Beware: that title is a red herring, luring and tempting. Director Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s chillingly enigmatic picture explores how certain deeds might have unsettlingly unanticipated outcomes rather than making any judgments on evil.
The grand opening sequence of the film, which immerses us in the daily activities of a small hamlet in Japan’s winter woodlands, doesn’t seem to include much. It’s almost like a flex from the director of Drive My Car (2021), a three-hour psychological journey whose unexpected box office success may have given Hamaguchi the impression that people are ready to follow him about.
culminates in the most enigmatic conclusion written by Ryusuke Hamaguchi to date.
However, after thirty minutes, Evil Does Not Exist becomes quite clear. Two corporate representatives, Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani), present their boss’ business idea—a campground in the woods—during a town hall meeting convened by a Tokyo-based corporation. The local participants are vehemently opposed to the concept because they are aware of the potential harm that a septic tank placed in a less-than-ideal site could cause to the neighborhood.
A delightfully unexpected turn abruptly occurs to what appears to be a movie about the wanton exploitation of nature and the gap between rural and urban areas: Takahashi and Mayuzumi rapidly adopt the viewpoint of the villagers and attempt to collaborate with them to find a sustainable solution. There’s a note of humanist hope as the two corporate missionaries make an uncomfortable but charming attempt to win over the silent jack-of-all-trades Takumi (Hitoshi Omika). It suggests that capitalism’s hapless foot soldiers can be just as humanitarian as its putative victims. However, Takumi is a wild card. When his daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa) disappears one day, everything for everyone involved takes a very dark turn, leading to the most enigmatic climax in Hamaguchi’s history. In movies, irresolvable ambiguity is a real thing, whether or not evil exists.