Sunset Sunrise
A lightly edited excerpt from a review of three films from the 2025 Japanese Film Festival, originally published in Australian Book Review (3 December 2025).
Sunset Sunrise (Yoshiyuki Kishi, 2024)
★★
The bloated, unwieldy nature of Yoshiyuki Kishi’s romantic comedy Sunset Sunrise belies its modest setting. When the pandemic creates an opportunity for remote work, zestful salaryman Shinsaku (Masaki Suda) seizes the chance for a sea change, relocating from Tokyo to Udahama, a small town on the north-eastern coast. There he meets a roster of kooky locals, most of whom regard him with suspicion before gradually warming to his charms (and he to theirs). Chief among them is his landlord and lover-to-be, Momoka (Mao Inoue), a kind but guarded council worker who, like many in the community, lost loved ones to the earthquake and tsunami that devastated the region a decade earlier.
The film treats this recent tragedy with solemn respect, as one might expect. By contrast, the even more recent pandemic is rendered harmless, serving only to engineer plot points and elicit chuckles. Shinsaku flippantly breaches self-isolation because he’s a keen fisherman, and fish can’t be caught indoors, while his initial encounter with Momoka presents a woman gripped by an obsessive concern for hygiene. Only when she later removes her face mask – allowing Shinsaku, at last, to see her for who she really is – does he begin to fall for her. These jabs at Covid anxieties, delivered from the safety of hindsight, strike a weird note in a film otherwise committed to promoting the virtues of neighbourly care.
After a plodding first half, the film briefly comes alive when Shinsaku and Momoka set out to revive the many abandoned houses in the area, refitting them as rentals to entice city dwellers to move to the region. These sequences yield some thoughtful reflections on Japan’s depopulation crisis, along with touching moments that evoke the lingering impact of the disaster through everyday items left by the deceased. Yet the shift to pathos feels awkward, burdened by sentimental dawdling and a sudden demand for sincerity from the hitherto goofy cast.
The same goes for the recurring emphasis on food. While not unusual for a Japanese filmmaker, Kishi seems determined to showcase the regional cuisine in its entirety, cataloguing dish after dish with close-ups and tableside explanations (some even include suggested drink pairings) that have little bearing on the film beyond halting its momentum. Like these delicacies, Sunset Sunrise contains some fine ingredients – a talented cast, gorgeous rural settings, globally resonant themes – but somehow ends up as a leftover stew.