The art of dance conveys so much. An effective routine drips with passion or moves you to tears. Gyrating on the dance floor with friends unleashes joy or provides some sort of catharsis. When the music flows through you, and you let go, it can feel like you’re floating above it all, completely transported. Josef Kubota Wladyka has a firm grasp on this and threads it throughout his latest directorial effort, Ha-chan, Shake Your Booty!
The film, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, follows Haru (Rinko Kikuchi) and Luis (Alejandro Edda), a couple who regularly compete in the Tokyo ballroom dance scene. They’ve settled into a cozy routine, reviewing past competition footage over meals as they bask in each other’s mere presence. Kikuchi and Edda bludgeon us with electric chemistry, showing a love almost as vibrant as the movie itself. They love each other and dancing so much, in fact, that during their big competition, all other competitors fade away, and the two literally levitate above the floor.
However, it’s during this dance that Luis suffers a fatal health emergency. Haru withdraws from the world that brought her so much joy in the first place. This withdrawal serves as the springboard for the rest of the film as Wladyka explores the messiness of grief and the non-linear journey of healing.
Despite Luis’ death permeating the film, it never scales back on the whimsy. Our characters are clothed in vibrant hues courtesy of designer Babymix. Haru is visited by Luis’ ghost dressed up as a giant bird. Her reality often melts away to make way for elaborate dance numbers.
Wladyka employs magical realism as a vessel for Haru’s big feelings. It’s almost as if her feelings are so big, they spill out of her and manifest in these fantastical choices. For the most part, it’s quite effective in giving a visual language to the complicated emotions happening in Haru’s head.
The primary visual language of this film is earnest dance, and it is exciting to witness the lights shift and the people around Haru unite in movement. However, as the film progresses, some of these sequences start to inhibit the momentum rather than advance it. While I applaud Wladyka for staying consistent, certain sequences feel like they’re simply just there rather than exploring the character.
Kikuchi completely sells every dance number, though. She navigates the choreography intuitively, and each movement feels burrowed in her bones. We watch a performer so thoroughly immersed in her character that she doesn’t need to extrapolate; we can glean everything from just her movements.
That’s not to say Kikuchi isn’t also riveting when she’s still. There’s a storm in Haru’s head, and Kikuchi wears it like a costume. There are moments where Haru is simply observing, but you can feel her attempting to work through every single thing she’s feeling.
The most miraculous piece of Kikuchi’s work is how she doesn’t simplify Haru; she embraces the messiness of the character and the situation at large.
Haru’s friends eventually get her back into the dance studio under the tutelage of a new instructor (Alberto Guerra). Haru immediately develops an infatuation with him. One moment, Kikuchi allows Haru to be completely swept up in Guerra’s charisma; the next beat, she slams back into her body and covers Haru in guilt. The film shines when it locks in on Haru’s push and pull between her deceased husband and her new infatuation, and that is all due to Kikuchi.
Wladyka’s script, co-written with Nicholas Huyn, embraces the messiness of grief. Haru stumbles from questionable decision to questionable decision; however, the screenplay never judges her. In fact, it fully understands her behavior without fully absolving her for it.
As it moves into the third act, however, the wheels start to fall off, and the story devolves into uncontrolled chaos. While the point it’s trying to make is congruent with Haru’s journey, the hijinks spiral into something that feels inconsistent for the story and the character.
What it lacks in focus and brevity, the film makes up for with its refreshing perspective. It felt like a breath of fresh air witnessing a film about grief and moving forward that didn’t succumb to doom and gloom. It doesn’t shy away from the heaviness of Haru’s grief, but the world she’s immersed in never loses its whimsy.
The road to healing isn’t straight, but there are paths to explore healing. Some are fruitful, some are not, but eventually, Haru winds up in a place where her internal playfulness spills back out into the real world, and she can start being okay.
The film, dedicated to Wladyka’s mother, is an imperfect journey, but a thrilling one nonetheless. It’s undoubtedly personal, coated in a deep understanding of its main character and what fills her. It’s an honest portrait of grieving and letting go told through one of the most unique lenses I’ve experienced in recent memory.
Review Courtesy of Adam Patla
Feature Image Courtesy of Sundance Institute