Cottontail

In Tokyo, Kenzaburo is struggling after his wife suffered through dementia and died. Her last wish is for the family to scatter her ashes at Lake Windermere, the home of Beatrix Potter where she wrote the stories of Peter Rabbit. Her mother had read her the stories, but she was never able to get her family to go there. Kenzaburo and his estranged son Toshi with his young family travel to England.

This is a nice little touching family drama from Japan with Ciarán Hinds and his real-life daughter popping up for the middle part. When the Hinds show up, I thought maybe they would stay for a road movie. The last act does pack quite a powerful punch especially in the flashbacks. The middle part does stick out a little and Kenzaburo's rush gets a bit annoying. All in all, this holds together in an emotional punch.

This film delivers a powerful and poignant exploration of love, acceptance, and the pain of family loss. I feel completely overwhelmed! Following the passing of his wife, Kenzaburo (Lily Franky) and his son Toshi (Ryô Nishikido) receive an astonishing letter from the local temple's abbot. In it, Akiko, their beloved wife and mother, requests that her ashes be scattered at her cherished childhood spot - Lake Windermere in England. Initially, father and son clash over how to proceed with this unexpected wish. However, they, along with Toshi's wife Satsuki and their young daughter Emi, ultimately embark on a journey from Tokyo to England to honor Akiko's last request.

Director Patrick Dickinson skillfully guides us through Akiko's memories on this path toward healing and understanding!

The acting and the cinematography were both stunning, capturing a whirlwind of emotions beautifully!

It's so beautiful seeing these faces emoting up-close. And what gorgeous actors. It's a refreshing departure from the detached style of Japanese film-making. Not all directors, but most directors. It's always a pet-peeve of mine with Japanese movies.

I loved the transition to the young Akiko and Kenzaburo. Let's face it, Akiko made everything happen for him. I don't know what she saw in him but at least he was besotted with her and devoted to her till the very end. Maybe because she was taken with all things English and he was an English teacher. She certainly idealized him. He was a terrible father and that's made abundantly clear. We get that moment of reconciliation and hope at the very end, which is maybe a little forced but somehow executed very naturally. I teared up a few times along the way.

And interestingly enough, Ciaran Hinds guest stars with his own daughter. And the resemblance is quite obvious.

Very interesting script and choice of subject matter from a British writer/director.

Always tell your loved ones you love them. Say it every day, every moment you can. Do the things you dream of doing together, do it stubbornly while you still can because time rushes forward without mercy.

The film is a slow, meditative unravelling of grief, love, and memory. It doesn't raise its voice. Instead, it whispers straight to your soul. It is achingly beautiful in its restraint, choosing quiet glances, pauses, and silences over exposition. And yet, every unsaid word carries the weight of oceans. What makes Cottontail so emotionally powerful is how it treats sorrow: not as an event, but as a presence. Like a hole in the heart that can never be refilled only re-shaped. A grieving husband travels from Japan to England to honour his late wife's wish to have her ashes scattered in a place deeply tied to their love story. This cross-cultural pilgrimage becomes more than a physical journey, an intimate exploration of how we carry love and loss, and how healing never comes in the form we expect.

The minimal dialogue is one of the film's greatest strengths. It brilliantly trusts the viewer to feel, to notice the tremble in a voice, the hesitation in a step, the ache behind a character's silence. In its simplicity, Cottontail reveals profound emotional layers; grief laced with guilt, affection tangled with regret, and moments of beauty tucked inside unbearable sorrow. The cinematography is gentle and natural, echoing the emotional stillness of the characters, while the score haunts softly in the background like a fading memory. Every frame feels purposeful and unforced like a lingering memory that refuses to fade.

This is not a film about grand gestures, but about the small ones: the way someone holds a photograph, the quiet reverence of a final goodbye. It's a tender reminder to hold close what matters, to speak love while we still can, and to let grief walk beside us rather than try to outrun it. Cottontail doesn't shout. It doesn't demand. It's the silence between the notes. It gently breaks your heart and yet somehow, simultaneously, begins to mend it.

This movie came out of the blue, I was totally unaware of it. The only hook for me was Ciarán Hinds, my being Irish. I actually only became aware of it today 25/09/24, whcih is a shame.

I downloaded it and watched it the same night, what a wonder to behold.

I do not know the Japanese actors as I seldom watch Japanese movies. As mentioned before Ciarán was the hook, I've yet to see him in something bad. Brilliant hook.

Within 5 minutes I was engrossed, even though I had to use subtitles. The pacing of the scenes and the dialogue, gives the viewer the chance to garner what is being said, without taking away from the actual scene, as most modern movies do. That's the tech out of the way.

This movie stirs emotions that even a stone could feel. I figured out the probable diagnosis was. I should say, I'm only half way through the movie, and I know I'll be there at the end.

The love between the two main actors is experctly portrayed by both sets of actors, young and old. The director should be applauded for their sensitive direction. It could have been mushy, it wasn't, it was just right.

I'm looking forward to the ending, even though I surmise what it might be. I could be surprised, and is that a bad thing?