Short Film Review: Blue and White (2022) by Hiroyuki Nishiyama

Hiroyuki Nishiyama’s telling of Ryusuke and Midori’s journey toward discovery remains poignant but hopeful in Blue and White

Hiroyuki Nishiyama offers his second narrative short film, “Blue and White,” capturing themes close to the concerns of his first film “20 db” (2021) but focusing on the effects of loss and what comes after it. Its brief runtime is a delight to see, from the intimacy of its design to the intricacy of the performances. 

The film opens with Ryusuke (Jun Kunimura) starting his day gathering firewood, then cuts to his workshop where he steams seawater to harvest salt. His granddaughter, Midori (Momoko Fukuchi) eventually enters the frame, mumbling to herself why her grandfather is working that morning of her grandmother’s funeral. An attendee of the funeral (Toshio Kakei) asks Midori the same question she was mumbling earlier, hinting that it is disrespectful to the dead for her grandfather to not show his face in the funeral.

What is it about salt harvesting that makes it more important than sending off a loved one to the afterlife? Why isn’t Ryusuke showing his face to the attendees? What is he even feeling that day? He seems like a hard-headed old man who values nothing other than his work. From these questions, “Blue and White” shifts its inquiry to the nature of grieving. 

Writer and director Nishiyama explores these questions by depicting the social and personal aspects of grieving where one is invisible to the other. Funeral rites stand for the social face of grieving that Nishimaya presents through particular social conventions: from the temple where each ritual stands for something spiritual to a gathering after where people share meals while remembering the deceased. People wear black on these occasions. Ryusuke, however, is not there to see all these. Similarly, the funeral attendees do not see him witness the ritual, making them think that he may not be taking the whole thing seriously. 

What the attendees do not see in the absence of the grandfather is the soul of his work as a paludier. The workshop is his personal space. Arata Dodo’s camerawork brings the frame intimately to the process of salt harvesting and brings us closer to Ryusuke as a person. He is not as closed-shut as the earlier scenes depict him. The workshop is open to Midori with whom her grandfather shares the delicate process of salt harvesting. 

Kunimura delivers this shift between the stiff social facade of Ryusuke and the quietly grieving husband with fantastic flexibility. His performance is leveled with his character’s concerns for both the past and the future, making his acting less melodramatic but not lacking in emotional power. Fukuchi, on the other hand, plays Midori with teen-like innocence. Her earlier reactions to her grandfather’s absence have a hint of curiosity rather than annoyance. From how the two main actors depict their characters, director Nishiyama sets the film with different directions for the two characters. For Ryusuke, it is to explore and process grief in his own way, and for Midori to learn more about why her grandfather behaves in that way.

Subscribe to AMP newsletter by clicking on the image below

The film navigates these journeys towards discovery within twenty minutes, a narrative that lasts a lifetime. But this is not just a single lifetime that the film is navigating. While Ryusuke is explaining to Midori the importance of salt harvesting for him and his wife Fujiko, he is pondering both their past and what will it be for the future. This opens a different dimension to grief both as a social and a personal process. While funeral rites operate as a necessary pause to usual social activities, grieving does not stop at the end of the ritual, especially for those who are personally linked with the deceased. Ryusuke does not stop grieving even while working and his grief is deeply linked with his work. He told Midori that for something that has a capacity for life and purification, salt must be made with care. By immersing himself through his work, he expresses his care for his late wife and preserves her memory.

Nishiyama’s telling of Ryusuke and Midori’s journey toward discovery remains poignant but hopeful. Its delicate touch with the theme makes the work emotionally full without the need for heavy treatment, with the help of the great talent of its performers. All of these allow “Blue and White” to thoroughly explore the complexities of grief.