Note to self: never give Kafuku the aux.

In a car you feel weightless, gliding through the air, shielded from the cold uninviting environments you traverse, lulled into a trance by familiarity amongst the forever shifting scenery. In a car you are you, bound to your position by a firm seatbelt, at the mercy of both the driver and the vehicle itself. In a car you are vulnerable, left with your thoughts, free from distractions. In a car the rearview mirror defiantly reminds you of your past, the road ahead spiraling and twisting in unforeseen directions revealing your future. In a car, you are the passenger to your past and the driver of your present.

In the tranquil meditative 3 hour drama (that ends up feeling like half that) Drive My Car, we are introduced to characters struggling with guilt, cursed by a detrimental reluctance to communicate, and deeply fearful of self-reflection. While most sensations are transient in nature, ephemeral and fleeting flourishes of emotion that subside over time, trauma is persistent. It nestles itself deep within the psyche, ensuring the carrier can know no peace within themselves, making the setting of the film, Hiroshima, all the more fitting.

Drive My Car is a beautiful film that has so much to say, yet practices poetic specificity in the most moving and touching ways possible. Truly the best film I’ve seen in 2021 and one that I don’t think will leave my mind for a while. 

HONK HONK 9