How to Feel Reborn: Unpacking the Gentle Mysteries of Monster
It’s a layered look at growing up - quite literally. Japanese master director Hirokazu Kore-eda uses three points of view to weave his uplifting new coming-of-age mystery.
good.film
10 months ago
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No offence to any unlikely kids who might be reading this, but films for adults that are centred around children aren’t always a winning proposition. Done poorly, children’s most pressing issues can feel a touch… inconsequential to an 18+ crowd. Add in a child actor or two that can’t quite nail the realism of a scene? Oof. It’s the quickest way to pop the illusion.
Thank the gods of cinema then, that Hirokazu Kore-eda exists–and keeps ignoring the old “never work with children or animals” cliche. The Japanese master director has sensitively explored themes around childhood from as far back as the early 90s, up to and including his Palme d'Or winning Shoplifters in 2018 and 2022’s Broker (which we, ahem, broke down here).
Kore-eda’s become renowned for his ability to elicit naturalistic (and powerful) performances from child actors, sometimes by closely involving them in the creative process–like reshaping their own dialogue–and sometimes by framing stories from a child's perspective. His latest, Monster, is a gorgeously realised example of the latter… but with a twist.
What’s Monster about?
Monster explores social causes like Family & Community and LGBTQIA+ themes.
In Monster, we meet Saori, a young widow and doting Mum who’s concerned at her 11 year old son Minato’s odd and changing behaviour. He comes home with one shoe. He cuts chunks of his hair off. One day he comes home with a bleeding ear, then one night he describes himself as a “monster with a pig’s brain” and jumps from their moving car. Yep, we’d say the alarm bells are justified.
Saori wonders if her son’s having trouble processing his father’s death–we see their small shrine to him, where Minato wonders aloud “What if he’s reborn as a stink bug?” But he admits that the “monster” label has come from Mr. Hori, his socially awkward school teacher (Hori’s colleagues describe him as “shifty-eyed and creepy”). That’s all Saori needs to hear, and she swiftly heads to school to confront him. But Hori has an entirely different take on the matter…
What’s with the multiple perspectives in Monster?
Kore-eda tells this story three times over: first from Saori’s perspective, then Mr. Hori’s point of view, and finally inside young Minato’s world. While that might sound repetitive, the Cannes Best Screenplay winner is cleverly structured, with each new third beautifully colouring in the first and second. Over its two hours, Monster builds as it runs, adding layers of truth (and peeling off layers of mystery) with each new 40-minute-ish chapter. It’s a wonderful trick.
Of course, any self-respecting Japanese cinema buff is screaming at us right now to mention how the technique invites immediate comparison to Rashomon, which also shows the “same thing” from different perspectives. But where Kurosawa’s classic 1950 film famously features contradictory versions of a murder from four witnesses (ever heard of the Rashomon effect?), Monster slots its incomplete perspectives together perfectly to reveal a larger truth.
For example, Saori is understandably shocked and angered that her son is being verbally and, she suspects, even physically assaulted by his teacher. She breaks with customary norms (polite bows, restrained emotion) to stridently plead with the Principal for the truth. But Saori is even more shocked to hear Hori’s response: “Your son is a bully.” From what he’s seen, Minato is the one lashing out, creating commotion and intimidating a younger boy, Yori.
There’s other disturbing signs, like a small burn we see on Yori’s arm, the bruises on his back, and the classmate who tells Mr. Hori she saw Minato toying with the body of a dead cat in a corner of the school grounds. Thus, Kore-eda lays out the breadcrumbs of a thriller–creating a moody atmosphere as our doubts spill over to try and fill in the blanks.
There’s a building fire that begins each chapter–did Minato start the flames? The “bully teacher” story makes the news, forcing Mr. Hori to take leave–but is he covering up a deeper truth? Minato goes missing one night as a typhoon approaches the city–is an increasingly disturbed Hori somehow responsible? All of these questions are raised and answered in this delicate, triptych format. It’s great filmmaking, highlighting how individual biases can shape our understanding of the very same events.
What does Monster have to say about teaching and parenting?
Even though they’re mourning the death of their husband and Dad respectively, Saori and Minato still enjoy a cute and supportive relationship. Kore-eda has clearly worked at creating interactions between them that feel real, not “movie Mum” scenes. While Saori’s weirded out by some of Minato’s actions, she maintains her playfulness. She’s caring without smothering; takes things seriously without being strict or stern.
Placing Saori’s chapter first is important: it grounds the story so that when she confronts the school, we’re fully invested in her emotional reality. So it’s as much of a slap in the face to us as it is to her when Mr. Hori brazenly states, “Single mothers–you tend to worry too much.” As we know, Saori’s concerns aren’t unfounded, so we feel her shock. As a widow, she’s already unmoored and lacking support; the school dismissing her stiffly only adds to that loss.
However, Mr. Hori’s chapter deepens our understanding of his choices, and fleshes him out as an empathetic character, rather than a caricature. He’s downplaying Minato’s behaviour for a reason: we learn about a rule that students can't apply for certain prestigious middle schools if they've been transferred for bullying. Is Hori in fact protecting him?
We’re invited to question the role of a teacher in providing for their students’ futures–does it extend so far as to take a career bullet for a troubled kid? When Hori grows concerned about Yori–the boy he thinks Minato is bullying–he visits Yori’s father, who we learn is an aggressive drunk. He calls Yori a “pain” and a “monster with a pig’s brain” (yep, the very same description we heard Minato give himself). Hori’s disturbed–but as a teacher on disciplinary leave himself, what action can he responsibly take?
Interestingly, Kore-eda chooses to stage many of Hori’s “personal” scenes at night, indicating that (like a parent) his job as a teacher and connection to his students doesn’t stop when the home bell rings. This comes full circle when Hori runs to Saori’s home as the end-chapter typhoon approaches.
Soaking with rain, he yells apologies towards Minato’s open window (another notable break in customary Japanese restraint). Far from the “creepy” suspect we questioned earlier, Hori joins Saori to search the night for her missing son. As teacher and parent sit side by side in Saori’s car, Hiro metaphorically takes a (surrogate) father & husband role. Together, they look for the boy who Saori tells us “always dreamed the people he loved were gone.”
How does Monster explore gay themes?
Monster’s third chapter, illuminating the story from Minato and Yori’s eyes, is where Kore-eda embeds the heart of his story, and where much of the beauty lies. It’s also the place where many of Monster’s mysteries are revealed, so we’ll tread carefully here around spoilers. But most of the synopses floating online reveal that the kinship between Minato and Yori sparks a swirl of adolescent feelings that extend beyond friendship.
Kore-eda builds this core ‘sexual discovery’ theme in a range of subtle ways (and sensitively, given the characters’ young ages). Yori is an imaginative boy with an “otherness” that older boys immediately spot and swoop on: stealing his belongings, pushing him around, calling him an alien. Part of Minato’s perceived ‘lashing out’ is, in fact, an act of protection, to distract them from targeting Yori–a micro version, you could say, of Hori’s macro protection of Minato.
Minato’s empathy leads to a caring, supporting friendship where he and Yori explore the forest together after school, chattering about nonsense things and deep things in turn. Rebirth is a constant theme. “What do you think I’ll be reborn as?” At one point, Yori warns Minato that he could catch his disease. What disease? “I told you–I’ve got a pig’s brain.” But Yori isn’t troubled by it like Minato was. He says his Dad will “cure” him–he plans to “turn him back into a human”.
In his brief meeting with Hori, we saw enough clues about Yori’s belligerent Dad to make the pig metaphor stick. It’s a sophisticated way to explore the attraction between two boys who may not yet have the words, much less the understanding, to make sense of their growing feelings. That’s something we see when, alone in the forest, they share a confusing moment with an air of intimacy–before Minato pushes Yori angrily away.
Kore-eda pays off this notion of self-realisation, and the rejection and acceptance of sexual orientation, with his rebirth metaphor (it’s worth noting the fire and wild typhoon that open & close each chapter are each a kind of climatic rebirth). Minato ponders his own “rebirth”, and Yori longs to be “cured” of disease. And yet together, the boys appear to free themselves from this self-criticism after the typhoon passes, gently accepting themselves for who they are:
“Were we reborn?”
“I don't think so. We're the same.”
“Okay–great.”
What are critics saying about Monster?
“A section of the film takes place in colours so bold and vivid it feels as if only children see the world that way. Thanks to Kore-eda, so can we.”
- Danny Leigh, Financial Times
“This is a film created with a great moral intelligence and humanity.”
- Peter Bradshaw, Guardian
“Monster poetically shows the power of perspective. So well-observed, nuanced, and compassionately told.”
- Claudia Puig, FilmWeek
What’s your take - fully on board, or disagree big time? We’d love to hear it.
So what’s the takeaway from Monster?
Ignore the scary title–Monster could be the most accessible Japanese-language drama of the 2020s. It’s the kind to take your friend to; the one who claims they “can’t get into” movies with subtitles. The multiple perspectives, deeply natural performances and evocative score all combine to build a captivating story where nothing is quite as it seems at first glance.
Is it a coming out story? A comment on our multifaceted way of life? Or perhaps a reflection on the “need” some kids feel to bully those who stand out (which some–like Yori’s father–sadly never fully grow out of). Monster could easily be read as all three. The theme you find the strongest might depend on which “monster” you’ve been called in your own precious youth.
Kore-eda isn’t afraid to confront heavy themes: alcoholism, parental acceptance, adolescent sexuality, grief and professional & personal guilt all play their part. But somewhat magically, Monster is an uplifting experience. One that–like its young central characters–finds the joy amid the darkness.
For anyone battling with something on that list, embracing Monster’s gentle aesthetic of acceptance–the stance that “you’re okay, promise”–could be the lifeline they may not think they deserve. As Minato’s Principal tells him towards the film’s finale, “Happiness is something anyone can have.” After the typhoon clears, and Minato runs side-by-side with Yori into the sunshine, only the hardest of hearts might argue otherwise.
