Writing - Elvin

ust as moved as I am by the warmth of the movie, I am equally astounded by how the director is able to present such subtle emotions with a minimalistic plot: a masterpiece in character dynamics. Exploring the theme of parenthood, especially that of biological versus legal parent-child relationships, it makes me contemplate the very definition of what makes a family—yet not in a mindset of utmost philosophical seriousness, but in that of true human feelings. There are movies that prompt people to utilize their logical thinking, tapping into various facets of the mind: ethics, social values, personal beliefs, etc. But this particular piece approaches this with emotion-first guidance, encouraging raw emotions, just as seen in many Japanese literary arts.

The main plot is very simplistic, like that of a finely drawn Chinese gongbi painting, without excessive dramatic moments or shifting plot structures. Nevertheless, it excels in capturing the essence through intricate details. It does not utilize advanced structures like rearrangement of time, parallel narration, or intertwined storylines. Rather, it follows a common plot structure: proposition, in which the audience is introduced to the main characters and provided a glimpse into their lives; rising action, in which the main conflict is introduced; a gradual and constant build-up to the climax; and finally, a heartwarming and impactful resolution. However, it would be undermining the cleverness of storytelling in this movie to merely analyze the plot in chronological order; the focus should be on the development of character dynamics.

Initially, the characters are very cohesive, with clear intentions and succinct development. For example, Ryota Nonomiya, the father, is portrayed as hardworking and dedicated, while his wife, Midori Nonomiya, is caring and considerate; overall, the family is harmonious and loving. Not much is revealed about their backgrounds, but the focus is highly targeted on pushing the plot forward. The emphasis is on Ryota’s absence in family life due to his dedication to work, resulting in an unbalanced lifestyle. It could be argued that the kid's portrayal is not as robust; it fails to capture the personality the director tries to convey, despite efforts to present these traits with plot details further into the movie. Therefore, the director is intentional in presenting these characteristics, but the young actor, mostly inevitable due to their age and lack of experience, fails to present them.

The introduction of the main conflict is abrupt, much like the plot twist revealing the nurse’s true intentions of switching the infants, or the final change in Ryota’s character. There might be foreshadowing throughout the film, but it still seems unpolished. Specifically, Ryota’s change in attitude happens twice, and tactically placed hints can be observed throughout the film. When Ryota experiences the first shift in attitude, various hints appear in the plot: when he expresses his frustration that his child is not like him, with strong dedication and a devious nature in achieving life goals; when his seniors suggest he could keep both sons; when he has an outburst and suggests "purchasing" both kids; when Midori asks the kid if they could escape to a place far away without Ryota; and when Ryota’s father emphasizes the importance of bloodline rather than companionship. Listing them all would be wasteful, but a pattern can be observed. They are not major plot shifts, but details. The director’s decision to avoid overly dramatic revelations and instead rely on the subtleties of day-to-day interactions strengthens the emotional impact of the film. Interestingly, Ryota has a shift in attitude but no change in personality.

Another character worth highlighting is Yudai Saiki, the other kid's father. He seems unrefined in contrast to Ryota. It is his brutal honesty that defines the character. He might seem stingy, less wealthy, and have a less skilled job compared to Ryota, but what remains unchanged is his faith in family. He seems to have a genuine love for his children and plays with them, reminding Ryota how to be with kids. The character, therefore, becomes very realistic. As a mirror character, Yudai serves to demonstrate another way in which families work.

Other characters are even more simplistic; their development seems "flatter." This could be attributed to the fact that the director adopts a very passive filming language, where he tries to avoid expressing the characters' feelings (such as inner struggles or turmoil), but presents them visually or through plot design. This is a stylistic choice contrary to how the characters themselves are portrayed with complexities of emotion and dilemma. Monologues, techniques like heartfelt conversations, or diaries are not used here to reveal the characters’ inner feelings.

Discussing the topic of character presentation, even though I would say the film is full of subtleties, it is by no means heavily reliant on audience resonance and their active participation in fulfilling the expression of ideas. Written with distinctive details and hints, the film could lack ambiguity (multiple interpretations), especially considering how Japanese literature utilizes ambiguity as a typical feature in creating atmosphere. Yet, I believe it is more of a stylistic choice here rather than a flaw in its design. The film does not "imply" things; on the contrary, it states its purpose clearly, but requires the audience to "connect the dots." It could be described as implicit, but vagueness would be unsuitable here, as everything points to a very clear conclusion. Ryota’s change in attitude is narrated in an implicit way through the plot, but there is little space for open interpretation of his intentions or the personal feelings driving this.

The character dynamics (different from character development) soon become multi-faceted. The characters have different aims and intentions, making the conflict less direct and more implicit. The emotional architecture builds the character dynamics. To exemplify the director’s method of presenting emotions, a representative technique is seen in quiet moments, where characters interact in a way that feels, at first glance, routine, but is gradually revealed to be loaded with unspoken tension. It is here, in the smaller exchanges—shared glances, moments of hesitancy, the physical distance between the characters—that Kore-eda excels. It’s in the way Ryota’s gaze lingers just a bit longer on his son, or how Midori’s tone softens when she addresses the child she knows is not biologically hers. These details, often overlooked, are the emotional pulse of the film, and they illustrate how family is something built over time, not something defined by a moment of truth. Based on these fundamentals, there are a few relationships and conflicts worth discussing.

As the narration begins with the Nonomiya family, the audience naturally recognizes them as the protagonists. On the other hand, the Saiki family seems to take on the role of the antagonist, as if they are "playing games" to win and gain advantages. This is intentionally guided by the director, especially with the emphasis on Ryota Nonomiya plotting to win the court case. However, it is ultimately revealed that neither family has bad intentions. The speculations of plotting and character conflicts are resolved through bluntness and honesty between the families. They are able to look past their differences in educational methods and ideologies and move forward without suspicion. It might seem anticlimactic to resolve the movie in such a way, but the characters come full circle not through grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but through the accumulation of small, intimate moments. The film ends not with a climactic moment, but with a quiet resolution—a gentle acknowledgment that, despite the revelations and difficult choices, the family will continue. The anticlimactic nature of the resolution highlights this message: families will adapt, they will change, but the bonds they share are real, regardless of their origins.

Two other dynamics worth noting are that of the hospital’s director and the nurse who admitted her fault. Despite being quickly brushed over, it is interesting to observe how these additional dynamics play a role. The hospital’s director is slowly revealed to be more of an antagonist, thinking more about his own advantages and suggesting that they swap the children. Eventually, the director hints at criticizing his actions, condemning the way they inflict further conflict between the two families. The nurse is an even more particular case to examine, as she is the only character the director allows for ambiguity. In one sense, her actions disclose how people can be intentionally harmful because of jealousy, and they suggest how they reconcile with themselves when they inevitably feel guilty—after all, they are still human and understand what is morally wrong. The nurse’s apology faces minimal consequences, yet it serves a selfish mechanism of forgiving herself or seeking redemption. What remains ambiguous is whether the nurse is genuinely sorry for what she did. Regardless, the most powerful scene is when the child, stands up to Ryota, who is threatening the nurse with the consequences of her actions. Perhaps this reflects the director’s optimism, affirming the theme of the strength of families and the importance of caring for one another within a family.

The children’s dynamics mirror those of the parents. While the children are more passive agents in the film compared to the adults, their presence is undeniably influential in shaping the family dynamics. The film shows how both children, despite their age, have a role to play in the emotional shifts that occur within the family. The children’s reactions to the truth about their switched identities are not explicitly explored through dialogue, but we can see the subtle emotional impact these revelations have on them. Keita, who initially feels a sense of loss when he begins to bond with his biological parents, seems to instinctively understand the complexity of the situation. His quiet confusion and subsequent adjustment to the idea of having two families mirrors the emotional confusion of the adults. The way the children adapt to the situation—expressing emotions that are both innocent and deeply poignant—highlights the idea that family is built on more than just shared blood. It is through these small gestures, these unspoken moments, that the children’s roles in the film become clearer. Both children, while not able to fully grasp the ramifications of the switched births, embody the emotional transformations of the adults. They are not mere reflections of their parents’ ideals but active participants in the evolving dynamics, forcing the parents to reconsider their assumptions about family, love, and belonging.

This film is a cinematic exploration of family that transcends the traditional boundaries of biological ties. The film invites us to reflect on the deeper, often unspoken connections that define family—not merely through the lens of genetics, but through shared experiences, love, and understanding. By focusing on subtle emotional dynamics rather than overt plot twists or dramatic shifts, Hirokazu Kore-eda crafts a narrative that quietly but powerfully examines the complexities of parenthood. The director’s ability to balance the intricate development of characters with a minimalist plot structure creates a work that speaks to the heart, inviting the audience to connect the dots and explore the nuanced layers of human emotion. Through its quiet resolution and the delicate portrayal of both the adult and child characters, the film affirms the belief that family is not just defined by blood but by the bonds we form over time, shaped by our actions, choices, and the tenderness with which we care for one another.