When her young son Minato starts to behave strangely, his mother feels that there is something wrong. Discovering that a teacher is responsible, she storms into the school demanding to know what’s going on. But as the story unfolds through the eyes of mother, teacher and child, the truth gradually emerges.

Monster‘s narrative structure is its dramatic strength. Kore-eda’s enigmatic approach gives us only a few clues as to what’s at stake and the situation between Saori Mugino and her son Minato. The beginning of the film works all the better for letting us imagine the situation rather than explaining it, so that each viewer can form his or her own version of the story. Extracurricular violence? Psychological problem? eda ends the suspense by naming his antagonist, Minato’s teacher Hori. The evidence is overwhelming and the testimonies edifying, the film’s course is set, yet it’s at this point that the director changes the film’s perspective to that of the teacher, telling us the story from his point of view. Monster takes up the ingenious structure used by Kurosawa in Rashomon, a story told in several different ways, by each of the characters who lived through the events, in order to draw out a truth. Eda plays on this structure to prove how quick we are to judge, to point the finger of blame as quickly as possible in our society. The accusation of child abuse and institutional interests are far too powerful not to be sucked into a vicious circle. A tale already magnificently and tragically explored by Thomas Vinterberg in The Hunt. However, if Monster proves terribly effective in its first half, the second half is marked by its own concept’s long-windedness. Revisiting a scene for the second time from a different angle doesn’t always manage to generate real interest once the construction has been understood.

Every character in Monster is outstandingly good. Sakura Ando is probably the character closest to the viewer: like us, she’s desperate to find the clues to understand what’s going on. And so she serves as the perfect entry point for a story of complex relationships, both intimate and social. Because the center of Monster is the two boys Minato and Yori. Eda gradually develops a relationship affected by social weight. The filmmaker tackles a number of themes with these two boys: sexuality, belonging to a group, acceptance of others. While Eda doesn’t necessarily extend these themes in depth, it does leave the viewer with points to ponder on the importance of what we teach our children.

Returning regularly to the same locations, Monster creates the impression of a closed community within a large city that can be seen in the background. Characters cross paths, as schoolchildren meet their teacher Hori in the late evening in the middle of a metropolis. As we try to put the pieces of the puzzle together, the children we meet and the adults watching us already seem to know everything. Thus, the pressure seems all the greater when Minato closes himself up in silence at the start of the film, the weight of a truth seems almost palpable when his mother tries to get answers from Hori and the school management. Every location in Monster carries a story, from the accident that changed a teacher’s life, to the beginning of a close relationship between two boys whom society wanted to set against each other.