In a touching coming-of-age drama about youth facing adulthood’s challenges, Japanese director Hiroshi Okuyama’s second feature “My Sunshine” is as charming and melancholic as listening to Claude Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” on a snow-flecked day through a crackly record player.
The story of a gentle instructor who ice skates on the island of Hokkaido, together with his two young students, has more nuanced dynamics than its surface-level time-to-face-the-music-of-growing-up narrative. The story is portrayed through sly looks and unspoken agreements among a backdrop of frost and impending winter, following two teenagers who develop a friendship on the ice rink that interferes with their instructor’s personal life. It would be prudent for Japan to nominate “My Sunshine,” the follow-up film to “Jesus,” director Okuyama, for Best International Feature Oscar. Since this trio becomes more difficult as the film progresses, both the glass-half-full and the glass-half-empty corners of the audience will be able to relate to Okuyama’s subtle storytelling.
A little child named Takuya (Keitatsu Koshiyama) is fascinated by the falling snowflakes of a new winter, but he also has speech impediment and is anxious in class. Takuya lives on Hokkaido, a remote island off the coast of Japan. He’s a disengaged player on the hockey team, much like many of us were compelled to play sports in elementary school by our parents or by social pressure. While playing a shaky game on the ice, he spots Sakura (Kiara Takanashi), a graceful peer, moving around the rink. She is a figure skater, an extracurricular activity that Takuya, who feels distinctly constrained by playing hockey, seems to favour above hockey. The ramifications of Takuya’s desire to participate in a sport that is more historically controlled by women are not underplayed in Okuyama’s film; this even extends to the tale of Sakura’s coach, Arakawa (Sôsuke Ikematsu).
He was once a champion ice skater, but he gave up on his aspirations of the past to become a teacher at this particular school in Hokkaido. Arakawa drives the ice resurfacer idly when he’s not teaching, then heads home to his live-in (and obviously long-lived-with) lover. Arakawa’s at-home relationship grows more tense as “My Sunshine” progresses and the seasons shift because of the link he eventually creates with Takuya, whom he takes under his wing, and Sakura, whom Takuya idolises. As Sakura and her mother drive home from school, they see Arakawa and his companion assessing the situation in their vehicle.
The fact that Arakawa eventually lends Takuya his old skates implies that he recognises elements of the older child in Takuya, escalating tensions that were probably present from the start. Everyone is really going out of their heads here as jealousies set in and interrupt all of their back-at-home lives. The friendship of the trio plays out at a mildly ambling pace, set to oldies like The Zombies’ cover of Little Anthony & the Imperials’ “Going Out of My Head.” As they train for an upcoming competition and learn each other’s rhythms across waltzes and skates on the ice, the story unfolds at a mildly ambling pace.
When Sakura witnesses Arakawa and his boyfriend getting into a car, what is going through her mind? Although Okuyama doesn’t say so directly, it’s clear that she feels troubled by this intrusion into adults’ private lives. Sakura and Takuya initially form an innocent friendship, but as their mutual idolisation of their teacher permeates every aspect of their lives, that connection gradually begins to deteriorate.
Okuyama drew inspiration for this exquisitely crafted piece from his personal experiences as a figure skater in elementary school. Arakawa’s private life is unravelling, despite what appears to be a long-term personal relationship—he and his lover are seen smoking cigarettes on their balcony or fighting over what’s left of their love in bed—but the more closely you examine, the darker “My Sunshine” becomes. As his own cameraman, Okuyama depicts “My Sunshine” as a melancholic tale of hopes lost and an uneasy intimacy developing in a constricted frame. The director primarily focuses on suggestion rather than explanation, creating a tactile environment of regret and nostalgia.
Even though Koshiyama and Takanashi only have a few credits between them, they both manage to express years of experience watching life through a glass half-glass here, demonstrating the director’s clear talent for casting young actors. Strangers Takuya, Sakura, and Arakawa are attracted to one another for unclear reasons. Nonetheless, their emotional arcs will resonate with anyone who has experienced the agony of elementary school or the desire to be someone they are not. The ice cracks and the snow melts, but the early memories of childhood endure.
