Craig Matsu-Pissot | December 6, 2024
My wife and I attended the showing of the beautiful and enigmatic film “Evil Does Not Exist,” written and directed by Ryusuke Hamaguchi. We were both deeply moved by it. (My wife is Japanese and so, it had perhaps particular personal undertones for her and, actually, for me as well.) I'll speak mostly of my experience of the film.
What was most compelling for me initially was the contemplative nature of the film. I really appreciated that the film was slow moving, a wonderful and skillful unfolding of content and space, action and inactivity, reality and dreaminess. This gradual unfolding can admittedly make me uneasy at times. Having grown up in a culture that emphasizes 'don't just sit there, do something,' I can feel tellingly impacted by the consistent messaging in our society of 'when asap isn't fast enough' and the desire for quicker computers, extreme activities, and a high level of stimulation.
However, I am learning to find that the meditative suggestion of 'don't just do something, sit there' is also a concept that has its valid place in my life and could use more emphasis in our culture. The appreciation of content and space, yin and yang, is a perspective, Eastern in general and Japanese in particular, that finds its way into the various expressions of art and in this movie. I find great value in this sway from doing something to just sitting there and back again. There is an allowance for nuance and atmosphere. The activity stimulates me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. And the inactivity, the pause, gives me a chance to refresh my senses and appreciate. It gives me time to consider, savour, contemplate, and integrate those stimulations into my being, my ongoing relational experience of the world and of myself.
Another aspect of the film that I found perhaps oddly satisfying is the open-ended nature of the film. We don't really know what happens in various situations or to certain people central to the story. Like the slow pace of the film, I know that for some viewers this open-endedness can be uncomfortable. I too can desire that the story have a standard beginning, middle and end. This is the common structure of storytelling that is taught to us throughout our formal education and is replicated with great consistency in novels, music, movies, and television. By the end, every story is nicely wrapped up, either comically or tragically. But, just like the perceived need for constant stimulation, the nicely wrapped up story does not actually represent my experience of the world. No story ever has a discrete end. Instead, life is an ongoing process, an ongoing conversation.
So I wonder, what is this need for a clearly marked ending. I had a wonderful teacher, Dr. Angeles Arrien, who discussed what she termed the four universal addictions. (Admittedly, a difficult word to accept when applied to myself. Certainly not ME!) These addictions, or habitual and often unconscious and problematic habits, are the need for perfectionism; the focus on what's not working as opposed to what is working; intensity; and directly pertinent to what I'm writing now – the need to know. We find ourselves bombarded with all of these addictions by the media. Just watch the news if you are uncertain about this.
It occurs to me that Hamaguchi is directly challenging our need to know (as well as the other addictions, perhaps). He is artistically addressing a societal compulsion for 'closure,:' Being put in the position of 'not knowing' confronts, at least in me, a deep seeded need for control. It removes me from the unknown, the mystery – all too often areas that inspire fear. So there is a dynamic within me, and I'm sure it is in others, of fear leading to a perceived need for control to a perceived need to know. I neither find this dynamic helpful, representative of life in general, nor satisfying.
The third seemingly incongruous aspect of the film is its title, Evil Does Not Exist. How can such a statement be made? Talk about challenging! I struggle to reconcile this title with my existing perspectives of historical and current events. What comes to mind when I look more deeply into the film and its characters is that I find that every person is doing their best based upon how they have been formed by the conditioning aspects of their lives. Aren't we all? If and when we truly know a person, we become aware that there are reasons for their behaviour, unconscious or conscious, that absolutely make sense to them and in the general scheme of things. We never truly know the eventual outcome of any event on an individual basis in the wax and wane of action and inactivity and the subsequent happenings that make up the never-ending story.
I'm thinking of the story of the man who finds a beautiful wild horse. Everyone in the village congratulates him on his good fortune. He shrugs and thinks, “Maybe good fortune. Maybe not.” While trying to tame the horse , his son breaks his leg. The villages go to him and lament his bad fortune. He shrugs and thinks, “Maybe bad fortune. Maybe not.” Soon thereafter, the local warlord comes through town and takes all the able bodied young men to fight in his latest war. His son cannot go due to his broken leg. The villages congratulate the old man for his good fortune. He shrugs and thinks, “Maybe good fortune. Maybe not.” And so on...
There is the perspective that each person is deserving of an unconditional love, even though their actions might be contrary to our own conditioned perspectives and wishes for what is 'good' and 'right' for the world. And it can also be said that unreconciled or unhealed experiences of suffering most often lead to more suffering in oneself and others. Evil is such a harsh assessment of people who are in profound pain, lost, confused, misguided, in unfortunate circumstances, or at the ends of their ropes. Do we not find ourselves at times in this predicaments? Do we not act in questionable ways? But are we evil? If we truly know the life circumstances of a person, including the depth of their suffering, seeing them through a black and white lens as 'evil' only serves to inhibit our more human and humane capacities toward compassion – the willingness to see the suffering of others and act to alleviate that suffering.
I understand that these artistic approaches of title, content and space, of open-ended story telling that Hamaguchi has utilized, might be seen as controversial (as might my thoughts about his work.) And yet they do serve in providing items of conversation from those in the audience. How can evil not exist? What does it mean that he shows extended shots of trees, free of dialogue or plot driven activity? What is Hamaguchi trying to express in the lack of a clear ending to his film? These questions offer an opportunity for me to look within myself for the (answerless) answers that can take me deeper into my own understanding of myself and the world. I find a more intimate and textured sensitivity and dialogue within myself. And if I also take advantage of the opportunity to share my musings with others who in turn share their thoughts with me, I find my life deeply enriched in countless ways. There is an important felt sense that emerges, a knowledge and acknowledgment of satisfaction within, with life, and with the relationships in my life.