can leave irreparable damage in their wake.
Like many movies that depend on this sort of twisting, turning narrative, Ichiko sometimes fails to balance its abundance of exposition-heavy police interviews with the more effective show-don't-tell flashbacks of Ichiko's story, and, at two hours long, Ichiko may outstay its welcome for some viewers hoping for a more thrilling examination of the darker underbelly of Japanese society.
However, once the disturbing reveal of Ichiko's troubled past comes to light, the depths of Sugisaki's all-timer act come roaring to life, elevating the film to sheer tragedy as her performance evolves from unsettlingly ambiguous into gut-wrenching intensity. For those who like their stories devastating, and have the patience to sit with it, Ichiko's unpredictability, strong central performances and melancholic visuals make it a film that's at once both culturally and cinematically important.
Ichiko has its North American premiere with an intro and Q&A from director Akihiro Toda on Thursday, July 25 at the New York Asian Film Festival.
