Memories of Matsuko

Proclaiming itself a “fairy tale tragedy,” Memories of Matsuko is one of the more morally ambiguous flights of musical fancy I’ve come across. Director Tetsuya Nakashima (Kamikaze Girls) imbues this novel adaptation of a hapless girl’s decade-spanning existence with flourishing colors, show-stopping tunes, and a flawless cast—but the position the film holds, the message it’s trying to give, is hard to read.

The title character begins the film as a box of ashes, in possession of her formerly estranged brother, after being beaten to death near a river. Said brother hands the task of emptying Matsuko’s apartment to his son Sho, her nephew. As Sho fishes through his late aunt’s filthy, unlivable apartment, he unravels the details of her life after leaving home and being disowned by her family. Nakashima does a bang-up job with the visuals, the music, and the way both fit into their respective time periods. For the first half of the 130 minute runtime, it’s an utter delight.

Unfortunately, as Godlike figure Matsuko, the incredibly impressive Miki Nakatani is screwed over by nearly everyone she meets, while drifting from one abusive relationship to the next. She remains loyal, loving, and forgiving to the men who treat her like trash—an unpleasant trait that seems meant to provoke admiration. Too often her suffering is accompanied by zany music and comedy-scene camera angles. It’s a shame, because there are genuinely hilarious, touching moments here that are cheapened because of it.

Oddly enough, the film is nearly redeemed entirely by Asuka Kurosawa as a tough, smart, sexy pornstar/business woman friend of Matsuko’s—one of the few characters who never hurts her, physically or otherwise, and encourages her to leave her current Yakuza-member boyfriend. She breezes into the movie just as it’s starting to feel icky from the barrage of black eyes and Stepford Wife mannerisms our heroine displays, and steals the show, without even having a musical number.