This review may contain spoilers
Conformity vs. Surrender
Kyoichi plays with theatrical precision the role of a “good man”. The reliable employee, a "good husband" who discreetly fails as an adulterer within patriarchal acceptance. His affairs are extensions of conformity, with women who are aesthetically pleasing and submissive. His life feels less immoral than anesthetized.
The sudden reappearance of Wataru, who has secretly loved Kyoichi since their college days, brings this façade crashing down. Wataru knows his weaknesses, his failures, and his ugly truths. Armed with that knowledge, he overwhelms him emotionally, as well as physically. What begins as a surrender of control gradually turns into a revelation.
The film’s explicit sex scenes may strike some as disruptive; however, their structural similarity is precisely the point. The mechanics of desire remain comparable, yet the emotional posture differs radically. With women, Kyoichi’s sexuality appears performative and rushed. In contrast, the intimacy between the two men unfolds through passion and a gentler mutuality. The difference lies not in the act, but in Kyoichi’s state.
Further within this new arrangement, Kyoichi appears generally more carefree, his laughter unforced, his gestures playful, almost boyish. Their shared space mirrors this contradiction. Though modest and framed by cold concrete and urban austerity, it radiates a quiet warmth, an intimacy carved out of an otherwise indifferent world, a fragile pleasure that seems in need of protection.
Yet the past catches up. Kyoichi’s habitual impulse to fill his inner void with trivial encounters remains omnipresent. The social “unacceptability” of their relationship, coupled with the weight of internalized shame, begins to erode their relationship. Longing turns into insecurity; vulnerability into pain.
During their ritualized separation, Wataru describes the type of woman who would best suit Kyoichi, painting an image of conformity and comfortable domesticity. In return, Kyoichi wishes Wataru a love that will grant him the affection he deserves, a quiet, guilty confession as farewell.
In his anguish, Kyoichi seeks another taboo breach, yet he cannot bring himself to follow through. Instead, he returns to old patterns, a new doll-like girl, and an outlook of domesticated security.
Wataru can't let go. Another passionate collision makes a defeated Wataru discard the small sign of hope he once left behind in Kyoichi’s space, and leave without a goodbye. Only then does Kyoichi realize the true imprisonment was neither marriage nor desire, but conformity and the emptiness that comes with it. He breaks with social comfort, choosing an uncompromising loyalty to his own emotions, even if that means solitude.
Overall, I appreciate the message because it refuses to offer an easy answer. The ending remains open and rightly so. It does not follow the formula of the romanticized myth of “I can change him” with a happy ending. Both Kyoichi and Wataru carry deeply rooted issues. Their emotional baggage and trust issues cannot simply be undone by passion. Yet it does not feel hopeless. Change will be slow and self-driven. Whether their paths cross again or not, something essential has shifted within them, especially within Kyoichi.
The sudden reappearance of Wataru, who has secretly loved Kyoichi since their college days, brings this façade crashing down. Wataru knows his weaknesses, his failures, and his ugly truths. Armed with that knowledge, he overwhelms him emotionally, as well as physically. What begins as a surrender of control gradually turns into a revelation.
The film’s explicit sex scenes may strike some as disruptive; however, their structural similarity is precisely the point. The mechanics of desire remain comparable, yet the emotional posture differs radically. With women, Kyoichi’s sexuality appears performative and rushed. In contrast, the intimacy between the two men unfolds through passion and a gentler mutuality. The difference lies not in the act, but in Kyoichi’s state.
Further within this new arrangement, Kyoichi appears generally more carefree, his laughter unforced, his gestures playful, almost boyish. Their shared space mirrors this contradiction. Though modest and framed by cold concrete and urban austerity, it radiates a quiet warmth, an intimacy carved out of an otherwise indifferent world, a fragile pleasure that seems in need of protection.
Yet the past catches up. Kyoichi’s habitual impulse to fill his inner void with trivial encounters remains omnipresent. The social “unacceptability” of their relationship, coupled with the weight of internalized shame, begins to erode their relationship. Longing turns into insecurity; vulnerability into pain.
During their ritualized separation, Wataru describes the type of woman who would best suit Kyoichi, painting an image of conformity and comfortable domesticity. In return, Kyoichi wishes Wataru a love that will grant him the affection he deserves, a quiet, guilty confession as farewell.
In his anguish, Kyoichi seeks another taboo breach, yet he cannot bring himself to follow through. Instead, he returns to old patterns, a new doll-like girl, and an outlook of domesticated security.
Wataru can't let go. Another passionate collision makes a defeated Wataru discard the small sign of hope he once left behind in Kyoichi’s space, and leave without a goodbye. Only then does Kyoichi realize the true imprisonment was neither marriage nor desire, but conformity and the emptiness that comes with it. He breaks with social comfort, choosing an uncompromising loyalty to his own emotions, even if that means solitude.
Overall, I appreciate the message because it refuses to offer an easy answer. The ending remains open and rightly so. It does not follow the formula of the romanticized myth of “I can change him” with a happy ending. Both Kyoichi and Wataru carry deeply rooted issues. Their emotional baggage and trust issues cannot simply be undone by passion. Yet it does not feel hopeless. Change will be slow and self-driven. Whether their paths cross again or not, something essential has shifted within them, especially within Kyoichi.
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