Kaza-hana

Unfortunately, Sōmai’s last film now seems like, among other things, the antithesis of the Oscar-winning Drive My Car. Instead of a red Saab, we have here a pink Jeep, and instead of an uplifting treatise on pain and the cathartic relief of sharing it between characters from artistic circles, we have the openly destructive self-torment of a drunk and a prostitute, to some extent evoking Leaving Las Vegas. At its core, however, Kaza-hana shares with Hamaguchi’s hit the motif of the past as a path that winds behind us, as well as the pain and injustice that can cause us to stagnate on that path. In line with the original title, which refers to tiny snowflakes flying in the wind, the film’s characters are also buffeted by their circumstances and surroundings, though at their core they are fragile and sensitive, as well as imperfect. In Kaza-hana, pain is simultaneously a burden for the characters, dragging them to the bottom, and paradoxically a motivation for their journey, whose destination they have forgotten, but which nevertheless hangs bitterly over their heads. The non-linear narrative not only depicts the stories of the central mismatched duo, but also helps to inject into their tragic journey a sense of exaggeration and playfulness that gives them a believably human dimension. We can only speculate as to how Sōmai’s signature style would have evolved in the years to come if the director’s career not been cut short by cancer. In Kaza-hana, we find all of his trademarks (long shots, a subjective soundtrack, the natural elements as an expressive framework for emotion) used in delicately restrained form so that they completely serve the nature of the scene and draw minimal attention to themselves. (08/07/2022)