★★★★★
Director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s Evil Does Not Exist defies easy categorization. It begins as a character study, morphs into an eco parable, and ultimately ascends to an enigmatic nightmare. The film invites contemplation on the nature of evil, progress, and the quiet beauty that lies beneath the surface of our lives.
The movie opens with a near-Edenic portrayal of rural life. Takumi, a widower living in a tight-knit village outside Tokyo, embodies this idyllic existence. His surroundings are ravishing, and he chops wood with the precision of an artist. But beneath this tranquility lies a subtle tension—a sense that change is imminent.
Enter the clueless entrepreneur who plans to build a “glamping” resort on village land. His arrival disrupts the harmony, introducing conflict and challenging the community’s way of life. As the film unfolds, it poses questions about perfection, progress, and the existence of evil itself.
Evil Does Not Exist showcases Hamaguchi’s artistry. He starts deliberately, painting a vivid picture of the village and its inhabitants. The pacing is slow, allowing us to immerse ourselves in the characters’ lives. Hamaguchi subtly complicates the scenario, revealing hidden layers. The film’s visual language—like the opening shot of eyes gazing upward, or the use of a camera locked to a reversing car—creates an subtly unsettled atmosphere. It’s a work of enigmatic beauty, where evil remains elusive, and ambiguity thrives.
The film’s quiet assurance is its strength. It doesn’t flashily clamor for attention, but instead trusts the audience to engage actively. Just as Takumi picks wild wasabi to flavor a meal, the film invites viewers to discover its nuances. It’s a mature work that doesn’t spoon-feed answers but encourages introspection.
Some may miss the grabbiness of Hamaguchi’s previous hit, Drive My Car. Yet, Evil Does Not Exist rewards patient viewers. It’s a film that lingers, leaving room for interpretation. Those who consider it a secondary or minor work may find themselves rediscovering it later for me this is one of Hamuguchi’s best.
In the end, Evil Does Not Exist transcends genre. It’s a quietly mature masterpiece—one that invites us to do our own work, just as Takumi tends to his woodpile. As we grapple with its themes, we realize that perhaps evil isn’t a definitive statement—it’s the questions we ask and the spaces we explore. This film, with its sublime enigma, may well be the standout of the year.
Evil Does Not Exist played at the London Film Festival, ahead of an expected cinema release in the UK next year.
Whitlock&Pope 