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The sophomore feature from Hirokazu Kore-eda protégé Nanako Hirose, “Between Two Lovers” tackles a variety of potential hot-button issues, from polyamorous relationships to same-sex parenting, in its contemporary Japanese
setting. The film stars Masami Nagasawa as a free-spirited children’s author who invites her doting husband and secret girlfriend to enter into a three-way relationship of convenience, when both partners simultaneously express their desire to start a family. But what begins as a bold and daring attempt to broach progressive issues in a notoriously conservative society ultimately loses its nerve, acquiescing to a number of eyebrow-raising narrative compromises. Internationally recognizable talent both above and below the line should ensure that “Between Two Lovers” travels far beyond its debut in Competition at the Busan Film Festival, but more progressive audiences may be left frustrated by where Hirose leaves them.
Uta (Nagasawa) has built a comfortable life for herself and her husband Morio (Tasuku Emoto), thanks to the popularity of her “Little Miss Mushroom” series of picture books. While her work regularly brings her into close proximity with children, Uta has little interest in starting a family of her own. Conversely, Morio is desperate to have kids, but any effort to discuss the topic with his wife is quickly dismissed.
Little does he know, Uta has also been involved in a passionate six-year affair with her female editor, Junna (Shizuka Ishibashi), and happily flits back and forth between her two homes, beds, and lovers. Junna is eager to become a mother, although several legal barriers prevent her from accessing sperm donations or fertility treatment. She also wants Uta to accept her sexuality and get a divorce, so that they can live together openly.
Everything comes to a head when Morio invites Junna over for dinner, under the misapprehension that he is extending an olive branch to the colleague who demands so much of his wife’s time. The compounding frustrations of this situation, fueled by too much alcohol, finally expose Uta’s double life. However, desperate to enjoy all the benefits of her unconventional and self-serving situation, without shouldering any of the blame, Uta proposes that Morio be the donor for Junna’s child, and that all three of them move in together.
Hirose, who also writes and edits, has constructed a brilliantly volatile scenario, vulnerable to any number of potentially explosive and destructive dramatic developments. Disappointingly, her screenplay proceeds to unfold in a procession of frustrating get-outs and compromises, repeatedly choosing the least interesting or challenging direction to take this would-be throuple. The archaic legal restrictions restricting same-sex couples or unmarried women, for example, are acknowledged and adhered to, rather than being openly challenged or criticized.
The film certainly expresses an interest in the shifting dynamics of this unconventional unit, especially once Junna does fall pregnant and moves into the family home. Morio, already a tender and delicate soul, becomes increasingly protective of the woman carrying his child. At the same time, Junna finds herself sliding into a more conventional role, at once maternal but also spousal. The ever-precocious Uta, meanwhile, feels more and more ostracized within the group, as the supposedly idyllic threesome she conceived to feed her own compulsive nature relegates her to a sulking adolescent. For good or ill, the film also refrains from forcing Uta to ever clarify her sexuality or choose one partner over the other.
With the influence of Kore-eda on full display, Hirose raises several legitimate questions about what constitutes a real family, as well as the perceived role of women in society and the guardrails that continue to exist so as to limit and enforce these outdated expectations. While it could be argued that the very fact “Between Two Lovers” addresses these issues at all, and does so this explicitly, is already a bold stride in the right direction, much of that intention is undone in how they are resolved and acquiesced to on screen.
Performances across the board are strong, even if the characterizations themselves are more difficult to embrace. Uta is frustratingly selfish and naive, but Nagasawa willfully throws herself into the role, in a manner that makes her unlikable to a degree we have rarely seen her. Ishibashi makes for a resilient and empathetic Junna, even as her character inevitably bears the brunt of much of the film’s divisive moralizing, while Emoto’s Morio is a quivering wreck of fragility and good intentions.
Technical contributions are polished, with particular kudos to Ryo Sugimoto’s production design, which creates a pair of equally warm, yet subtly contrasting, living spaces in the married couple’s suburban home and the women’s more illicit love nest, deftly reflecting Uta’s dual existence. HIMI’s score is also employed sparingly yet effectively, but these aesthetic elements fade quickly from memory, overshadowed by the film’s more contentious narrative choices.
