‘Drive My Car’ - I’ll Explain On The Way.
Consider this as a metric for a film: how far we’re willing to go, how much time and cognition we’re willing to dedicate, to understanding it. If I’m still chewing on a film like an MLB coach a week after watching it, what would that say about it? That it is complicated? That it was worthwhile? Writer/director Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car (2021) is a story about story. It’s about what we tell ourselves when we’re alone, the tales we spin to make misery or mundanity palatable. It’s about the mint condition Saab 900 Turbo in Kafuku’s garage and it’s about the two hour daily commute that he insists upon so that he has time to cling to those tales. Yûsuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima) is a former TV actor, turned theater actor/director, foreshadowing the performative element of his character. He takes a job that requires him to relinquish all driving privileges to Tôko Miura’s Misaki Watari (who comes highly recommended). Drive My Car operates on several levels at once and is incredibly well balanced, all while ignoring certain suffocating expectations that we’ve imposed on cinema, i.e. the simple three-act structure, sub ~150min runtime, and unilingualism. Additionally, Hamaguchi's characters stand defiant to what we expect from them, situationally. 3 hours of beautiful disobedience, and a whole lot to unpack.
His wife Oto (Reika Kirishima) cheats. Walking in on her in full mount with another man is nothing new to Kafuku, and as an audience, we expect some severity of reaction from him. We walk into the house with him, and are given a shot from his POV of the adultery in full effect. She didn’t even care enough to shut the door. We assume a person in Kafuku’s shoes becomes inconsolably upset, possibly even violent. But this is an instance in which Hamaguchi refuses to indulge us in our gluttony. We don’t get the sweet, juicy confrontation that we feel entitled to. Instead, Kafuku shares a meal with her and kisses her goodbye the next day when he leaves for the new gig. It was like holding in a sneeze. We’re presented a man who lost his 4-year-old daughter to an illness, his wife soon after and was recently diagnosed with glaucoma. Kafuku is composed in darkness. Later, he’s taking prescription eye medication to stave off blindness and we’re fed a close-up shot of his face as a fake tear rolls down his cheek. A brilliant way to annotate the delta between how an emotionally intact person would respond to these circumstances, and how he does. Look at how emotionally hollowed out a man can become, and still manage to walk.
Hamaguchi’s direction really is special in this one. We linger on that shot of Oto and her lover in the heat of passion for a moment too long - it's uncomfortable. Thus, the editing has further communicated what’s on screen - and for that reason, we actually linger for just long enough. This kind of perfect balance becomes a trend, from the performances Hamaguchi is able to extract from his cast to the way he is able to shape characters. Kafuku is used like an object during sex and needs to be honked at to move when driving. He is happy to be mentally absent from his life in these moments. The introspective work that would be required for him to be able to reconnect emotionally would involve evaluating all of the trauma that has vitiated his past, and the viewer sympathizes with his trepidation toward opening those doors.
Yet, there are things in Hamaguchi’s world that his characters do find exciting. For Kafuku, it’s the writings of Dostoevsky and Chekhov that enchant him. His wife Oto writes for television and is constantly weaving titillating fiction for herself. The thing a person really values doing is that which is done for its own sake. Kafuku used to be a successful TV actor. He walked away from a life that, once again, we expect would be very appealing. He chooses instead to direct a play - 'Uncle Vanya', written by Anton Chekov; a performance of which, starring Kafuku, underscores the entire film. Hamaguchi splices in scenes and fertilizes the story with a rich theatrical subtext, as we struggle to discern when Kafuku is acting and when he isn’t.
Every character is fascinating. They each bring a unique ingredient to the picture, and we become drunk on their coalescence. The Saab begins as a refuge for Kafuku. A port from a harrowing storm, in which he is enveloped in his wife’s voice that plays on a cassette tape. But the car, like a lot of things in this movie, is a dynamic symbol. It grows into a space for introspection, confrontation, and change. A cocoon of sorts. The film is disciplined in its solemnity, its director careful not to soak it in tears or outcry. Instead, Drive My Car’s value comes from the investment that it is able to solicit from its audience as it moves forward. Like a quiet river, that feeds into a massive delta. So if you choose to give this film a chance, do not be fooled - you’re in transit. And as long as you stay in your seat, you’ll surely get where you’re going.