
It’s easy to see that she’s quite uncomfortable to be in the limelight, or having the camera pointed so in her face. But these extreme close ups somewhat serve a point, as if to document and wanting to remember every line of wrinkle Uno has, in an affectionate way. It’s akin to the notion of pea growing, where the filmmaker and her subject are like two peas in a pod, in a motif spread over a season of growth that this documentary takes place in.
Besides the usual interactive scenes, there were also some shots of old photographic stills of Uno in action, against the backdrop of the perpetual whirr of the camera. And fittingly, this medium length film ended with Uno’s rather rhythmic snores at nighttime.


The narrative here got compartmentalized into sections without narration and dialogues in the later half, and although it seemed like a throw back to the first film, I did connect with it for its simple opening with the resonance of the term “See you”, instead of “Good bye” in a bid to farewell. Like the Chinese term “Zai Jian”, I thought it was always more meaningful to use the term because it has a connotation of wanting to meet again, somewhere, sometime, unless of course one’s intention was good riddance, then a curt “bye” would suffice.

It’s unlikely that this was staged, though it was very difficult to fathom how one could have shot the sequence. While you can sense the foundational love for the other person was there, the surface ripped away some form of dignity, making one person confess, in camera no less, about possible misdeeds, and the seeking of forgiveness. I thought it was rather sad as I witnessed the more confrontational styled interview questions, which had become a lot more pointed.
Uno Kawase is visibly aged as she approached her 90s, and while the protests are no longer documented (perhaps cut?) there’s a sense of resignation to being made to appear in the movie, and I wonder how Naomi found the heart and the strength to bore down the documentary in the way that she did, since we learn for the first time today that it was Uno who actually brought her up. Also, the camera probably captured the last few days of Uno’s live on earth, as I stand amazed at how the camera still found itself to be rolling in an ambulance en route to the hospital. Staged? Deliberate? I do not know. One thing’s for sure though, is that the power of film allowed Uno Kawase to be immortalized for posterity despite her absence, and as seen in the previous movies, came back to life again on the big screen through a capture of memories in the documentaries.
The second half of the film moved away from this grief, and from death we moved to life, as we bear witness to Naomi’s own birth of her child Mitsuki, watching without flinching from the screen, how she came to this world. I would think that this process would probably be not without excruciating pain, and for the segment of the film, the audio was turned off to spare the audience the loud decibels. It was literally watching the proceedings head on.
Two different themes, on opposite ends of the spectrum, made Birth / Mother an exploration of thems such as life and death, and family, with Naomi Kawase unselfishly bringing very personal issues out to the open, in attempts to share with everyone her experiences and opinions, though at times during some of the films as mentioned in this series, unless you’re in the know, you may find some portions of it bewildering, as if not privy to some inside information.
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