Ryusuke Hamaguchi captured everyone’s attention in 2021 with Drive My Car, a film that received numerous nominations throughout the awards season, including at the Oscars, where it won in the Best International Feature Film category. Due to its late release in my country, I was unable to personally testify to the worldwide acclaim, but the interest in Evil Does Not Exist remained high, as it was one of the most anticipated movies of this year’s BFI London Film Festival.

The premise is simple: a company wants to build a campsite in the heart of a peaceful remote village, bringing to the table pertinent questions about humanity’s relationship with nature, as well as the simplicity of life, and obsessive corporate greed. Evil Does Not Exist is as clear in the manifestation of these themes as it is in the crystalline visuals. Any movie that presents notable technical aspects will always be closer to creating an immersive environment, and, despite Hamaguchi delivering a pure slow-burn, the less than two hours pass surprisingly fast precisely due to this stunning atmosphere.

Evil Does Not Exist Critique

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Takes of less than five uninterrupted minutes are rare. All scenes hold an incredibly complex level of narrative and audiovisual detail, showing the daily activities of a handyman in the village without skipping a single second. From chopping wood to collecting water from the river, Evil Does Not Exist proceeds linearly without quick cuts or time jumps, excruciatingly lengthening every narrative point. On one hand, Hamaguchi’s outstanding dedication to staying faithful to the realism of his storytelling is to be commended, and at times it comes close to looking like a documentary.

On the other hand, without a certain balance, Evil Does Not Exist easily falls into a repetitive cycle of mundane actions that, even though they boast thematic impact, become redundant and, consequently, tedious. The sounds of nature, as well as Yoshio Kitagawa’s exquisite cinematography and Eiko Ishibashi’s contemplative score, become the primary weapons to keep viewers awake instead of the story and its characters, who lack greater personal, emotional connection.

Evidently, for these reasons, Evil Does Not Exist is far from being an accessible viewing for the general audience, who usually doesn’t appreciate slow, technical, seemingly empty films. It doesn’t have much replay value, and its occasional moments of humor aren’t enough to make the overall watch a positive experience. The performances are, for the most part, purposefully stoic. However, the biggest issue lies in the fact that Hamaguchi relies too much on viewers to “complete” his work, leaving the central themes underexplored and the few character arcs – two, at most – without any real closure.

There’s a big difference between ambiguous stories with open endings that, in fact, warrant such a creative decision, and a narrative that simply doesn’t make an effort to examine the topics it introduces throughout its runtime. Evil Does Not Exist has a genuinely fascinating scene in which the village gathers for a presentation of the tourist plan and subsequent discussion with two representatives from the talent agency. The communal vein runs through all members of the town, being the only sequence in the movie that truly delves deep into the prominent subject matters.

Unfortunately, there are no more moments like this. Strangely, it’s the two talent agents who have arcs capable of some growth, while the people of the village remain on a kind of standby state as if living in a simple routine makes it impossible to evolve as a member of a community, be it a restaurant owner, the village chief, or a father who occasionally forgets to pick up his daughter from school. Evil Does Not Exist thus demonstrates some inconsistency in its messages, and the ending is even more baffling.

Without spoilers, the best way I can put it is that it seems like an abrupt attempt to wake up viewers who may have fallen asleep. A shocking conclusion merely because it contains that shock value, not because it was properly built, anticipated, and executed seamlessly. It’s the perfect example to describe Evil Does Not Exist as a film that depends too much on viewers to imagine convincing reasons for specific characters to make particular decisions. And, even after a whole day of pondering and incessantly searching for answers to the questions left open, the disappointment remains as much as the unanswered questions…

In Conclusion

Evil Does Not Exist is a disappointing slow-burn that fails to offer a fitting, impactful, complete study of the genuinely interesting central themes linked to nature, sense of community, simplicity of life, and industrial profit fixation. Technically, no faults: Ryusuke Hamaguchi has a superb crew, using lovely cinematography and an atmospheric score to create an immersive, intricate environment. The big problem lies in the filmmaker’s overconfidence in the audience to develop and finish his own story and respective character arcs, culminating in a disconcertingly shocking, strangely empty ending.

5/10

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