“A simple but evocative glimpse into the lives of a group of individuals who find the strength to move towards the future while never losing sight of the past.”

Tragedy has a way of imprinting itself on a place. In the aftermath of a disaster, certain places (many of which are not widely known outside the communities that surround them) find themselves transformed in ways that draw the attention of the wider world, a complex but captivating act of transition. Katharine Round, a filmmaker who has positioned herself as a keen observer of the human condition, uses this as the foundation for Ghost Town, a documentary in which she curates the delicate balance between mourning and reflection in a town shaken by tragedy. It may have recovered for the most part, but the scars still remain, traces of the disaster found in both the physical surroundings and in the recollections of people who lived through the destruction and continue to consider it their home. The film is set in Kamaishi, one of many towns impacted by the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, a devastating event that caused severe destruction and shook the world to its core. The focus is on a quartet of taxi drivers (Konno, Goto, Iwasaki and Koike) who spend their days transporting people (locals and visitors alike) around the town, capturing the conversations between them, which Round uses to craft this poetic elegy to both the victims of the tragedy and the people who were left behind to piece the community back together. A quiet meditation on navigating the narrow space between life and death, made by a director who attempts to curate the stories of these people into something that both pays tribute to the deceased and acknowledges the experiences of the survivors.  

How do you represent a life-changing catastrophe on screen, especially several years after it happened? It’s a challenging project, set in the ambiguous space between the event being recent enough to still linger in the collective cultural memory, while enough time has elapsed so that it isn’t tacky or inappropriate to explore the subject. Round is fascinated by the people who reside in this small town, and in her efforts to explore the lives of those who are haunted by memories of the past, she chooses to look at a quartet of taxi drivers. They prove to be intriguing protagonists, especially since some of them didn’t leave town for long and returned almost immediately, refusing to seek a new life elsewhere. These are people who know every corner of this town, having witnessed its destruction. The film is structured as a series of conversations between the drivers and their passengers – some lighthearted, others more sombre. There isn’t any clear rhyme or reason to what the director chooses to highlight, other than giving these people the opportunity to share their unique observations and recollections. The drivers are not merely survivors, but rather vessels that carry the memories of the past, living archives of Kamaishi before and after the colossal event that changed them, but didn’t derail them from their responsibility to act as guides through the town in which they built their lives, even in the aftermath of life-changing destruction. 

In the fifteen years since the Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, there have been several attempts to explore both the event itself and the aftermath, not an easy task since this kind of catastrophe doesn’t lend itself to diverse artistic representation. Yet, it is important to use art not only to examine such a complex and difficult subject but also to offer new perspectives on it. This is what drove Round to develop Ghost Town, a film that attempts to do something quite different while still adhering to a few core principles that come with telling such stories. It’s an unusual film, yet one that finds value in a direct, unfurnished approach. The director installs cameras in the vehicles, which removes her as an active participant and instead allows the drivers and their passengers to interact with each other directly in a more natural and intimate manner. We quietly peer into these discussions, observing from a distance but still feeling like we have access to the inner architecture of these people’s minds as they share their experiences with one another, or simply engage in banal, pleasant conversation that nonetheless conceals some deeper truths. Ghost Town is not necessarily a joyful film, but there is some levity to be found, especially when we see the moments of connection between the drivers and their passengers, showing how it is still possible to find comfort in the aftermath of a tragedy. It offers new perspectives on an event that we tend to see viewed in a single way, being unexpectedly lively and sentimental. The director focuses on crafting a film that is reverent and respectful, without being dour or downbeat – after all, this is not a film about the dead, but rather the reflections on those who remain, carrying the complex memories of the past.

Ghost Town is not a long film (running just over an hour) and doesn’t have the broadest narrative scope. Yet, after spending time with these characters, we feel like we not only know them and their personal stories, but have become entirely acquainted with the town and its history. This is a result of the director taking a few calculated risks in telling this story – in the hands of another filmmaker, it might have been a case of examining how tragedy can evolve into tourism, which is partially discussed, but far from the main propellant for this film. Instead, it is part of an ongoing series of films by the director that examine the human condition from various angles, covering a range of subjects. It’s an exploration of the act of survival, not only in the immediate aftermath of a catastrophe, but in the years that follow, which can often be the most challenging to navigate. In the process, the director redefines how we look at a place that has been deeply scarred by an enormous disaster, using it as a chance to explore the quiet sadness and inevitable healing that comes with reflecting on the past, told by the people who not only witnessed the destruction but contributed to the eventual recovery. There is an undeniable strength that comes with not only surviving, but rebuilding, since the act of navigating the past can be a torturous ordeal. This is all beautifully examined throughout Ghost Town, a film that manages to be heartfelt and meaningful (while also never becoming navel-gazing or unnecessarily saccharine), a simple but evocative glimpse into the lives of a group of individuals who find the strength to move towards the future while never losing sight of the past.