We all process loss in our own way, and each one of us has a unique approach to working through certain complex emotions, especially when it deals with something as unfathomable as the death of a child. As many have observed, there are words for someone who loses a spouse or their parents, but none to refer to a parent losing their child, which is considered one of the most profoundly unbearable sorrows imaginable, and one that no one should ever have to experience. These ideas ultimately come to form the foundation of Sheep in the Box (Japanese: 箱の中の羊), in which Hirokazu Kore-eda, who continues to stand his ground as inarguably one of the most important voices in contemporary Japanese cinema, sets out to examine a number of complex ideas. The story follows Kensuke and Otone Komoto, a suburban, middle-class couple living in a quiet neighbourhood of Tokyo. At a glance, they seem like relatively normal people, functioning members of society who live ordinary lives. However, beneath the surface, they are both still trying to process the most unimaginable pain after their son Kakeru was kidnapped years earlier, which ultimately led to his death, something from which no parent is ever likely to recover. They come to learn about a company that specialises in building robots that are tailored to be almost identical to their clients’ deceased loved ones – and despite her husband’s protestations, Kensuke decides that this is an opportunity to remedy the unbearable pain they are feeling. Before long, the new Kakeru arrives – and while he does resemble their son (both physically and in terms of personality) and possesses certain memories that help bridge the gap, both parents struggle to fully grasp the reality of the situation, especially since they are divided on the morality of such a creation, questioning whether or not this is actually the best path towards healing. A film that may not always succeed in saying what it intended to, Sheep in the Box is nevertheless still a very charming film, and another opportunity for Kore-eda to show his deep compassion and sincerity for the human condition in all its complexity.

Loss is a fascinating topic to explore, since it’s something that we are all likely to experience in one way or another, with the only hope being that it doesn’t happen under tragic circumstances, since this can cause relentless despair and create psychological scars that can never entirely be healed. As we mentioned, the foundation of Sheep in the Box is built on this very premise, following a couple who are still trying to process the death of their young son, and who ultimately find themselves turning towards an alternative in which they’re given as close to an approximation of their Kakeru as can be created, and follows their attempts to integrate to an entirely new way of life, one in which everything seems to be on the upswing (especially since the new addition to their family proves to be relatively close to their son in every possible way), but which gradually begins to fade as they come to realise that there is simply no replacement for a real child. This on its own is a very interesting concept. and we have to wonder whether or not this is the point that Kore-eda should’ve used as the sole focus of the film, since it highlights a few key philosophical themes in a way that is very meaningful. However, the director has broader intentions, which ultimately result in Sheep in the Box becoming his attempt to explore artificial intelligence, one of the most controversial subjects of the contemporary era, and one that remains extremely contentious, especially with the number of artists who are actively attempting to unravel the many layers of the debate. Naturally, Kore-eda is much smarter than those filmmakers who will blindly promote the idea of synthetic beings that claim to be there to assist us, but in reality are nothing more than machines and algorithms, designed to offer instant gratification rather than actually giving us the assistance we need. The idea of a company that creates artificial beings that occupy the place of deceased individuals, as a means to help their families recover, brings about many moral questions, particularly asking whether or not it is ethical. It is made even more provocative by the fact that Kore-eda makes it seem like an inevitability – we already see large language models being used as vessels for therapy, so it seems like it is only a matter of time before technology reaches the point depicted in this film, which emphasises that it takes place in a not-too-distant version of the future.

Based on the premise, we can imagine that Sheep in the Box is not the easiest film to explore when it comes to thematic content, and Kore-eda proves that he is someone who possesses a very specific view of the human condition, one that relies on the characters just as much as the stories that populate them. Many of Japan’s finest actors have done some of their best work under his direction, whether it is seasoned veterans or rambunctious newcomers – and the fact that his films are so beautifully constructed and rich with emotion means that any actor would find the idea of participating in such a film extremely appealing. The two adult leads of Sheep in the Box deliver stellar performances that feel genuinely rich and evocative, adding to the emotional complexities that define the story. Haruka Ayase is the more openly sympathetic of the two, playing a woman who realises that she cannot ever get over the death of her son, regardless of how much she tries, which leads her to leap into the unknown in the hopes of finding an alternative path towards healing. It’s a performance rich in emotional resonance – every aspect of her performance feels nuanced and engaging, with the complexities that linger beneath the surface being perfectly pieced together through a careful collaboration between the actor and director. The same can be said for Daigo Yamamoto, who is the more cynical of the two, a man whose response to the loss of his son has taken the form of emotional retreat, becoming withdrawn from a world he no longer has any interest in exploring, choosing instead to dwell in his own mind, not realising that this is a profoundly treacherous place to be. They’re complemented exceptionally well by Rimu Kuwaki, who maybe delivers the best performance in the film, as the robotic version of their son Kakeru. I’m always hesitant when it comes to films primarily based around younger characters, since we don’t always find that child actors possess the depth to play these roles – but as Kore-eda has shown on countless occasions, he can write children with such precision, as well as having an eye for talent that allows these characters to be exceptionally complex. As the film’s emotional anchor, Kuwaki brings so much beautiful emotion to the story, finding various quirks in the character that may be the result of what he was directed to do, but which nonetheless anchors the story remarkably and movingly.

Sheep in the Box represents the rare instance where Kore-eda steps into a specific genre, which is notable considering he often makes social realist films steeped heavily in authentic depictions of everyday life – in fact, the only other film he has made that can be considered similarly abstract is After Life, which veered towards fantasy. There’s an argument to be made that any flaw that weighs this film down comes as a result of the director being slightly too ambitious with the material, trying his hand at science fiction, a genre he has not previously even attempted to explore. Unfortunately, despite being more positive on this film than the majority of others, even I have to admit that Kore-eda’s specific brand of emotional vulnerability is not quite a match for this material, since science fiction and melodrama are not all that compatible, especially for a story that leans heavily towards more dense emotions. However, if we move past fixating on the science fiction elements, we find that the emotional core is ultimately what tips this film over into being a more positive experience. It is important to note that, despite its thematic relevance, the subject of this film is not supposed to be a treatise on artificial intelligence, but rather an exploration of grief, with the quiet moments of reflection between the family as they process their grief being more valuable than the futuristic subject matter. The restrained direction and naturla performances are complemented by patient, methodical pacing, as is often the case with the director’s work – the strongest scenes emerge from moments of silence or hesitation, and while we can agree that the screenplay often struggles to balance these intimate observations with the broader cultural commentary (which is going to factor into the story regardless of what the director was attempting to say), but the philosophical anchor of Sheep in the Box is strong enough to make up for some of its thematic shortcomings. There’s a real sincerity to this film that gives it the warmth and nuance we often expect from Kore-eda, grounding the story in a deeply human portrait of two parents learning that grief cannot ever be entirely resolved, but rather learning how to process the pain to make it easier to move from day to day without falling apart.

While I do think the term “noble failure” is somewhat inappropriate and frankly diminishes the promise of this film, it is an appropriate way to look at Sheep in the Box, which sees Kore-eda venturing slightly out of his usual style and instead exploring a new genre. It is most certainly never going to be considered amongst his best work, but that is the result of both the incredible films he has made in the past that rank as some of the most important of the 21st century, and the fact that this film is far more ambitious than his usual approach, which means there was a lot more room for failure. It ultimately isn’t a disaster (at least not to the extent that those who were expecting something more polished have made it seem), but it is still a lesser work from a director who is known for a very high calibre of filmmaking. However, even as a slightly minor work, the film remains rich and emotionally thoughtful, perhaps much more than a lot of science fiction produced in recent years, a genre that is not always known for its strong emotional inventory. It may sometimes feel too audacious, but it ultimately never loses sight of the humanity right at the core of the story, with Kore-eda’s unwavering compassion being the quality that carries the film through its weaker moments. There are some interesting conversations conducted throughout the film, such as the debates surrounding the role technology plays in modern life, with the director refusing to present it as either a salvation or catastrophe, but rather as a tool through which modern life can be viewed. It all comes down to a story about memory and healing, two very resonant themes that are subjected to Kore-eda’s deep emotional honesty, which is far more compelling that the speculative premise, which eventually shifts out of focus. Even if it falls short of fulfilling every one of its ambitious ideas, Sheep in the Box stands as a strong reminder of why Kore-eda remains one of modern cinema’s most compassionate observers of ordinary life, and someone whose perspective is always valuable, even when he is playing in a more minor key for the most part.