In this blog post, I’d like to share my thoughts on Hirokazu Kore-eda’s documentary ‘August Without Him’, focusing on why I chose this film, its observational and poetic style, and the meaning of absence revealed in the process of documenting a person’s life and death.
Reasons for Choosing Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Documentary
My reasons can be divided into two categories.
First, I am simply a fan of Hirokazu Kore-eda. His films have been a great source of inspiration for me, and through many of his works—including such representative films as ‘Light in the Dusk’, ‘Wonderful Life’, and ‘It Might Actually Happen’—I have come to deeply respect Hirokazu Kore-eda as a director. I had known for some time from my research that Kore-eda produced documentaries before entering the world of feature films, but I hadn’t been able to watch them myself. However, I recently managed—with some difficulty—to obtain a copy of one of his documentaries, ‘August Without Him’, and ended up watching it for a midterm assignment on documentaries.
Second, it’s because I’ve been going through a difficult time recently. I was overwhelmed by skepticism toward filmmaking and a vague sense of anxiety. While attending school, I had been trying out various production methods—moving away from conventional, formulaic approaches, such as the Hollywood system—to develop my own style, or what I’d call a “documentary-like” style. But at some point, I began to feel skeptical.
I didn’t like scripts that were undefined—that is, ones that lacked specificity. I don’t deny the importance of the characters in a film’s script, but I’ve recently come to believe that there must be a connection between the filmmaker and the characters. Of course, the story must come first. However, in my personal view, the situation should take precedence over the story. That’s why I believe one should write a script only after conducting location scouting. I believe the camera’s position—that is, its perspective—comes later. However, in the overall production system, the screenplay takes precedence. This created a point of conflict, which led to a great deal of internal struggle.
I found myself thinking deeply—and struggling—over whether a film for everyone, or an accessible film, is necessarily a good film. If I continued making movies this way, it would feel like preparing for a Grade 9 civil service exam even though I knew the civil service system was being abolished.
In the midst of this situation, I watched movies to relieve stress. Ironically, after watching Hirokazu Kore-eda’s ‘Walking and Walking’, I became curious about Kore-eda’s production methods and began searching for related materials. And I found the answer in a passage from one of his writings.
“I hope my films can break down the boundaries between fiction and documentary. That boundary is an artificial construct and not very solid. I want to show what happens when those two collide.”
I wrote the screenplay, drew up the storyboards, and shot the film exactly as planned, but I felt that none of that really mattered. This was exactly what I had wanted to say myself. I wanted to make a film without boundaries between fiction and documentary. Kore-eda continues to make films today to break down those boundaries. Reading this piece gave me a lot to think about and provided a springboard for moving forward.
Between the Observational and Poetic Styles
If you watch his early documentaries, you’ll see cinematic sequences interspersed throughout. Simply put, they are mostly in the observational style. The observational style emerged as technological advancements made cameras lighter and simultaneous sound recording possible.
The observational style, epitomized by American “Direct Cinema,” was produced in reaction to the “voice-over” tradition, minimizing the director’s or camera’s intervention in the subject and on set as much as possible.
However, the documentary’s final scene—a beach against the backdrop of a sunset—leaves the viewer with much to ponder. This style is referred to as the poetic style.
The poetic style can be viewed as an artistic form of expression that, in reaction to the standardization of content and visual grammar in early narrative films, presents the painterly and poetic sensibilities of visual images—without linguistic rhetoric—alongside visual rhythm, thereby aesthetically reconstructing a fragmented world rather than focusing on narrative or the continuity of time and space. Poetic documentaries of this period were linked to the avant-garde movement, and the poetic style focused more on aesthetic expression than on reality itself.
A Person’s Life and Death, and the August Without Him
The documentary ‘August Without Him’ is about Yukata Hirata, Japan’s first openly gay person diagnosed with AIDS. Through her, who had been battling the disease for two years, Hirokazu Kore-eda depicts the prejudice surrounding AIDS and the interplay between presence and absence.
Produced from 1992 to 1994, this documentary interweaves footage of her travels, her daily life shuttling between home and the hospital, and scenes of August after her death, allowing the viewer to experience this sense of loss.
After his death, the dynamic movement disappears, and static images—such as the persimmons Hirata loved, the books he wrote, and his telephone—appear, making his absence palpable. What is unusual is that Kore-eda does not capture Hirata’s final moments on camera just before the end of his life. He stopped recording.
Following a declaration that he would “stop filming,” the visual record comes to an end. The reason is that he believed it should not be recorded—because death is such a deeply personal matter.
By concluding the film with scenes of August and the beach after his death, it brings to mind Hirata’s words from the middle of the film: though he knew he shouldn’t be exposed to sunlight due to AIDS, he had expressed a desire to go to the beach someday. These images evoke a profound sense of emotion.
