By Craig Mathieson
AN
M, 113 minutes, opens April 28
Director: Naomi Kawase
Kirin Kiki, Masatoshi Nagase and Kyara Uchida in the gentle Japanese melodrama An.
Stars: Kirin Kiki, Masatoshi Nagase, Kyara Uchida
★★½
Primed by the flowering of cherry blossom trees and the redemptive sights, sounds and smells of delicious home cooking, this Japanese film is a wry and gentle study of three outsiders. They're united until naturally torn asunder by the red bean paste that this wafting observational drama takes its name from.
The film, like many culinary-themed works, leaves you hungry for more in various ways.
The setting is a nondescript stall that barely qualifies as a shop: a simple kitchen and bench space for three customers are the place of work for the gruff, solitude-bound Sentaro (Masatoshi Nagase). He makes dorayaki, a Japanese confection which consists of the titular red bean paste spread between two airy pancakes.
A sign offering part-time work brings an unexpected applicant in 76-year-old Tokue (Kirin Kiki), an enthusiastic if slightly dotty senior citizen whose age and misshapen hands has Sentaro calmly batting away her hopeful offer. Smiling but unswayed, Tokue's riposte is to dish up her home-made an, which is revelation compared to the factory supplied condiment Sentaro orders in.
"Making bean paste is all about heart, sonny," counsels Tokue, who is revealed as a bean whisperer once she gets a few shifts and her fare ramps up business through word-of-mouth appeal. As with earlier protagonists of director Naomi Kawase, the sprightly senior citizen is an endorsement of nature's healing power and the everyday wonder that comes with falling into line with the universe's rhythms.
Such an approach can verge on the cloying or tritely contrived, and the prolific Kawase crosses it several times as Sentaro and a lonely schoolgirl customer, Wakana (Kyara Uchida), fall under Tokue's spell, which is given form by lovingly assembled cooking montages that are detailed enough to get you primed on making your own An.
It transpires, well into the film, that both Sentaro and Tokue have baggage stemming from their respective pasts. It's not worth revealing because An has so little plotting to keep concealed as it is, and also due to Kawase's concern for the trio's future, which is fixed on satisfying these off-course souls before they go permanently astray.
But sensing how this quiet comedy turned solemn melodrama will unfold doesn't necessarily preclude you enjoying the well-paced performances, especially by Kirin Kiki, or appreciating the skill of cinematographer Shigeki Akiyama, whose camera never feels crowded despite the tight spaces of Sentaro's tiny stall.
Pleasing but not always challenging, An is more concerned with the choices we make – and the ones they force us to make in the years after – than in merely feeling contained