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Lesbian Fugitive Story Grapples with the Extremities of Love


The starting point for Ryuichi Hiroki’s Ride or Die seems to have been simply the thought that what if the queer undercurrents and subtext of Thelma & Louise was made overt text? Or alternatively, what if Bound had continued its’ story as a fugitive romance after the final scene of Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon driving off together? Ride or Die seems to combine these story prompts into a pretty obvious premise, but with a dash of the twee sentimentality of a Japanese Y/A romance. It is based on a manga, and that very much comes across in the tone and the writing. However, Hiroki keeps the film from being constrained by the tenets of its adaptation, and for its’ bouts of melodramatic dialogue and overbearing romanticizing, it does manage to be an effective and even mature film.
It begins with Rei Nagasawa (Kiko Mizuhara) meeting a man at a club, seducing him, going back to his place, and then murdering him as they’re having sex with a knife and broken glass. Afterwards, we find out the reason why: he was the abusive husband of Rei’s former classmate Nanae (Honami Sato), with whom she recently reconnected after having been smitten with her all through high school. Having committed the crime as a show of passion, Rei isn’t prepared for Nanae to come to her rescue, and so the two go on the run -though with uncertain aims and very complicated feelings.
Interspersed with the various bumps on their journey are flashbacks that reveal their mutual history and close relationship as teenagers; Rei’s ostracizing due to her sexuality, Nanae’s sympathies in reaching out, and each of their issues in their family lives. This backstory plays out in reverse, from the last time the girls saw each other to their first meeting -not shown until near the end of the movie as the final flashback. And all throughout, the sequences reflect nicely and necessarily the context  of where the women are now emotionally, particularly Rei, even as they tell a much less engaging, more conventional story than the primary plot. Hiroki wraps the timelines around each other quite deftly, revealing the layered nature of their relationship as less simple than either of them realize.
Nanae isn’t fully in the know of just how much Rei feels towards her, and it’s often because of her misunderstandings that their flight is so haphazard. She alerts the police to their whereabouts from their very first safe house due to misconstruing Rei’s trauma in the aftermath of the murder and her talk of starting over as a desire for atonement of the crime. That kind of miscommunication is a great reminder of how unusual the situation is, how little these two women actually know each other anymore, and it puts into perspective the reckless severity of what Rei did. She killed a man for someone she simply has a crush on.
And that is what is so interesting. Rei is motivated almost exclusively by gut feeling –deep and powerful emotions that dictate her impulses to a fault. The idea of what would you do for love is very strongly brought up throughout the movie. “Who would you kill?” asks one woman of her husband –and some of the people in Rei’s radius seem to admire her on some level for why she did what she did and how far she’s willing to go to stay with Nanae, not least of all Nanae herself -who gradually comes around to that same attitude the more she openly returns Rei’s affections. The films’ title becomes very literal to their minds.
The movie doesn’t present this sentiment unambiguously though, much as it does romanticize excessive over-attachment on some level. The seriousness of the murder tails Rei’s psyche, and we’re often reminded of what she left behind through her choice. Most notably is a girlfriend played by Yoko Maki in what may be low-key the best performance of the movie. Her phone call with Rei a little over halfway through is heartbreaking and shows just how Rei’s actions directly hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. The film understands consequences, and goes to some uncomfortable places in how it portrays a certain depth of feeling.
But it’s not all co-dependency and tragi-romantic indulgence, there is something endearing and honest, a genuine sweetness to the pairs’ relationship, especially in how Hiroki develops it from puppy love to real passion. Mizuhara and Sato have a searing chemistry too that feels effortless next to the demands of their performances. Both actresses do well with the subtler material, the body language and emotional subtext -Sato especially in betraying her inner inclinations, obliterating the notion that the love story is one-sided; and Mizuhara excels at raw devastation.
Ride or Die is scored by a largely western soundtrack that was almost certainly imposed on it by Netflix, the films’ international distributor. And just as a Japanese pop song wouldn’t quite fit over a montage in an American movie, so too does this movies’ application of “Lovefool” by The Cardigans or “Shoot the Moon” by Norah Jones feel off. The only one that works is a recurring motif of the classic “Smile”, for its’ bittersweet mood and mostly instrumental usage. Better still is a Japanese hit “Che.R.Ry” that the women sing together diegetically at a crucial juncture in their relationship. The films’ portrayal of the lesbian experience is also a touch awkward. The conversation around it is pretty surface-level on acceptance and social stigma; and the fact of Rei’s gayness is brought up with as much maladroit frequency as a Bill Potts-era Doctor Who episode. These may well just be reflective of the unique status of LGBTQ rights and culture in Japan however. More universal is the depiction of an important sex scene that, rather commonly of lesbian-themed movies from male directors, runs longer and is more detailed than strictly necessary.
Ride or Die is perhaps a better concept than it is a movie, but that movie is solidly compelling, nicely constructed, and well acted. It could do to critically examine more some of the points it dances with: Rei’s unhealthy mentality most of all. It falls prey to cliché more than it needs to. But its’ primary function is as a liberating love story underlined by creeping impermanence. Surprisingly responsible for its’ lofty amorousness. It achieves this without any earnestness being discredited, the love as valuable, as singular, and as important as the repercussions: ride or die, there’s no middle ground. 

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