Monster: A devastating, delicate, and layered film by Kore-eda

A building alight against a night sky, and three narratives – complex and interwoven – that play out alongside it. This is perhaps the briefest way to explain the plot of Monster. But from start to finish, the movie plays with expectations as it unfolds each new layer only to reveal another aspect of the story. By the end, I was left with a spiderweb of interconnected stories that crescendoed into a tale of the human heart and the desire for acceptance and happiness. 

Monster, the title, sets up plenty of expectations – simple and bare as it is – and the first part of the story, told from the perspective of single mother Saori Mugino, seemed to play out as per expectations – a troubled child and an abusive teacher, and a mother doing her best to protect her son. The dynamic set-up here would have been perfect for a straightforward drama, but were it that straightforwardly Hollywood in its approach to storytelling, it would not be a Kore-eda film. The characters are multifaceted in their motivations, and their actions are believably human. 

Even when their actions feel reprehensible to the unknowing viewer, no part of the film feels like it lacks weight. And then as the film progresses, the characters slowly take centre stage. The initial drama is left behind as perspectives shift. More and more bits of information are slowly doled out and all preconceptions I had of the characters and their personalities get thrown out the window. Abusive teachers turn out to be more compassionate and anxiety-ridden than expected, and grieving grandmothers turn out to have dark secrets. Surprisingly, all of this veers the narrative in a rather unexpected direction. This story ultimately reveals itself to be about the bond shared by two young boys as they attempt to find comfort and joy within each other, despite the emotional turmoil both children have to face for one reason or the other. What once set out as a grim drama reveals its core emotion to be one of compassion. This is a film that asks for understanding not just within its characters, but from the viewers as well. 

The narrative structure, clearly inspired by Rashomon, is aided by Kore-eda's direction, which places the camera in our various protagonists' perspectives. One thing of interest is that the term "monster" is used throughout the film by the different people we follow to describe others. The two boys at the heart of the story are also, at certain points, described as monsters. The title carries tremendous weight in the story. Who is the real monster here? In a story where everything is human in every sense of the word, the monstrosity I find is in the world that refuses and otherises children for their identities and strips them of their happiness. Happiness, after all, cannot be happiness if only some get to have it. 

In tender yet brutal ways, this movie asks us to understand these children despite their sometimes-troubled demeanour. The cruelty of the world outside is not as important to these boys as the hope they find within themselves while they make a secret lair in an abandoned train carriage. By the end, what we are left with is not simply emotional catharsis, nor is it merely anguished sorrow. It is hopeful. The two boys run towards the light, born anew after the storm, in acceptance of themselves.