Drive My Car, despite the name, is in no hurry to get where it’s going. There’s a lengthy prologue where we meet writer Oto, pitching a half-finished story to her husband Kafuku. She’s a TV writer, he’s a theatre director.
The question seems to be “Is the story she’s telling true or not?” But we never find out. Oto dies suddenly, and two years pass. Where is this film going?
Photo: Screenshot
It’s going to the city of Hiroshima, where Kafuku has been commissioned to direct a production of Chekhov’s play Uncle Vanya. A production that, as is Kafuku’s way, will be told in several languages – including Korean sign language. One of the lead actresses is deaf.
As we struggle to keep up, director Kafuku is told that it’s mandatory for visiting directors to be assigned a driver for the duration – in this case a silent, slightly sullen young woman called Misake.
Kafuku prefers to drive himself, but reluctantly accepts the inevitable.
And this, as they say, is where the story really starts. Despite Drive My Car’s considerable length, it was actually based on a Japanese short story.
It’s a story about secrets, notably Kafuku’s doubts about his late wife Oto. Did she really love him? What was it she trying to tell him just before she died?
Adding to his stress is the fact that one of the actors in this production was clearly in some sort of relationship with Oto.
As he wrestles with these feelings, he finds himself becoming intrigued by his new driver.
Misake has her own secrets – including a complicated relationship with her mother, who indirectly taught her to drive so well. We’re watching two people extremely unwilling to let anyone into their lives who may ask uncomfortable questions.
Belatedly Kafuku strikes up a conversation with her – why is she such a good driver? And this seemingly innocent question opens up an extraordinary tale of family complications.
And his growing respect for his driver contrasts with his frequent arguments with his cast members.
When he compliments Misake effusively for her wonderful driving, his producers ask him why he can’t be as supportive for his actors, who often feel lost with his conflicting demands.
The film takes its time getting where it’s going – it’s a daunting three hours long, though after the first act the time seems to fly by.
And the way in is the play. Chekhov’s unique, tragi-comic sensibility in Uncle Vanya echoes Kafuku’s doubts and guilt, and also Misake’s apparent need to cut herself off from everyone.
The title Drive My Car is the one slightly clunky thing about the movie, though it might have been inflicted on the English language version.
But it’s an extraordinary film that richly deserves the many awards it’s received. Its message, chiming with that of the play, is simple. Trust people, it says. Even when we can’t know everything about them, sometimes we have to take people at their word.
The most extraordinary scene takes place on stage, where Chekhov’s philosophy is laid out, entirely silently, in the most expressive sign language.
It seems to take cinema back to its early, purest form, where the expressions of actors’ faces and their gestures can say more than the most poetic of language.
