Takashi Koyama first made waves with his debut-feature film Colorless (2019), in which he sought to confront the spectator, in a non-moralizing way, with the ugliness of love within a societal field that overemphasizes the imaginary and hinges on patriarchal dynamics. Yet, due to emphasis on the opaqueness of subjectivity, his debut has been not well-understood – and has been attacked with a moralistic finger for what it isn’t.   

With All Greens, Koyama leaves the opaqueness of the human subject for what it is andseeks to deliver a more light-hearted experience. Yet, Koyama’s second feature does continue his interest in relational dynamics within contemporary Japan. With All Greens, Koyama elaborates the importance of ‘societal’ recognition for the subject and explores the idea that every subject needs a support to crack the inhibiting shackles of his societal environment and undertake acts in function of his dreams.   

Koyama inaugurates his narrative by introducing the spectator to Hidemi Boku (Sara Minami), an outsider within her class, as she ponders how Miruku Yaguchi (Natsuki Deguchi), the class leader, and the desiring boys and girls circling around her would react if she would return to her proper seat in class. With respect to her abusive father and screaming mother, Hidemi Boku willingly turns herself into an outsider, fleeing at night to rap together with the fellow members of Tokaimura Cypher and to drink chuhai.

One night, one of her fellow members tells her that a somewhat popular beatmaker, Nosfur-a2 (Daichi Kaneko), has agreed to work together with her. Yet, arriving at his apartment, she quickly surmises that he desires payment in sex – a fight ensues and she flees with three bags of weed-seeds (General-note 2, General-note 3). Not much later, Hidemi Boku proposes to Miruku Yaguchi, who lost her pinkie finger and, thus, her popularity, and Iwakuma (Mizuki Yoshida), who is deeply troubled by her patriarchal parental wishes, to utilize the weed-seeds to make money to sponsor their flight from this hopeless town. However, their path is a dangerous one.

All Greens, structurally speaking, is a narrative that consists of two halves, a dark comical exploration of subjects caught within a hopeless societal situation, of subjects projecting hope into a different spatial ‘reality’, and the somewhat more light-hearted unfolding of their active attempt to realize the possibility to venture to the spatial fantasy they have projected their hope onto.

Koyama’s emphasis on the subjective experience of the Other is re-affirmed by his reliance on the acts and signifiers of his main characters to give shape to what of the Other is deemed problematic. It is, in fact, only by staging their subjective perspectives on the Other that Koyama enables the spectator to grasp why they undertake such ridiculously dangerous plan to start a lucrative weed-business on the roof of their high school. So, how does Koyama introduce his main characters to the audience?   

Hidemi Boku is introduced as someone who struggles to find a serene place for her subjectivity within the societal field, as someone who, in her daily life, feels excised from the social environments she wanders in and, as a result, is unable to harbour hope for the future. At her vocational high-school – the school attended by those who have either given up on studying for university or are to poor to attend a decent private school, she keeps herself at the societal fringes. At her parental house, the fatherly abusive acts and motherly screams render her unable to feel at home – she flees into the night.  

While rapping with her fellow members of Tokaimura Cypher offers some solace, a way to artistically approach her subjective struggles, the act of rapping does not generate a true societal place for her subject – she raps where the societal Other does not see – nor does it instigate a subjective change. In light of her societal position as outsider, the invitation to collaborate appears to her as a hand of recognition that reaches out to pull her out off the societal darkness, an offer of recognition which forms the prerequisite for the subject to be able (to attempt) to etch out a visible place within the societal field.

Yet, Nosfur-a2, the beatmaker, brutally smashes Hidemi Boku’s hope by exposing himself as a sexual opportunist. And the arrest of Gapeji, one of the members of Tokaimura Cypher, re-emphasizing that street-rapping is a fringe activity that easily meshes with criminality as both endeavours enable the subject to express his discontent and oppose the Other who has, in his eyes, failed him.     

So, how does Miruku Yaguchi’s position give account of the feeling of societal hopelessness, of the local Other that fails to meet the subject’s desires? One would be tempted to argue that her popularity – her being the centre of the classroom, the focal point of adoration – gave her a minimal place within the societal field, yet the ease by which her popularity fades away after she loses her pinkie finger – after her castration has become literally visible – exposes the emptiness that defined her interactions with others. She is, in other words, caught within a mirror-like space devoid of any kind of subjective recognition. Others merely leaned against her so that some of her cheerful sparkle would rub off on them.

The image of the lively shallow girl, moreover, reveals itself to be a mere protective shield to keep her subjectivity safely locked away. The event of cutting of her finger, in this sense, did not only cause the dissipation of others around her, of those who consolidates her imprisoning image, but also allows her to crawl out the oppressive prison of superficiality she built for herself and finally grant her subjectivity space to breathe. What appears nearly instantly in her speech is the deeply conflicted relation she has with her given name – Milk – and the fatherly hope that clings to this name, the hope she would become like Harvey Milk, the American politician who fought and give his life to better the social environment for gay people.

The imprisoning dimension the Other can attain is also evident in the case of Maki Iwakuma.  She is subjected to a traditional familial space that leaves no room for her subjectivity, that refuses to acknowledge or recognize her subjectivity – her parents, farmers, have decided that she must marry a man that can take over the farm. Due to this subjection, she has forced herself to give up on her passion, to become a manga artist.

As Koyama sketches out the various ‘passive’ protective answers to the Other, this rural town whose stagnancy offers its youth little to no perspective, he also highlights that the subject’s passive subjugation to his ‘miserable’ societal reality amplifies the seductive pull of ‘medicative’ substances (alcohol, cigarettes, drugs). The perceived inability of the subject to enact some kind of change – subjectively, relationally, and/or societally – makes the turn to substances to pacify his boiling frustration all the more attractive.     

Yet, as mentioned in our introductory remarks, All Greens is not merely about youthful disillusionment with their specific Other, but about young people who, despite such Other, discover a support – albeit an illegal one – that allows them shed their subjection to the hopelessness that emanates from their reality and install a kind of dream to hold on to, a rod that offers our youths some kind of hopeful direction for their future life (Narra-note 1).  

While the film purposefully unfolds like a mundane youth-drama, the cynical flavour signals that Kodama has a surprise up its sleeve: his finale. He pulls out all the stop for his finale and, with a comical awareness, delivers an explosive end that doubles down on his themes of disillusionment and hopelessness and cheekily re-emphasizes the importance for the subject to carve out a place within the societal field from where one can desire.

The pun-like ending does not merely put a smile on the spectator’s face, but also asks the spectator to put the future of our three protagonists into question. The pun is intrinsically linked to a thematical element Koyama introduces within in the events leading up to the finale, within the trip they make. Koyama signals, with a darkish cynical tone, that one cannot flee one’s own neurosis. Or, to put it in the terms of the themes of All Greens, without subjective change, every societal reality will produce the same perception.

The composition of All Greens offers a pleasant blend of static and dynamic shots. While Koyama delivers quite a straight-forward compositional affair, he is not wary to insert more evocative forms of dynamism (e.g. zoom-ins) and introduce visual decorative elements (e.g. slow-motion) within his composition.

Koyama, moreover, utilizes the simplicity of his compositional approach to interweave many striking visual moments within his visual fabric. These images, which stand out due to Koyama’s thoughtful approach to geometry, do not merely offer the spectator some visual pleasure but also seek to sort allusive and evocative effects. However, Koyama does not merely please the spectator’s scopic drive via shot-compositions, but also by relying on depth-of-field to give his imagery a pleasing softness.  

The visual frame Koyama crafted lends itself well to let the performances of Natsuki Deguchi, Sara Minami and Mizuki Yoshida shine bright – and allow them to breathe life into the thematical dimension of the narrative. Each actress succeeds, by taking the chances given to them, to give the subjective trajectory of their characters – from societal victim to actor in spite of their societal ‘reality’ – a charming and genuine feel.  

With All Greens, Takashi Koyama affirms the promise he holds and proves why he should be a director to be closely watched. He delivers a coming-into-being narrative that effectively and satisfactorily blends social drama, dark comedy, and musical moments. Yet, Koyama does not merely play with genres nor flavours his narrative with a death-pan sardonic flavour for no reason: he exploits both elements to amplify the delivery of his highly relevant message: find a support for one’s desire in spite of one’s societal environment.    

Notes

General-note 1: Koyama allow Hidemi Boku to introduce Tha Blue Herb to the spectator. Tha Blue Herb is a Japanese alternative hip hop trio based in Sapporo, Hokkaido – The trio consists of Boss the MC a.k.a. Ill-Bosstino, O.N.O. and DJ Dye.

We gladly introduce their YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCg82FPlhVT-jcsXZmFkub4w

General-note 2: Kodama’s film is littered with references to cinema (Poor Things, Carrie, Godard, Fight Club, The Man Who Stole The Sun, Forrest Gump,…), manga (e.g. River’s Edge) and literature (e.g. Osamu Dazai).

Narra-note 1: The most beautifulaffirmation of the fact that the Other, for the youthful subject, appears as a field that is counter-productive with respect to the dimension of desire is when the teacher, talking to the students about their future career-sheets, turns himself into its representative – to survive without desire is a worthy goal.