Knocked down but not counted out

So far, so standard boxing movie. But it's here that Miyake and co-writer Masaaki Sakai take a turn for the unconventional. Small, Slow but Steady unfolds exactly like its title suggests, layer by layer, slowly showing us who Keiko is, detailing her daily struggles, and sharing moments of joy and connection with friends. Keiko isn't pitiable. She's insular, sometimes prickly, and complex, and Miyake and Kishii tell us why.

Boxing has long been a metaphor for the personal fights we choose to pick and the need for perseverance when faced with potentially catastrophic challenges. Sylvester Stallone's 1976 classic Rocky was a character study about a guy desperate to prove he's more than just a thuggish loan collector. We all know that despite the loss in the final bout, Rocky wins something intangible: pride. As Small, Slow but Steady sets up Keiko's life and fight career early on, it's easy to jump to conclusions: to assume we know where it's going to end. Miyake's film is cut from the same gritty, dramatic cloth as Rocky, and he makes the film about much more than left jabs. In fact, they don't matter.

It helps that Miyake gets tremendous support from Kishii, who injects Keiko with a physical presence and emotional intelligence that lift the film well above sports drama cliche. She completely inhabits the character, vanishing into the background or popping out as her mindset and confidence levels ebb and flow, and we can almost feel the ache of a particularly rough fight. The space Miyake has put her in is vivid in its silence, complemented by an urban, gray-brown sheen and a music-free soundtrack, occasional intertitles, and cinematographer Yuta Tsukinaga giving Tokyo's empty streets a broken-down, industrial vibe that adds a layer of oppression and isolation, thanks to the coronavirus. Small, Slow but Steady is the smart, astute antidote to the insipid, frequently inappropriate romance Japanese cinema prefers these days. Here's hoping this is the beginning of a new trend.