My Broken Mariko Review
My Broken Mariko, a film principally about grief, can be puzzlingly pedestrian at times, only to be punctuated every so often with a level of poignancy that elevates the experience to something above the average.
Based on a web manga of the same name and helmed by Yuki Tanada, My Broken Mariko follows Tomoyo Shiino (Mei Nagano) who abruptly hears news that her longtime friend, Mariko Ikagawa (Nao Honda), has taken her own life. Left off balance and emotionally conflicted, she decides to confront Mariko’s abusive father and go with her remains on the trip to the seaside that they never got to take together. Along the way, she struggles to reconcile her own feelings and just what to do with her own life.
In many ways, and despite the somewhat more out of the box premise, My Broken Mariko traverses somewhat familiar emotional story beats for narratives of this kind. Though not entirely predictable as such, much of Tomoyo’s emotional journey rhymes with that of similar protagonists dealing with unexpected loss, particularly where suicide is involved. That said, the film benefits from generally taking Tomoyo away from her usual surroundings, which allows a distinct focus on her as an individual and her specific relationship with her late friend. The move out of urban Japan to the beach and countryside also helps to add a greater sense of contemplation to the work, enhancing Tomoyo’s introspection. Nevertheless, again premise aside, there is not a lot that could be labelled as novel in the script, which can lessen the impact for some viewers.
Ultimately, the film is carried by Mei Nagano in the lead role, and whilst some scenes her performance is only serviceable, there are others where she manages to tap into a real level of raw pathos. This tends to arise more often in the quieter moments, as opposed to those where Tomoyo is shown having an outburst. Credit should also go to Nao Honda for her portrayal of the eponymous Mariko, who manages to pull of some gut wrenching moments as the depressive and rudderless woman clings to Tomoyo for lack of any knowledge of how to truly to help herself.
For all that, and accepting that the film is an adaptation of an existing story, it is hard to shake the feeling that My Broken Mariko could have been more had some different choices had been taken with its screenplay. For instance, a character introduced perhaps halfway into the less than 90 minute runtime, Makio (Kubota Masataka), whilst an understandable inclusion seems to take up more time than his presence is ultimately worth, from a narrative standpoint. Tomoyo’s final confrontation with a bag snatcher too, whilst sense can be made of its inclusion in the story, feels like an ineffective choice in catalysing the resolution of her emotional conflict.
