Asura review: secrets, siblings and sukiyaki
If you have had the unfortunate experience of discovering that your father is cheating on your mother, you would know how deeply upsetting and confusing it can be. Dealing with your feelings of betrayal, anger, and distress as you come to terms with the realisation that a parent you trusted has acted in such a way, potentially impacts your view of family dynamics and your own relationships moving forward. What do you do when the foundation of a family is shaken by betrayal? Whom do you talk to? Do you tell your mother? Do you confront your father? Or do you respect the privacy of your parents? Do you talk to a trusted friend or your siblings?
In Hirokazu Kore-eda’s story of a father’s infidelity, Takiko (Yu Aoi), who finds out about her 70-year-old father Kotaro’s (veteran actor Jun Kunimura) affair, chooses to speak to her three sisters, Tsunako (Rie Miyazawa), Makiko (Machiko Ono) and Sakiko (Suzu Hirose).
Kore-eda, the writer and director of Asura, Netflix’s new Japanese series, is considered one of Japan's most respected contemporary filmmakers. He has won awards at both Tokyo International and Cannes Film Festivals, and is now making powerful waves with what is perhaps the first must-see show of this year.
Asura, (pronounced Ashura) the show's name, comes from the concept of Buddhist and Hindu power-seeking demigods, and each of the sisters in the story is meant to represent these figures. Each one of them unique, with a rich and complicated backstory, and their continuous struggle to finally find their true selves, realise their strengths and come into their powers. The series vividly explores the ever-changing family unit, and how it evolves and bonds.
The story is set in 1979 Tokyo, where the Takezawa family lives in a middle-class locality. The story begins with the most serious-minded daughter Takiko, organising her three sisters to get together so that she could reveal what she has found out about her dad and to discuss how they would deal with what had come to light. They gather at the married sister Makiko’s home and Takiko presents photographs, that she has been given by an investigator she hires to spy on her dad, and which show that he has a long-standing mistress.
Even though the four sisters are deeply bonded, each has a different reaction as each one of them has a distinct personality. Takiko, a bespectacled introvert who works as a librarian, wants to intervene in the parental matter, while the oldest sister, the widowed Tsunako (Rie Miyazawa), who is an Ikebana teacher and is involved with a married man is hesitant about confrontations. Makiko is a housewife, and feels traumatised in her own way because she fears her husband, Takao (Masahiro Motoki), might do the same. Later, just because of her dad, she starts to suspect him and suffers a lot of agony. The youngest, sister Sakiko who works as a waitress, feels that the matter is between her parents, not her problem, and remains focused on annoying Takiko, whose personality is in complete contrast to Sakiko’s.
This was the first Japanese series I watched and right from the beginning I found myself pulled in until by the third episode I was hooked and stunned by the sensitive story-telling, the brilliant direction, the cozy sets, the intriguing back stories, the deep characterisation, the nuances, the gentleness, yet raw emotionality of the adult theme, sans rude scenes or skin. I also inevitably ended up thinking, if the Japs can do it, why can’t we? Being a story set in an Asian cultural setting, there were many similarities and it definitely resonates with our cultural and social dynamics.
The best part is that Asura is totally Japanese and does not pretend to be anything else. It had everything from the wooden homes to sliding doors, a small private garden where the father sat cutting toe nails, where the women pickled cabbage and where the clothes were hung; ikebana, tea drinking in quaint little cups, kimonos, politeness and respect, the essence of Japanese culture. Kore-eda was meticulous in his detail.
I particularly loved that there were no scenes with actors sitting on couches reeling dialogue. In every scene there was activity as there always is in real life, especially middle-class or working class lives. They would cook, clean, pickle, shop, walk, entertain, and serve food. They sat down for numerous and elaborate family meals that in Japanese culture involves floor-seating, and deftly picking out with chopsticks all kinds of meats and vegetables from many bowls.
Kore-eda’s characters are complex and depicted from multiple emotional angles, for instance Tsunako is a widow, a mother, a lover, a daughter, a teacher and a sister. Each character has so many sides that it is impossible for us not to see a bit of ourselves in one or all of them. There is so much shade and texture to these characters that by the end, you feel as if you know them. You feel you are part of that meal, you are partaking food with them and sharing the ample warmth and joy at the table with them as they laugh over bowls of sukiyaki. The Japanese commonly begin their meal by says “Itadakimasu”, which is their way of expressing gratitude and appreciation for the food and the people who prepared it. Quite similar to our culture. It is another matter that the food scenes and the hearty eating in Asura makes you crave Japanese food.
“What makes Kuniko Mukoda’s dramas so rich is the superficial poison exchanged in conversation and the love hidden behind those cruel words,” says Kore-eda about the story’s original author, and the cast in an interview. “The four actors playing the sisters understand this well, so the series was very enjoyable to shoot.”
You become so absorbed in the story and characters, you don’t remember the English dubbing, you feel this is your story, or any family’s story, especially from the East where women have a certain role and values to adhere to, and where misdemeanours by men are swept under the carpet, ignored or overlooked, where there are so many expectations from women and they conform to so many demands from the family, society and cultural world.
The women in Asura are complex characters who like real people make bad choices, say hurtful things and act selfishly, which is all human. The depiction of the rapport the sisters share is tender, they work as a lifelong unit when they’re together, joke, debating, reminiscing, confessing, and sharing truths and secrets. The overlapping dialogue and living space choreography is nothing short of being masterful.
For the show, which is adapted from Kuniko Mukoda’s novel Asura no Gotoku, Kore-eda uses all the tools of traditional family drama, from shoplifting to hospitalisation, engagements, weddings, funeral, betrayal and love, but it never gets overwhelming. The characters simply evolve in their day-to-day lives within the limitations of their personalities.
Kunimura as Kotaro gives an effortless and smooth performance as a remorseful man, who knows that his family has found out about his e
Keiko Matsuzaka as Kotaro’s wife Fuji also gave a flawless performance as the traditional housewife, entrenched in Japanese culture where respecting and looking after the husband is an unconditional duty of hers, one that she embraces wholeheartedly. She had secretly discovered the affair after finding a toy car in Kotaro’s pocket one day, confirming a long-held suspicion of hers. Yet she never admits to anyone else that she knew about the affair all along.
What we get to see is a show that is deep and provokes a thought process about parental relationships — where do you draw a line, what should be left alone to sort itself out and what should be meddled with. As the show is being well-received across Netflix audiences, it is also being said, that the show is signature Kore-eda who is known to be a deeply empathetic, subtle filmmaker and acclaimed as a master of humanist storytelling with a particular penchant for thorny family dynamics. He understands and perceptively depicts that there is an unbreakable bond between kin, even when they’re at loggerheads. Families often disappoint and frustrate but just like the Asura gods in South Asian religions, they contain multitudes so ultimately, the shared experiences within a family or siblings carry so much emotional weight and history that they cannot be discarded and forgotten.
At the end of the show, you realise that the infidelity that kicks off the story of this endearing family is really just a catalyst to spark of changes in everybody’s lives, unraveling truths about all characters. It stirs them, shakes them and processes them until they find the power within them. Not only do they discover their inner strengths and their true selves, they also see each other in better light and hence bond much stronger.
Sometimes good does come out of something traumatic, like a blessing in disguise. Can good come from something that shook a family? It does make you think that sometimes even the worst days of our lives can play a part in something great that happens later.
Hungry for more realistic, intimate and human-centred films, I have found Kore-eda’s The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House on Netflix, my next watch. Give me more of Kore-eda’s family drama any day over a gruesome murder mystery.