Cannes 2015: Our Little Sister Review - Slow Burn Emotional Acceptance
The most subtle comic adaptation you'll see all year.
Rating: Our Little Sister is going to p*ss a lot of people off. Not only is its given name, Umimachi Diary, an absolute b*tch to pronounce, the first act, which stretches out to be half the film, isn't interested in making clear what its intentions are. We're introduced to three adult sisters living together in a traditional Japanese house, who, through the latest in a line of family upsets, invite their estranged teenage half-sister to stay. After that, it's a series of tangential character beats that flesh out each sister - most universally their professional and romantic lives - yet do very little in terms of story; there's individual conflict, but it's mainly internal and there's no clear narrative through-line. This is, of course, fine in a character piece (especially when with a rare household of just siblings) and befits the simple naturalism of Hirokazu Koreeda, but (as several mid-viewing walkouts attest to) it could try some people's patience. Things become clearer and more impactful in the second half. That's not saying the film tips into high-strung drama, but all the character seeds sown earlier get their payoff, often in refreshingly down-played ways that don't become fully realised until the final twenty minutes. And while it'd be easy to say this is a film that simply takes too long to get going, the only reason it gets to deliver its emotional punch is because the gradual set-up was, in retrospect, expertly executed. A lot of the success of that rests on the impressive quartet who bring the family to life. Embodying their characters fully, to the point where even the way they sit for dinner exudes a distinct personality, Haruka Ayase (ward sister Sachi, who is unwittingly mirroring her father's adulteress), Masami Nagasawa (Yoshino, troubled in love and striving for morality in work), Kaho (carefree Chika) and Suzu Hirose (teenage Suzu, who, despite the blood relation feels disparate from her kin) all have incredible chemistry with each other, chirping and arguing as siblings do. The film's general arc could be seen as a family-wide coming-of-age tale (as Suzu states, her playful sisters are only adults relative to her), but there's something more recollective at play just underneath the surface here. Sachi, a self-proclaimed grown-up, is obsessed with keeping the family house and painting her parents in a dark light, but over the course of the film is constantly faced with the gradual passage of time and the simple fact that her actions and emotions are no less fallible just because she's the eldest (and stand-in matriarch). With repeated talk of photographs and the attribution of childhood nostalgia to adult tastes, the film teaches that being open to changes is the only way to, for better or worse, live in the present; the specifics of past events don't change, but how you view them and their long-term effects almost certainly can. That it brings with it a unique family drama along with this makes for a subtle, yet rewarding watch.