Nobody Knows

誰も知らない Hirokazu Koreeda, 2004

The breakdown of the modern family unit is a recurring theme for many Japanese dramas, from the world renowned films of Yasujiro Ozu to the novels of Haruki Murakami. Director Hirokazu Koreeda takes on similar subject matter in his quietly moving 2004 film Nobody Knows.

Inspired by actual events that took place in Tokyo in the 1980s, yet mostly fictionalised, the film begins with twelve year old Akira moving into a new apartment with his mother Keiko. Unbeknownst to their landlord, Akira is not Keiko’s only child. After carrying their luggage upstairs, we are introduced to two more children, Yuki and Shigeru, who have quite literally been smuggled in secretly within large suitcases. They are later joined by the slightly older Kyoko who waits until nightfall to sneak in. We soon learn these four children each have different fathers, and of the unconventional environment in which these children will be living. Quick lines of dialogue over a cup noodle dinner subtly reveal the family’s history, their mother reminds them of the rules of the house: no yelling, no school, and finally, so as not to be seen by others: no going outside. 

Their mother casually rebuffs her children’s curiosities and questions, with pacifying responses like “You don’t need to go to school”, succeeding at keeping them from the outside world. I felt quite conflicted towards the character of Keiko, at first she seems quite loving, and the family does seem genuinely happy. Perhaps Keiko is just a single mother doing her best in a difficult situation. However, her selfishness and immaturity is soon revealed. It is not long before she begins going away for extended periods of time, leaving the children with no more than a goodbye note and some money to fend for themselves. Eventually she runs away for good, abandoning her children and marrying another man. As the oldest, Akira defaults into the role of head of the family and comes to learn that there are very few adults on which he can rely for help, particularly his mother.

The heart and soul of this film is its actors, the then fourteen year old Yuya Yagira won the Best Actor Award for his portrayal of Akira at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival, the first Japanese actor ever to do so. His performance is assured, with small gestures and smiles revealing the depth of this difficult character, a boy thrust with so much responsibility so suddenly. The other children are similarly glowing. They are all so different, coming together to create a perfectly believable fractured family. Ayu Kitaura plays Kyoko, the second oldest, who quietly longs for her mother and to be a musician as she plays the tiny toy piano that so represents her dream. Hiei Kimura shines as Shigeru, the wild child, whose tantrums and hyperactive personality are revealed as the reason the family had to move house. These kids don’t even seem to be acting half the time, with the film approaching a documentary realism as we watch the everyday goings on. This children’s perspective is further accentuated through Yutaka Yamasaki’s cinematography. The camera becomes our eye, searching, discovering and following just as a child would, as we explore this cramped but rarely claustrophobic apartment. 

It soon becomes apparent that the apartment was never going to hold these kids forever, and as they escape and run free throughout the streets and parks of their cherry blossom filled neighbourhood, their excitement is palpable. Quiet details that could otherwise be mundane become beautiful, symbols of the passage of time. How many chocolates are left in the box, how much nail polish has worn off a fingernail, which unpaid utility bill has been used as drawing paper. The plight of the children is conveyed in the subtlest of details, making extensive use of close ups and repetition to create a completely engrossing atmosphere based on an exacting “Show, don’t tell” approach.

Koreeda treats this emotional and moving story with such delicate direction; it flows seamlessly from start to finish, the performances of the children are truly captivating and we are never bashed over the head with blatant melodrama. Koreeda knows that it is within the smallest details that we the viewers will recognise truth, and maybe even ourselves. Yes, the film is sad, but it is so quiet and gentle you may not even notice how affecting it is until it’s over.