It was a great film. Or rather, it was great that they filmed it.
I love documentaries that make you swoon when you watch them.
“Dokonimo Ikenai” was exactly such a work. The other day, it started being distributed on several subscription services.
The story is about a teenage girl who moves to Tokyo to become a musician, but when her plans fall through, she returns to her hometown to continue living there. The plot is very simple.
But this is not a juvenile film. It is a war film. It is the story of a girl who is at war with life, all alone, in the enemy territory of Tokyo. Her only weapons are a shaky singing voice and a beauty that is still in the rough. She has no money, no lodging, and no connections. The camera, as a war correspondent, captures her on the streets of the battlefield. And even after she retires from the front lines.
Filming began when the protagonist, Kiri Yoshimura, was 19 years old, and took about 10 years with some interruptions.
Director Ryuichi Shimada is almost the same age, so it’s a work that takes both the subjects and the filmmaker as a whole life. It can’t be a run-of-the-mill documentary.
I felt both the cruelty of life never ending and the hope that life continues from this work. They are as opposite as the North Pole and the South Pole, yet so similar. The film depicts the moment when these two become connected within one person. Documentaries are amazing. It’s amazing that people live.
Below, I will introduce three points that I thought were worth watching, but don’t worry about spoilers. The introductions on Amazon Prime and U-NEXT explain almost everything that happens in the movie. On the other
hand, the true value of this film is not in what “happens,” but in what is “shown,” such as the expression on the protagonist’s face and the streets of Shibuya. Or something that is not shown, but that you can see now. In other words, it’s a movie that you can appreciate just by watching it. That means it’s a movie worth watching.
For adults who have come to understand the cruelty of never-ending life. Or for adults who have had something called youth taken away from them and have only grown older. In other words, I hope this work will reach people like me.
Highlight 1: “Shibuya Trip 2001”
What’s interesting about it is the depiction of the period.
The setting is Shibuya in 2001. The movie starts with that streetscape, but I put my face close to the screen. “No way! Shibuya hasn’t changed at all!” I rewound the opening scene over and over again. The scramble crossing, Center Street, Dogenzaka. I knew it. I would have believed it if they told me it was Shibuya 20 hours ago, let alone 20 years ago. It was a strange feeling, like traveling back in time to find a civilized society that was just like ours today.
Shibuya in those days was a city where teenagers and people in their twenties created and disseminated culture.
But to me, it was a fictional city where only fashionable, moneyed city kids could leave the ticket gates. The distance in my heart was as far away as New York.
But surprisingly, Shibuya seemed to have stopped evolving from there. What have you been doing for nearly a quarter century? It was the moment when the longing that was so high up in my reach that I never even spoke of was burned. It’s good to get older.
And I think this impression is probably largely due to the fact that “the people walking down the street haven’t changed at all.” Their fashion, occupations, age, and fuss are all the same as Reiwa people. I’m sure I’ll accidentally be caught in a photo of myself while visiting clients.
That’s why, when you realize something, this scene begins to make sense. “None of these people have smartphones,” . It was a time when people were penpals, not followers, direct mail was by postcard, 2chan was the way to communicate with the general public, and blogs were just starting to become recognized. It was only in 2001 that the penetration rate of personal computers exceeded 50%. What did these people, who are similar to me today, rely on to get there? How did they connect with others?
From this point on, the film’s depiction of the era becomes even more interesting. It doesn’t just show scenes from the city. It contains the raw voices of young people from that time. In detailed interviews, they talk about their values and communication at the time in real life.
“Ah, that’s what I thought.” “I see, that’s what happened .” Things that seem the same but have changed. And vice versa. The viewer becomes engrossed in the images and naturally comes to know the person Yoshimura Kiri.
Her reasons for coming to Tokyo, prepared to be alone, and the social environment that surrounds her.
Yoshimura! Do your best! But be careful! Movies that explain the settings of the era and characters in an interesting way are interesting. This film is a typical example.
Highlight 2: “Kiri Yoshimura’s War”
Many of the young people who appear in this film are sitting on the ground. Some kids play guitar and sing on cardboard. Others wait all day in the same place for familiar faces. Others hang out in circles. Hachiko Square, especially at night, looked very similar to today’s Toei Yoko and Grillshita.
There are probably many among them who have serious problems. Even if they have no choice but to flee into the night city, if that is their only option, then escape is the fighting method of those who have nothing. They were fighting. On the streets, laughing with the friends they met there. As if laughing was fighting. The low angle, as if to match their line of sight, captures their expressions.
Kiri Yoshimura was one of those young people in Shibuya. She was 19 years old at the time. She had come to Tokyo from Saga by hitchhiking, aiming to become a professional musician.
But she stood out.
Her distinct features had a beauty that was just as beautiful as her blonde hair. When she smiled, she looked like a boy, and gender and age did not apply to her.
She had long limbs and a fearless presence that would look good on stage. And she had a husky, low voice that overturned the first impression.
Her innocent demeanor and her singing voice that tends to get lost in the hustle and bustle made me want to root for her. Yoshimura made a point of choosing Hachiko Square to sing, and she sang a cappella, but if I had been there, I think I would have stopped in front of her.
There was a sign at her feet as she sang. “Right now, I’m penniless.” But did this really just start “right now”? The camera entered Yoshimura’s family home to take a first-hand look at the life she tried to escape from. It was a time when single mothers and single fathers were called “single parents.” Life must have been even harder than it is now.
As she recounts painful and sad memories from her childhood to the camera, she adds, “When I get married, I definitely don’t want to become a single-parent household.” “I want to support my mother.”
In Japan, the poverty rate of single-parent families is over 50%. It is outstanding even among developed countries.
Looking at it from a now-aware perspective, Yoshimura’s circumstances are not “uncommon” in a bad sense. Or even worse, they may feel like a “cliched setting.”
Still, the film is enjoyable because it does not portray Yoshimura in a stereotypical way. Not as a heroine in adversity, but as a rebellious heroine.
With a serious background and complicated feelings, the film is set more than 1,000km away from her hometown, and depicts a person struggling to become the protagonist. Her drama is created by her. The audience should just watch in silence. That’s what I felt I was being told.
Beauty, ambition and toughness. Relying only on the default weapons, Yoshimura sets her sights on Tokyo and her destination, and boldly goes to claim her place. Friends and transformations, paths to victory and defeat, encounters and reunions. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t like this. To me, it looked like she was fighting. The camera continues to film the whole thing at close range with her friend. Warriors and comrades. That’s why I felt this was a war movie.
In fact, the camera must have been busy. There were a lot of incidents around Yoshimura. There are people who attract both the god of throwing things away and the god of picking things up at the same time, and she was definitely one of them. That’s why I never get bored of watching her. To put it more simply, she’s so dangerous.
This is a bit of a foul play, but I watched the film with a prayerful feeling that “As long as this director is filming her up close, Yoshimura won’t go in a bad direction.” Please. Don’t get involved in crime, violence, buying or selling, or anything like that. Please.
In the end, things didn’t turn out that way. But that’s just the way it didn’t turn out.
Yoshimura was fighting in a valley where many hills meet at the bottom. She didn’t want to say that the war was over.
But she had no choice but to retreat.
Highlight 3: “Hope not shown on film”
Yoshimura suffers from schizophrenia.
A park at night. She desperately shouts into the darkness, where no one else is. “Thank you for being my friend! Please come as usual! I’m the only one who can see you.”
“That’s enough, go! Matsumoto-chan, go! Matsumoto Hitoshi!” “If you like, shake hands with me, with both feet.”
People watching from a distance look at her and sneer.
For a moment it looked like a bad joke, but after I realized, “No, this isn’t a joke,” I started biting my nails. Visual and auditory hallucinations. I can’t control myself. I don’t realize that I can’t. This is no time to talk about dreams or fame.
When she collapsed, I could only think that she had been shot down by an unlucky bullet.
As expected, the doctor told her not to go. And then she returned home. As she headed to the airport, she was clearly expressionless, like she had just woken up. Her mouth was loose as she chewed her gum. A stark contrast to the lively smile of a challenger. Perhaps it was a side effect of the medication, but even so, can a person really change this much? Did the camera really want to capture this?
As we passed through the security gate, she turned around and said, “Bye-bye. See you again.” Her expression was a mix of all kinds of paints, from smiling to crying. To me, it looked very beautiful. And her long, white fingers waved fleetingly. It may be inappropriate, but I found myself entranced by the scene.
What makes this film so extraordinary is that the camera really goes back to “meet again.” And it’s about 10 years later. The story that once stopped starts moving again. The reason for the restart is not explained, but there is no doubt that this is a work edited by fate.
Yoshimura was brought back to his parents’ home in Saga, where he began attending a local welfare workshop.
It was an even more unpleasant situation than the life he had once wanted to escape from.
He probably hated being seen by anyone. Neither his mother, who worked from home, nor himself, who was working a job far removed from his dreams. Meals, hanging out the laundry, cleaning the bath, going to the hospital or the center. The view from the car window was of the mountains and forests the whole time. If it were me, I would have blocked the camera with my hand.
But Yoshimura continued to let it film. The camera, too, continued to stare directly at him, as if it was its final duty as a comrade in arms.
Yoshimura answers questions in an interview:
“I live my life suppressing my feelings. Sometimes I feel like running away.” “I can see ghosts. There were times when I thought it was okay if I never got better.” “I can’t say anything in front of my mother .” Ah. She says “mother.” In an interview when she was 19, she said “mom.” She had become an adult. But the freedom of an adult is something she still hasn’t achieved. Her life just creaks and creaks, and it doesn’t turn. But it doesn’t end. She seemed to be suffocating from the cruelty.
However, the movie reaches its climax. The setting is Hakata Station late at night. What did Yoshimura do there? I hope you’ll find out in this film. I made fists with both hands and said, “I didn’t throw it away!”
The ending theme song is “Genki de Ikou”. It’s the song Yoshimura had been singing a cappella the whole time.
It’s not ironic. At the very end, I heard a sound of hope. The hope that life goes on. I wonder if she’s still singing it.
It’s 2024 now, and more than 10 years have passed since filming resumed in 2010. In the meantime, the words diversity and inclusion have become more widespread. Government and corporate systems have improved, and starting this year, reasonable accommodation has become mandatory. The number of private organizations such as NPOs has increased, and their activities are more varied and interesting. If we expand this to clubs, the number is countless. Needless to say, technology has evolved.
The ways in which she can live her life the way she wants have increased dramatically. She can do it alone. She can do it with friends. Perhaps she is already living like that, and I hope that is the case.
As long as she sings, it will reach someone. At least, it reached me. I am the same age as her, come from the same poor family, and suffer from the same mental illness.
I hope that what reached me will reach her too.
This is the hope that life will continue, which is not depicted in this work. It is my prayer, living in the future 10 years from now. The title of this work is “Dokonimo Ikenai”.
Don’t say that. Let’s be cheerful. There’s no need to push yourself. Relax with a relaxed feeling.
A work that makes you want to talk to the characters is definitely a masterpiece. In other words, I can say with confidence that this work is worth seeing. It’s only 85 minutes. There’s no way not to see it.
Musuta Kusaka's Everyday Journey with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion in Japan 
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