The parallels between Hirokazu Kore-eda's "Still Walking" and "After the Storm"

Hirokazu Kore-eda is a master of quiet observation, crafting cinematic experiences that resonate with the subtle complexities of family life. His films often explore the nature of human relationships, the weight of expectation, and minimalism of everyday life. Two of my favorite of his films , "Still Walking" (2008) and "After the Storm" (2016), make for a perfect double feature, particularly due to revealing striking parallels in their themes, character dynamics, and their delicate approach to grief and imperfection.

Both films center on the gathering of a family, albeit under different circumstances. In "Still Walking," the occasion is the annual commemoration of the eldest son, Junpei, who drowned 15 years prior while saving another boy. This gathering, ostensibly to honor the deceased, becomes a crucible for simmering resentments, unspoken disappointments, and the enduring shadow of a perfect, absent son. Eventhough the focus is primarily on the family, we as the audience spend more time with one particular character called Ryota, who is portrayed by Hiroshi Abe.

Meanwhile, in "After the Storm", which also stars Abe as the main character, who is also called Ryoto, brings Ryota, a down-on-his-luck private detective and aspiring novelist, back into the orbit of his estranged wife and son during a typhoon. While not overtly about death, the film is deeply concerned with the death of dreams, the passing of youth, and the slow erosion of a family unit.

A central theme in both films is the burden of an idealized past and the struggle to live up to expectations, both internal and external. In "Still Walking," Ryota, the younger son, constantly feels overshadowed by the heroic memory of his older brother Junpei. His father, a retired doctor, openly favors the deceased son, and his mother subtly (and not-so-subtly) reminds him of his shortcomings. This dynamic fuels Ryota's quiet resentment and his inability to fully embrace his own life choices. He's perpetually trying to outrun the ghost of his brother, a ghost that no living person can compete with.

Similarly, in "After the Storm," Ryota (a different character, but sharing the same name and a similar predicament) grapples with his own perceived failures. He clings to the dream of becoming a successufl author, using it as an excuse for his lack of stable employment and his inability to pay child support. He is acutely aware of the disappointment he causes his ex-wife and son, and the memory of his own deceased father, a gambler who was never truly present, looms large.

In both narratives, the mothers play a pivotal role as the emotional anchors, yet also as keepers of the family's more painful truths. In "Still Walking," Toshiko (Kirin Kiki) meticulously prepares her son Junpei's favorite meals, a ritual that is both an act of love and a subtle assertion of her grief and the family's inability to move on. She even reveals a shocking detail about the boy Junpei saved, exposing the complexities of memory and forgiveness. Her seemingly gentle exterior hides a steel resolve and a deep-seated pain.

Similarly, Yoshie (Kirin Kiki again, a testament to her unparalleled ability to embody Kore-eda's characters) in "After the Storm" is a beacon of pragmatic wisdom. She quietly observes Ryota's struggles, offering understated advice and a steady presence. Her monologues about letting go of what you can't control, and finding happiness in the "now," are some of the film's most profound moments. Both mothers, despite their different circumstances, embody the enduring strength of a matriarch, holding the family together even as it frays at the edges.

Kore-eda's signature style, characterized by long takes, naturalistic dialogue, and a focus on everyday rituals, allows these films to unfold with a profound sense of realism. The lingering shots of food preparation, the mundane conversations, and the quiet moments of reflection all contribute to an immersive experience. We feel like we are eavesdropping on real families, witnessing their unspoken tensions and fleeting moments of connection. The use of a traditional Japanese home in "Still Walking" as the main setting of the film, further enhances this feeling, their sliding doors and tatami mats acting as silent witnesses to generations of family history. Meanwhile, the newer but modest and dilapidated apartment in "After the Storm" is ideal for forcing the difficult conversations the characters share during the typhoon.

Ultimately, both "Still Walking" and "After the Storm" are about the acceptance of imperfection – in ourselves, in our families, and in life itself. The characters are flawed, sometimes deeply so, but Kore-eda never judges them. Instead, he presents them with an empathetic eye, allowing us to understand their motivations and their struggles. The films suggest that while we may never fully escape the shadows of the past or completely fulfill our dreams, there is beauty and solace to be found in the everyday acts of love, forgiveness, and simply "still walking" through life, one step at a time, even after the storm has passed. They remind us that family, despite its complexities and heartaches, is often the most enduring and essential part of the human experience.