‘Drive My Car’ opens with a shot of a red Saab 900 Turbo. As the car moves along the traffic, it stands out because of its vivid colour and the gentle hum its engine emits adds more to its charm. But as the film progresses, it becomes apparent that this car is more than a pretty means of transportation.

Yūsuke Kafuku (Hidetoshi Nishijima), drives this car. He has been driving it for the past fifteen years—telling of his attachment to things and his nostalgic personality. His reserved demeanour suggests a perpetual state of contemplation. As a theatre actor and director, he utilises his time on the road to rehearse lines. He likes to soak himself in the characters he plays. So much so that, in one scene, he even finds himself breathless backstage, caught up in the intensity of a performance.

His wife, Oto (Reika Kirishima), is a mysterious storyteller. Her observant gaze and measured words reveal a woman who exudes confidence. When she narrates a story to her husband in the car while going to work, there is a passion in her. The way she controls the happenings of the story tells us she is a confident and passionate woman who takes charge of her own life.

Her sudden demise doesn’t make Kafuku wail or reveal the sensitive side he may harbour. He maintains a sombre demeanour and doesn’t show what his true feelings are. But it is fair to say, he is miserable. His wife narrated stories for him that kept him intrigued and he hoped to one day adapt them into a play. In a way, she narrated his life—she kept it going, and there was purpose in his life when she was around. After her demise, the story she was narrating was left incomplete, and he became hollow just as the left-to-be-said story.

The car that the director, Ryusuke Hamaguchi, has fitted into every other scene in the movie is not just to show it off but to let us know how Kafuku is still grieving. The car is a symbol of him not being able to let go. There are too many memories of Oto in the car, and he plays recordings of his late wife practising lines for a play every time he drives somewhere. Moving on is hard for him because Oto was passionate about stories and play. So, he sees her everywhere. She’s in the play he writes and the line he recites.

The story is written by one of my favourite writers, Haruki Murakami. I’ve read three books by Murakami, one non-fiction and the other two fiction. ‘Norwegian Wood’ and ‘Kafka on The Shore’, both fiction, carry an unusual sense of sadness. These books evoke a feeling of emptiness, a void that envelopes and offers an oddly comforting experience. Reading Murakami's fiction is akin to listening to ‘Comfortably Numb’ by Pink Floyd, and this same vibe is present in this movie. The director has done justice to Murakami’s work.

The gloomy ambience, a feeling of emptiness, the intrigued faces, and the dialogues that are otherworldly, are exactly the recipes used by Murakami to tell a story. The tension lingers, and there’s never a scene that offers relief from the characters’ pain. Grief and longing are powerful emotions that drive people to extraordinary measures in an attempt to ease their burden. Kafuku tries to move on. He takes a directing job in Hiroshima, far from his home, hoping an estranged place will heal him. And, there, he encounters another hurting soul just like him.

Misaki Watari (Tōko Miura) has been assigned as his driver, and like the other characters in this film, she carries a sense of sadness. She hardly shows any emotion and doesn’t boast about her excellent driving skills. Watari, too, is mourning, hurting from her past with emotions bottled up inside her. Despite her efforts to appear strong, the weight of her past pokes and pinches her.

Although I found the movie a bit lengthy, the three-hour experience consistently holds your attention. The entire movie is a portrayal of grief and what it does to the one left behind and the casualties that follow when a story suddenly stops or when a life comes to an abrupt end. This emotion is presented artistically through the gloomy setting and dialogues that circulate around being captives of the past.

I liked the shots of the classic Saab 900 Turbo gracing the streets from every angle possible. We see the car being parked, being driven in the sun and the rain, being driven to the countryside and the city, and in these shots, we fall in love with the vehicle. So, we cannot blame Kafuku for his attachment to it and we certainly cannot blame him for not letting go of his wife.

The movie teaches us that releasing futile attachments involves confronting and sitting with the emotions rather than avoiding them. When Kafuku and Watari visit the latter’s village, where she lost her home and her mother, they cry in each other’s embrace amid the ruins of her home. In this scene, we see Watari sitting with her bottled-up emotions and addressing them openly without blaming herself and without cursing the ghosts of the past. Escaping from emotions that need addressing invites further hopelessness. Murakami has been a master at portraying strong, sad emotions and is equally good at showing how not to deal with them.

Drive My Car

Director: Ryusuke Hamaguchi

Cast: Hidetoshi Nishijima, Reika Kirishima, Tōko Miura

Duration: 2 hours 59 minutes

Released: 2021

Language: Japanese