Yuki Uchida in It’s Me, It’s Me (Pictures Dept.)

Viewers may be in for a bumpy ride with this intriguing but enigmatic film. As it begins, it seems solidly in the realm of realistic fiction, centering on Hitoshi (Kazuya Kamenashi), a twentysomething would-be photographer with few friends. He works a dead-end retail job selling electronics, where he’s terrorized by a domineering boss. One day, on a whim, he takes a cell phone from a young businessman sitting beside him and proceeds to scam the man’s mother out of a large sum of money. The film quickly veers into science fiction—of the most bizarre but thought-provoking variety—as the mother shows up at Hitoshi’s cramped apartment, acting as though he is, in fact, her son, and she cooks him dinner.

Things get even odder when Hitoshi meets two other versions of himself, young men who look and think exactly as he does but who have their own personalities: the somber, suit-clad Daiki and Nao, a hyperactive joker. The three take to one another immediately, expressing an astonishing lack of anxiety or fear at what’s going on, and all move into Hitoshi’s place. However, they soon encounter other versions of Hitoshi, and even established characters eventually reveal that they, too, are the young man.

Though there is humor at times (memorably, Nao brings home several iterations of Hitoshi, all from different walks of life, including an attractive woman sporting a revealing dress—and Hitoshi’s face), the overall mood is eerie; to call this film “surreal” would be an understatement. While it is measured, even slow on occasion, Miki’s inclusion of wide, almost entirely static shots evoke the calm before the storm, and moments where Hitoshi looks up, startled, to see characters who look just like him staring inexplicably back, add an unnerving quality.

Unlike more typical works of science fiction, this isn’t a film about world building or of faraway landscapes. It’s Me, It’s Me turns its lens directly onto contemporary Japanese society. An overall feeling of alienation permeates the film, and director Satoshi Miki appears critical of current interpersonal relationships and has devised a strikingly original way to voice his feelings. Shots of Hitoshi’s apartment complex subtly suggest a prison. Scenes where Hitoshi attempts normal conversations with his “mother” are marked by an almost unbearable tension and seem to mock the idea of domestic tranquility. By contrast, moments in which he bonds with Daiki and Nao have a relaxed exuberance lacking from Hitoshi’s interactions with others. (The three identical roommates even enthusiastically agree that their relationship is better than any with a wife or girlfriend.)

Miki refuses to make the experience easy on the viewer—it’s never quite clear where all of these Hitoshis are coming from or why this is happening, and those looking for a tight narrative with exposition neatly folded in will come away disappointed. Kamenashi delivers an almost cipherlike performance; though the sweetly boyish Hitoshi is endearing (little surprise that Kamenashi is a J-pop idol), his motivations aren’t readily apparent. While this will leave many viewers frustrated, those seeking something stimulating and wholly unexpected or who prefer their films laced with commentary and food for thought will enjoy this work that should garner a steady cult following.