THE STORY – Set in the near future, Otone Komoto works as an architect. She is married to Kensuke Komoto, who runs a construction company. The married couple decide to welcome a humanoid robot into their home as their son.
THE CAST – Haruka Ayase, Daigo Yamamoto, Rimu Kuwaki, Nana Seino & Kanichiro
THE TEAM – Hirokazu Kore-eda (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 127 minutes
A sprawling science fiction tale of family loss and abandonment, a la Steven Spielberg’s “A.I. Artificial Intelligence,” seems right up the alley of acclaimed Japanese filmmaker Hirokazu Kore-eda. From Kore-eda’s Palme d’Or-winning “Shoplifters” to his recent achievements, “Broker” and “Monster,” his exemplary work is marked by gentle contemplation of family values. There is a common ground that unites the infinite ways in which chosen families come together. We each want to feel seen and heard, yearning for connections that reflect our deepest desires and soothe our grief. In “Sheep in the Box,” a grieving couple hopes that adopting a humanoid modeled after their late son will help them regain parts of themselves. However futuristic the story, it ultimately circles back to what it means to be human. While Kore-eda’s sensibilities seem a good fit for this material, “Sheep in the Box” becomes far too derivative for its own good. The film is crafted with promising ambition and incorporates a suitably serene landscape into the narrative, but the oddly distant approach leaves behind an intense yearning for more earnestness.
Set in the not-too-distant future, the film centers around architect Otone (Haruka Ayase) and her husband Kensuke (Daigo Yamamoto), who have lost their young son in an accident. With technology-driven solutions at their disposal, the couple heads to REbirth’s headquarters, a company that creates robot versions of lost loved ones to help families grieve. While Kensuke remains skeptical, as evidenced by his choice of nicknames for the robots (Tamagotchi and Roomba, notably), Otone believes that a soul still exists somewhere inside. Or at least, she chooses to believe in this possibility. Otone and Kensuke eventually fall on the same page and agree to adopt a humanoid replica of their late son, Kakeru (Rimu Kuwaki). When the humanoid arrives, we learn of its various intelligence capabilities and setting requirements, including a tracker that alerts the couple when it is too far away. Without this GPS embedded into its system, the humanoid can reclaim its body and travel anywhere.
What begins as a contained narrative of one family’s grief unfolds into a more sprawling exploration of chosen families among humanoids. Somewhere along the way of this potentially all-encompassing story, the film misses integral steps to maintain a cohesive narrative. Kore-eda has plenty of material at hand to sift through, and finds a few recurring thematic angles that do manage to resonate—namely, an emphasis on the connection between our minds and nature. The woodlands around the family’s home are disappearing, and through Otone’s work as an architect, there is a welcome emphasis on preserving nature’s creations within the structures of a new home she’s designing.
The film also introduces us to an intriguing, albeit very brief bond between Kakeru and an old carpenter who embodies the energy of an ancient tree. Several narrative ideas float on the surface, but fall short of communicating what Kore-eda wants to say. This is most felt during the humanoid-focused second half of the film, which introduces a new wave of plot points and characters but fails to lay the groundwork for emotional investment. Considering that this portion of the film also intertwines the family’s characterizations, the story as a whole loses focus and narrative clarity.
The film resonates most as a portrait of parental figures who have lost the ability to cope with grief. Otone and Kensuke each blame themselves for the loss of Kakeru. By interacting with the humanoid version of their son, the couple gradually learns that they must face their guilt-ridden perspectives head-on. This interior conflict gives way to memorable moments, such as Kakeru staring deep into Otone’s soul and sensing the darkest, deepest corners of her mind. There is a resounding vulnerability to being truly seen, and with Otone not yet at a place of squaring her emotions, this window into her soul feels terrifying. Additionally, Kensuke’s character undergoes a somewhat complex arc as he begins to address his grief inwardly. However, these moments ultimately feel buried in a film that reaches for grandeur but ends up with a story in perpetual limbo.
To the film’s credit, the performances work wonders at evoking curiosity throughout, despite a muddled concept and an incredibly messy final act. However, the emotionality of this story reads as too manufactured to allow the more grounded, humane themes to strike a chord. It’s a film that audaciously tugs at the heartstrings, complete with a beautiful, poignant score that steps in for major heavy lifting in integral scenes. There are luminous glimmers of promise scattered throughout “Sheep in the Box,” and each speaks to a filmmaker of immense creativity and thoughtful sensibilities—unfortunately, those glimmers amount to a disappointingly disorienting feature.
