MOMENTARY GLORY OF MEMORY IN IWAI'S LOVE LETTER

Screen-capture from the film Love Letter (1995)

“There must be many places and times he was in. I probably know only a portion of him. Please tell me more about him. Share your memories with me.” —Hiroko Watanabe, Love Letter (1995)

Love Letter is a Japanese drama film written and directed by Shunji Iwai released in 1995. The film begins with the story of Hiroko Watanabe who is still mourning the death of his fiancé, Itsuki Fujii, who tragically died during a hiking trip. She shortly discovered her late fiancé’s childhood home and decided to send a letter addressed to him. Unexpectedly, Hiroko received a surprising response as the receiving end of the letter bears the same name as Hiroko’s late fiancé. The two developed a strange friendship as they exchange letters to one another while altogether attempting to recall memories of Itsuki Fujii from the distant past.

On the technical side of the film, the cinematography of Love Letter is masterful, enough to initially assume that it is not a film made twenty-six years ago. Every frame emits its definite effect and it’s sufficient to stimulate a deep sense of musing. For one, I like the hospital scene when a grown-up Itsuki suddenly found herself in a quick flashback. The use of the vertigo effect is an excellent way to express the gravity of the situation, and it is also clever to think because it creates an out-of-focus effect since it is a memory from the past. As well, the sequence of this flashback is a perfect execution of memories shelved deep in the mind—because memories when relived are not really picturesque, rather it is often fragmented and fuzzy (the film Mirror (1975) executed it perfectly), particularly those that are traumatic in nature. Also, I like the film still above, simply because it elicits personal longing from a spectator's view. Consistently, I think it is a keen motive that the film was set was in Hokkaido where the majority of the prefecture’s situation is perpetually snowing, which adds another level of melancholy. On top of that, albeit not surprisingly, the score is phenomenal. Being exposed to All About Lily Chou-chou as my first film from Shunji Iwai, the score of his film remains superlative whenever, as it is always marked with profound sensation. And consistently, Love Letter is perhaps one of the most evocative film scores that I have come across thus far. As if someone’s moments and memories are suddenly a fraction of my past that does not even exist in the first place.

Another marvel of this film is that the story is original and brilliantly crafted. Every moment in the film calls forth something reminiscent, which has the ability to make one contemplate a life that is done and undone. At first, it begins unassuming, but as the story builds forward, it gradually introduces the central characters and story of the entire film. The use of literary devices to suggest a larger idea is also clever, particularly in most cases where they are applied making it more heart-wrenching. These are my three personal favorite scenes that embodied such: (1) when young female Itsuki noticed a dead dragonfly frozen in ice; (2) when young male Itsuki wrote their name on the library cards; (3) when adult male Itsuki piped the lyrics ‘my love runs riding on the south wind’ from the song Blue Coral Reef by Seiko Matsuda when he fell into a ravine (south wind blows towards the north—from Kobe to Hokkaido in this context), and (4) when young female Itsuki held a book which title is Remembrance of the Things Past written by Marcel Proust (a popular classic French novel). I also like the fact that something above them that is intangibly existing connects the tangible beings in the story—much like Lily Chou-chou’s music from Iwai’s All About Lily Chou-chou. How the film closes the curtain is perhaps one of the best and most mournful endings I have seen, a literal throat-burning. The credit is rolling already but I was left agape and pronged.

On the internal aspect, Love Letter is such a poignant film about moments that continued living and memories that should have been. The film effectively emanates that it is the longing that gives color to our lives made and the same one that unfolds regret for the lives unmade. As well, moments and memories are such overwhelming products of the human mind—to have the ability to create a relic and even a keepsake that is only accessible to oneself. For one, in the film, female Itsuki relives her memories of male Itsuki by detailing them to Hiroko in the latter’s resolve to reach out to male Itsuki’s existence, but Hiroko would never be able to relive this memory of Itsuki about Itsuki. It is because the past contained as memories and moments is such an exclusive luxury to every singular entity.

Our continuous dwelling on the past while in present creates a shift in our future and it is sadly inevitable. And I think, it is still both a good and a bad thing—because it enables us to understand matters that are yet unknowable back then, however, it is not without expense: such a sequel is a forfeiture towards perpetual vulnerability. It is always that one detail that we missed that can make us suddenly an altered version of ourselves walking towards the future. Or that one detail that we missed can make us realize our suppressed truth from the past. But I realize, it is such a beauty that it is this moment and memory that can make us surrender to our emotions—that this is the one that births and mothers our what-ifs, our assumption of a supposed past. And here we come on the idea that there will always be a shape of love that can only exist in the memory and nothing more beyond that.

Simply said, this film is not only painful but tenderly wistful altogether. I think this is one of the most harrowing episodes set in one’s lifetime: to be unable to live the unlived life. Overall, it sets a tone of emotions being revealed in one form, somehow bittersweet and haunting. I must say Shunji Iwai is either the Claude Debussy or Frédéric Chopin of contemporary Japanese cinema. Everything in this film holds much weight. And as a viewer, I cannot accentuate enough the marvels of this film.

P.S.: The cameo of Remembrance of the Things Past by Marcel Proust, commonly known as In Search of Lost Time, is an ingenious overtone for the larger theme of the film that is revealed in the end. I stumble upon it first on A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki (which the latter had later became a favorite). With that, I’ll say this is my favorite film from Shunji Iwai, or probably one of my favorites in general.

Love Letter (1995) ★★★★★ Directed by Shunji Iwai Written by Shunji Iwai Director of Photography: Noboru Shinode