Remembering Every Night review – cinema as poetry

Yui Kiyohara’s wistful, meditative new film follows three women’s lives as they intersect in the quiet outskirts of Tokyo.

Resonant of Japanese auteur Yasujirô Ozu’s transcendent filmmaking, Yui Kiyohara’s fourth film Remembering Every Night is a drifting ode to the unsung joys of everyday life. It’s as minimal as a drama can get, softening the highs and lows of narrative into a meditation on memory, purpose and recreation. Don’t be put off by its ambling form, for its function effectively probes political topics behind a gauze of cinematic serenity.

The gentle drama begins with a middle-aged woman (Kumi Hyôdô) in a job centre. Noticing how lovely a day it is, she chooses to visit her friend instead of worrying about her unemployment, crossing paths with a gas metre technician (Minami Ohba) who holds a bag of mandarins. A few streets over, student Natsu (Ai Mikami) chooses to street dance instead of studying. Over the course of a day, these three women meander through weed-stricken urban developments in pursuit of bitesize pleasures.

This is cinema as poetry, willing to wander into disembodied locations hosting random characters in service to a contemplative ambiance rather than a strict narrative. Bolstered by charmingly awkward dialogue, gorgeous composition, and a jingly score from band Jon no Son, comparable to that found in video game ‘Animal Crossing’, Remembering Every Night plays out like a walk on a nice day.

The idiom “stop and smell the roses” is at the heart of this film. It’s a tired phrase, but this film relays it tenderly enough to polish any weathering. Every chance encounter, from ungrateful children to a confused old man, is cherished and made delightful to watch. Viewing pleasure isn’t the sole purpose of the film however, as it poses questions about the prioritisation of labour over leisure in industrious, conservative Japanese work culture.

Clearly a political function motivates the rambling form, one which highlights the corrosive effects of professional anxieties on pleasure and play. Resonances of Richard Linklater’s anti-aspiration stoner comedy Slacker and Takeshi Kitano’s yakuza thriller turned beach comedy Sonatine strengthen Remembering Every Night’s political interventions, turning the women’s performances of aimless pleasure into acts of defiance.

Significant too is the spotlight on the women in relation to the liminal, mid-week city around them. Ignorant to the shining peaks of skyscrapers, Kiyohara stages her women in the suburbs, domain of housewives and mostly absent of men. Gendered labour divisions manifest in the film’s geography, enriching the stunning visuals with melancholy. Yet it is joy that drives the reverie, found in pockets across the three women’s day and, judging by the film’s gentle demeanour, in the following weeks too.

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Published 5 Dec 2024

Tags: Yui Kiyohara