Author, journalist, and Asia editor of the Times Richard
Lloyd Parry’s true-crime book ‘People Who Eat Darkness’ (published in 2010)
acutely delineates the peculiarities of the Japanese judiciary system among
many other things, which I think helped me better understand the inherent
conflicts in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s courtroom drama The Third Murder (Sandome no
satsujin, 2017). Central among the facts in Mr. Parry’s book is the conviction
rate in criminal trial: 99.8 percent in Japan compared to 70-75 percent in
Western courts. This guaranteed conviction rate, over-reliance on defendant’s
confession (than physical evidence), defense lawyer’s limited role, and the
system’s obsession to judge a crime based on the motive makes The Third Murder
a unique legal narrative, far removed from the theatricality of usual courtroom
dramas. While the film could be better understood from the Japanese context, it
also raises spate of universal questions regarding judiciary’s interest in
moral absolutes, the value of a person’s life, and the ultimate intention behind capital
punishment.
Insipid features like
True Crime (1999) and The Life of David Gale (2003) campaigns against the use
of capital punishment by weaving a narrative that focuses on a wrong (innocent)
person getting convicted. Then there are masterful works like Death by Hanging
(1968), In Cold Blood (1967), etc where the convicted ones’ criminality is
acutely demonstrated, yet we feel conflicted over the nature of
state-sanctioned killing. The Third Murder is more elusive than these two types
of films, since the possibilities of understanding the truth remains very slim.
The film opens with factory worker Misumi (Koji Yakusho) bludgeoning a man to
death, alongside a river bank. He later burns the corpse. The next
time we see Misumi, he is already behind bars and has confessed to the crime. It
seems to be a open-and-shut case of murder and robbery (the murdered man’s wallet
is missing). Subsequently, we learn that Misumi had only just been released
from prison, for killing two loan sharks in the 1980s.
Hotshot defense lawyer Shigemori (Masaharu Fukuyama) takes
over the case. He and his defense team try to do the impossible: to reduce the
imminent death penalty to life in prison. Shigemori comes to know that it was
his judge father (now retired), who had sentenced Misumi three decades prior. It
is made clear that Shigemori is less interested in truth and boasts no empathy
for Misumi, as he is simply concerned with the technicalities and muddled
waters of judicial system that could benefit their case. Anyway, Misumi’s
testimony couldn’t be relied upon, since his motivations for committing the
crime stays elusive. Misumi is vague, non-committal, deliberately tricky,
claiming different reasons for why he killed his factory boss. The man’s
varying testimonies makes the defense team pursue distinct line of theories,
ranging from insurance murder, blackmailing gone wrong, and rage-type murder. At
one point, Misumi breaks down and tells he didn’t commit the murder and that
the confession was forced out of him. The sheer madness of these constantly
shifting stories clutters our moral compass and further showcases the
impossibility of perceiving the crime from objective manner. Even Shigemori’s
robust facade crumbles and he is caught up amidst multiple facts and emotional
quandaries.
Veteran actor Koji Yakusho’s extraordinary performance is
what makes this oddly paced drama mostly work. He is forthcoming and calm at
times, later effortlessly slipping into menacing, aloof mood. Although there’s
an impenetrable vagueness to the nature of Misumi, Yakusho keeps him affable
and extracts empathy at the right occasions. Similar to the last minute twists
in Primal Fear (1996) or The Usual Suspects (1995), we expect Misumi to
surprise us by delivering the ultimate truth that’s not cloaked in ambiguity.
But it never happens, as the character remains opaque till the end, the motive
behind the crime unknowable forever. This definitely would frustrate viewers
who are expecting a murder mystery or at least a 'whydunnit', in the vein of
author Keigo Higashino’s tales (The Devotion of Suspect X). Director Hirokazu
Koreeda simply uses the hook of a genre set-up to draw attention to the
convoluted legal process. He is quite interested in the question of innocence
or guilt, and its expressively mutable position among the sea of doubts. The
Third Murder does indict the sky-high conviction rate by solely relying on
confessions (forced and otherwise), the unpleasant uncertainty in overseeing
the criminal trials, and the sordidness of death penalty (hence the title
‘third murder’, indicating the killing sanctioned by the state). However, Mr.
Koreeda never proposes his themes and ideas in the form of bland,
straight-forward statement. His view is more nuanced. He uses the deeper drama
(or conflicts) between the characters to get to his prime motivations and not
the other way around.
The Third Murder does suffer from pacing issues as the ever-changing
testimony and the meandering exchanges slightly exasperate us. The lively
dynamics with which Koreeda often explores the father/daughter or
mother/daughter relationship totally lacks here. Shigemori’s strained
relationship with his teenage daughter (Aju Makita) is employed to showcase the
lawyer’s remote manner in treating the narrative’s other teenage character
(Suzu Hirose). But then the exchanges between these characters are so dry and
bloodless, compared to the ones from Koreeda’s intimate family dramas. Koreeda’s script and
direction gets whole lot better during the increasingly intense conversations
between Shigemori and Misumi. Bolstered by the cinematography of Mikiya
Takimoto, the series of thought-provoking and layered tableau set in the
small, interview room are brilliantly visualized. The two actors are separated
by a Plexiglas wall, and this set-up is filmed from distinct angles, providing
myriad of character & theme-based insights. Particularly laudable is the
blocking of the performers, where the camera often lingers on one side of
glass wall, whereas the other’s reflection is magnificently superimposed (both
faces filling the screen), emphasizing on the murky nature of the truth. At one
occasion, the staging makes the glass wall non-existent, as Shigemori’s role of
‘judging’ and Misumi role of ‘being judged’ dynamically transforms. These
clever, deft visual touches impeccably depict Kore-eda’s ability to work
outside his comfort zone (away from the haven of family dramas).
Trailer
The Third Murder (124 minutes) is a cold, meticulously
crafted legal drama from a renowned film-maker, known for his warmth-inducing
humanist works. Hirokazu Koreeda has tried to fuse his philosophical thoughts
and ultra-nuanced characterizations into a quasi-genre set-up. The result is an
intriguing crime puzzle, but one that smartly shies away from delivering due emotional
catharsis or delicious twists.
Sandome no satsujin (2017) -- IMDb
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