Monster (Hirokazu Kore-eda)

Unveiling Truths

Amir Siadat

The scene where the school officials bow to Minato's mother, showing no reaction to her distress other than expressing regret, encapsulates the overall message of Monster. In this moment, Kore-eda positions the camera to allow the audience to look down on these officials, highlighting the absurdity of this well-known aspect of Japanese behavior. The mother rightfully expects a clear explanation about what happened to her son, but the culture of bowing and politeness inhibits being straightforward and frankness. While Monster examines its subject from three different perspectives, unlike Rashomon—often cited as Kore-eda's inspiration—its content is not a collection of distorted and contradictory reports of the same event. The variations between the three chapters of Monster stem more from the blind spots and limitations of each viewpoint rather than subjective intervention. In fact, with each retelling, the story remains the same; it is the discovery of missing pieces that broadens our perspective and alters our judgment. However, this narrative technique of shifting perspectives and challenging the audience, although frequently used, is not in itself a distinguishing feature of Monster. What I appreciate about this film is that, alongside its characters, its mood also subtly shifts with each retelling. This change is gradual and quiet, not immediately noticeable. The events of the first chapter, seen through the limited perspective of the mother, appear so unusual that at times the film teeters on the edge of absurdity. It is both frightening and darkly humorous that the school authorities acknowledge a teacher's harassment of a student yet fail to take any action, allowing the behavior to continue repeatedly. The audience, still in the dark about the full situation, laughs at the mother's desperation in the face of this passive group and the teacher, who expresses remorse yet remains mischievous like a wayward child. In the second part, as the subject becomes clearer, the film adopts a more realistic tone and gradually slows its initial momentum, setting the stage for a transition from mystery to romance in the third chapter. Kore-eda, who deviates from his traditional style due to the narrative complexity of the dense and winding script, uses the third part to dwell more on the solitude of the two children, a realm more aligned with his usual approach. Contrary to the morals and manners he critiques, Kore-eda embraces frankness and openness in exploring the subject deeply, aiming to achieve this solitude. With an ending that intertwines signs of death and birth, he metaphorically gives birth to two sons, running joyfully alongside them.