It’s not often that a film solely devotes itself into delving into the true everyday impacts of loneliness, however visionary filmmaker Kaspar Astrup Schröder boldly spotlights its emotional rawness front and center. Somber and melancholic as it is hopefully tender and inspiring, his premiere film “Dear Tomorrow” at SXSW offers an unabashed look into the lonely lives of Masato and Shoko- two Japanese city dwellers in their forties, who, despite immersed within the world’s largest metropolitan, feel an unshakable sense of isolation.
The third central character in this intriguing documentary is Koki Ozara, the founder of the mental health hotline, “A Place For You” which gained popularity during the 2020 Covid-19 pandemic as a resource to chat with while quarantining. Masato and Shoko, along with several other Japanese citizens are seen using this platform, texting with someone on the other side to address their feelings of isolation and to receive some gentle consoling. While Masato and Shoko have times when all lines are busy, the perspective from Koki is shown, presenting an office brimming with professionals at computers who are trained to offer calming and reaffirming responses, while also documenting and preventing potentially suicidal or abusive behaviors.
The film centers on Japan’s affirmation of loneliness as an “epidemic,” elaborating on the Ministry of Loneliness and Isolation that the country enacted to combat the social, emotional, and mental health effects it has on individuals. The minister’s daily duties and mission was showcased, providing further societal and cultural context as to why many Tokyo citizens feel deeply disregarded despite being surrounded by others, and why there is still a stigma to address it.
Masato and Shoko are seen attempting to ameliorate their loneliness in different ways, all while explicating their familial, occupational, and even existential dilemmas. Masato takes the route of animal therapy, adopting an inquisitive owl as his affectionately avian companion. Shoko reconnects with her old high school friend, claiming her as her “soulmate” despite drifting apart for several years. Both cope with their loneliness in different approaches, all while Shoko tirelessly attempts to collaborate with the Japanese government to hold a global symposium on the issue.
The score, cinematography, and pacing of “Dear Tomorrow” are all quietly powerful, subtly captivating you in a way that is deeply relatable, painfully real, and beautifully poignant. What begins as a seemingly simple look into the lonely lives of people in a country that may seem foreign and distant quickly absorbs you into empathizing with the three characters in your own personal way, connecting you to see their journeys all the way through.
“Dear Tomorrow” does not preach or pry, but gently invites you to consider your own loneliness existing among others’, and reminds you of the human hope, resilience, and kindness that arises from this collective experience.
