Hirokazu Kore-eda doesn't do explosions. He doesn't do sweeping romance or high-stakes legal battles either. Honestly, he mostly does people eating corn on the cob and complaining about their knees. But somehow, his 2008 masterpiece Japanese movie Still Walking feels more intense than a summer blockbuster. It’s a film that stays with you because it’s so uncomfortably familiar. You know that feeling when you go home for the holidays and within twenty minutes you’re ten years old again, arguing with your parents about something that happened in 1998? That is exactly what this movie captures.
It's been years since I first saw it, and I still think about that blue butterfly.
The story is simple. It covers roughly twenty-four hours in the life of the Yokoyama family. They’ve gathered to commemorate the death of the eldest son, Junpei, who drowned fifteen years earlier while saving a stranger. This isn't a "grief" movie in the way Hollywood usually does them. There are no sobbing monologues in the rain. Instead, there's just a lot of cooking, passive-aggressive comments about career choices, and the heavy, silent weight of a favorite child who isn't there anymore.
The Quiet Brutality of the Yokoyama Family
Kore-eda is the king of the "unspoken." In Japanese movie Still Walking, the dialogue is sharp, but what’s not said is what actually cuts. You have Ryota, the surviving son, who’s a painting restorer. His father, a retired doctor, clearly views Ryota’s profession as a disappointment. He wanted a medical heir. He got a guy who cleans old canvases.
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The tension is thick.
It’s not just the father, though. The mother, Toshiko, played by the legendary Kirin Kiki, is perhaps one of the most complex "grandma" characters ever put on film. She seems sweet. She makes delicious fried corn cakes (you can practically smell them through the screen). But then she drops a line of dialogue so cold it makes your blood freeze.
Take the scene where Yoshio, the man Junpei died saving, comes to visit. He’s overweight, socially awkward, and clearly hasn't done much with his life. After he leaves, Ryota suggests they stop inviting him because it’s clearly painful for everyone. Toshiko’s response? She wants him to suffer. She wants him to feel the guilt every single year because it’s the only way she can justify her son’s death. It’s dark. It’s human. It’s messy.
Why the Pacing Works (Even if it’s Slow)
Some people find this film slow. I get it. If you’re used to Marvel-style editing, a movie about a family walking up a hill might feel like watching paint dry. But the slowness is the point. Life is slow. Regret is slow.
The cinematography by Yutaka Yamazaki uses a lot of fixed shots. You’re a fly on the wall in that cramped, sun-drenched house. You see the clutter. You see the way the family members avoid eye contact. The "still walking" of the title refers to a lyric from a 1960s pop song, Blue Light Yokohama, which plays a pivotal role in a scene that reveals a long-held secret between the parents. It’s about moving forward even when you’re stuck in the same place emotionally.
Key Themes Most People Miss
- The Food as a Weapon: Cooking isn't just a domestic chore here; it's a way of asserting control. When Toshiko peels radishes or fries corn, she's reclaiming her space as the matriarch.
- The Replacement Child: Ryota isn't just a son; he's the "not-Junpei." Every interaction he has with his father is filtered through the lens of who he isn't.
- The Role of the Outsider: Ryota’s wife, Yukari, is a widow with a young son. Her presence as an "outsider" highlights the insular, almost suffocating nature of the Yokoyama bloodline.
Cultural Nuance vs. Universal Truth
While this is very much a Japanese movie, the themes in Still Walking are universal. Yes, there are specific cultural touches—the way they visit the grave, the specific honorifics, the obsession with the family profession—but the core is just "family."
I remember reading an interview where Kore-eda mentioned he wrote this after his own mother passed away. He felt a lot of "if only" regret. "If only I had been more patient." "If only I had visited more." You see that reflected in Ryota. He keeps promising to do things "next time," but as the film shows us in a heartbreaking flash-forward at the end, "next time" doesn't always happen.
The Technical Brilliance of Kore-eda
If you’re a film student or just a cinephile, you have to watch the way Kore-eda handles space. The house is a character. It’s full of memories and ghosts. The sound design is also incredible—the buzzing of cicadas, the sound of the train in the distance, the sizzling of oil. It creates a sensory experience that grounds the drama in reality.
It’s often compared to the work of Yasujirō Ozu, specifically Tokyo Story. And yeah, the DNA is there. But Kore-eda feels more modern, more cynical maybe. He’s not afraid to show that families can be kind of mean to each other without ever raising their voices.
What You Should Watch For
If you’re planning to watch Japanese movie Still Walking for the first time, pay attention to the stairs. The house is on a hill. The physical act of climbing those stairs represents the aging process and the difficulty of returning home. The father struggles with them. The children run up them. It’s a simple metaphor, but it’s handled with such grace that it never feels heavy-handed.
Also, look at the yellow butterfly scene. It’s the one moment of "magical realism" in an otherwise grounded film. Toshiko believes a butterfly that enters the house is the spirit of her dead son. It’s a frantic, desperate scene that reveals the cracks in her composed exterior.
How to Actually Enjoy This Movie
Don't watch this while scrolling on your phone. You’ll miss the tiny micro-expressions that tell the real story.
- Watch it on a quiet afternoon. This isn't a "Saturday night with friends" movie. It’s a "Sunday afternoon with a cup of tea" movie.
- Pay attention to the food. Seriously, the sound of the corn being scraped off the cob is oddly satisfying.
- Think about your own family. The movie is a mirror. What you take away from it says a lot about your own relationships.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Viewer
If you’ve finished Japanese movie Still Walking and you’re feeling that specific type of melancholy it leaves behind, here is what you should actually do:
- Call your parents (or whoever counts as family). The film’s most haunting realization is that we always think we have more time than we actually do. Ryota’s "I’ll do it later" attitude is a cautionary tale.
- Explore the rest of Kore-eda’s filmography. If you liked the family dynamics here, go watch Shoplifters (which won the Palme d'Or) or Like Father, Like Son. He’s the modern master of the family unit.
- Look for the "Still Walking" moments in your own life. The small, repetitive rituals—making coffee, walking to the store, the way your mom says your name. These are the things that make up a life, not the big dramatic milestones.
The brilliance of this film lies in its honesty. It doesn't offer a tidy resolution. The father and son don't have a big hug and forgive everything. They just... keep walking. Life goes on, the seasons change, and the grief becomes a part of the furniture. It’s not happy, and it’s not exactly sad. It’s just true.
If you want to understand contemporary Japanese cinema, or honestly, if you just want to understand the complicated mess of being a human being in a family, this is the one. It’s a quiet film that makes a lot of noise in your heart long after the credits roll.
Next Steps for Film Lovers:
- Check out the Criterion Collection release of the film for the best visual quality and insightful director interviews.
- Read about the Shōwa era influences in Japanese cinema to understand the generational gap between the parents and Ryota.
- Compare the film's structure to Tokyo Story to see how the "family drama" genre has evolved over sixty years.