Monster (2023) is a film that ebbs and flows, slowly morphing from a mystery to a touching story about two young boys discovering love and pain. Initially, it focuses on Minato (Sōya Kurokawa), a melancholy and troubled child who seems to be slipping into a depression. Saori (Sakura Ando), his slightly overwhelmed single mother, is extremely worried about him and goes to his school in person to speak with his teachers. She discovers that Minato's teacher, Michitoshi Hori (Eita Nagayama), has had some altercations with her son. However, as the movie progresses, it shifts to different perspectives, a la Rashomon (1950), and the situation is more complex than it lets on initially.
Director Kore-eda deftly weaves three different perspectives together, and each time a new one is introduced it recontextualizes the previous one. Is Minato's teacher the titular "monster" of the story? Is it Minato himself? Is it something more existential, perhaps the society they have to live with? The narrative constantly poses these questions, and the answers aren't always straightforward. Monster explores some sensitive issues, oftentimes pausing momentarily to showcase the small cruelties that people inflict on each other and the sociopathic glee that small children take in bullying those who are different.
Minato has a complex relationship with an eccentric and frail classmate named Yori (Hinata Hiiragi), which causes him much stress from his classmates. Although Minato is drawn to Yori's whimsical nature, the other children bully him relentlessly, and sometimes Minato joins in to save face. At the same time, Minato is struggling with bourgeoning emotions for Yori that transcend simple friendship. These feelings cause him to lash out in unpredictable and violent ways both towards Yori and at the environment around him.
The queer subtext of the narrative is buried rather deep under the surface, told only through metaphor and implications, and never said out loud. On the one hand, in a meta way, one could read the film as a real-life example of the way LGBTQ+ issues are pushed under the rug, but on the other hand, the ephemeral nature of the boys' relationship pushes the atmosphere into something more ambiguous and dream-like, a fable of sorts. Ryuichi Sakamoto’s beautiful piano score drifts through the story adding to the emotional weight. The film's last act can be read in a multitude of ways, beautiful or depressing, and the audience is left to give them an ending in their mind. Perhaps it won't have to be so enigmatic and vague one day.
--Michelle Kisner