Junta Yamaguchi is a filmmaker who loves repeating himself, which is understandable given that his feature film work so far has concerned itself with two-minute cycles and loops in time that infuriate and complicate in equal measure. It should be clear from the outset, however, that this is not necessarily a bad thing as we find out in his new film, River.
Originating from the world of theatre, Yamaguchi’s knack for playing with space and time was honed by his desire to capture stage performances that had the energy of a film, using his imagination, some fast thinking, and lightweight technology (iPhones being his weapon of choice), to shoot. His symbiotic relationship with his cast, who generally include collaborators from the theatre troupe Europe Kikaku, conjured sublime organised chaos in his 2020 debut feature Beyond the Infinite Two Minutes – a scrappy and fast-paced comedy about a group of friends who exploit an inexplicable vision of the future through a computer monitor. The temporal logistics of his long takes and in-camera wizardry are something to behold as his cast perfectly twists your perception of past, present and future within the confines of a low-stakes caper story. His sophomore feature, River, sees him stylistically calm down (a little) but also pushes his dazzling ambition into more grounded, magical and even existential territory.
River‘s tricksy time twist begins in the sleepy Fujiya Inn, which is nestled in an idyllic valley outside Kyoto. The hotel staff are dutiful and professional, while its guests struggle in isolation with their own trivial problems. A quickly-cut montage gives a whip-round insight into everyone’s lives, which is sure to be jarring for anyone who hasn’t previously tangoed with Yamaguchi’s signature long takes. Fans should fear not though, for it’s not long before a frustrating time loop returns guests and hosts alike to their starting positions every two minutes, leading them to examine their friendships, habits and the parasocial relationships between master and servant that anyone who has worked in hospitality will relate to.
Returning each character back to their original spots in an architecturally-complex location every two minutes sounds tiresome, but there’s a real energy with which Yamaguchi tackles his self-imposed limitations head-on.
The thrill of River lies in its willingness to overcome frequent roadblocks. Returning each character back to their original spots in an architecturally complex location every two minutes sounds tiresome, but there’s a real energy with which Yamaguchi tackles his self-imposed limitations head-on. By the end of the first few loops every character is engaged and game to solve the mystery with plucky enthusiasm, with the ensemble soon settling into an off-beat rhythm that ensures no one loop is the same as the next. Whether they’re trying to preserve the modesty of a half-naked guest trapped in the sauna or trying to find a central location for a quick-fire quantum physics seminar, Yamaguchi’s camera races from point to point like a bat out of hell, whirling around the put-upon concierges as their patience with their paying customers and the fabric of space-time begins to wear thin.
How Yamaguchi finds time to let every member of the cast shine is also a feat in itself. The cast is ably led by Riko Fujitani’s more-than-meets-the-eye Mikoto, who shoulders the majority of the action while retaining an infectious likeability even as her character’s story becomes darker with each loop. She’s a great presence – sparky and determined but with an underlying complexity that the film deftly rotates around as it evolves in multiple unexpected ways. Another significant player is Munenori Nagano in a performance of manic physicality as the hotel’s head clerk, bouncing around corridors and staircases in flowing robes with such energy that you wouldn’t be surprised if he just flew away. Fans of Infinite Two Minutes will get a kick out of seeing the cast from it tackling River‘s more unusual whimsies, and as companion pieces go it’s a real pleasure seeing each actor trying out something new this time around.
The super-slick pace is rehearsed to within an inch of its life but doesn’t feel self-conscious or artificial for a second. Credit must go to everyone on that front, as the ease with which they effortlessly cram so much fun and vital information into two-minute windows makes it feel like they’ve been making this type of movie for decades. There’s some great fuel in the tank thanks to a gentle but propulsive score by Koji Takimoto that also gives the illusion you’re watching a playthrough of a classic Japanese video game. There’s more than a bit of Nintendo’s benevolent energy in this film’s music, but there’s never the disconnect or frustration many can feel when they’re sat in a room watching someone else hog their games console.
River‘s delights spawn precisely from seeing a great cast and a director who’s absolutely full of beans shoot for the stars. With a hugely satisfying blend of theoretical sci-fi, whimsical spirituality and deceptive darkness, Yamaguchi has created a technical wonder that he will no doubt end up topping once again with his next feature.
Simon’s Archive – River (2023)
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