All the Long Nights Review: Miyake’s Poetic Ode to Invisible Struggles

In an era where blockbusters bludgeon with bombast and arthouse fare often drifts into inscrutability, Shô Miyake’s “All the Long Nights” distinguishes itself as a rare beast – a film of perceptive quietude that finds extraordinary depth in the minutiae of everyday life.

On its surface, a slice-of-life drama about two twentysomethings learning to navigate premenstrual syndrome and panic disorders may seem an unlikely candidate for cinematic transcendence. Yet Miyake’s masterwork achieves a radiant, lived-in humanism precisely by surveying its protagonists’ cyclical inner turmoils with unsentimental compassion.

The director’s unvarnished yet lyrical lens reveals how society all too frequently dismisses such ailments as punchlines or awkward taboos. But within the embracing ecosystem of an unassuming astronomy workshop, seeds of hard-won self-acceptance blossom. With deft minimalism, “All the Long Nights” locates the cosmic resonance underlying even our smallest trials – a powerful reminder that no person’s suffering should be trivialized, nor any struggle rendered insignificant by the vastness of the universe.

Narrative Souls Adrift

On the surface, Misa Fujisawa and Takatoshi Yamazoe could not appear more disparate. She is a bright-eyed former office worker whose cheerful demeanor conceals the agony of debilitating premenstrual syndrome. He is a brooding loner, resigned to a menial job after his grand ambitions were derailed by crippling panic attacks. Yet these two lost souls find shared purpose and understanding at a nondescript company that manufactures astronomy education kits for children.

After workplace embarrassments force them both to resign from previous jobs, the twentysomething Misa and Takatoshi end up sitting side-by-side in this unassuming office. Initially, they keep their respective struggles private – Misa’s erratic mood swings and Takatoshi’s seemingly random bouts of anxiety. But a spark of tenuous connection is struck when each witnesses the other grappling with their affliction.

Gradually, self-consciousness gives way to mutual care and advocacy. When their compassionate boss tasks them with staging an annual planetarium exhibit, the project takes on deeper resonance. Poring over the poetic space recordings left behind by the boss’s late brother, Misa and Takatoshi gain new perspectives on their own earthly burdens. As their orbits intersect, preparing offshoots like classroom visits and documentary interviews, a once-indifferent partnership blossoms into a tender platonic bond of empathy and acceptance.

Celestial Resonance: Unpacking the Themes

On its surface, “All the Long Nights” presents as a low-key slice-of-life drama about two office workers bonding over shared afflictions. But look closer and Shô Miyake’s meditative gem reveals profound insights woven with poetic resonance.

Central is the compassionate destigmatization of mental health issues like premenstrual syndrome and panic disorders. So often, such conditions are either swept under the rug or cheaply parodied in media depictions. But Miyake handles Misa and Takatoshi’s cyclical inner turmoils with extraordinary sensitivity, locating their struggle for equilibrium as a microcosm of the human condition itself. Their internal battles are rendered not as shameful fragilities, but simply the inescapable ebbs and flows that make us imperfectly, beautifully human.

This humane perspective extends to the film’s perspective on workplace culture. Rather than cynically satirizing the office grind, Miyake presents Misa and Takatoshi’s nondescript astronomy company with warmth and whimsy. Their astronomy kits for kids become catalysts for purpose, joy and camaraderie among the eclectic staff members. The very banality of this setting underscores how the search for meaning need not be grandiose – fulfillment can blossom even amid the seemingly mundane if embraced with open-hearted wisdom.

Underpinning these thematic arcs is the insight that healing and growth arise not from insular isolation, but through the profoundly nourishing bonds of empathy and connection. As Misa and Takatoshi’s tender platonic rapport blossoms, buoyed by their coworkers’ compassion, the very act of bearing witness to another’s suffering catalyzes a sort of spiritual alchemy. Mutually baring their vulnerabilities alchemizes into a redemptive salve.

This radical empathy dovetails exquisitely with the celestial motifs woven throughout. The cosmos and its infinite majesty serve as an anchoring metaphor – a reminder that our personal woes, however immense they feel to us in any given moment, are infinitesimal eddies in the vast sweep of the universe. Yet “All the Long Nights” never adopts a reductive “you’re just a speck so buck up” platitude. Rather, by contextualizing human struggle against the grand cosmic tapestry, our triumphs, setbacks and bonds of fellowship resonate all the more powerfully as precious and sacred.

Understated Mastery

Shô Miyake’s deft hand as a director is evident in the unhurried, naturalistic cadences that permeate “All the Long Nights.” Rather than imbuing scenes with melodramatic crescendos, Miyake allows the tender moments between his protagonists to organically crest and dissolve, ebbing and flowing like the very cycles of nature itself.

This delicate, lived-in approach is echoed by the remarkably unaffected performances. As Misa, Mone Kamishiraishi exudes an effortless radiance, her infectious warmth both illuminating the office environment yet shadowed by the clouds of her premenstrual disorder. Hokuto Matsumura’s finely etched turn as Takatoshi is all brooding restraint, his character’s panic attacks surfacing in incremental tics and tremors before gathering into devastating tsunamis of anxiety.

Yet amid their internalized struggles, Kamishiraishi and Matsumura locate an exquisite, hard-won buoyancy in their evolving dynamic. What could have descended into somber self-pity is counterbalanced by a wistful humor and care, the pair’s faltering orbits gently realigning through considerate gestures. Be it a botched haircut tender in its ineptitude or impromptu snacks that double as olive branches, Kamishiraishi and Matsumura make utterly believable the forging of an extraordinarily ordinary yet profoundly necessary human bond.

The supporting ensemble shines as well, investing each tiny role with idiosyncratic naturalism. Special plaudits go to Ken Mitsuishi as the caring boss whose own grief over a loved one’s loss has cultivated boundless empathy. Like a kind, mischievous gardener tending to his staff, Mitsuishi movingly evinces how life’s tragedies can motivate us to nurture those still struggling to blossom.

Undergirding it all is the lushly textured 16mm lensing by Yuta Tsukinaga. The grainy, sun-dappled images lend an earthy vibrancy to the suburbs and workspaces. Complemented by DJ Hi’Spec’s lilting score, Tsukinaga’s visuals evoke the deceptive simplicity of Haikus – reserving vast multitudes within seemingly modest contours. In symphony with Miyake’s direction and the cast’s unvarnished authenticity, this cinematic poetry coalesces into a singular exaltation of the extraordinary lurking within ordinary lives.

Kindred Wavelengths

“All the Long Nights” resonates as the latest masterwork in Shô Miyake’s blossoming oeuvre of introspective, humanist observational dramas. On the heels of his breakthrough 2022 film “Small Slow But Steady” – which chronicled the struggles of a hearing-impaired boxer – Miyake again locates extraordinary poignance in lives relegated to society’s peripheries.

Honoring the legacy of Japanese cinema’s most renowned poet of the quotidian, Yasujirō Ozu, Miyake’s camera drinks in the quiet revelations of everyday banality with a contemplative, non-judgmental gaze. His precisely composed shots accrue profound emotional impact throughinca strategy of restraint – no flashy pyrotechnics, just an masterclass in framing life’s bittersweet grace notes.

But where Ozu’s existential miniatures often indulged in static melancholy, Miyake’s lens is imbued with hard-won slivers of hope peeking through the shadows. By granting interiority to the premenstrual Misa and agoraphobic Takatoshi, “All the Long Nights” signals an urgently needed evolution in Japanese cinema’s depiction of mental health struggles.

Free of sensationalism or stigma, Miyake illustrates how societal pressures of productivity often gaslight those grappling with internal demons into feeling abnormal or inadequate. Yet he also models that radical empathy and community can nurture acceptance from the inside out. In this soulful tapestry of tender insights, “All the Long Nights” takes a humble yet confident stride toward greater representation of the full, flawed, ever-resilient spectrum of human experience.

Intimate Immensity

On the surface, Shô Miyake’s “All the Long Nights” is a delicate wisp of a drama – a modest slice-of-life tale content to simply observe two struggling souls forging a tentative bond. Its languid pace and muted aesthetic belie far grander ambitions, however. For within the unhurried cadences and grainy 16mm textures, Miyake spins an intimate yet immense philosophical enquiry.

By surveying the workplace microcosm of an astronomy education company, the filmmaker parlays seemingly inconsequential everyday foibles into profound metaphysical reckonings on the human condition itself. Just as his protagonists seek catharsis in the vast celestial splendors beyond our terrestrial confines, so too does Miyake’s lens find cosmic poetry lurking within the most unassuming corners of the mundane.

Yet “All the Long Nights” never drifts into sentimental sermonizing. Its insights bloom not from pedantic speeches but from the humble authenticity of its imperfect yet deeply empathetic characters. By the rapturous climax set within a makeshift planetarium, the grand revelations feel hauntingly, powerfully earned – reminders that even our most intimate struggles can attain something approaching grace when we bear one another’s burdens through radical kinship.

For those who bask in its gentle glow, “All the Long Nights” reveals itself as a gloriously bittersweet ode to the messy, miraculous, infinitesimal infinities that make us human. A film impossible to overpraise nor to ever truly define.

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