Film Review | Sweet Bean is Japanese Cinema at its Most Normal
Japanese cinema has many identities. It can consist of terrifying blood curdling horror, gorgeously rendered animation or epic tales of waring communities in the feudal era. Away from these more obvious box office draws, there are also the understated, socially aware and emotionally earnest kitchen sink dramas that can struggle to get a wider release. It in this category the films of director Naomi Kawase fall into. At their best, her works call to the mind the complex sentimentalism of the great Yosujiro Ozu, one of her country’s greatest artistic exporters. Kawase is the perennial festival director: She creates films that will consistently make minor splashes at various international events, garnering her tiny leaves for her posters but not the mainstream audiences she could do with.
Her latest outing, Sweet Bean, is yet another work of Kawases that devotes most of its attention to the quieter moments of life. The patient narrative follows a middle aged, unassuming baker with a past who works by his lonesome in an almost comically puny restaurant in urban japan – it’s the kind of dingy café that you might see in back alley of a back alley, one that you couldn’t imagine anyone actually going to eat at, let alone work in. Sentaro goes about his days listlessly serving Doriyaki (a kind of pancake) to the same set of customers, most of them gossipy, lunching schoolgirls. That is until a cheerily optimistic 76 year old woman named Tokue arrives asking for a part time job, an offer he first rejects due to her age and obvious physical limitations. It is only when Tokue sends Sentaro her signature bean sauce that he reluctantly agrees to take her in and the business begins to unexpectedly boom.
In his review for Billy Wilder’s masterful swipe at post-war corporate culture, Roger Ebert wrote that “In many movies, the characters hardly even seem to have jobs, but in The Apartment they have to be reminded that they have anything else”. Sweet Bean sets itself out to achieve something similar, but on a smaller scale. Kawase is not afraid to show us characters actually doing the thing that fill the majority of people’s days: working. Sentaro has devoted himself to this job not out of passion or enjoyment but rather out of financial necessity. He’s the kind of the solitary, periphery figure that many of us might know in our lives, but only enough to project unfounded assumptions onto. Masatoshi Nagase’s performance in the role is subdued in its relatable sense; he’s not chronically introverted, instead saying only what he feels needs to be said.
It is Kirin Kiki, however, the elderly actress who plays Tokue, who steals the show here. Her unflappable exuberance makes for an enjoyable counterpoint to Nagase’s stoicism. This is the ideal granny that we all wish we had, someone with an enviable zest for life and endearing attachment to old world traditions while not displaying any noticeable prejudices (always a bonus). The delightful sequence of the two central characters going through the gruelling process of making the sauce would draw a sympathetic tear from a stone.
Kawase treats major incident much like she might a sugary sweet pancake made by Sentaro; its nice to have one once in a while, but they work better sparingly and you’ll appreciate it more when it comes around less often. The film’s strongest moments are made all the more resonating as a result and ultimately this is a 100 minute call for compassion: A final act visit to home for lepers is a standout. Meditative is the word one might use to describe her plot development. Quite often the camera focuses patiently on the elements of the country’s natural beauty: burgeoning lilies, lapping rivers, lusciously green valleys. It’s no gimmick, as these shots are utilised to get across, not just the seasonal changes, but also the cyclical nature of life itself (the film begins and ends in springtime). Sentaro’s daily routine feels like just that, a routine.
It would be a lie to say that Sweet Bean is a movie where it direction comes off as surprising. Almost every turn in the story turns out an expected one. It can also verge into the realm of melodrama – the corporate minded, profit driven owner of Sentaro’s business would not find herself out of place in the most lowbrow of live-action Disney films. But much like a really good episode of Law and Order SVU, it’s a predictable ride that I enjoyed going along with.
More than anything else, Sweet Bean is a film that deplores us to remember the simple pleasures in life. Much like the film itself, the message it teaches is far from revolutionary, but it’s still one that we’ll need reminding from time to time. The final shots may be sickly sweet but they hammer the central point home: if you can’t follow your passion, then bring it with you.
Sweet Bean is in selected cinemas now. Check out the trailer below.
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