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Evil Does Not Exist Choreographs A Mismatched Dance Of Economy & Ecology

Ryusuke Hamaguchi's film reminds us of the unforgiving beauty of the natural world we live in, even if urbanisation and industry sever our connection to it.

Prahlad Srihari

Apr 06, 2024

Cover poster for Evil Does Not Exist.

Our contributing critic Prahlad Srihari sampled the best among world cinema's most recent offerings at the Bengaluru International Film Festival (BIFFes). This is the first in a four-part series of reviews from the festival.

THE opening and closing minutes of Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Evil Does Not Exist comprise a fluid tracking shot of a forest canopy. Treetops, stripped bare by winter chills, entwine to hold up the clear blue sky. The snow-softened pulse of a living, breathing landscape is swelled by Eiko Ishibashi’s haunting overture. Mournful strings deepen the feeling of a calm before the storm. There is an ominous dissonance to the score that seems to argue against the title’s grand unambiguous declaration. In the as-yet-undefiled forest that surrounds the village of Harasawa, near Tokyo, evil does not exist — at least until the sounds of civilisation gate-crashing nature are heard.

Silence, at the beginning of the film, is broken by the roars of a chainsaw chopping trees. Gunshots from locals hunting deer ring out in the distance. Animal carcasses decay in the snow. All the signs point to a fragile balance of a rural ecosystem, which a new tourism project from an out-of-touch urban disruptor risks fracturing. As tranquil and volatile as the surface of a frozen lake, Evil Does Not Exist choreographs a mismatched dance of economy and ecology. The threat of commercial encroachment is set against the forest-dependent livelihoods of a local community. If evil does exist, it lies in indifference. For the myopia of greed leaves corporations blind to the violence of their disruptions, suggests Hamaguchi. This glacial eco-thriller marks a captivating change of scenery and pace from the Japanese writer-director’s earlier films, the last of which was 2021’s Drive My Car a three-hour meditation on life after loss.

Conflict, in Evil Does Not Exist arises upon the announcement of a glamping site set to be installed for tourists from the city. Glamping, short for glamorous camping, is nature marketed as a luxury getaway with all the rough edges sanded down, so urbanites can gentrify the countryside in style. For the sake of optics, the Tokyo company behind the project sends out two under-informed representatives to Harasawa to tick all the boxes ahead of construction. The town hall meeting kicks off with a sanitised corporate commercial of the land, the forest, the spring water, set to stock music — a shameful attempt to sell the locals on the supposed benefits tourism will bring to their community.

The locals aren’t so easily swayed. One by one, they voice their concerns about the project posing an existential threat to the wildlife in the region and their way of life. If glampers are going to converge on deer trails, where will the deer go, they ask. The company reps respond in legal-friendly corporatespeak: “Thank you for your feedback” and “Your valuable input will be considered.” Their words only increase suspicion, rather than put it to rest. A key point of contention is a proposed septic tank that the locals fear could contaminate their water supply. But the reps’ persistent downplaying of this well-founded fear exposes how corporations often refuse to recognise the downstream ripples of upsetting the ecological balance — until it is too late. Hamaguchi yet again proves to be a master at filming such extended conversation scenes with a patience as well as an urgency that ensures he doesn’t lose his audience’s attention even for a second.

Foremost among the dissatisfied locals is single dad Takumi (Hitoshi Omika), who lives a quiet life with his eight-year-old daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa). A man of few words, Takumi works odd jobs: chopping wood and foraging wild wasabi and drawing spring water from a babbling stream for the local udon restaurant. Hana shares her father’s easy communion with nature. Wearing a blue puffer jacket, a striped beanie and a pair of yellow gloves, she wanders off alone into the forest to explore the secrets hiding within. On the daily route from home to school, she rides piggyback on her dad through the woods, as he teaches her about the names of the different trees. We learn to stay away from the thorns on the Siberian Ginseng and take note of the flavour of fresh wasabi.

Consistent with the title, the film avoids splitting the locals and the company reps into camps of good and evil. We find out the two reps, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), have been hired by a talent agency and paid to do a job without being given all the information. On the long drive from Tokyo to Harasawa, as the two chat about dating apps and unfulfilling careers, we come to realise these reps aren’t the emissaries of evil some may imagine. Like so many of us, Takahashi and Mayuzumi are two people rethinking their goals, their priorities, their lives, after the pandemic. The closest thing to evil here is the Tokyo corporate exec who is rushing to get the glamping project off the ground to get his hands on pandemic subsidy from the Japanese government.

With the locals opposing the glamping plan, Takahashi and Mayuzumi are ordered to return to Harasawa to convince Takumi to take on the role of site caretaker — a corporation’s idea of meeting halfway. The two reps tag along with Takumi on his daily routine through wood chopping and water collecting, following which Takahashi has a change of heart. Fancying himself as quite the outdoorsman, he romanticises the idea of quitting his city job and living a sedate life as the site caretaker himself. Only his laughably naïve communion is cut short when his back-to-nature fantasy meets the cold hard reality. Nature restores itself to order in an abrupt moment of violence. It’s an unshakeable ending that expands in our imagination, twisting and spreading like branches, reminding us of the unforgiving beauty of the natural world we live in, even if urbanisation and industry sever our connection to it.

Evil Does Not Exist was screened at the 15th Bengaluru International Film Festival (BIFFes) as part of its Asian Cinema Competition.