“The joys of love are but a moment long, the
pain of love endures the whole life long" -
Plaisir d'Amour, Martini
The poet Rilke said, “There is only one journey.
Going inside yourself. Here something blooms;
from out of a silent crevice an unknowing weed
emerges singing into existence.” The unknowing
weed takes its time to sing but sing it does in
director Tran Anh Hung's film Norwegian Wood,
his first since Vertical Ray of the Sun in 2000.
Based on the best-selling 1987 novel of Haruki
Murikami (which I haven't read), the film
reflects the inner journey of 19-year-old Toru
Watanabe (Ken'ichi Matsuyama), a journey that
embodies the pain of love and loss, the
tantalizing embrace of death, the end of dreams,
and the beginning of adult responsibility.
Scored by Jonny Greenwood with some narration by
Watanabe, the film takes place in Tokyo in 1967
in the midst of student protests against the War
in Vietnam. Trying to ease the pain of the
shattering loss of Kizuki (Kengo Kora), a close
friend from high school, Watanabe immerses
himself in his studies at school where he is
majoring in drama and, with Nagasawa (Tetsuji
Tamayama), an older and more experienced friend,
is able to release his tension by going to bars
and picking up girls for sex. Things change,
however, when Kizuki's former girlfriend, the
beautiful but emotionally fragile Naoko (Rinko
Kikuchi), shows up in Tokyo and reaches out to
Watanabe for consolation. Though their language
is exceedingly frank and sexually explicit, it
is vital to understanding the characters and
never used to titillate.
Their deepening relationship, however, only
brings the feelings of loss closer to the
surface and Naoko's ensuing emotional breakdown
causes her to leave Tokyo for psychological
rehabilitation at a mountain retreat where she
is only able to see Watanabe intermittently.
Even on occasional meetings, however, they
embrace a dark ecstasy that inures them, at
least temporarily, from their mutual grief, but
when Naoko's roommate, music teacher Reiko
(Reika Kirishima), sings the Lennon and
McCartney song “Norwegian Wood” at Naoko's 20th
birthday party, the line “and when I awoke, I
was alone, this bird had flown,” evokes tears
that flow naturally.
Paralyzed by her sadness and feelings of
responsibility for Kizuki's death, Naoko sinks
deeper into despair and Watanabe's vows of
lifelong fidelity are compromised by his
attraction to Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), a smart,
outgoing student who also has had to overcome a
troubled past. Norwegian Wood is not a film
about “teenage angst,” or any other of the
favorite catch phrases that substitute for
empathy, but about the essence of life itself
and the anguish of having to let go of
attachments. More of a tone poem than a
free-flowing narrative, the film creates an
indelible experience of both exquisite beauty
and aching pain, perhaps two sides of the same
coin. Like the under-appreciated Tony Takitani,
another film based on a story by Murakami,
Norwegian Wood unfolds like a dream, evoking a
mood of serenity and contemplation.
Supported by the stunning cinematography of Ping
Bin Lee, much of the film's power takes place in
the silences that allow us to simply observe the
sublime beauty of the countryside, its forests,
waterfalls, and the purity of its winter
landscapes. While some may try, the film's
emotional roller coaster cannot be filtered out
and, in the process of assimilating it, it
builds a quiet power that ensnares us and leaves
us to explore its meanings long after the final
credits. In spite of those who want to attach
the label of “boring” to every film that moves
slowly and requires concentration, Norwegian
Wood will be remembered as one of Hung's best
films and a work that brought cinema to a new
level of artistic achievement.
