Tokyo Sonata is a domestic drama from Kiyoshi Kurosawa, a director who has made his name in the horror genre with the likes of Kairo and Bright Future. This film then is a marked departure for him but it is also unlike most titles in Japanese cinema that I’ve seen on international home video release. Its quietly powerful realism and topical themes make it, for me, one of the most important Japanese films of recent years.

If there’s one thing I find fascinating about contemporary Japan it’s the presence of contrasts that are baffling to an outside first-time visitor. This has been heightened in the past decade or two by fundamental changes that are inexorably altering the society’s status quo, so the ramifications for its defining features of harmony, tradition and smooth routine are quite striking.

Given the current international economic uncertainty, the knock-on effects on industry and everyday life are as noteworthy now as they’ve ever been. What makes this a significant film is that this ultra-modern yet tradition-based Japan is rarely portrayed at the grassroots level: it’s a refreshing change to see a filmmaker point his camera away from the familiar high-rise cityscape and focus it on the ordinary working people who ultimately make the country what it is.

The people in this case are the Sasakis, a family comprised of office manager Ryuhei, his wife Megumi and their two sons Takashi and Kenji. From the outset their lifestyle is shown as typical: functioning day to day with a strict formality. As soon as this premise is established we see Ryuhei lose his supposedly safe job to cheaper foreign labour and it becomes immediately apparent how fragile the neatly-ordered domestic arrangement can be.

Anime and manga fans are familiar with how ‘outsourcing’ is making waves in that industry, but job security is a hot topic in the economy in general. The Sasakis’ predicament is a case study and I suppose a metaphor for the problems that the Japan of today as a whole is facing: people set themselves on a course in life but they are, understandably really, ill-prepared for unforeseen uncertainties such as outside influences. When the unexpected occurs they are lost.

Because Ryuhei’s change in status is so sudden he cannot adapt quickly enough – he conceals the shock and shame of redundancy from his wife and children, pretending to go to work then spending the day at job centres and soup kitchens. His attempts at finding alternative employment are almost as laughable as they are genuinely tragic, but in fairness he’s had the way of life he was competent in snatched rudely away and replaced with limited, unfamilar options. Interestingly, he’s not alone. During the course of the film, other respectable-looking men in business suits fall in and queue up with the jobless and homeless, which suggests that the problem is widespread, but never overtly acknowledged.

I appreciated the setting in that it’s the quiet suburban environment of narrow streets filled with small, cosy family homes; the colour palette is full of muted browns, beiges and greys rather than the bright neon and gleaming glass of Shinjuku and Shibuya (it reminded me a lot of Asakusa and Machida actually). I can’t comment on Kurosawa’s credentials as a horror film director since this is the first movie of his I’ve seen but this humdrum environment breeding a palpable sense of unease and impending disaster, coupled with the predicament of individuals at the mercy of unseen forces outside their control, are as effective here as they would be in a psychological or supernatural thriller.

The downward spiral of this film is more pedestrian and everyday than that a horror movie but in some ways is equally alarming. Ryuhei carries on his charade while his domestic authority crumbles; Takashi makes a career decision but hesitates in telling his parents for fear of their disapproval; Kenji seeks escape from being a class misfit by taking piano lessons in secret using his lunch money; Megumi carries on her role with quiet dignity in the face of painful loneliness and isolation, yet it’s clear she has has mounting doubts about her husband’s credentials as the traditional authoritative patriarch.

With the exception of a couple of scenes involving physical violence and raised voices – all the more shocking because of their infrequency – the entire affair is extremely subtle and restrained. The performances are superb, and background music is used sparingly. My only criticism is a sudden divergence in tone late on in the second half which carries a brilliant kind of tragic comedy that made me unsure whether to laugh or cry at its poignant absurdity, but goes against the grain with what precedes it.

Things get back on track for the final arc though, which returns to being stoic and understated. The simultaneous declarations from Ryuhei and Megumi of “Can I start over again?” are followed by moments of almost God-given redemption then a symbolic return home: battered, dirty and exhausted, they and Kenji walk in separately and sit at the dining table in a heart-wrenching echo of the harmonious opening scenes. The only verbal acknowledgement of the strangeness in this return to normality is Kenji’s nonchalant comment on his father’s dishevelled appearance.

The poetic finale speaks volumes with no dialogue at all, holding back from drawing conclusions but leaving things open-ended with an appropriate balance of cautious optimism and the inescapable fact that things are bound to change, whether we’re prepared for them or not.

Above all, the combination of quietly effective cinematography and an unflinching study in the characters and their motivations is what makes this feel so genuine and relevant. It avoids excessive sentimentality over their misfortunes or criticism of their flaws, resulting in a portrait of contemporary Japanese family life that never pulls its punches but stays true to telling a recognisable human story. The intimate view of their lives makes them living, breathing characters rather than the cut-out archetypes the film’s premise may suggest: I was mindful of the mistakes they made, but I couldn’t bring myself to pass judgement on them when their situation has no easy answers.