Hiroko loses her lover Fujii to a mountain climbing accident. Two years later, involved with his buddy, she struggles to overcome her grief.
Itsuki experienced puppy love-hate with a boy in school who coincidentally had the exact same name. Oh, and she can't shake a nasty cold.
Hiroko and Itsuki live at opposite ends of Japan, do not know each other, but could pass for twins.
From such small, incidental, trivial fragments of life Iwai weaves together a magical, deeply cathartic film. Hiroko and Itsuki exist in the same temporal moment, but travel through metaphysical time in opposite directions with regard to their feelings towards Fujii. Hiroko retreats from her love in order to grieve properly, and finally let go. Itsuki inches towards her memory of Fujii, finally waking up to the realisation that he was her first love. Neither Hiroko or Itsuki can make the journey without the other, their dialectical relationship propelling them both towards a confrontation of sorts with Fujii. Hiroko will bellow through her confrontation at a mountainside at dawn. A prosaic message, mundane even, one that repeats the first letter written in the film, but one that manages, as Hiroko cries it out again and again, to touch your soul. Itsuki is to be blind-sided by Fujii, when the secret of his obscure library-card project is revealed in a simple scribble, and Itsuki's fragile hopes come to fruition.
There are truly funny moments in this film - Itsuki pedalling the bike to provide light for Fujii to read, Ranran's manic take as the class nutter, and most of all the nervous laugh of Itsuki's unthinking uncle. It is also very touching at times, such as when the grandfather says he will not walk to the hospital, he will run (and then wonderfully undercut when he falls flat on his face). The whole thing together shimmers with a purity and vitality that words cannot do justice to, the photography has to be seen. Love Letter is a masterpiece from a living genius.
Itsuki experienced puppy love-hate with a boy in school who coincidentally had the exact same name. Oh, and she can't shake a nasty cold.
Hiroko and Itsuki live at opposite ends of Japan, do not know each other, but could pass for twins.
From such small, incidental, trivial fragments of life Iwai weaves together a magical, deeply cathartic film. Hiroko and Itsuki exist in the same temporal moment, but travel through metaphysical time in opposite directions with regard to their feelings towards Fujii. Hiroko retreats from her love in order to grieve properly, and finally let go. Itsuki inches towards her memory of Fujii, finally waking up to the realisation that he was her first love. Neither Hiroko or Itsuki can make the journey without the other, their dialectical relationship propelling them both towards a confrontation of sorts with Fujii. Hiroko will bellow through her confrontation at a mountainside at dawn. A prosaic message, mundane even, one that repeats the first letter written in the film, but one that manages, as Hiroko cries it out again and again, to touch your soul. Itsuki is to be blind-sided by Fujii, when the secret of his obscure library-card project is revealed in a simple scribble, and Itsuki's fragile hopes come to fruition.
There are truly funny moments in this film - Itsuki pedalling the bike to provide light for Fujii to read, Ranran's manic take as the class nutter, and most of all the nervous laugh of Itsuki's unthinking uncle. It is also very touching at times, such as when the grandfather says he will not walk to the hospital, he will run (and then wonderfully undercut when he falls flat on his face). The whole thing together shimmers with a purity and vitality that words cannot do justice to, the photography has to be seen. Love Letter is a masterpiece from a living genius.