A whimsical scoop-of-life about four women finding connection and purpose in Tokyo…
‘This is not a film,’ announces Ice Cream Fever’s opening sequence in a quirky typeface. It’s the same as graphic designer-turned-director Tetsuya Chihara’s company motto ‘This is not design’, a way to see beyond the existing conventions and make more ambitious art. The film’s (or not a film’s) series of vignettes about young women in Tokyo move as a kaleidoscope of styles and techniques, a contemplative yet youthful love letter to both design and filmmaking.
Based on Mieko Kawakami’s short story of the same name, the film interweaves two central plot lines: the first follows Natsumi (Riho Yoshioka), a former designer working part-time at an ice cream shop, who falls for Saho (Serena Motola), a novelist struggling with a four-year writer’s block. The second revolves around Yu (Marika Matsumoto), an office worker reckoning with her past as she helps her niece (Kotona Minami) search for her absent father. Ice cream functions as the sweetly sticky glue that connects the narratives, a symbol of momentary bliss that becomes the basis for the characters to build something more concrete together.
The film explores female connection in a natural, unhurried way, examining how the characters’ longing for a better life intersects with their desire to connect with other women. Yu wishes to leave her corporate job to take over her favourite sentō, honouring it as an oasis for working women where they can relax after a hard day’s work. Similarly, Natsumi swaps her stressful job as a designer for a small ice cream shop primarily catering to a female customer base. The women of Ice Cream Fever chase the concept of 小確幸 (Shōkakkō), a term coined by the Japanese novelist Murakami, which translates to a small but definite happiness. In today’s harsh economic reality, disaffected millennials no longer aspire to achieve traditional goals like settling down, buying a house and having children. Instead, many quit their corporate jobs to pursue more meaningful careers they define for themselves, thereby prioritising smaller moments of happiness over-achieving big milestones. What better way to express this than through the delicious transience of ice cream?
Ice Cream Fever unfolds like a curious puzzle through time, dropping blink-and-you’ll-miss-it clues throughout to suggest the non-parallel nature of the different narratives. The playfully irreverent use of editing plays with temporality; a pink ping-pong ball flies through time from one scene into the next, or the film pauses for a voiceover, effectively stopping time. The often shaky hand-held camera brings whimsical subjectivity and a youthful feel to the frame that matches the quirky designs within them. Effortless yet meticulously detail-oriented, the characters don big sweatshirts and puffy dresses in the height of August heat. Even the grandma working at the sentō impresses with a new pop culture-inspired jumper in every appearance. It’s hard not to be charmed by the pastel wonderland that evokes Sofia Coppola’s visual-heavy style, communicating the interiority of her female protagonists through mood rather than plot.
Whilst Yu and Natsumi’s feelings and motivations are clear, Suha remains a mystery. Embodying a kind of Manic Pixie Dream Girl, her aloof manner and strange quips aren’t propped up by a deeper understanding of who she is as a person, struggling to bring dimension to the character. But despite not amounting to much more than Natsumi’s love interest, Serena Motola and her signature bored pout manage to bring an irresistible spark to Saho. Wednesday Campanella’s Utaha is similarly underused, playing Natsumi’s pink-haired punk co-worker at the ice cream shop. For a film that’s so concerned with aesthetics, it’s disappointing that the most visually striking character doesn’t have her own story to tell.
Nonetheless, Ice Cream Fever is a sweetly earnest reverie with more to it than meets the eye, where the design elements are just as much part of the story as the emotional beats.