Sisterhood, Womanhood, and Motherhood
Sumiko’s support system is devoid of women. Despite spending three years in Berlin, she is never shown interacting with people outside of Ryu’s circle. The absence of women role models in Sumiko’s life hints at a deliberate choice made by Hashizume Shunki, the director, who seems accustomed to creating trios between two men and one woman – the first one being in More Than Words. The intention behind what I assume to be a choice puzzles me. Why such a denial of sisterhood when his directing strives to question social conformity and social constructs in many aspects of life such as relationships and family dynamics?
Sumiko is estranged to her mom. She is never shown with anyone else beside Ryu and the people he introduces her to: Seiichi and, later on, Johan. Luckily, Johan has a sister which marks the only instances during which Sumiko interacts with another woman of around her age. Her relationship with Ryu’s mom is beautiful but it comes from a place of absence. Because Sumiko has a dysfunctional family, she spent time with Ryu’s family. Because her family and Seiichi’s parents treat her poorly, Ryu’s mom offers her to raise Kanau in her family. Ryu’s mom would have made her the same offer even if she had no family issue and my aim is not to question her genuineness because I do not doubt her intentions. She loves Sumiko and sees her as her own daughter. However, I find it regrettable that she is the only woman in Sumiko’s life that show her kindness.
Sumiko does have some positive interactions with other women, like that scene in the daycare when she is asked to present Kanau’s parental situation and the two women are very understanding. Although she is the one asked about it, Ryu is the one who speaks the most in that scene and whose explanation leads to one of the women saying “I don’t think it’s strange at all.” Sumiko’s expressions during that scene are hard to read. Though she feels some kind of relief at the end, a part of me cannot help but think that Ryu spoke in her place, that, as a man, explaining the parental situation of a child in which he is involved, made him somehow more convincing. I do understand his willingness to speak up and he is very legitimate to do so but it is only too common in situations that require convincing that women’s arguments are seen as weaker than those of men.
Moreover, another thing that doesn’t sit right with me is how he depicts the main female character becoming pregnant and going through pregnancy alone (you can be surrounded by people and yet feel alone). This seems to parallel the situation of the woman in the trio in the drama More Than Words although my memories of it are quite vague so I could be wrong.
I sense a real intentional wish from Hashizume Shunki to portray pregnancy as something inherently traumatising and lonely. There might be some truth to it but it is carelessly handled. He’s very good at diving into complexities and paradoxes and I’m sure he would be able to depict pregnancy in a far more nuanced fashion if only he wished to. He succeeds at highlighting the up and downs of parenthood in a very authentic way. If I were to psychologise him (which is a stupid thing to do but let’s move on), I would suggest he’s either obsessed or haunted by pregnancy and as a man, his vision slightly disturbs me.
Despite pregnancy being a recurrent topic in his dramas, he doesn’t show it at all. He doesn’t linger on the physical transformation, on the moments of struggles and wander. Although Sumiko is the one giving birth, we are shown Ryu and Johan’s reactions and the camera does not show Sumiko and her new born girl.
Ryu and Sumiko have lived together in Berlin and have known each other since childhood. They are thoughtful towards one another and help each other out. I cannot believe for a second it took Johan’s question for Ryu and Johan to go check on Sumiko while knowing she was pregnant, alone, and in grief. Sumiko, Ryu, and Johan’s trio hadn’t yet been officialised in that moment but I find it hard to believe that Sumiko’s only support system – Ryu – did not even reach out in a moment of extreme distress. It was hard to believe, especially when one of the first instances we see Sumiko and Ryu together is a scene where Sumiko invites Ryu to an event. That invite is the catalyst of a lot of things that will happen later on but it’s, first and foremost, a way to show that Sumiko sees a lot of Ryu’s struggles and accepts the way he handles it, that is to say, in quiet, and she therefore offers her companionship, to signify him that she’s here for him should he need her.
There are many instances in the drama where Sumiko is seen seeing things as in understanding the higher stakes and not verbalising them. She knows that there are things that just are and that needn’t be named. So yes, it was hard to believe that Ryu didn’t offer his support right away. Was I surprised? Not really in a way as Hashizume Shunki likes mistreating his characters and that’s also something I will expand on later. (Mistreating isn’t the right word but I can’t find a better one. He sure likes testing their resilience is what I mean by that.) I find it even sadder when Sumiko doesn’t have any women friends that she can rely on and that even her best friend doesn’t automatically offer help. It is through Johan’s intervention that they come to agree to live all together. As paradoxically as it sounds, Johan is the one maintaining balance. I say paradoxically because when Sumiko and Ryu lived together just the two of them, their dynamic didn’t seem out of balance, and yet it was. First, because Ryu’s time in Berlin started with a lie – he did not mention at first why he left Japan so abruptly and joined her in Berlin. Second, because Ryu is drowning in his despair at the time. It is no one’s fault but it does shake the balance of their dynamic. Their duo will found balance once it ceases to be the two of them and Johan appears at the centre of it. It is devastatingly beautiful to see Ryu change and smile more once he meets Johan. Sumiko finds comfort as well knowing she can rely on Johan to handle some parental tasks like picking up Kanau from the daycare centre.
Trios can have a very spiritual meaning as well and the drama’s ties with Christianity makes me think that it might be something Hashizume Shunki had in mind.
Let’s get this out of the way from the get go: I read Ryu and Johan’s relationship as a queer platonic relationship. And a very moving and beautiful one at that. Was Hashizume Shunki going for that route? Frankly, I’m not sure if he is familiar with the term. But even if he wasn’t, the way he developed Ryu and Johan’s queer relationship is evident and what annoys people is that the label they wish to give it might not be as straightforward as gay. Does Hashizume Shunki hint at Ryu or Johan being gay? Yes and no. He opens the space for the possibility to occur but he doesn’t invite the audience to assume Ryu and Johan’s sexuality. Sumiko embodies that decision to not assume and let Ryu and Johan’s bond develop in a way that feels natural to them when she looks at Johan’s drawing of Ryu and simply smiles knowingly.
Hashizume Shunki is ambiguous when it comes to verbalising emotions. I’m naturally inclined to add a moral value to the act of naming emotions, viewing it as a good thing as it indicates emotional intelligence and maturity which is essential to create soothed relationships. However, in Soul Mate, Hashizume Shunki seems to question that seemingly natural moral value we put on things. Arata states that sharing his feelings with Ryu is of utmost importance to him and that he doesn’t regret confessing his love to him. Yet he is said to have attempted suicide by jumping off a window a day after revealing his love to Ryu. When he wakes up from his coma, he tells Ryu he loves him again and that he does not regret telling him. We never see them interact again afterwards. Arata and Ryu, whose friendship was central to both of them through their university lives and even earlier on, are never seen talking to each other again. Despite the tragic and painful turn of events, Hashizume Shunki refuses to morally assess the act of confessing love, or simply sharing feelings openly. It’s never as simple as good or bad; in life but also in his works. He strives to show the nuances and highlight how paradoxes can coexist. I certainly wished Arata did not vanish after waking up and it doesn’t sit well with me that he seems to have only been used as a literary device to help Ryu come to an understanding of his own feelings. At the same time, I do think Arata is his own character and that his kindness and bravery are something that Ryu aspire to show as well. Opening up to Johan and letting himself grow deeply attached to him are very healing to Ryu and I’m sure that it’s what Arata would have wished for him: to be able to recognise his fear but choosing not to isolate himself but give his trust instead.
I find Hashizume Shunki’s dramas to challenge me personally as I want to be able to explain what the characters do or think. I want it to make sense, to be rational almost as it’s easier to process. Most of the time though, despite rationality being a distinct trait of humanity, we remain paradoxical. There are things we say and do not follow through. There are things we believe in and then we do not commit when the occasion arises. Hashizume Shunki uses those paradoxes and ambiguities as soil for his dramas and it does make you uncomfortable sometimes because you’re forced to reconsider some of your beliefs.
Ryu starts being utterly afraid of his best friend’s feelings, physically fleeing them, isolating himself from everything that was familiar to him. By the end of the drama, he is the one driving the car leading to his and Johan’s shared future –both literally and metaphorically as he is the one driving the car while making a promise to Johan that he’ll follow wherever he goes – and explicitly putting his love into words which Johan reciprocates explicitly as well. The drama is tragic is many ways but it isn’t a tragedy. Soul Mate’s last episode showed everything that is touching about humanity: our ability to love so genuinely and hard, that we put the person cherished above all else and wish to shelter them from any harm. Love is also about nurturing each other’s souls and it is precisely why I love the title of this drama and how it beautifully shows Ryu and Johan becoming a truer version of themselves as they spend time together.
Johan’s decision to hide his disease from Ryu makes a lot of sense. Sure, he chose for Ryu, deciding for him that he could never be happy taking care of him, but he made that decision out of love and self-abnegation. Does it mean it’s not selfish? I don’t think it’s on us to place a judgement on his decision. Ryu was able to make his voice heard and showed Johan that what he thinks of as a burden is a weight Ryu can handle and do so willingly.
Characterisation, Temporal Ellipses, and Trauma Porn(?)
I find Hashizume Shunki’s works difficult to analyse (speaking of his works albeit I haven’t finished More Than Words). That’s also why I find his works so fascinating. He directs and writes films following the ways of a novelist, which he is. He’s masterful at embodying the “show, don’t tell” maxim and he does so in a way that is subtle indeed, but also very clear, if not obvious no matter how paradoxical it may sound (how can something subtle be obvious?). It is especially clear in the queer subtext he infuses in the drama which I’ve touched upon previously.
I’d like to talk about the characterisation first.
Despite the appealing cinematography and detailed acting, it took me some time to fully submerse myself in Soul Mate because of how the script was written. I wish I could speak Japanese so that I’d be able to analyse the choice of vocabulary and see whether the words and structures used are common. I can only stick to the English translation which is what I’ll do.
The script is beautiful and the lines spoken by the characters feel as if they belong to a novel rather than a script. They’re reflective, sometimes quite long, and it’s not uncommon to see characters pause and truly reflect on themselves and verbalise their feelings. I articulate this idea very poorly but what I mean to say is that the directing truly highlights the script in Soul Mate. In some scenes, it feels like time is suspended and the whole world is listening. Nothing matters in those moments but the words spoken. The camera rests on the characters’ faces and you can see them think, choose their words carefully, and react to what the other person is saying.
The directing creates space for the words to fully bloom out of the characters. It lets the characters look at each other, linger, and formulate the best they can what they’ve been feeling deep inside.
Although we do get to learn a bit of Ryu’s, Sumiko’s, and Johan’s backstory, we viewers truly get to know them by watching the way they interact with the world and one another. Through their lines, you pick up elements that makes you able to catch a glimpse of the character’s essence, similarly to what a reader would do. The way Hashizume Shunki uses temporal ellipses as well is reminiscent to characterisation as structured in novels. A lot of times, a character will recall what happened to them without the readers reading about the scene per se. They get an account of what happened. Or, a piece of information is shared or made explicit and that’s how the reader realises that something happened between the lines. An event took place between point A and point B in time and it is simply mentioned. Although lacking details, the temporal ellipses used throughout the drama are very informative. Take Johan’s studying to get a Visa and teach at the Korean language school for instance or Sumiko and Seiichi’s relationship. These life events aren’t shown but it suggests that months have past between two scenes and that the characters were busy, trying hard to build a life that feels right for them.
Now on to something that seems to have received mixed reactions from people who have watched Soul Mate (and legitimately so). Is Hashizume Shunki doing trauma porn? He isn’t. Quoting someone from Reddit (not the most reliable source but I do like the definition they gave of trauma porn), trauma porn happens “when a creator simulates (or depicts) a traumatic event with the sole goal of generating an emotional response from the audience. The goal of the event in this scenario is not to focus on the character(s) involved in the traumatic situation – their hurt, pain, and suffering – but to instead focus on the event itself in the hopes of triggering a reaction from the audience.” Hashizume Shunki doesn’t so much focus on the traumatic events that fall on his characters but on how it impacts them. That’s precisely why it’d be unfair to qualify Soul Mate as a drama relying on trauma porn to emotionally involve its viewers. Let’s take Seiichi’s death as an example. His death did not incite an emotional reaction in me. I won’t lie; I was annoyed at the timing because it meant that Sumiko would go through her pregnancy alone. It’s not because I lack empathy that Seiichi’s death didn’t move me. Hashizume Shunki didn’t want the viewers to focus on him but on Sumiko instead. I can hear you coming: if you feel bad for Sumiko that means Hashizume Shunki is indeed using trauma porn to make you feel bad for her. That could be true if only Sumiko allowed us to feel bad for her. She doesn’t. She stands her ground in front of Seiichi’s parents who are awfully rude and sexist to her. She may feel helpless, but she remains full of grace and determined to do what she thinks is best for her and her child.
She is again alone in this scene and although she appears hesitant, she doesn’t allow you to pity her. She wants you to believe she can get by on her own. Even when she breaks down in her apartment in front of Ryu and Johan, even when she emphasises how unfair it is, even when her apartment is a mess and dark, she is still there. Although on her knees with Ryu and Johan towering over her, we know she will get up again. Ryu meeting her on the ground indicates that he will be there to help her out this time, with Johan as well.
As cruel as it is, Seiichi’s death enables them to figure things out together and eventually become a family.
In French, there’s an expression called “faire famille”. “Faire” can be translated in many ways but it usually is translated to “do” or “make”, and “famille” means “family”. “Faire famille” suggests an intentional effort to build family relationships with people you choose. Blood relations have nothing to do with it. “Faire” as a verb highlights a movement forward, a willingness to be the maker of such bonds, to bring intentions and purpose into it. That’s exactly what Ryu, Sumiko, and Johan do. Hashizume Shunki portrays their family making in such an intimate way, it deeply resonated with me. It moved me so much when they all greeted one another when returning home after work, when Johan cooked for Ryu, when he tells him to wash his hands before eating, when Ryu brings Johan’s a porridge Sumiko has made while he is sick, checking his temperature, worrying for him as he’ll continue to do so when Johan will start acting strange and come home late at night. The intimacy captured in those scenes is truly stunning and demonstrates what family is all about: care, commitment, trust, affection, respect, responsibility, understanding, and love.
I certainly did roll my eyes when Seiichi was killed by a truck but as explained previously, Hashizume Shunki’s use of sensationalism (if you will) is not trauma porn. To further this point, I’ll point out how I didn’t have a similar reaction when we learnt that Johan had a terminal illness. As a retired professional boxer, he definitely received irreversible damage to his brain and I’m not surprised this could provoke such an illness. (I’m no scientist though so I’m not sure how his disease work but since it impacts his mobility, it must be neurological and therefore related to his brain.) Once we learn about his terminal illness, the same thing that happens with Sumiko occurs, you feel for him of course but Johan moves forward despite it all. It still is utterly heart-breaking because, similarly to Sumiko, he despairs faced with a life so unfair to him, but you keep your focus on him and not his disease. Hashizume Shunki doesn’t portray his rapid loss of mobility, instead, he shows you Johan as he is. In a wheelchair, in pain, distressed, but still present.
Despite it all, he perseveres. Johan’s terminal illness is a means for Hashizume Shunki to show how much he loves Ryu, how he cares for Sumiko and Kanau. It is a literary device but not one aimed at provoking an emotional reaction in the viewers. The tragic moments are always used to further the characterisation. This distinctive approach seems to make up Hashizume Shunki’s style and emphasises how as the director and writer, he is the one in control of what happens in the drama.
However, as a lot of writers have said before, you may create the story and characters, there will always come a time when they will emancipate and become someone of their own. No matter the harsh tribulations Ryu, Sumiko and Johan are faced with, they will always move forwards. No matter how many times Hashizume Shunki tests their resilience, they will always get back on their feet.
Now I can’t simply end this commentary without addressing the elephant in the room: the Christian symbolism at play in Soul Mate.
Again, Hashizume Shunki remains quite ambiguous in its depiction. While the beginning of the drama shows a clash between a German man and his son on homosexuality and the son’s refusal to go to the Church as it is a place that rejects him, Hashizume Shunki is not necessarily criticising Christianity as a whole. While it is that very son that sets fire to the church, it is depicted as an accident, an event that slipped out of his control.
The fire in the church is both a scene of loss and judgement, but it is also a scene of rebirth and salvation.
The church scene is a very spiritual scene for both Ryu and Johan. In Ryu’s case, he sees the fire as a symbol of God’s wrath and judgement, here to destroy him and punish him for his sins. He gives himself up and lies down, looking at the flames with a faraway expression on his face.
As a Christian, Johan is seen reminiscing on his sins, seemingly asking for forgiveness, or, at least, confessing them and confiding in God. Although he did not mean to enter the church, once he’s in, his steps guide him naturally to the confessional which suggests how guilt eats away at him (“That’s why I was at the church. Because I… mmm… have been lying, also, to myself.” This is from episode 2.).
“What I saw back then felt very strange. He was trying to come to terms with something, something I could never come to terms with. In that instant, I knew. I knew that I did not want him to die. I don’t know why I did it. I know what I did wasn’t logical. But thinking back on it now, I think my heart had already been touched at that point. That’s why, when I heard that voice in the ring, from a guy I thought I’d never see again, in all seriousness, it sounded like salvation.”
This monologue is very spiritually-loaded, using words which are familiar to Christians like “salvation” and describing experiences that are felt in the body and mind but that can’t be explained. Hashizume Shunki describes Johan as being almost divinely compelled to save Ryu’s life, for Ryu had touched his soul in such a way that it made him believe his life was worth something again.
It is therefore not a coincidence that Johan uses the word “miracle” to describe Ryu’s presence in his life. The relationship he has with Ryu feels deeply spiritual and it’s no wonder the drama is called Soul Mate, emphasis on the soul. Ryu and Johan are seen developing a bond that connects them to each other and that transcends what society commonly accepts as love and family. Their souls call to each other and it reminds me of Plato’s definition of lovers in the Symposium, as people longing for their other half, looking to be whole again.
Another scene I find interesting to look at with a Christian lens is that scene in episode 2 where Johan washes his face in the lake. It happens after he formally refuses to take part in any rigged matches and confronts his boss’ boss.
This scene clearly evokes a baptism during which Johan emerges as a new person, ready to retire as a boxer and start pursuing a new dream.
I’ll end this commentary by saying that, although I’ve started with some criticism, I adore Soul Mate with all my being. If there’s one thing to remember about this drama, it’s its depiction of intentionality as being a core component of any relationships and dynamics. People might fall in love in mysterious ways – and by love, I do not only suggest romantic love – but it is always the efforts and intentions you put in your relationships that make them bloom into something beautiful that can endure hardships.
Ryu and Johan’s queer platonic relationship is not a given or something that comes easy to them. They had to face their fears and doubts and show themselves in their most vulnerable states. They faced tension and difficulties but their love ran so deep that they could not let the call of their souls towards each other unanswered.
Additionally, what could possibly be a more beautiful way to say I love you that this: “If… you are really here right now… Longer… I think I wanna live a bit longer.”?
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