Set amongst all the social unrest, demonstrations and
vandalism which occurred during the student riots of 1960s Tokyo, we join
Watanabe (Ken’ichi Matsuyama), an undergraduate who despite his calm and
peaceful exterior has an internal conflict gnawing away at his conscious. His
heightened depression shares the same degree of amalgamated frustration and
anger as the disenfranchised protestors causing chaos outside of his isolated
existence, yet unlike his contemporaries, he seems unable to physically express
himself in any noticeable way other than through his sullen appearance and
self-imposed solitude.
He’s haunted by his past, which was devastated by a singular
tragic incident. The suicide of his closest friend, whilst enough to affect any
young man’s life, has left him emotionally tied to Naoko (Rinko Kikuchi), the
deceased boy’s then girlfriend who, even numerous years after that fateful day,
is still very much a fragile and troubled girl who never fully recovered from
the death of her childhood sweetheart and the feelings of rejection which came
with it.
The arrival of Midori (Kiko Mizuhara), a fun loving and free
spirited university student, only exacerbates Watanabe’s complicated attachment
to Naoko and leaves him with a moral decision to make as to whether he should
continue to let this dependant relationship with Naoko stand in the way of a
future with Midori. Either answer will undoubtedly result in some degree of
heartbreak, but will Watanabe’s inner struggle afford him the courage to make
such an emotionally monumental decision, or will he continue to torment himself
with these feelings of guilt and misery?
As adaptations go, Norwegian Wood is surely one of the most
difficult to attempt. The story is almost entirely told through 30-year-old
Watanabe’s flashbacks, extended memories and internal monologue – a narrative
technique that’s understandably difficult to convey on film whilst also
maintaining an immersive sense of reality.
Tran’s translation of this multi-layered, poetic love story
may well fail to capture the true extent of the characters’ existential
struggles, but a film should always be able to stand alone and not purely be
judged on the original source material which inspired it. Accurately recreating
a novel is no mean feat, cuts need to be made to condense the story into an
easily manageable format which encapsulates the feel of a story, a near impossible
task as inevitably each reader has their own personal interpretations. However,
Norwegian Wood’s failing is not how dismissive it is to the source material but
rather how hard it strives to literally recreate the prose word for word.
The skilful cinematography of Mark Lee Ping Bin uses the
strikingly beautiful Japanese countryside to create a dreamlike backdrop of
intoxicating visual splendour, which only becomes amplified the instant Tan’s
good looking cast become gloriously framed within it. There is little doubt
that this painterly presented, hypnotic and visually alluring interpretation of
Norwegian Wood is a cinematic equivalent of photographic art – like twenty four
painstakingly hand drawn masterpieces being rushed in front of our eyes every
second. Combine this with Johnny Greenwood’s captivating score and you have a
technically accomplished piece of filmmaking which could easily be presented at
any film art college as an example of how to use the medium to create something
far removed from the drudgery of television or the formulaic approach of
Hollywood.
However, a film must rely on more than just its ability to
titillate the senses and also manage to affect us in deeper, less superficial
ways. This introspective romance relies heavily on its sublime visuals to
portray the emotions of its cast. It’s not to say the acting is poor (at times,
it’s very accomplished), but rather a reflection of how the film has been far
too strict with its use of dialogue, stripping the minimal conversational pieces
out of the original book and failing to add anything else which may have helped
communicate the film’s more subtle and personal moments.
Such a deceptively simple story really isn’t suited to a
film which lasts over two hours. As a piece of literature, Norwegian Wood’s
emotional story works perfectly. Each time the reader picks up the book, they
feel like they’re following a diary of a man’s downward spiral into depression
on a day by day basis. Some painful yet necessary cuts to the script would no doubt
prevent the film from straying towards monotony. The frame narrative of
Watanabe’s relationship with his wayward friend Kizuki (Kengo Kora), despite
adding a comforting rest bite to an otherwise depressing story, could easily
have been removed and acts as a prime example of where sacrifices could have
been made. At the expense of the audience members unfamiliar with the book,
Norwegian Wood’s attempts to appease its loyal fans has not just alienated
those new to its desolate love story but, at the same time, angered those who
hold its tenderly heartbreaking tale so close to their hearts.
Whilst this sumptuously bleak love story should rightly be
heralded as a technically assured piece of filmmaking, its striking prominent
visuals can only hold your attention for so long and the film’s repetitive and
subdued approach will ultimately test the patience of even the most dedicated
of art house fans. Perhaps not fully deserving of the clichéd responses from
some critics who heralded it as a case in point for ‘style over substance’, the
film’s atmosphere of resigned sadness and its melancholy facade of emotional
numbness does become quite contagious towards the end.
