Evil Does Not Exist

Few writers are as skilled at threading together the narratives of their characters as Ryūsuke Hamaguchi. There is no reason for his ability to create characters who clearly existed outside of the events of their films to feel so revolutionary. After all, isn’t making people instead of characters the goal of most writers? Yet without monologues about their backstories or even contrived conversations about where they come from, the characters in Evil Does Not Exist appear fully-realized. Even if we ultimately know very little about them, the glimpses we get grasp at humanity in ways a flashback never could. This sensation of bearing witness to only a small fragment of these people’s rich lives — so tiny that some of them believe this is just another week — entranced me throughout the entirety of Hamaguchi’s latest work.

Evil Does Not Exist follows the inhabitants of the peaceful Mizubiki village after a glamping site threatens the harmony of their lives. It would be easy for this film to portray those setting up the glamping site as villains we root against, but the beauty of this film is that the humanity of every character is always present. Instead, we care about this conflict because Hamaguchi takes his time to showcase the beauty of this village, the nature all around it, and the simpler lives these characters lead. This film’s remarkable cinematography and color grading pair harmoniously with its haunting score, driving you to be emotionally invested in this village’s immutability in its dialogue-less scenes. When we do get dialogue, the relevance of the conversations do not strike us right away. That sensation of merely peering into these people’s lives is thus enhanced — we are simply seeing snippets of their everyday lives, aren’t we? But while the script may seem aimless, the way Hamaguchi constructs its ultimate payoff is masterful. 

Truly, the best praise I can heap onto Evil Does Not Exist is its authenticity. From the decision to cast non-professional actors to the escalation of tension that arises entirely because of what these events mean to these characters to the conversations that manage to capture the directionless and meaningfulness of their real-life counterparts, there is nothing about this film that ever feels forced. Every piece simply slides into place, and the full picture only becomes clear at the very end. I know a methodical, deliberately slow movie like this one may be a tough sell, but I cannot stop thinking about it hours after I finished it. Its execution is jaw-droppingly great and is sure to reward any viewer who pushes through initial misgivings.

9/10