Shoplifters

Reading Time: 3 minutes
In 2018 the Japanese film, ‘Shoplifters’, was awarded the Palme d’Or, the highest prize of the Cannes Film Festival. 
ThiS film is set in a Japan that few, if any, of us have previously encountered. It is a run-down house on the the outskirts of Tokyo. In it lives a close-knit and seemingly happy group of people, who span three generations.                                .                                                 They appear to struggle financially. Osamu, the gentle male adult, injures his leg and is laid off work.  
His wife, Nobuya also finds herself without work due to a downsizing in the industrial laundry where she worked.  While Aki the youngest woman in the house remains working in a hostess club, it is Hatsue the elderly matriarch, who owns the home, who financially props up the house using her late-husband’s pension and other mysteriously sourced money.
 
However, as we witness from the very start of the film, the group supplement their income by shoplifting.  Trained by Osamu, it is Shota, the young boy, who comes to call Osamu “father’, who is the prime shop-lifter.
How the group appear to reconcile their apparent morality with the vice and crime in which they’re involved is perhaps best illustrated by Osamu’s reminder to Shota that it is ok to steal things before they’re sold as they do not belong to anyone.
 
On a cold night Osamu and Nobuya find Yuri, a young girl living in their neighbourhood, locked out of her apartment. After overhearing a violent argument in which Yuri’s mother makes it clear that she doesn’t want her daughter, Nobuya decides to take her home. At home they discover that Yuri had been abused and neglected. They decide to let her stay as a member of their ‘family’, where she fits in immediately and is soon introduced to shoplifting.
 
However, there is much more to the presentation of the caring and loving relationship of the six people living in Hatsue’s home. It clearly invites us to question commonly held views about love and caring.  The characters and storyline demonstrate that loving relationships and lasting bonds are not necessarily determined by genetics.
Irrespective of underlying motives, the care and compassion they display towards each other appears to be particularly admirable because it is so understated, unconditional and almost instinctive. The characters’ unsophisticated communications also create a sense of simplicity and honesty.
 
I found the film’s uniqueness, and main strength, to be its placement of all characters on the same plane. There are no detestable baddies (perhaps with the exception of Yuri’s abusers – but we don’t see them). There are no perfect characters. Even Aki’s client’s at the club cause us to challenge the stereotype of Aki’s clients and of her work as an escort.
Similarly the film compels viewers to challenge their perceived stereotypes and prejudices as the tranquility and order of the house unravels.
The film also avoids wallowing in sentimentality and presents emotions in a restrained but not culturally alien manner. In fact the film’s understatements serve to enhance rather than detract from the story’s reality. 
 
This is a slow-paced, sub-titled, two-hour long film. Consequently it is unlikely to break any box-office records in Australia. However, by being slow it succeeds in effectively presenting life almost in real time. Yet, the film does not drag, as so many art house films do. This is because it never stops subtly, quietly and skilfully revealing new aspects of the story of the home’s inhabitants.

Ultimately the success of this film lies in it’s ability to overcome cultural barriers in order to address universal themes of morality, love and caring. It also resents the most challenging of emotions in a manner that will resonate across cultures and personal experiences.   

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