Hirokazu Kore-eda Film Ranking

The time has come. I am finally putting pen to paper (virtually speaking) on my definitive ranking of Hirokazu Kore-eda's filmography (at least the ones that are available for me to watch legally!). Anyone who knows me or has been watching my videos on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/@amview) knows how much I admire Kore-eda's filmmaking. He is probably my favorite filmmaker of all time. Why, you may ask? Well, you'll find out throughout this video, but his films have undoubtedly left a mark on me every time I've watched them. From the minimalistic storytelling of everyday life, the complex human relationships to the sense of observationalims steeped throughout. This is a ranking of Hirokazu Horreda's filmograhy.

I will rank his films from my least favorite to favorite and share my thoughts on each. If you're interested in my opinion on his Netflix series, watch this video where I explore his partnership with the streaming service in detail. Without any further ado, let's get into it!

Air Doll

Starting off with Air Doll. an inflatable doll named Nozomi is the companion of a lonely, middle-aged man. Her existence is confined to his small Tokyo apartment, a silent figure in the background of his solitary life. One day, a magical event occurs, and Nozomi develops a human heart, a soul of her own. She can now leave the apartment and explore the world, taking on the appearance of a young woman.

As she navigates this new reality, Nozomi is an outsider looking in, observing human behavior with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. She gets a job at a video rental store, where she develops a quiet affection for her coworker, Junichi. Through her interactions, she begins to understand the complexities of human emotion—love, loneliness, sadness, and the painful nature of connection.

The film serves as a poignant and melancholy allegory for modern urban alienation. Nozomi’s journey from an empty vessel to a being with a soul becomes a profound meditation on what it means to be alive. She learns that while having a heart brings the joy of connection, it also brings the immense pain of loss and the harsh reality of her own fragile existence. Her transformation from an inanimate object to a deeply feeling individual allows the film to explore themes of identity, humanity, and the inherent loneliness that can exist even in the most crowded of cities.

As with all his films, they transcend time due to the topics they handle. In the case of Air Doll, the themes and weight of the film are even more prevelent now in today's social media dominated world where millions of people deal with lonliness and a lack of purpose in their life.

The reason it's ranked so low for me is partly because of the predictability of the "Pinocchio" story trope, and how it didn't resonate with me as much as some other more family-oriented films do. However, I always appreciate when Kore-eda incorporates supernatural elements into his films, which he has executed perfectly in another film on this list.

The Truth

In "The Truth," the renowned French actress Fabienne Dangeville prepares for the release of her tell-all memoir, an event that brings her estranged daughter Lumir, a screenwriter, back to Paris from New York with her husband and child. The reunion is fraught with tension, as Lumir reads her mother's book and finds it to be a romanticized and self-serving version of their family history.

The film's drama unfolds in Fabienne's grand, but aging, Parisian home. As Lumir challenges her mother's narrative, buried resentments and unspoken feelings surface. The film reveals the complex relationship between the two women, shaped by Fabienne's career and her emotionally distant, often theatrical, nature. Lumir's father, a long-suffering and patient figure, acts as a buffer between them, while also revealing his own quiet disappointments.

Fabienne is also in the midst of shooting a new sci-fi film where she plays a daughter who never ages, while her mother is a star who remains youthful. This film-within-a-film serves as a powerful metaphor for Fabienne and Lumir's own dynamic. It forces them to confront the layers of truth and performance that have defined their lives. Through a series of candid conversations, painful revelations, and quiet moments, the family begins to unpack the past. "The Truth" is a nuanced look at the fictions we create to survive, the lies we tell ourselves and others, and the difficult path toward genuine understanding and reconciliation.

It's important to mention that "The Truth" is Kore-eda's first film not in Japanese and follows his acclaimed "Shoplifters," which won the Palme d'Or. Unfortunately, seeing him follow up with "The Truth" was quite disappointing. While the film allows us to explore the dynamics between new characters in a foreign setting, it never really takes off and feels like a poor French imitation of his previous work.

Third Murder

In Kore-eda's first and only legal drama The Third Murder, a successful and meticulous defense lawyer, Shigemori, is tasked with defending Misumi, an ex-convict who has confessed to robbery and murder. Misumi is a seemingly open and willing client, and with a history of a similar crime, his conviction for this latest murder appears to be a foregone conclusion, likely leading to the death penalty. Shigemori’s goal is not to prove his client's innocence but to get him a life sentence instead of the death penalty.

As Shigemori delves deeper into the case, he begins to notice inconsistencies in Misumi’s testimony. The defendant's confession changes with each new conversation, and his statements become more enigmatic and contradictory. Misumi seems to be hiding something, and Shigemori becomes obsessed with uncovering the true motive and sequence of events, a quest that goes beyond his professional obligation. He starts to question whether Misumi is truly guilty of the murder, or if he is covering for someone else.

The film focuses on the philosophical and moral questions that arise from the legal process. It explores the idea that in a courtroom, the "truth" is often less important than the narrative that can be successfully proven. The investigation leads Shigemori to interview the victim's family, including his daughter, and the relationships and secrets that are uncovered begin to complicate the case in unexpected ways.

The Third Murder is not a whodunit; it's more of a slow-burning exploration of the nature of truth, justice, and the ambiguities that lie within the human heart. It challenges the audience to question what they believe and to see that in the pursuit of justice, the truth can be a difficult and elusive concept.

For me, this film stands out in Koreeda's body of work due to its significant departure from his usual themes. In terms of technical and visual aspects, The Third Murder is impressive, and the performances meet the high standards typical of a Koreeda film. However, it wouldn't come to mind if I were to list my favorites from him.

I Wish

"I Wish" tells the story of two young brothers, Koichi and Ryunosuke, who have been separated by their parents' divorce. Koichi, the older brother, lives with his mother and grandparents in Kagoshima, a town overshadowed by a constantly active volcano that showers the city with ash. Ryunosuke, the younger, lives with their free-spirited musician father in the bustling city of Osaka.

Koichi, longing for his family to be whole again, holds a steadfast belief that their family can be reunited. He learns of a local rumor: a new bullet train line is being built that will connect their two distant cities, and when the two trains pass each other for the very first time, a miracle will occur, granting wishes to those who witness it.

He shares this magical theory with his younger brother, who is more content with his new life and has more pragmatic wishes, and together they hatch a plan. They gather a group of their friends, each with their own unique wishes—from bringing a dead dog back to life to becoming a famous actress—and embark on a secret journey to the exact spot where the trains are said to meet. The film follows their adventure, capturing the beautiful, fleeting moments of childhood, where hope and imagination are still powerful forces.

As the children's journey unfolds, it becomes a poignant exploration of what it means to grow up but also the lack of power that children face when things happen around their world. "I Wish" further cements Kore-eda's signature humanistic elements and gentle touch that only he can deliver at this level.

I Wish signifies a very good and wholesome meal. It's not necessarily groundbreaking, but it's something you can always watch, enjoy, and feel like you've experienced a solid film from one of Japan's greatest filmmakers.

Broker

In Broker, two men, Sang-hyeon and Dong-soo, run a secret and illegal business out of a church "baby box," a place where desperate mothers can anonymously leave their unwanted infants. While Sang-hyeon is the charming, paternal figure who runs a laundromat as a front, Dong-soo, an orphan himself who works at the church, manages the logistics and deletes the surveillance footage of the babies being dropped off. Their goal, they claim, is to find good homes for these children, but their motivations are also driven by money.

Their routine is disrupted when a young sex worker named So-young leaves her baby, Woo-sung, in the box. A short time later, she returns, having had a change of heart. When she discovers the two men have taken her baby, she confronts them, but instead of calling the police, she decides to join their unconventional venture, hoping to ensure her son goes to a family that will truly love and care for him.

What follows is a poignant and unexpectedly heartwarming road trip. The trio, along with baby Woo-sung, travels across the Korean countryside in a beat-up van, interviewing potential adoptive parents. All the while, two detectives are secretly trailing them, hoping to catch the brokers in the act. As the unlikely group spends more time together, they develop a profound and unconventional familial bond, sharing their personal stories and finding a sense of belonging in one another.

The film blurs the lines between right and wrong, challenging the audience to re-examine their own definitions of family, morality, and the human capacity for compassion. It is a story about the complex and often messy nature of love, showing that even those on the fringes of society can create a sense of belonging and care for one another.

After the Storm

In After the Storm, Ryota Shinoda, a once-acclaimed novelist now working as a private detective, struggles with a gambling addiction and a stalled career. He's divorced from his wife, Kyoko, and is barely scraping by, unable to pay child support or maintain a healthy relationship with his young son, Shingo. Ryota's life is a mess of self-pity and failed promises, and he's constantly trying to find a shortcut to success, whether it's through a big win at the racetrack or a miraculous bestseller.

The film's plot thickens when a powerful typhoon forces Ryota to seek shelter with Kyoko and Shingo at his aging mother Yoshiko's apartment for the night. This confined space becomes the stage for a poignant and often humorous exploration of family dynamics. As the storm rages outside, the three generations of family members are forced to confront their past and their unfulfilled expectations. Ryota's mother, Yoshiko, is a sharp-witted and observant woman who sees through her son's flimsy excuses and offers him quiet, painful truths.

Over the course of the night, long-held resentments and quiet disappointments surface. Ryota attempts to reconnect with his son, but his efforts are awkward and often misguided. He and Kyoko revisit the reasons for their separation, revealing the deep-seated issues that led to the end of their marriage. After the Storm is a beautiful and realistic portrayal of how we navigate the gap between who we are and who we hoped to be. It's a film about second chances, not of life, but of finding a way to live with the choices we've made and the people we love, even if they're imperfect.

Whenever Kore-eda teams up with Hiroshi Abe and Kirin Kiki, you can almost be certain that you're in for an exceptional film. Their collaboration consistently strikes a chord with me. There are numerous similarities to "Still Walking," including the cast, the characters like Ryota and just like in "Still Walking," the first scene featuring Ryota (Abe's character) is also on a train! After the Storm is more comedic but at the same time confrontational about the roles money and sucess plays in a person live and how that impacts and even governs our relationships and behaviour in life.

Maborosi

In "Maborosi" (also known as "Phantom Light"), the film opens with a quiet yet powerful dream sequence of a young woman named Yumiko watching her beloved grandmother walk away, never to return. This childhood memory foreshadows a profound loss that will define her adult life.

Yumiko is now a happy, young wife and mother living in Osaka. Her world is shattered when her husband, Ikuo, inexplicably commits suicide by walking in front of a train. The tragedy is made even more agonizing by the fact that he showed no signs of distress, leaving Yumiko with a gnawing, unanswered question: Why? Her grief is not just sorrow; it's a consuming mystery that isolates her from the world.

Years pass, and Yumiko's family encourages her to move on. She accepts an arranged marriage to a kind widower, Tamio, who has a daughter and lives in a remote, peaceful fishing village. She and her son relocate, and she attempts to build a new life, finding a measure of calm and contentment in the simple, rhythmic routines of her new home. The majestic, often-harsh coastal landscape serves as a quiet mirror to her inner emotional state.

However, the "maborosi"—the phantom light or illusion—of her husband's death continues to haunt her. A chance return to her former city for a family event triggers a relapse of her grief, and the old, unanswered questions resurface with renewed intensity. The film culminates in a powerful, understated scene where Yumiko confronts her new husband about her unresolved feelings. He offers her an explanation from a fisherman's perspective, a story about a mysterious light that lures people out to sea, suggesting that some things—including the reasons for a person's final act—are simply unknowable.

"Maborosi" is a hauntingly beautiful film about the enduring nature of grief and the human need to find meaning in inexplicable loss. It suggests that while we can't always find the answers we seek, we can find a way to live with the questions.

If there's one film you decide to watch from this video, I hope it's "Maborosi." Although I didn't rank it higher on my list, I still admire and am amazed that this is Kore-eda's debut film. It's a movie so poetic, atmospheric, and sorrowful that it pains me more people aren't familiar with it.

Our little sister

In "Our Little Sister," the film opens with the death of the father of three sisters: Sachi, Yoshino, and Chika. He had abandoned them and their mother many years prior, leaving the sisters to be raised by their grandmother in a beautiful, traditional home in the city of Kamakura. The three sisters are now adults, each with their own distinct personality—Sachi is the responsible eldest, Yoshino is the rebellious and free-spirited middle child, and Chika is the cheerful and slightly eccentric youngest.

When they travel to the countryside for their father's funeral, they discover they have a teenage half-sister they never knew existed, Suzu, who is their father's child with his second wife. Suzu is a quiet, thoughtful girl who had been taking care of her sick father. The three sisters are immediately struck by Suzu's maturity and grace, and on a sudden impulse, Sachi invites Suzu to live with them in Kamakura.

The film follows Suzu's transition into her new life. She is warmly welcomed into the family, and the four sisters begin to form a new, unconventional family unit. The house, with its rambling garden and old furniture, becomes a haven for their shared lives. They bond over simple, everyday pleasures: making traditional plum wine, learning to cook the family recipes, and sharing late-night conversations.

As Suzu adjusts, she also has to navigate the complex emotional landscape of her new family. The sisters grapple with the lingering pain of their father's abandonment and their resentment toward his second wife. Suzu, on the other hand, is a living reminder of this painful past, but her presence also forces them to confront and heal old wounds. The film is less about a dramatic plot and more about the delicate, poignant moments of life—the changing seasons, the small gestures of love, and the quiet beauty of sisterhood. It's a gentle and moving exploration of how family can be redefined, and how love and forgiveness can grow in the most unexpected ways.

Our Little Sister is vintage Kore-eda. Its one of the essential pieces in his filmography that is timeless due to his ability to create a compelling story from everday-life.

Main cast in Like Father, Like Son

Life Father, Like Son

In Like Father, Like Son, the successful and meticulous architect Ryota Nonomiya lives a perfect, orderly life with his loving wife, Midori, and their six-year-old son, Keita. Ryota is a man who values hard work, ambition, and success, and he projects these expectations onto Keita, often pushing him to be better and questioning his lack of competitive spirit. Their comfortable existence is shattered when they receive a phone call from the hospital where Keita was born.

The hospital reveals a shocking secret: Keita was switched with another baby at birth. The hospital confirms the truth, explaining that a jealous nurse, feeling her life was a failure, had intentionally swapped the two babies. The biological son of Ryota and Midori has been raised by a different family, the Saikis, who run a small, chaotic appliance shop. The Saiki family is the polar opposite of the Nonomiyas—they are warm, easygoing, and financially modest.

The two families are brought together and forced to confront this unimaginable situation. The film follows them as they navigate the painful and complex process of deciding what to do. The families agree to a series of supervised visits, attempting to form bonds with their biological sons. Ryota, in particular, is challenged by the experience. He sees his own ambition and drive reflected in the Saiki family's son, and he begins to question whether blood ties are truly more important than the years of love and care he has given to Keita.

The film is a poignant and deeply moving exploration of what defines family. It forces Ryota to re-evaluate his values and confront the emotional distance he has always kept. Like Father, Like Son is not about a simple choice between two children but a profound journey into the meaning of fatherhood, challenging the notion that biology is the sole determinant of a parent-child bond. It’s a story about a man learning to love unconditionally, beyond the neat and tidy expectations he has always held for his life.

Nobody Knows

Cast of Nobody Knows

In Hirokazu Kore-eda's haunting film, Nobody Knows, the story is inspired by the harrowing 1988 "Suginami child abandonment case" in Japan. The film opens by introducing Keiko, a young, single mother, and her four children: Akira, the eldest at 12; Kyoko, an 11-year-old girl; and two younger siblings, Shigeru and Yuki. They move into a new, small apartment in Tokyo, a place where Keiko has to hide her younger children from the landlord, pretending only Akira lives with her.

From the start, the children's lives are defined by secrecy and isolation. The younger ones are never allowed to leave the apartment, and the two older children are strictly forbidden from making noise or attracting attention from their neighbors. Their only connection to the outside world is Akira, who does the shopping and occasionally ventures out with his mother. Their father is absent, and the family is completely dependent on Keiko.

The plot takes a tragic turn when Keiko, after leaving a small amount of money and a brief note, disappears. She tells Akira she'll be back soon, but her "soon" stretches into weeks and then months. The responsibility of caring for his younger siblings falls entirely on Akira's shoulders. He must become their parent, their provider, and their protector. He manages their dwindling money, barters with shopkeepers for discounted food, and tries to keep the apartment clean, all while dealing with the emotional weight of his mother's abandonment.

The film follows their slow, painful descent into poverty and neglect. As their money runs out, the children's lives become increasingly difficult. They face starvation, a lack of hygiene, and the harsh realities of their situation. The film is a quiet, devastating chronicle of their resilience and, ultimately, their fragility.

Nobody Knows is a powerful testament to the children's enduring spirit but also a stark critique of a society that allows such a tragedy to happen in plain sight. It is a slow-burn of a story, a heartbreaking look at the innocence that is lost when a child is forced to grow up too soon.

Shoplifters

In the gritty but loving world of Shoplifters, a makeshift family in Tokyo lives on the fringes of society, surviving through a combination of petty crime and low-wage work. The family is led by Osamu, a middle-aged construction worker, and his wife, Nobuyo, who works at a laundromat. Living with them are a young woman named Aki, a teenage boy named Shota, and an elderly woman named Hatsue, who claims to be Shota’s grandmother and receives her late husband's pension. Their main source of income, however, comes from a meticulously coordinated system of shoplifting, in which Osamu and Shota often work as a team.

One cold night, Osamu and Shota encounter a young, abused girl, Yuri, locked out on her balcony. They take her in, initially just for one meal. But upon seeing the physical evidence of her abuse, they decide to "rescue" her and incorporate her into their family. Yuri, who is now called Juri, quickly adapts to their unconventional life and even begins to learn the art of shoplifting from Shota. Her new family gives her the love, warmth, and attention she never received at home.

The film's plot thickens as the family's secrets and true relationships are slowly revealed. The audience learns that each member has been chosen or "stolen" from a different painful past, forming a family based not on blood but on a shared need for connection and belonging. The film is a poignant exploration of the question: what truly constitutes a family? Is it biology, or is it love, care, and a shared history?

The tranquility of their life is shattered when an incident during a shoplifting trip leads to their arrest and the unraveling of their elaborate ruse. As the authorities investigate, the truth about their identities and the nature of their bond comes to light.

The film culminates in a powerful and heartbreaking reveal, as the characters are forced to confront their pasts and the true nature of their unconventional family is put to the ultimate test. Shoplifters to me feels like the resutls of a filmaker who, not only is in his prime, but has mastered the skills he emerged into the industry with. A deeply humanistic and moving portrait of a group of outcasts who find solace in each other, challenging traditional notions of family and morality. Shoplifters is Korreda delivering on the high expectations that have been placed on him at this stage of his career.

Saori and Minato in Monster

Monster

After what feels like an eternity and 2 ventures into France and South Korea, Korreda finally returns home to deliver a unique and powerful entry in his filmography. a In Kore-eda's Monster, the plot is not told in a linear fashion, but through a series of interlocking perspectives. The film begins with a fire at an apartment building, a blaze that seems to have a deeper significance to the characters. The story is then told from three distinct viewpoints, each adding new information and challenging the audience's understanding of what is happening.

The first perspective belongs to a determined and single mother, Saori Mugino. She becomes convinced that her quiet and reserved son, Minato, is being abused by his new teacher, Mr. Hori. Minato's erratic behavior, which includes cutting his own hair, bringing a cage of a dead hamster, and coming home with bruises, seems to confirm her suspicions. When her attempts to get a clear answer from the school's cold and unfeeling administration fail, she publicly confronts Mr. Hori, forcing the school to take action.

The second part of the film is told from the perspective of Mr. Hori. He is initially portrayed as a cold and possibly abusive figure, but his story reveals a different picture. We learn about his own struggles at the school and his attempts to connect with his students. The "monster" of the title is not who Saori believes it to be. Instead, we learn that the source of Minato's pain is not Mr. Hori, but a bullying classmate. Mr. Hori himself is a victim of a system that fails to protect its teachers and students.

The final act of the film shifts to Minato's perspective, finally revealing the full, heartbreaking truth. The monster is not his teacher, but a series of misunderstandings and the painful, silent struggle of two boys, Minato and his friend Yori, to find acceptance.

Their shared secret creates a bond that is both beautiful and tragic, a friendship that is misunderstood by the adults around them, who see only what they want to see. The film is a powerful and poignant look at the dangers of making quick judgments, and how a lack of communication can lead to devastating consequences.

I was utterly amazed by Monster when I first saw it. The film not only boasts stunning visuals and a plethora of unforgettable scenes, but it also offers a refreshing departure from Koreeda's typical subjects and themes. Considering the outcome of The Third Murder, I'm pleased that he successfully executed another distinctive project in his filmography. Additionally, the two young actors portraying Minato and Yori give outstanding performances, further showcasing Kore-eda's talent for discovering and nurturing young talent in the industry.

After Life

In Kore-eda's After Life, the story is set in a purgatorial waystation, a modest, run-down building where recently deceased souls spend one week. The place is staffed by a group of compassionate guides who act as celestial social workers. These guides' job is to help the souls—each arriving in a state of confusion and disorientation—choose a single, most cherished memory from their entire life.

The central premise is that at the end of the week, the chosen memory will be recreated by the staff in a small studio, and once the soul watches it, they will pass on into eternity with that memory as their only possession, their entire being. The remaining memories and experiences from their lives will simply fade away. The film follows a particular group of new arrivals over the course of their week, showing their individual struggles to choose one defining moment from their lives.

Among the new arrivals is a young man who died alone in his apartment, a woman who is unable to recall a single happy moment, and an elderly man who seems to have lived a full and happy life, but whose perfect memory is surprisingly simple and mundane. The film also focuses on one of the guides, Takashi, who is grappling with his own inability to choose a memory for his own transition into eternity. The guides themselves are souls who have been unable to make their own choice, and they are tasked with helping others until they can finally make their decision.

The film's quiet, documentary-style approach blends interviews with the deceased and behind-the-scenes footage of the staff as they painstakingly recreate the chosen memories. They use simple props, lighting, and sound effects to bring the memories to life, from the feeling of a cool breeze on a park bench to the scent of a loved one's cooking. After Life is a profound and moving meditation on the meaning of a human life, suggesting that our existence is not defined by our grandest accomplishments but by the small, precious moments of joy, connection, and love that we carry with us.

Cast of Still Walking

Still Walking

Still Walking has to be, without a shadow of a doubt, my favorite Kore-eda film. It doesnt matter how many times I watch it, I am alwalys in awe of this masterpiece. It perfectely encapsulates what I love about Japanese cinema and this particular fragment of a genre within it.

In Still Walking, the Yokoyama family reunites for a single day to commemorate the anniversary of their eldest son Junpei's death. Fifteen years earlier, Junpei drowned while saving a boy from a river, an act that has cast a long shadow over the entire family.

The film centers on the younger son, Ryota, who has returned with his wife, Yukari, and her son, Atsushi. He feels the weight of his parents' unspoken disappointment, as they constantly compare him to the heroic, idealized Junpei. His father, a retired doctor, is particularly cold and critical, while his mother, Toshiko, subtly manipulates the day with pointed remarks and passive-aggressive gestures.

Throughout the day, old family dynamics resurface. The parents cling to the memory of Junpei, creating an emotional rift that no one dares to bridge. The family is forced to confront long-held resentments and regrets, from the father’s dissatisfaction with Ryota’s career choice to Toshiko’s seemingly cheerful but passive-aggressive behavior.

Besides the iconic walk from the cemetery, which is also featured in the film's poster, a standout scene is when the boy for whom Junpei sacrificed his life visits the family home to have dinner with Junpei's family. Observing the family having dinner with the very cause of their son's death, while also witnessing him as an overweight and unsuccessful individual, perfectly showcases Korreda's talent for incorporating unique plotlines into his family dramas, which further emphasize the complexities of his characters.

The film unfolds in quiet, observational moments—a shared meal, a walk to the cemetery, and a game of cards—that reveal the unspoken pain and complex love holding this family together. It's a poignant exploration of grief, the passage of time, and the difficult, often unsaid, truths that define family relationships.

Thank you so much for sticking with me this far! Since starting this channel, I've always wanted to create this video. I'm not sure I did it justice, but I hope I was able to convey to you why I love Kore-eda's filmmaking. Please consider liking and subscribing. Take care, and I'll see you in the next one!