Mystery and magic in a family drama that steals your heart
Shoplifters 15 cert, 121 min ★★★★★ Dir Hirokazu Kore-eda
Starring Lily Franky, Kirin Kiki, Sakura Ando, Mayu Matsuoka, Kairi Jyo, Miyu Sasaki
The Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda is best known in Britain for his keenly observed tales of the consolations and heartbreak of family life. His outstanding new film, Shoplifters, initially appears to be more of the same – except that it’s hard to fathom exactly how its family members connect. At first blush, there is nothing too suspicious about the Shibatas: there is a man and a woman, a little boy, an older girl and a much older lady, all living in a tumbledown bungalow tucked out of sight in the Tokyo suburbs.
Yet much like the state of their house itself, piled high with clothes and cartons, there is something unplaceably ramshackle about this family unit and their unusual daily routine. Rather than attend school, young Shota (Kairi Jyo) spends his days stealing groceries with his father Osamu (Lily Franky) in an intricate two-man operation involving hand signals and coded nods. The film’s original Japanese title, Manbiki Kazoku, or “Shoplifting Family”, offers a clue: you might say the Shibatas feel less born and bred than picked and mixed. So what is going on?
That mystery ticks away like a watch in the breast pocket of Koreeda’s film, which won the Palme d’or at Cannes earlier this year, and which plays an unusually complex hand with thrilling dexterity and patience. The story begins with the lovably down-at-heel Shibatas discovering a five-year-old girl called Yuri (Miyu Sasaki) with burn marks on her arms. They take her in like a stray, filling her empty belly with hot croquettes and gluten cake – but don’t contact the authorities, even when her disappearance becomes an item on the national news. Instead they cut her hair and treat her as a daughter: Osamu even takes her on his father-son shoplifting trips, where she helps glean the instant noodles and ingredients for the hotpots that the family devours with much appreciative slurping every night. (As in so many Kore-eda films, the food in Shoplifters speaks volumes about those who prepare and eat it, and also looks completely delicious.)
The seasons pass and the family muddles along, as the true nature of their various connections slowly fades into focus, like the multi-part solution to a mystery in which you didn’t even know you were embroiled. This wonderful picture cuts to the heart of what family means: every part of who we are is stolen from those closest to us, whoever they may be.