[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.]
The Box Man is based on a Kobo Abe novel that is—according to my admittedly limited research, at least—widely considered to be impossible to adapt. Although I am unable to properly judge the accuracy of that assertion (having not read the source material—yet), evidence in the film certainly supports it. The narrative is rough and ragged around the edges, so sprawling that it frequently threatens to unravel. As you might expect from a medium that requires concrete imagery, metaphor is often smothered by literalism. The tone and style are likewise wildly inconsistent—pulpy and avant-garde in equal measure; the iconography surrounding the eponymous hermit, for example, borrows much of its visual language from—of all genres—superhero cinema and anime.
The fact that director Gakuryu Ishii manages to wrangle the unwieldy story into something resembling coherence is nothing short of miraculous. A talented cast certainly helps matters: Masatoshi Nagase lends pathos and gravitas to even the most absurd scenes, while Tadanobu Asano (fresh off his acclaimed performance in FX’s Shogun) embraces the inherent slapstick comedy of the premise without hesitation or reservation. The poignant themes, too, anchor the chaotic plot; the recurring motif of false identities—a man who forsakes any semblance of “self” and instead lives as a nameless vagabond, a “doctor” that practices medicine without a license, a femme fatale whose allegiances and motivations remain infuriatingly ambiguous—is particularly compelling. The titular box emerges as a powerful symbol; clad in his cardboard armor, our protagonist exists on the fringes of a decaying society—anonymous, invisible, ignored by his so-called “civilized” fellow humans, trapped in their personal prisons of materialism and consumerism. But it’s the metafictional twist near the movie’s conclusion that truly elevates the whole package. I won’t spoil the ending here; suffice it to say that the audience is implicated as the ultimate voyeur, observing an artificial world through a narrow frame—judging the characters’ actions despite our fundamental lack of agency.
Featuring spectacularly choreographed fights, exquisitely overwrought melodrama, and inscrutably convoluted philosophy, The Box Man is the quintessential festival experience: impenetrably dense, difficult to classify or codify, a little pretentious, captivatingly beautiful, and absolutely unforgettable.
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