At one point in Call Me Chihiro, a former sex worker recalls when a client propounded the theory that humans must have come from different planets. The science fiction fan in me thought this theory made sense, especially when you placed it next to the context of this Japanese language film. It’s a film about kindred souls ‘collecting’ each other—people born into the wrong families and, being fed up, later endeavouring to find their own tribe.
Throughout its length, the film keeps most of the background details of its main character, Chihiro, a.k.a Aya Furusawa, in the dark, aside from the basic information that she was a sex worker. But that’s not a label with which neither Chihiro nor the film wants to associate her because, being the wholesome person that she is, she has so much to offer to the world around her.
Rikiya Imaizumi’s Call Me Chihiro wants us to see the protagonist for the kind of person she is, not her former profession. She currently works at a bento stand, but it soon becomes evident that everyone in the neighbourhood knows about her. The film opens with Chihiro playing with an adorably fluffy cat, an image that doesn’t exist for cuteness’ sake; it’s part of character development.
At the same time, we notice that Chihiro has a stalker, Okaji (Hana Toyoshima), a high-school girl fascinated with this carefree woman, evidently yearning to be like her. Later, Chihiro befriends an elderly, mute, homeless man, buys him food, and even offers him a bath. The strangeness of these situations doesn’t last very long, though, as it soon becomes apparent that Chihiro is a lost soul trying to find, hopefully, some meaning and add value to her identity.
The film’s approach is impressively and resolutely visual. A scar on Chihiro’s back suggests an unpleasant backstory, but the explanation doesn’t come immediately. When a phone call from her brother informs her of her mother passing away, she refuses to go to the funeral. It’s the most revealing information the film gives about Chihiro.
We assume she must’ve experienced some deeply traumatising incident that she doesn’t want anything to do with the person responsible, presumably her mother. The film isn’t interested in exploring dark histories and is all the better for it.
One of the primary interests of the film is food, a recurrent topic in Call Me Chihiro. It is significant, too, as it reveals details about the secondary characters comprising Okaji and Makoto (Tetta Shimada), a little boy that Chihiro takes under her wing. When the film introduces us to Okaji’s household through a dinner scene, we sense a palpable disconnect between her and her parents. The food served is hot and delicious—the girl’s mother happens to be a chef!—but the prevailing mood is cold.
When Okaji brings this up during a conversation with Chihiro, the latter reminds her that food tastes better only when you have it with people you like. Interestingly, the opposite is true of Makoto. He enjoys the taste of the stir-fried noodles his single mother cooks for him, but the sadness comes from having to eat alone. One of the film’s most achingly poignant moments—and the film has many —sees Makoto looking at a scene from a movie where another boy like him gifts his fictional mother a bouquet.
The other topic of interest is manga when another high-school girl, Betchin (Itsui Nagakawa), enters the picture and introduces Okaji to it. We see the potential for a strong friendship brewing. My favourite dialogue exchange involves Betchin (Itsui Nagakawa) telling Okaji she is scared to make friends but can’t stand the thought of being alone.
Talk about a hard-hitting, sharply piercing line tailor-made for introverts. Though their interactions are relatively fewer, these two characters—and the actors playing them—stand out with their ability to conjure some genuine feelings of warmth. I couldn’t withhold tears of joy upon seeing the Grade A level authenticity displayed here. There are also two other particularly smile-inducing segments involving Chihiro, her former boss, and a young man with unresolved daddy issues.
In between these endearing and deeply heartfelt character explorations, we get a minor flashback: a brief moment from Chihiro’s childhood that reveals a piece of telling detail that holds special significance in the present when the background of the bond between her and a visually impaired aged woman comes more into focus.
I mentioned earlier that this film is about people born into the wrong families. But it also seems to ask implicitly that if not for their past circumstances, would they evolve into the warm and compassionate souls they are now? Of course, it varies from family to family—not everyone with a troubling past rises above their circumstances. But let’s focus on this particular group of characters, shall we?
At around 120 minutes, the film’s pacing is deliberate. It relishes its numerous moments of stillness that have every right to exist; their relevance becomes increasingly apparent only much later. The film, just like Okaji, spends much time observing Chihiro, often in contemplation. Although reluctant to attend her mother’s funeral, she makes sure she buries every other living thing that just passed.
A man here, a bird there... A later visit to someone’s grave brings up the possibility of finding closure at last—again, expressed through a mere gesture familiar to us from two earlier scenes.
Isn’t it lovely when some films don’t resort to spoon-feeding? This way, we get to have two versions of the film exist— the physical one, and the one playing in our memory, with the expectation that some answers might show themselves at an opportune moment or not show up at all—and that’s fine. Some questions are better left unanswered.
Considering cinema’s reputation as a voyeuristic art form, isn’t it lovely when some filmmakers let their characters keep a few secrets to themselves?
Film: Call Me Chihiro
Director: Rikiya Imaizumi
Cast: Hana Toyoshima, Tetta Shimada, Itsui Nagakawa
Streamer: Netflix
Rating: 4/5