The Oscars are just over the horizon and there’s nothing like a tight deadline as motivation. Thankfully, I work for myself but I always want to be as current as I can be for the Academy Awards (even if/when I don’t agree with them). So, I finally sat down with Drive My Car and it’s such a beautiful exploration of the complex integrations of love, grief, guilt, and coping with loss, told through a series of powerful narrative mirrors.
When his wife dies suddenly, a famous actor tries to pick up the pieces and move forward when he is invited to direct a stage production of Anton Chekov’s Uncle Vanya at a festival in Hiroshima. At the festival, he reluctantly accepts a driver assigned to him whose own challenging personal history unexpectedly aligns their fates. Through their acquaintanceship, they begin to delicately unpack the issues that haunt them.
Best Director nominee Ryûsuke Hamaguchi adapted the screenplay with Takamasa Oe, based on the short story by renowned Japanese author Haruki Murakami from his collection of works, Men Without Women. It is very intricately layered with character depth and each one adds more to the next. The dialogue reaches down into a place deep inside its speakers and extracts some very powerful moments. It’s a little difficult to explain clearly, but it gave me the feeling of standing between two mirrors, with each reflection bouncing off the next and informing each image. The primary story is there but little of it comes from the main character, at least to begin with. The subtext is told through his wife’s oddly inspired screenplay ideas that are conjured during intercourse and the words of Chekov’s play that possess the spirit, the recitation of those lines echoed on audio cassette in the car, and through cast searching to find their voice within the literature. I am probably not doing it the justice it deserves, but it’s remarkable and this is my choice for Best Adapted Screenplay.
Hidetoshi Nishijima gives a fantastic lead performance as Yûsuke Kafuku. If I had to use one term to define his performance, stoicism is the word that comes to mind. One of the best things about this film is that it respects Japanese culture rather than fetishizing it. There is this kind of pervasive politeness and you see that in how the characters behave intersocially. Despite Kafuku’s pain, he remains steadfast, the inner turmoil bubbling behind Nishijima’s calm demeanor. There’s also a matter-of-factness to discussions that tread on emotional grounds that we scarcely see on screen. Faced with situations that would elicit a severe emotional response, that instant gratification is delayed and Nishijima handles that brilliantly while his character puts that energy into his stage persona. He can only elicit the proper emotional response, feel what he’s supposed to feel, on stage and that speaks volumes.
Similarly, Tôko Miura joins him on that path as his driver Misaki. As they get to know one another, Kafuku learns that his pain isn’t exclusive. Miura is similarly adept at navigating the rigidly stoic space that exists in a car between these two characters. She displays pride in her character’s duties and thrives in keeping her personal walls up. However, as the layers of her begin to get peeled away, Kafuku opens himself up to her in a way that Misaki hasn’t had before. There is a palpable kinship between Miura and Nishijima and, as their relationship grows into a heartwarming bond that’s forged by pain.
It was a fairly small cast but Park Yu-rim is astounding as Lee Yoon-a, an actress who wins a part in Kafuku’s play while communicating in Korean sign language. It was her only credited role, but her physical performance elicits so much emotion and Hamaguchi smartly hones in on that in her scenes. Reika Kirishima is also great as Kafuku’s wife Oto. Obviously, her death limits her screen time but she plays a massive role in the story. She plays her scenes with an intensity that isn’t there for the rest of the cast, making her stand out in this story more than she already would. She also recorded the voice-over that plays in the car as Kafuku runs lines, and there is so much inflection from her that it works beautifully as a metaphorical device. Masaki Okada is also excellent in his moments as one of Oto’s proteges who may have more insight into her life than it appears, and his audition scene with Sonia Yuan is incredible.
At three hours long, it’s a slow burn through the first act, but it is very deliberate in its pacing. The opening credits don’t even roll until 41-minutes into the film. There are also a substantial amount of exterior B-roll shots of the car driving. However, once you get to the end of the film, it’s much easier to look back at the road that led there with appreciation and respect. There is a lot of groundwork that needs to be laid before the characters can effectively share their personal histories and begin the long work of healing by digesting each other’s pain. There is a theme (echoed in the pages of Chekov’s play) that why and the how are trapped in the past but the characters must continue in the present. That sentiment is repeated because the film is ultimately a critique of the very stoicism it portrays and a lesson in the value of embracing those emotions, even when they hurt.
Obviously, Best Picture nominations warrant a lot of industry attention and generate curiosity with the moviegoing public. I was a little hesitant through the first hour but, once I was in, I was all the way in. Hamaguchi lays this all out with a kind of storytelling approach I haven’t really seen before. It’s like a Russian nesting doll of metaphors. Even the car itself highlights the disparity between outward appearance and internal angst. Best Picture might be a hard sell, but it deserves to be there and Best Foreign Language Feature and Best Adapted Screenplay are both very realistic.
Recommendation: See it for Hamaguchi’s unique storytelling approach and the performances that bring it to life with eloquence and grace.
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