Burn Review: Makoto Nagahisa Paints The Neon Loneliness Of Tokyo Street Kids With A Fiery Brush

Makoto Nagahisa’s “Burn” is a visceral cinematic experience that throws confetti around the traumatic experiences of Tokyo’s youth. Starring Nana Mori in its lead role, “Burn” follows Juju in her wayward journey towards the red-light district of Kabukicho. “Burn” is a hauntingly beautiful portrait of trauma that shows how the routes taken to escape trauma eventually lead back into the darkness after fleeting moments in light. Nagahisa had already been nominated in both the Sundance and Berlin International Film Festivals before with his feature debut, “We Are Little Zombies,” a coming-of-age drama with a similar visual language. His neon-drenched frames and punk characters hold the power of creating a world that feels grounded but always just a few feet away from surreality. Think about it as Sean Baker’s characters in a mise-en-scène of Sam Levinson. “Burn” feels shockingly close to “Euphoria’s” visual elements in its colour palette and character designs. Burn” begins with a prologue where Ju Ju speaks of burning down Kabukicho, and in its unfolding it reveals why. 

Jurrie has been raised in an orthodox Christian family, with the church and gospels being a part of her everyday life. Abuse had been a part of it too, with her father abusing her and her sister mercilessly, and later, after his death, her mother fulfilling the role. The film does not explore too deeply into Jurrie’s past; she has a stammer problem, and it seemed to lead to much of the abuse she had to suffer. “Burn” almost consciously avoids the abuse, repressing it like Jurrie would to focus more and more on the escape. Jurrie finds an online group and contacts Kami, who asks her to come to Tokyo. With the guilt of leaving her sister at home, Jurrie runs away from home to meet with a group of wayward kids who gather around at Tokyo Square. These are children who were looking for that silver lining and are now desperate to dig their nails in the dirt to pick up anything shiny. 

Their ages vary, and so do their costumes and lives, but somewhere along the line they are all connected by this escape. There is only one prerequisite to be a part of Kami’s group: you must have some kind of emptiness in your heart. 

Jurrie’s stammer, which led her to mispronounce her name, gives her a new life where she becomes Ju Ju. This escape was once Ju Ju’s daydream; too bad it soon turns into a carnivalesque nightmare. Nagahisa, who wrote the story and then brought it to life, is also meticulous in crafting its images; he builds a self-indulgent world through the portrayal of the children staying with Kami in a crammed apartment—many of them engage in self-harm, drug abuse, and eventually sex work. Kabukicho district, which derives its name from the Kabuki artists of the past, is primarily a red-light district area. Kami’s kindness feels like home at first, but it feeds on itself. Kami gets the kids to work as sex workers, and the film follows Ju Ju and Mitsuba into neon love hotels where they work for “money and love” and then “exorcise” the evil in the showers after. There is an underlying dread that runs in the tinted veins of this film; under the sparkling eyeliner wings the characters mask a sense of deep loneliness and violation. Kami draws a magical ladder with a tube of glitter on Wris’ arm, who derives his name from having most cuts on his forearms; Ju Ju goes out with A-Q only to be raped by him afterwards. A carnival of pain and muffled cries, which spills throughout the film. “Burn” is also brutal in its symbolism; after Wris’ death, when his body is taken away, Kami buries parcels of expensive meat at the cemetery, which looks like an urban jungle equal in Wris’ weight, revealing the paradox in his care for his children, who are important enough to be expensive but ultimately just a few wads of meat to him.

Nana Mori’s portrayal of Ju Ju runs skin deep into the character. Watching her and Mitsuba roaming the streets of Tokyo under the glimmer of pink lights, contemplating climbing the topmost floor of a hotel, and then retiring with clients in musty rooms of love hotels feels perverse to watch. The film is not one to lecture explicitly about ethics when showing the lived reality of these children who have few other choices, but its ethical position grows in the audience’s conscience. You would feel a deep sense of wrongness in all of it that would make you want to reach out through the screen and stop Ju Ju or the other kids from getting on this dangerous rollercoaster that they are on. “Burn” also reminds me of “American Honey” in how it reflects on the friendships and romances formed in these communities of wayward misfits. 

Escape in this film is a repetitive theme; the children escape their homes at first to turn up at Kami’s, from where they are often taken to temporary shelters. However, they escape again to return to this hallucinogenic world of fun and emptiness. The search for escape continues as they become adults and start working as sex workers trying to buy their freedom out of this neon hell, which sometimes looks like paradise. Nagahisa’s images are a masterclass in filmmaking that blends form and narrative; while we do not see Kabukicho burn, we see Ju Ju holding the dildo, pink and sparkly, left to her by a client to confront her dad in a fantasy sequence. Confronting the father with the symbol of the phallus is the fundamental of psychoanalysis, and even if you are unaware of theories, the image excels in its own power. A pink glow (much like the one from Jane Schoenbrun’s “I Saw the TV Glow”; are we using neon pink to symbolize loneliness and angst in this era?) radiates around Juju before the film ends with an extremely neo-noir close shot of Juju’s face. Nagahisa is definitely a new auteur in the making, and his poignant portraits of youth feel like a neon river of images that stay alive on the back of your vision long after you close your eyes.