Confessions (2010)

"I'm going to give you one final, very important lesson. Life."

An enthralling and spine-chilling screenplay, stunning cinematography and a delightfully eclectic soundtrack are just a few of the several things that make Confessions (Japanese title: Kokuhaku) the masterpiece that it is. But before I proceed, I must add, this film is neither for the weak-hearted, nor for the weak-minded. The latter, because the screenplay, as sumptuous as it may be, is heavily intertwined and incredibly fast-paced, to the extent that even the subtitles fail to keep up with it in places. The former, because there is something particularly soul-crushing about seeing children commit heinous acts of hatred and pure evil without the remotest trace of remorse. When it is depicted as convincingly as in this movie, it becomes an almost nightmarish experience.

Based on the eponymous book by Kanae Minato, Confessions is a story of revenge, to put it simply. Like in the book, it is told from the perspectives of five different characters — some at the centre, and others at the periphery of the same plot.

The movie opens in a school. Small cartons of milk are being distributed to a classroom full of unruly 13 year-olds excited about the term coming to an end. Their teacher, Ms. Yuko Moriguchi, unaffected by the children’s utter disregard for order, talks with indifference about the benefits of milk and the state’s new milk distribution programme for middle schools. Continuing in her monotone, she goes on to tell the children that this is going to be her last day at the school. The classroom erupts in delight, but she finally has her students’ attention. Ms. Moriguchi tells the class how, over the years, she has failed to sincerely live up to the teaching ideals taught to her by her deceased mentor Masayoshi Sakuranomiya. But she does not seem to regret it one bit. Children, as she goes on to imply, don’t always deserve compassion. She tells the class instances of gratuitous viciousness exhibited by her students or students she had known. There was the girl who got her teacher fired on accusations of sexual harassment just for kicks. Then, of course, there was the Lunacy Girl, a 13 year-old who mixed a deadly concoction of drugs in her family’s dinner and recorded details of what happened. She called it a “holy rite” on her blog. The family perished. Under the juvenile law, which protects children under 14 years of age from being punished, she wasn’t indicted with murder charges, but merely committed to a juvenile detention centre for “rehabilitation”. Lunacy became a cult figure among children her age.

The idea of death, Ms. Moriguchi says, is taken very lightly by some children. It fascinates them, while life itself holds little meaning. She reminds the class of Manami, her 4 year-old daughter, who was found dead in the school’s swimming pool a few months ago. It was inferred that the girl had slipped and drowned in the pool. But as she discovered over the following weeks, it wasn’t an accident. She reveals to the children that her daughter was killed by two of her own students in this class. She calls them student ‘A’ and student ‘B’. But even without naming them, she ensures that everyone in the class is aware of the identities of the two killers. The children’s cellphones are soon buzzing uncontrollably with the new found gossip. Ms. Moriguchi, however, is still not done. She says she is aware that going to the authorities will serve no purpose as the killers are underage. Instead, she confesses to the class, her revenge is already underway, put into motion only moments before she  made this revelation. This is Ms. Moriguchi’s confession. 

"Pop! That's the sound of something important to you disappearing."

Words can’t possibly do justice to the sheer  brilliance with which this classroom sequence unfolds over the first 30 minutes of the movie. A scene that began as an innocuous and cheerful montage of children chugging down milk, texting, wreaking havoc in the classroom and generally being kids, ends on a note of grim intensity, throbbing with ubiquitous tension. This is testament, obviously, to the exquisitely crafted screenplay and masterful direction by Tetsuya Nakashima. Cinematic adaptations come with certain limitations, especially so in case of a source with a complex and multi-layered narrative as in Minato’s novel. A lesser director could have easily botched up the adaptation, but the precision and fluidity with which Nakashima’s script shifts focus from one character’s narrative to the next, while constantly maintaining an atmosphere of heart-stopping dread, is commendable to say the least.

Ms. Moriguchi’s confession is followed (after the spring break) by Mizuki’s, a quiet and shy girl in the same class as A and B. The third, by B’s mother, the fourth by B himself and the fifth by A — each subsequent confession more shocking than the last. The unwavering focus of the plot, however, remains the teacher’s single-minded objective of avenging her daughter’s death. The other characters form only a part of a conspiracy much bigger and more macabre than any of their stories individually.

There is a clear theme of juvenile delinquency running through the film. It is difficult to accept children as anything more than children, especially when that extra something is so dark and frightening. Sure, kids can be nasty — bullying is a universal problem — but it is a completely different thing to see them as ruthless, cold-blooded killers. Throughout the movie, children are depicted as hateful, almost dehumanised, little beings constantly engaging in acts of violence, be it bullying or even killing. In fact, Ms. Moriguchi’s plan relies, to a great extent, on her belief that children are inherently cruel. This is a clear reflection of Japan’s growing concerns about major crimes among their youth. Almost as a corollary, another theme integral to the story is that of a mother’s relationship with her child. The three mothers in the movie — Ms. Moriguchi, B’s mother and A’s mother — together encompass a whole spectrum of emotions from disapproval and disdain to selfless, uncompromising love. The movie has no qualms admitting its belief that the two themes are inextricably tied to each other. 

As must be clear by now, Confessions is not an easy watch. It is brutal, shocking, deeply unnerving and raises inconvenient questions about juvenile crimes, revenge and morality. What mitigates the unrelenting bleakness of the plot, however, is its surreal and visually enchanting cinematography. Almost every single frame in Confessions is a work of art, a celluloid mural, and if not for anything else, this film needs to be seen for its camera work alone.

Confessions is, perhaps, the best in its genre that I have seen since The Silence of the Lambs. It is deeply engrossing and is bound to keep you on the edge of your seat throughout its 103-minute run. As far as psychological thrillers go, it doesn’t get any better than this. A thoroughly rewarding experience.