Junjô: A Slow, Beautiful Whisper of a Film 🌸

So, is Junjô worth digging up today? Absolutely, if you're into films that take their time. This one is for anyone who appreciates a deep, quiet character study. Folks who need constant action or big plot twists? Probably skip this. You'll find it too slow, maybe even boring.

The film, set in some older Japanese countryside, is mostly about Hana (Mitsuko Takao). She's this young woman, living a pretty simple life. Helping her family, finding little bits of joy. That's her world. Until she meets Kenji (Shunrô Takeda), an artist passing through. He kinda shakes things up for her, in a very subtle way.

Mitsuko Takao as Hana really carries a lot. There’s this scene early on, she’s just looking out at the fields. Her face doesn't do much, but you just feel her thinking. It’s all in her eyes. A real quiet power there. You wonder what she's seeing, what she's dreaming about. Or if she's even dreaming at all.

Then there’s Haru (Eiko Takamatsu). Hana's childhood friend. He’s always just there. Watching. Supporting. Not saying much. There's a moment when he brings her a fresh-picked flower, and his hand almost shakes. So much unsaid feeling in that one small gesture. It’s heartbreaking, really. Almost made me sigh out loud.

The pacing is… deliberate. Sometimes you're just watching someone walk across a yard. Or sit by a window. But it never quite feels wasted. It builds this atmosphere. Like you’re right there, breathing the same air. That slow burn really sticks with you. Or it did for me, anyway.

One thing that kinda stuck out: the village market scenes. They’re bustling, but the sound design is so minimal. You hear a few distinct voices, a cart creaking. It feels real, not just a wall of noise. Like you’re just a few feet away, picking up on details. It makes it feel more intimate, somehow.

There's this particular shot of a willow tree by a river. It just hangs there. For ages, it feels like. The branches swaying. You could almost feel the breeze. It's beautiful, sure. But it goes on about 15 seconds too long, and you start to wonder if they just forgot to cut away. Or maybe it was supposed to make us feel something really profound. I'm not sure it did that. Just felt long.

I remember thinking during one of Hana's quiet moments, watching her decide something, or perhaps not decide anything at all, just be. It’s a very internal film. Not much dialogue to tell you what's going on. You have to kinda lean in. Work for it a bit. And that’s okay. That's what makes it personal.

The film gets really interesting when Kenji, the artist, starts talking about leaving. Hana’s reaction? It’s not big. No tears. Just a slight tightening around her mouth. It’s such a tiny thing. But it speaks volumes. It’s what Junjô does best. Showing, not telling.

It’s not a flawless film, mind you. Some of the supporting characters, like Hatsuko Tsukioka’s villager, are a bit flat. They just kinda stand around. You don't get much from them. They're more like scenery than people. But then, it's not really their story, is it?

The ending, without giving anything away, is ambiguous. Very much so. It doesn't tie things up neatly. And that's exactly right for this kind of movie. It lets you sit with it. You walk away still thinking about Hana's choices. Or lack thereof. It's a film that respects your intelligence, I guess.

If you're looking for a gentle, reflective experience, a film that asks you to feel rather than just watch, then Junjô might just be your speed. It's a little dusty, a little slow. But it has a quiet beauty. And Mitsuko Takao's performance? Worth the price of admission alone. 🌸