A couple of decades ago, Anne Carson wrote perhaps the greatest verse novel of the 20th century in the form of An Autobiography of Red, a daring and provocative work that centres on a modernised version of Geryon, a figure drawn from Greek mythology, mainly serving as one of the adversaries that stood in Herakles’ way. Many aspects of that book struck a chord, but perhaps the most intriguing aspect was that of the overarching themes of queerness, particularly the concept of monstrosity, something that any member of the LGBTQIA+ community would understand to some extent. This preamble is important in setting up our conversation on Monster (Japanese: 怪物), the most recent film by Hirokazu Kore-eda, who once again proves that he is amongst our greatest living filmmakers, a genius at storytelling and visual compositions. In this film, he places us in a small, tightly-knit community somewhere in suburban Japan, and introduces us to several characters, exploring their relationships with one another, particularly their recollections of a particular event that transpired one fateful evening, and how this speaks to a deeper sense of existential angst simmering beneath the surface of their lives, which becomes increasingly unbearable for them as they carry the weight of their psychological quandaries with are in turn only made more burdensome through their involvement with the central event. Kore-eda is an incredible filmmaker, and Monster proves to be a return to form after two forays into international filmmaking, which yielded interesting experiments, but ones that didn’t quite fit with his usual style of storytelling, and while it may not reach the same impossible heights of some of his canonical masterpieces (although it comes close, especially in the final act), it proves that his gifts can never be called into question, since the concise and forthright method of exploring the human condition are fully represented in this powerful and poignant story about a young man trying to find his place in a hostile and challenging world.

The feeling of loneliness is a common experience that many encounter in their formative years, especially those who possess qualities that prevent them from feeling like they belong in a particular group. The cruelty of childhood is that we are often told that we are outsiders when in reality, no one is necessarily born perfectly fitting into the status quo, just some are more comfortable following conventions than others. From the moment we meet the character of Minato, anyone who has ever felt that sense of crippling isolation caused by realizing that you aren’t quite adherent with what is considered normal will immediately recognize what he is going through, which is what makes Monster such a powerful work, since it centres on something extraordinarily resonant and deeply poignant. Kore-eda has made some tremendous coming-of-age films in the past (Nobody Knows is a contender for his greatest film), so he was working within his wheelhouse with this film – but yet there is still something profoundly different about how he approaches the material, whether it is through the underlying themes that exist throughout the film, or the gradual sense of foreboding danger, which turns out to be something much deeper than we initially anticipated. This film is made for anyone who was ever told that they are not meant to fit in, or were treated as outsiders simply because of qualities outside of their control – Monster does not only focus on the queer awakening of the young protagonist but different kinds of isolation, particularly those relating to social status. Yet, we still find ourselves drawn to the childhood angst that defines this film and makes it such a complex examination of what it means to grow up in an environment that may be supportive on a surface level but doesn’t offer the guidance and sense of acceptance that many younger people require when navigating the sometimes treacherous world of growing up and navigating their identities, something that is beautifully conveyed throughout this challenging and heartbreakingly beautiful film.

Kore-eda is not a director who relishes in crafting narratives that are intentionally opaque or unbearably challenging, but he also isn’t fond of delivering his stories through conventional means, which essentially forms the foundation of his many slightly experimental works that see him reconfiguring familiar ideas into something much more profound, while still maintaining a level of accessibility that makes his films incredibly poignant and endearing for a global audience. The narrative structure of Monster is quite remarkable – it isn’t anything particularly daring on the surface (which it never intended to be), but rather it takes a simple story and pieces it together in a substantially different way, primarily through spending the first act establishing the underlying tension and introducing us to the main characters that will guide us through the story, but without actually giving us too much information into the central themes, which are in turn gradually revealed in the following two acts, which are similarly ambigious, providing further information without actually making it clear what the cause of the central event was, with the resolution coming in the epilogue, the striking final moments of incredible beauty where everything becomes clear and is tied up neatly in an expression of pure humanity. Kore-eda has an interest in exploring different perspectives of the same event (some have cited Monster as a modern version of Rashomon, at least in terms of how it employs a strategy of looking at different characters and their recollections of a certain subject), and in doing so he provides unique insights into the lives of these people, proving that there are multiple sides to every story, and looking at the same ideas from different angles enriches our understanding of not only this specific event but also the people that occur around it. Using a slightly unconventional timeline that jumps between different moments, we find the director playfully subverting our understanding of the chronology, giving us fascinating glimpses into the lives of these characters, which brings about an even richer and more evocative sense of humanity that underpins every moment of this stunning film.

To bring these fascinating ideas to life, Kore-eda makes use of an ensemble cast, which is entirely analogous to most of his previous films, which draw on diverse groups of actors whom he tasks with nurturing these characters and making them fascinating individuals, rather than one-dimensional archetypes that exist purely to push the narrative forward. Monster has five central roles, each one of them extremely strong, which is ultimately the result of the director working closely with his actors to find nuances beneath the surface of these otherwise quite conventional characters. The central roles are played by Sakura Andō, who is widely considered to be the anchor of Shoplifters, the director’s previous foray into similar subject matter, and newcomer Sōya Kurokawa, who is magnetic and commands the screen every moment he appears. The film has many different narrative components, but it is mostly a story of a mother and son as they navigate their ordinary middle-class life, which is thrown into disarray when changes begin to stir, causing Minato to develop worrying traits. Both actors are incredible, and there isn’t a moment where we don’t genuinely feel the authenticity of their relationship – there is something about how Kore-eda writes families that makes them extremely compelling and entirely credible, and it never feels as if we are just watching actors on screen, but rather a dynamic familial unit, which can only come about through meaningful collaboration between the actors and the director. Eita Nagayama, Hinata Hiiragi and Yūko Tanaka all have roles that seem inconsequential at first, merely being supporting players in the main narrative, until the director shifts the perspective to focus on each one of them on their own, each moment they appear contributing a small piece to the overall puzzle that defines this film and makes it so thoroughly captivating. Considering how so much of this story is carried through the quieter moments of interaction between characters, it only makes sense that it would boast some of the most moving and complex performances of the year, and Monster proves to be yet another triumphant moment for Kore-eda and his love for compelling characters.

There is certainly an abundance of ambitious ideas that are situated throughout Monster, but it would not have been even marginally successful without the right approach. Kore-eda’s methods of filmmaking always prioritize a two-pronged style of storytelling, which focuses on both the socio-cultural themes and the emotions, which he believes can work in tandem to create a powerful experience. He is a director who genuinely believes that he is capable of playing to both the head and the heart, and considering he has made several films that are both intellectually stimulating and profoundly moving proves that he has done nothing if not master this particular style of storytelling. Monsters presents him with some challenges that he is more than willing to embrace since it is clear that both the inventive nature of the narrative and the underlying themes represented throughout are aligned with his sensibilities, allowing him to create a poignant and magnificent work of ambitious filmmaking. He deftly navigates some strong emotions, which form the foundation of the film – without the right atmosphere, Monster would not make an impact, since we form a relationship with these characters, and considering we don’t quite understand them until the final scenes which everything falls into place, it is important that we at least have an emotional connection, particularly to the protagonist. With any coming-of-age story, particularly one about queer identity, there is always the risk of it becoming too heavy-handed, but this has never been a factor in Kore-eda’s approach, with even the most harrowing stories being subjected to the same kind of elegant, impactful storytelling that is sentimental without being overwrought, particularly in how it finds meaning in the quieter moments of everyday existence. Throughout this film, the director takes a complex story that leaps between perspectives and somehow manages to infuse it with only the most sincere, nuanced emotions, which allows him to evoke a universal experience that is delivered with delicate care, and where every bit of meaning underlying the narrative appears in vivid detail, turning this complex story into a profoundly moving story of growing up.

Kore-eda is a master of humanistic filmmaking, and every new endeavour just proves this to be an unimpeachable fact. Every one of his films is a delicate, hand-crafted drama about the human condition, condensed into simple but powerful stories of resilience, identity and the virtue of perseverance, and yet they all feel different and unique in striking ways, which allows every moment we spend with these films to be enriching. In Monster, Kore-eda returns to a familiar group and crafts a beautiful coming-of-age story about a young boy realizing that he is different, but rather than succumbing to the temptation to suppress these feelings, he instead grows to embrace them. There comes a moment towards the end of the film where one of the characters tells him “Love is for everybody” – the words may be simple, but the weight that is lifted the moment they are spoken is astonishing, and it makes the intentions of the film incredibly clear. Ultimately, we come to realize that Monster is a film that is not focused on providing the answers, but rather proving the importance of asking the right questions. Perhaps it’s a hackneyed concept, but the idea of the journey being more interesting than the destination is a recurring theme in a lot of Kore-eda’s work, and each moment we spend exploring the world with the director proves to be enriching, poignant and effortlessly powerful. There are layers of complexity and nuance that drive this story and make it so incredibly poignant, and while it can sometimes be quite difficult in terms of some of the overwhelming emotions (especially considering this is a story that I would expect resonates with a large portion of the population), the oscillation between harshness and beauty is undeniably powerful and helps us understand aspects of the human condition that many of us are still work to comprehend. Beautiful, complex and never afraid to have difficult conversations, Monster is yet another masterful excursion into the heart of humanity by one of our greatest living directors and a truly unforgettable experience in terms of what it says and how it looks at some vital subjects.