Somai’s tender and transformative masterwork, about a child grappling with her parents’ divorce, boasts an extraordinary acting debut by Tomoko Tabata, capturing the emotional, physical and psychological aspects of separation with such empathy.

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Another year, another discovery from a Japanese director that I have never heard of.  Last year, thanks to the Asian Film Archive, I discovered Yoshimitsu Morita, whose films such as The Family Game (1983), Deaths in Tokimeki (1984) and Haru (1996) struck me deeply. 

This year, Shinji Somai, whose works I must continue to explore, floored me emotionally with Moving, a drama that surely lives up to its name. 

It’s an incredibly affecting piece told from a child’s point of view; it’s also about movement as the child’s father, in the midst of a divorce, relocates away from their family home. 

Somai doesn’t stop there—his film is also about moving on, as the poor child, Renko (Tomoko Tabata), must make sense of her confusion and adapt, possibly accept, a new future without her Dad. 

So, there you go, Somai hits all the right spots—the emotional, physical (distance) and psychological. Now available in a brand new 4K restoration, Moving will hopefully reach more cinephiles. 

“Memories of the past must fit on the fingers of one hand.”

Marked by a very supple filmmaking style, characterised by long takes that centre on performance (what an extraordinary display from Tabata in her acting debut), and an intuitive understanding of daily life through visual composition and sound, the film reminds one of a cross between Mizoguchi and Ozu, well, if they had been immortal and made films in the 1990s. 

Part of why Moving is such an enthralling work is Somai’s deliberate immersion in Japanese traditional rituals, which gets much more pronounced in the final act, featuring locals and their somewhat surreal ceremonial activities, most involving fire and fireworks. 

The dissolution of any family through divorce can be traumatic, more so when one is just a child. Somai’s empathetic treatment allows us to grapple with the subject in a tender and transformative way, even when verbal shards and pointed arguments from the characters get in the way. 

It is fitting then (or just incredibly bad feng shui) for Renko’s family to own a dinner table that is uniquely triangular with three sides and three sharp edges—well, no one can understand another without hurting each other first. 

Grade: A+

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