Of many good things about this multi-layered movie, what grabbed me immediately and most viscerally was the look of the film. I was spellbound from the first shot, when the hint of flickering light in the blue mist is oh-so-gradually revealed as the lamp swinging in a boat lost on the sea. The movie is like a long elegiac sigh, with images of water permeating through the fabric of the story from beginning to the end. We see the raindrops falling on the dark blue sea, snow covering the courthouse roof where the trial occurs, and we see our young lovers embrace in untutored passion, with their rain-soaked bodies in shadow, and their breath mingling within the cedar tree. All this is photographed so exquisitely that just gazing at the screen could make you weep with the sheer beauty of the landscape.
On this background, Hicks tells a story of betrayal and forgiveness. At the heart of the movie is a death that might have been caused by a man, an outsider enraged by the betrayal of a promise. Surrounding it is the larger betrayal of the Japanese Americans by their friends and neighbors during WWII, when they were herded into a camp for having the wrong-colored skin. Perhaps deliberately, the haunting image of the Japanese-Americans in their flight uncannily resembles the often-filmed image of the Jews in Nazi-Europe in the earlier part of the war. Above all, there is a story of a personal betrayal, a betrayal of love by a Japanese girl who caved in to the pressure of her family who couldn't abide her feelings for a white boy. All this is inextricably bound together, and the beauty of the story lies in the way an act of personal forgiveness leads to the partial redemption of a larger wrong.
In a lovely, understated performance, Ethan Hawk quietly embodies the inner torments of Ishmael, the boy who grew up to be a man so full of bitterness and regret, that he contemplates punishing his old love with an act morally reprehensible yet emotionally understandable. Youki Kudoh is equally strong as Hatsue whose fragile beauty belies the inner core of strength. The best acting chops, however, come from Max von Sydow, whose turn as the defense lawyer is rich with wit, quiet passion and integrity. His closing statement is one of the most moving courtroom scenes I've ever seen.
Hicks takes a difficult stand here in telling a potentially sensational story measure by slow measure, using images and sound more than dialogue. It demands patience and deeper emotional involvement from the viewer, but the reward at the end is ample indeed.
On this background, Hicks tells a story of betrayal and forgiveness. At the heart of the movie is a death that might have been caused by a man, an outsider enraged by the betrayal of a promise. Surrounding it is the larger betrayal of the Japanese Americans by their friends and neighbors during WWII, when they were herded into a camp for having the wrong-colored skin. Perhaps deliberately, the haunting image of the Japanese-Americans in their flight uncannily resembles the often-filmed image of the Jews in Nazi-Europe in the earlier part of the war. Above all, there is a story of a personal betrayal, a betrayal of love by a Japanese girl who caved in to the pressure of her family who couldn't abide her feelings for a white boy. All this is inextricably bound together, and the beauty of the story lies in the way an act of personal forgiveness leads to the partial redemption of a larger wrong.
In a lovely, understated performance, Ethan Hawk quietly embodies the inner torments of Ishmael, the boy who grew up to be a man so full of bitterness and regret, that he contemplates punishing his old love with an act morally reprehensible yet emotionally understandable. Youki Kudoh is equally strong as Hatsue whose fragile beauty belies the inner core of strength. The best acting chops, however, come from Max von Sydow, whose turn as the defense lawyer is rich with wit, quiet passion and integrity. His closing statement is one of the most moving courtroom scenes I've ever seen.
Hicks takes a difficult stand here in telling a potentially sensational story measure by slow measure, using images and sound more than dialogue. It demands patience and deeper emotional involvement from the viewer, but the reward at the end is ample indeed.