Things I Watched: Evil Does Not Exist – A haunting take on power and nature

I can't help but stay intrigued by Ryusuke Hamaguchi's filmmaking. He broke through in a big way with the release of Drive My Car back in 2021, but before that was quietly crafting his style, shifting between Rohmer-esque Happy Hour and much more achingly bittersweet Asako I & II. His work evades convention in the sense that it seems primed for multiple genres, as further seen in the playful comedy that is Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy. Watching Evil Does Not Exist this week, I felt that same thrill of discovery again, seeing Hamaguchi once again shift gears, this time toward what can only really be described as cryptic eco-drama (a rare genre indeed). 

The film is set in the fictional village of Mizubiki, a place located in the hauntingly beautiful mountains of Nagano. It follows Takumi, a widower who does odd jobs for the local businesses while raising his daughter, Hana. When a talent agency proposes building a glamping site, the townsfolk rally with objections, arguing it will destroy the local water supply. Takumi takes two visiting representatives under his wing, showing them the rhythms and traditions of the community. Their presence is eventually accepted but proves disruptive, unsettling not just the natural landscape, but also the mood of the otherwise stoic Takumi. 

With patient shots of nature and wildlife lingering between the drama, the film presents an intimate snapshot of a world outside of human control. I found myself caught between the gentle rhythms of village life and creeping sense os something heavy on the horizon. This unease builds gradually with Hamaguchi using setting and rhythm to underscore the metaphor of capitalism’s corrosive reach. The drama remains light for the most part - almost improvised at times - but what stayed with me was a more powerful suggestion – that destruction doesn’t only arrive through systems and corporations, but also people when they're wounded and afraid. 

Overall, Evil Does Not Exist feels like a powerful addition to Hamaguchi’s lineup. Perhaps not as accessible as Drive My Car, but a worthy follow-up that resonates with universal urgency. 

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