“Happy Ending” describes growing up in a surveillance state

Sora’s richly developed teenage characters live on the precipice of adulthood. As they move toward graduation, they face vast, unquantifiable unknowns on the other side. After a hoax against the wealthy, possibly corrupt principal Nagai (Shirō Sano) is branded an act of terrorism, the strict principal sets up a state-of-the-art surveillance system throughout the school, prompting a wide range of reactions from the film’s central group of friends, reflecting the existing tensions intensified and forces an uneasy magnification of their respective backgrounds.

First we meet the laid-back, mischievous Yuta (Hayato Kurihara) and the more cautious but equally adventurous Kou (Yukito Hidaka), who sneak into an underground techno rave while tucking the white shirts of their school uniforms into their pockets so they don’t be classified as a minor. The incident is soon solved by the police – this assault plays out casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence – and both teenagers are quickly identified via facial recognition apps on the police’s cell phones. They get off with a warning, but not before Kou, a fourth-generation Korean hoping to become a citizen, is reprimanded for not carrying his identification papers.

Long before the main plot begins, Sora establishes the dramatic parameters of his totalitarian world: a quiet dystopian Tokyo where everything from advertising projected on clouds to casual racism is widely accepted, to the point of feeling mundane. As the night progresses, Yuta and Kou meet up with the rest of their friend group for an impromptu dance party in a school classroom, and the next morning, Principal Nagai’s brand new, bright yellow sports car is mysteriously upright. Perhaps it’s an elaborate prank, or it could be the strange result of one of the many smaller earthquakes felt throughout the film, each accompanied by warning sirens and each discussed as if it could eventually lead to the “big earthquake.”

There is a nihilistic streak Happy endingbetween the threat of natural disaster that hangs over every scene and the authoritarianism of its director that he readily embraces whenever he feels slighted. Larger political forces are also at play, between news reports about Japan’s draconian prime minister and scattered shots of protesters being attacked by SWAT teams, although these are largely on the sidelines of the frame. The students have enough problems of their own to worry about, but their predicament plays out like a concentrated microcosm of these larger concerns.

The school’s surveillance technology includes a series of surveillance cameras that immediately detect each student and their misbehavior, depriving them of “points” in the process, as well as a huge screen in the courtyard that displays their misdeeds for everyone to see. The intent seems to be to keep students engaged out of fear, but they end up having quite a bit of fun with this huge video setup, exploiting its blind spots and programming inconsistencies. Despite the film’s dark premise, there’s no shortage of teenage exuberance, thanks to the lively body language with which Yuta, Kou, and the other three members of their tight-knit circle enter each scene. There’s the short-statured Ata-chan (Yuta Hayashi), who brushes aside jokes about his height and returns the jokes in kind. He has something of a romantic dynamic with Ming (Shina Peng), a girl of Chinese descent whose easygoing annoyance toward her pals is tempered with affection. The group is rounded off by the gentle but sensitive Tomu (Arazi), who, like Ming and Kou, moves between cultures as the son of a Japanese mother and a black American father from Detroit, where he finally wants to visit after graduating is torn away.

Two overarching stories play out in parallel Happy endingalthough they are becoming increasingly entangled. The first concerns the student body’s response to surveillance. The response is mixed. Some students welcome it, but the faction that vocally opposes these measures is led by the boisterous, idealistic Fumi (Kilala Inori). Kou just happens to be smitten with her, raising the question of why exactly he’s following her into the proverbial battle against the school. The second, interconnected story is about the changing dynamics of Kou and Yuta’s friend group as they prepare for life after college and life without seeing each other every day. The more Kou gets involved with Fumi and the more protests against the principal, the more Yuta asserts himself as someone who is allergic to change and unwilling to interfere because he would rather actually live his life (especially when an earthquake could kill him). every moment).

Some students welcome monitoring, others are against it.

Courtesy of FLC Press

This dynamic between Kou and Yuta – as well as those of the remaining friends, who each begin to think carefully about their future – plays out subtly in numerous hangout scenes, to which the main characters bring an insatiable joy of life. Sora’s gentle, methodical visual approach allows for not just observation but also rumination. The stillness of the camera is broken only by the occasional quick movement toward the school window, as students hurriedly glance at the giant screen as a new development unfolds (or in less serious moments, such as when Ata-chan puts on a skirt and undresses). ). took the camera away for fun and ended up in hot water).

The corners of Sora’s Tokyo are populated by a diverse and energetic group of youth, whose identities come under scrutiny once Big Brother technology is introduced. Although the majority of students are of Japanese descent, the city’s status as a global center becomes clear when loyalties are questioned and superficial stereotypes are spread, affecting the odd black, Chinese or Korean student. These are children born and raised in Tokyo who speak Japanese and are an integral part of the school fabric – until they are no longer, at the whim of their school administration.

In this way, the film focuses on contemporary issues of Japanese identity and its rigidity. But it’s also based on the New York half of Sora’s childhood, in the shadow of the PATRIOT Act and the Forever Wars on Terror, as if the filmmaker – like his characters – was trying to reconcile dueling halves of himself by putting the needle between them threaded together interconnected forms of oppression that result from paranoia. As the characters gradually recognize and resist these forces, affection and mutual understanding begin to guide the film’s moral compass, creating a vibrant emotional infrastructure worth preserving through radical action.

“Happy End” is a high school coming-of-age drama set in the near future.

Courtesy of FLC Press

Ultimately, Happy ending is a film that’s not just about resistance to injustice, but also about what it actually means when life’s hurdles are put in your way, and how politics in general deals with the personal in a quiet, unobtrusive way can be woven. The teenage tensions play out in vivid, heartbreaking scenes, but Sora also ensures that his dramatic turns have a deeply human basis. It’s hard not to love every single character and, as the world spins out of control, wish they could stay together.