4.5 stars out of 5
When my Golden Books picture book The Christmas Aliens was published in 1998, my friend Dave wrote a joke review on Amazon proclaiming it the “best book since Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase.” I’d never heard of Haruki Murakami but soon picked up that novel and was entranced. Two-plus decades later, when I learned this movie was based on a Murakami short story (one I haven’t yet read), I knew I had to see it. I am pleased to report that Drive My Car is perhaps the best movie I’ve seen this year.
There is a lot going on in this film and it fills 3 hours comfortably. The basics: Kafuku (played with subtlety by Hidetoshi Nishijima) is an actor and director, married to Oto, a screenwriter. He is diagnosed with glaucoma, threatening his ability to drive his beloved car. Also troubling for him: Oto is unfaithful. Something bad happens. And we haven’t even seen the opening credits yet.
The bulk of the film is set later, in Hiroshima (!), where Kafuku has been hired to direct a production of his specialty, Uncle Vanya. They want Kafuku’s innovative method of casting actors who speak different languages. (For his audiences, subtitles are projected on a screen.) So characters communicate in Japanese, Korean, Mandarin, even sign language, with some English thrown in from the crew. Kafuku is staying on an island an hour outside the city; the festival staff inform him they’re required to hire a driver to transport him in his beloved car. (Curb Your Enthusiasm fans will get an unintended laugh when he meets the driver.)
Over the course of the movie they deal with control and the loss of it, death, guilt, love, sin, fame, stoicism, youth vs. experience, surrendering oneself, the difficulty of communication and the satisfaction of overcoming that, etc. The director/co-writer Ryûsuke Hamaguchi deftly interweaves sections of Uncle Vanya (during rehearsals, and also played on tape during Kafuku’s commute) to mirror what’s going on in Kafuku’s life and mind.
What maybe impressed me most of all about Drive My Car was a maturity of thought, a realization that over time we can admit our errors and, with luck, move on. It’s a lovely, quiet, thoughtful film that I highly recommend.
Jack Silbert, curator