WORDS: Brian Wade
In the mercurial, ever-changing universe that is cinema, there are very few things upon which we can ever fully depend. We know that, with a Tarantino film, a bit of blood shall, at some point, be shed. When it comes to Wes Anderson, we watch enthusiastically with protractor and ruler in hand, certain of a trademark symmetry dominating the screen. And, with Jay Baruchel, one can always rely on a consistent level of awful.
But, aside from these few examples, the global film industry has always been, and continues to be, largely unpredictable. An average summer blockbuster season will always feature the colossal failure of a great movie, and the perplexing success of an awful one (Yes, ‘Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen”. We are looking at you). The only thing we can truly count on at this stage are the revered words of Hollywood insider William Goldman, famously writing that “nobody knows anything”.
In light of this, naturally, Hollywood tactically tries to stick to what it knows: churning out sequels, prequels, spin-offs and tie-ins all in an attempt to stabilise return profits. And what we are generally faced with is a significant portion of the industry which ignores originality at all costs, too afraid to stick its neck for fear of failure and, more importantly, substantial losses.
Now you may be wondering what any of this has to do with a critically-acclaimed Japanese drama which, in spite of its heartwarming charm, will struggle to make it past two screens in this country. Hirokazu Koreeda’s Like Father, Like Son, however, is an incredibly important film in its reaffirmation of the power of national cinema against that of the Hollywood machine. For, even with its uniquely touching content, the film holds at its core a desire to carry on the proud Japanese storytelling tradition, to present to us those basic dilemmas of the human condition but to do so in a way that is relevant and reenergised. Old themes are brought to life with effervescence: a notion Hollywood couldn’t even sniff at.
Like Father, Like Son involves the oft told yet, here, reinvigorated tale of the Prince and the Pauper, where the oppositional worlds of two families collide when it is revealed that their sons were switched at birth. What the film documents is the difficult transitional period that follows, with both sets of parents struggling to come to terms with this traumatic discovery, and the graver possibility of saying goodbye to a child who is no longer their own.
Koreeda’s refreshing directorial touch brings new life to a largely worn-out story. Operating as a character-study rather than explicit family drama, the film offers an examination of fatherhood through its central protagonist, Ryota, an affluent businessman with a staunch work ethic, one he is determined to pass on to his son, Keita. What appears at first as a prime opportunity for a sloppy, over-sentimental depiction of character development becomes an acute and understated look at the nature of parenthood, and the many difficulties that go along with it. For although Ryota’s intentions may be correct in hoping to ensure his son receives the greatest possible chance at a happy life through high education, his own fears of parental failure are driving him to deny his son of any childhood experience. The shocking revelation that Keita bears no biological resemblance to his father forces the latter to reconsider not only his own parenting methods, which flail under the strong will of new son, Ryusei, but also his own development into the hardened patriarch he has become. And so, as the narrative unwinds, we find ourselves in the midst of story not about mismatched children, but a misplaced childhood.
To call Like Father, Like Son a film of utmost simplicity is to offer a compliment of the highest order. Simple stories, told well and true, are so hard to come across these days and are even harder to achieve. But Koreeda has managed to craft a film of such fine balance, where a compelling, relatable tale is matched by a visually enticing composition. The director has the remarkable ability to make the most banal establishing shots seem beautifully poetic. And tying it all together is an unintrusive minimalist score of delicate piano, an undeniable trademark of Japanese cinema in all its greatness.
But perhaps the greatest merit of this film is the remarkable reserve it displays in its engagement with those basic human emotions. Its moments of humour are never overdrawn for extra laughs as they so easily could have been, particularly with the comic potential of both children in tow. More importantly, the feature’s more tender sequences are executed with finesse, refusing to blatantly yank at the heart strings in favour of a softer approach that allows for audience engagement of a deeper, more intimate form.
With its combination of affecting performances, nuanced direction and a universally-accessible narrative, Like Father, Like Son succeeds because of its well-roundedness. It encompasses the most fundamental aspects of great filmmaking, but does so in a way that exhibits craftsmanship and artfulness in equal measure. My only reservation: you might not want to forget your tissues.
