Blue, Painful, Fragile

 Who remembers being uselessly idealistic in their youth? Or, I guess a better question would be, who doesn't remember that? Blue, Painful, Fragile, a Japanese film directed by Shunsuke Kariyama and available on Netflix, takes one back to that time in one's life when one doesn't bother to test their ideas and beliefs against reality. 

The story centers around two outcast college students, Hisano and Kaede. One day, the outgoing and idealistic Hisano suddenly approaches the avoidant Kaede to start a college club that aims to end "global hunger and bring world peace." While Kaede isn't much of a believer in Hisano's lofty goals, he goes along. Slowly, he finds friendship and purpose in their humble two-person club, up until the point they begin to genuinely help people in their community.

In the present day, however, the club has changed dramatically. Kaede is back to being an outcast (and has an outcast friend) and Hisano is dead. The club has left behind its idealistic and small-scale roots and is now a campus-wide phenomenon attracting students with its networking events that help them make connections and eventually land well-paying and respectable jobs. This transformation is heartbreaking for Kaede. In his eyes, the club he built from the ground up with a beloved friend who is now dead has now been corrupted by a new administration with nothing but a capitalistic agenda on its mind and leaders who exploit their power. Together with his friend, Kaede embarks on a mission to bring the club back to its original state, or else destroy it completely.

Image Source: Netflix

While this seems like a campus-superhero/vigilante story at first, the revelations that follow reveal the truth of what happened beyond what we see from Kaede's perspective. In reality, Hisano never died. In fact, she was the one who helped grow the club to its present status. To Kaede, that was the death of Hisano. Although he tries to dress up his sense of betrayal with clothes of betrayed ideals, it soon becomes clear that his betrayal actually stems from the fact that another outcast left him behind. The ideals he had adopted from Hisano, and the bubble they had created with it, put Kaede in a comfortable spot where he did not have to feel challenged or grow. He could feel better than others by telling himself he was striving for goals the average student didn't have the morals to care about. At the same time, he could avoid feeling lonely or expand his worldview because he had one partner by his side, which is often all one needs in the moment. When Hisano grows out of their bubble, embracing the reality of changing the world by adopting real-world "means and methods," what Hisano is really upset about is the shattering of his comfort zone. It is the bitterness of those who never grow out of their college self, using their youthful ideals as excuses to not face their own shortcomings. By the climax, when Kaede manages to destroy the club as he planned, it becomes clear that he is no superhero or vigilante. Instead, he is the villain in his own story.

We are shown a montage of what could have been. Instead of petulantly leaving the club he built because it no longer nursed his precarious comfort zone, Kaede could have chosen to grow with it. Instead of dismissing club activities as "networking," he could have made new friends. Their is a warmth in these alternate-reality scenes which contrasts with how Kaede has been portrayed , and a humility and gentleness that show the audience that "what could have been" could easily have been if not for Kaede had not ruined it with his own jealousy. After all, what had hurt him the most was the loss of his only friend, and he had contributed to that loss with his own indignation. What he had wanted was friendship, togetherness, laughter, and the joy of accomplishing small objectives together, all of which were within his reach with nothing holding him back other than own mind.

Blue, Painful, Fragile took my back to my own childhood. I was a bit of a Kaede, using my ideals to justify my loneliness in school and my inability to get along with people, telling myself I am better than others and that I could be alone if nobody wanted to join me. From my insular viewpoint, there was nothing wrong with my thoughts. Fortunately, it did not take a revenge plot for me to change. Instead, it was something much simpler--it was the sheer joy of genuinely connecting with other people. First, it was one best friend, and then there were two, and then there were three. Then I changed schools and started participating in as many extra-curricular activities as I could. I failed at most but succeeded at some. I made another best friend. In college, I formed a short-lived sisterhood with girls I shared a room with, and eventually packed a rucksack full of memories with my classmates. All of these events, although small and insignificant for most people, were building blocks in healing my from my self-sabotaging personality. I have come to realize that I don't want to be "different" or "more moral" or "less hypocritical" or "more intellectual" than anyone. I simply want to be the best I can be and I want to do it with close friends. With my personality, I don't think I can ever be popular or the life of the party, but I can be happier with people who care for me by my side, and I don't want to lose that in pursuit of moral or ideological superiority (or if we are being honest, the pursuit of looking superior to everyone else).

Fortunately, Kaede is not doomed to be a villain forever. At his core, he knows his own contributions to his misfortunes and has a big enough heart to feel the pain of hurting his former best friend by destroying what she worked so hard to build. In the last scene, after months of not seeing Hisano, we see Kaede finally accepting the challenge of facing his own demons and rushing to apologize to a girl he sees crossing the street who looks like Hisano.

Japanese films have always had the ability to unearth moments and memories I have buried under layers of growth, and they do so by confronting me to the parts of myself I am quite honestly ashamed and embarrassed of. But, in a way, shame keeps us accountable, and Blue, Painful, Fragile does just that. Getting the chance to grow is often not the difficult part of life. It is the embracing of those chances that is difficult, because it implies mourning our present self to give birth to our future and more often than not, it implies being wrong. I hope everybody embraces the chance to grow the way Kaede did, and nobody has to live life lonely and bitter just because they couldn't let go of their pride.