Yugo Sakamoto has quickly become one of the most beloved figures in modern Japanese indie cinema, mostly as a result of his work on his original action comedy trilogy, Baby Assassins. As a director who had made his name on horror and action genre cinema, the mix of deadpan humor with emotion-driven violence and a genuine friendship between its two young adult protagonists was a breath of fresh air. Most of all, it feels genuinely youthful, one of a range of recent works from a new generation finally getting the chance to lead their own productions.
Nemurubaka, at first, appears like more of the same. Beyond Yumi (Shiori Kubo of Nogizaka46) and Ruka (Yuna Taira) being college students who share a room in a dorm, the pair are polar opposites that have nonetheless formed a close bond through their shared poverty and proximity. Yumi drifts through her days working part-time in a video store while Ruka pushes through the life of a struggling musician playing live houses and scraping by (though notably making sure as much money goes to her bandmates before picking up the scraps despite being the popular vocal leader of the group).
Although an adaptation of the manga of the same name by Heavenly Delusion mangaka Masakazu Ishiguro, the slice-of-life adventures of two young, broke women living together definitely casts your mind back to the director’s most well-known assassin-filled prior efforts. Particularly in how the film is preoccupied in making an audience care for its contradictary main duo, before it even considers unraveling its thematic core on the audience, for maximum effect.
A cynical mind could say that simply replacing assassin work for a vagabond and a dreamer (one whose blond hair notably resembles Saori Izawa’s character from Baby Assassins) doesn’t stop the obvious comparison that this is merely a sequel to the director’s prior trilogy in all but name. Marketing materials certainly wouldn’t dissuade an audience member from entering with such expectations. Yet to simply refer to the film on such terms would be a disservice not just to the evolution of Sakamoto’s craft on display, but the heart this film screams to anyone who will listen by the time the credits roll.
Much of the film plays like comedic vignettes in the lives of our two characters. The pair buying a rice cooker is a joint expense equal to a normal household buying a sofa, meanwhile dressing up bowls of rice with fake tempura consisting of little more than a shrimp tail, because who can afford a full shrimp more than once? A friend, Yumi, has a love interest in who at first seems to be reciprocating that interest, but turns out to be a guy using her as a way to get to Ruka, the true subject of his affections.
A man brings VHS tapes into the video store years beyond the concept they’d be a valuable trade-in proposition at such an establishment, emphasized by the overbearing coworker who won’t stop hitting on Yumi.
We see their daily routines, occasionally witness Ruka perform her music with her bandmates. You could argue that in this state the film is aimless, but it’s funny, engaging, and there’s enough hanging intrigue to keep an audience interested. For one concert, Yumi even comes to watch Ruka perform. Though she's overwhelmed by the atmosphere (and the cost of a drink), she’s in awe at how much her friend comes alive and pushes for her dream the moment she steps out on that stage.
Whether in live music scenes or the mundanity of daily conversations, humor and emotion is only heightened by a visual language far more varied than the often static single-camera perspective offered in Baby Assassins. Such dynamic camerawork only elevates the awkwardness of interactions with a nuisance coworker, or the tight-knit love of our main duo despite their diverging personalities, ensuring that even as the film keeps its true intent a closely-guarded secret, you’re too busy laughing and engrossed in these lives to notice.
A fun experience throughout, the film truly cuts through to its emotional core in the final third. That concert Yumi saw Ruka perform live? Turns out a talent scout was also in attendance, thoroughly impressed by her presence and willing to sign her as a new talent. Solo, that is. And that’s that. Within days, Ruka moves out, and the pair lose contact. Till she returns on advertising hordings as almost an entirely new person, stripped even of her name.
Suddenly, those niggling comments that linger from previous lighthearted skits come into focus. When the old man brings in his VHS tapes, he asks Yumi to hold them. They’re surprisingly heavy, she comments, and of course they are! That’s the weight of a film, something with more purpose and existence than a fleeting bit of content on a streaming service. To hold a work that comes from the heart of its creator, it matters. You should be able to feel that in your hands just as much as your heart.
When Yumi is similarly passed over for romance, it doesn’t matter she may or may not have dated him in the first place. The callous way he refers to his emotions for her compared to Ruka, it’s like she doesn’t matter.
Does she matter?
As everything comes into focus in a stirring and high-energy finale, what was once a peek into the lives of an opposites-attract pair of close friends is a coming-of-age ode to authenticity, and a rallying cry to audiences young and old. It updates the manga to create a story tailor-made to now, and the specific uncertainty and existential search for a self who can make a difference in an increasingly-emotionless and cold world.
Nemurubaka is a movie in the lineage of coming-of-age musical dramas like Linda Linda Linda, emphasizing the power of music to define who you are building to a performance whose memories last long after the song ends. Drinking in cheap izakayas plodding along with an easy job was fun for a while, but could I not have done more, Yumi wonders, as she realizes her comfortable status quo passed her by while all she did was sleep. But is that worse than losing your soul and those people you loved for a moment of glory?
It’s somewhat harder to place than Nobuhiro Yamashita’s 2005 hit, but perhaps it’s more truthful as a result. It affirms the uncertainty and fear that comes from trying to live a life on your terms, the importance of never losing yourself in that process and remembering even the silly moments in how they shape the person you have become. The thing that can’t be stripped away. What you see beyond that is up to you.
So what is Nemurubaka? An ode to authenticity ? A wake-up call to create on your terms and leave a mark on even just a single person’s heart, so as not to let life pass with regret? Both? Something else entirely?
However you view it, this is a stirring film that elevates Sakamoto’s refined cinematic language to a somewhat-predictable but no-less moving feature that, most of all, feels fresh for its true reflection of modern anxieties. In an era of coming-of-age films that, even if engaging, can feel timeless more than timely, Sakamoto is an exciting director for how he can reflect modern anxieties like few others. To do so takes real talent.
