Ryūsuke Hamaguchi: ‘I’ve shot lot of stuff in… | Little White Lies

Interviews

Ryū­suke Ham­aguchi: I’ve shot lot of stuff in cars because of Godard’

15 Nov 2021

Words by Trevor Johnston

Stylised portrait of a man with short dark hair and a beard, against a bright pink background.
Stylised portrait of a man with short dark hair and a beard, against a bright pink background.
The Japan­ese direc­tor explains how he trans­formed a Muraka­mi short sto­ry into the inti­mate emo­tion­al epic, Dri­ve My Car.

British cin­ema­go­ers final­ly get a chance to catch up with Japan­ese direc­tor Ryū­suke Hamaguchi’s eighth fea­ture, the Haru­ki Muraka­mi adap­ta­tion Dri­ve My Car, which won Best Screen­play at Cannes ear­li­er in the year. You’d have to look to Eric Rohmer, for instance, to find anoth­er film­mak­er who has bal­anced out inti­mate insights and nar­ra­tive con­structs with quite the same reflec­tive impact.

While 2015’s 317-minute saga of thir­tysome­thing Kobe wom­an­hood, Hap­py Hour, remains Hamaguchi’s mag­num opus, the still-expan­sive three-hour span of Dri­ve My Car, in which a the­atre direc­tor works through love and loss thanks to his sto­ic chauf­feur, is still a mag­nif­i­cent achieve­ment by any measure.

LWLies: Your adap­ta­tion of Dri­ve My Car’ takes the nub of the Muruka­mi short sto­ry, about a the­atre direc­tor dis­cov­er­ing more about his late wife after her death, and builds out­wards. How much of that did you already have in place when you tried to get the film rights?

Ham­aguchi: In Japan, Muraka­mi is leg­endary because he doesn’t give up his rights eas­i­ly. And we also knew that even if he did agree, you wouldn’t be able to dis­cuss it with him after­wards, so we sought the film rights and the right to change his work. I sent him a plot I’d already writ­ten out, which con­tained ele­ments from Dri­ve My Car plus addi­tion­al mate­r­i­al from two oth­er sto­ries in the same col­lec­tion, and a sig­nif­i­cant input from Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya’, with a note to say that there might be fur­ther changes in the same vein. Some­how that worked.

In Uncle Vanya’ you have a play where the char­ac­ters talk open­ly about their emo­tion­al lives, as opposed to the more reserved Japan­ese char­ac­ters in this sto­ry – was that a way of sig­nalling to the audi­ence the film was going to open up these indi­vid­u­als, even if they seemed ini­tial­ly rather reticent?

Pre­cise­ly as you say. What’s inter­est­ing about the Muraka­mi sto­ry is that although it’s writ­ten in the third per­son, he gives him­self incred­i­ble lib­er­ty to go in and out of the character’s inte­ri­or mono­logue. That’s very tough to do on film. The thing about Vanya’ is that it’s full of things that peo­ple may not want to say out loud – how they’re bur­dened by dis­ap­point­ment and so on – but which actu­al­ly cor­re­spond to what they’re feel­ing. It has this way of drag­ging out of peo­ple the emo­tions that lie sleep­ing inside of them. It works for audi­ences all over the world, and obvi­ous­ly it’s use­ful as a metaphor here.

As I under­stand it, the way that Kafuku rehears­es Vanya in the film, by get­ting the actors to repeat the text with­out emo­tion until they ingest it so it pays expres­sive div­i­dends lat­er on, is sim­i­lar to your own work­ing meth­ods. How did that develop?

It was some­thing I ini­tial­ly did on Hap­py Hour because the cast weren’t pro­fes­sion­al actors, but actu­al­ly I saw it in a doc­u­men­tary about Jean Renoir’s work­ing meth­ods and I decid­ed to imi­tate him. It’s effec­tive up to a point, but for some­thing like Dri­ve My Car work­ing on sub­text was also real­ly impor­tant, so I had the actors cre­ate the back­sto­ry for their char­ac­ters to increase their under­stand­ing of them.

What’s sig­nif­i­cant here, and a thread run­ning through your films, is the sense that in height­ened sit­u­a­tions peo­ple act’ for each oth­er. It’s not just on stage – they’re draw­ing on a lev­el of per­for­mance to get through the emo­tion­al sit­u­a­tions in their lives?

Yes, of course, there’s a sense that we’re all per­form­ing in our every­day lives, but I’d like to make a dis­tinc­tion between lies and per­for­mance, or per­haps anoth­er way of say­ing it, between lies and fic­tion. Once a lie is exposed it no longer has any valid­i­ty. But with fic­tion there’s a shared sense that even though we know it’s not real, we have this shared faith in its right to exist, because desire can he brought out through fic­tion. Dri­ve My Car is in many respects about char­ac­ters who find fic­tion to be nec­es­sary for them to realise their own truth.

Actors need to reveal themselves in a way that seems as though its actually part of the character. Thats when the magic happens.

You say that, but it’s also about Kafuku the the­atre direc­tor deeply trou­bled by the idea that his wife had secrets and mys­ter­ies he’ll nev­er under­stand – a motif which occurs through­out your films. Is there a rel­e­vance there for a wider social por­trait of Japan, which always seems to me pris­tine on the out­side, but behind the façade marked by numer­ous eco­nom­ic and ide­o­log­i­cal issues?

Is Britain real­ly any dif­fer­ent? I trav­el around and every­where I get the sense that peo­ple have things they can’t share, secrets and mys­ter­ies they with­hold from the rest of their lives, and that’s what makes them as peo­ple. In a way, that explains why Vanya’, for instance, is per­formed every­where in the world, but it’s a prob­lem when you come to act­ing. Some­how you need to make a con­nec­tion between the secrets and mys­ter­ies the char­ac­ters pos­sess and what­ev­er is secre­tive and mys­te­ri­ous with­in the actors them­selves. The actors need to reveal them­selves in a way that seems as though it’s actu­al­ly part of the char­ac­ter. That’s when the mag­ic happens.

Absolute­ly! The scenes with Rei­ka Kirishi­ma as the director’s wife Oto, telling these sto­ries where she’s a school­girl break­ing into someone’s house, and reliv­ing her for­mer life as a lam­prey, are real­ly star­tling. That’s espe­cial­ly because there’s some­thing enig­mat­ic and sen­su­al which is par­tic­u­lar to her as a per­former. But how on earth did you come up with the idea of the lampreys?

Oh, that’s from anoth­er sto­ry in the same col­lec­tion, Scheherazade’, about a woman who tells sto­ries dur­ing sex. The start of it is from Muraka­mi, but the lat­er scene in the car where the young actor com­pletes the sto­ry Oto told to him, but not her hus­band, is some­thing I added as a way of fur­ther illu­mi­nat­ing Oto’s character.

What’s amaz­ing about that long con­fes­sion­al between the two men is that we lose the sense we’re actu­al­ly in a car – it just seems to be float­ing along. Obvi­ous­ly, you shot a lot in and around that red Saab, but was that scene actu­al­ly a stu­dio mock-up?

No, it was the real car. But the scene was 10 min­utes long. Where could we go so that we weren’t going to be stop­ping at traf­fic lights in the mid­dle of it? In the end, we shot on a motor­way at night. So those were actu­al lights by the road­side, but even when I was shoot­ing it the lights seemed to achieve this rhythm which was absolute­ly in tune with the per­for­mances. It was real but I felt I was watch­ing a fiction.

It remind­ed me of Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphav­ille… Do you know that scene with the car jour­ney, where they’re sup­posed to be on some futur­is­tic high­way but actu­al­ly, it’s just the crew wav­ing lights around?

That was one of the first films I saw in film school and that scene in par­tic­u­lar real­ly struck me. I was one of my most potent ear­ly film­go­ing expe­ri­ences. I’ve actu­al­ly shot quite a lot of stuff in cars since then, and I’m sure it’s because that Godard moment real­ly seeped into me.

What’s the future for you? Pre­sum­ably peo­ple are sug­gest­ing you should look at long-form stream­ing TV to explore your char­ac­ters in greater depth?

As long as my deci­sions are respect­ed, I could be open to it, but it’s still pos­si­ble for me to work for the cin­e­ma with­in a cer­tain eco­nom­ic scale. My recent film Wheel of For­tune and Fan­ta­sy was shot with a crew of eight, includ­ing me. I do still think my films only achieve their full poten­tial in the cin­e­ma. In that dark­ened space you’re alone with the film and alone with your­self. It gives you time to con­nect with the film and con­nect with your­self, and at the same time it’s inten­si­fied by that com­mu­nal set­ting. That’s very impor­tant for my films and what­ev­er I do in the future it would still be impor­tant for me that my films were also still play­ing in theatres.

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