…And it involves a treasure map.
The Big Picture
- Rinko Kikuchi shines in
Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter
, a mesmerizing tale of escapism and self-discovery. - The film gracefully navigates cultural clashes in Minnesota with inherent niceness.
- Kumiko’s obsession with a film treasure leads to a transformative journey, blurring reality and fantasy.
If there’s any reason to be thankful for Tokyo Vice, it’s that it brought Rinko Kikuchi back to American screens. While only being a fixture in Hollywood for under a decade, she covered so many bases in such a short period of time. She received an Oscar nomination for her study of the teenage communication breakdown in Babel, served as a deadly assassin in Rian Johnson‘s underrated movie, The Brothers Bloom, and enshrined herself in the nerd hall of fame as Mako Mori in Pacific Rim. It’s the last film in her streak that has served as a unique use of her talents, being the poster child for Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter. David Zellner’s charming sort-of love letter to Fargo ascends its own heights, becoming an exploration of media escapism and the disappointments of life.
Fargo
Minnesota car salesman Jerry Lundegaard’s inept crime falls apart due to his and his henchmen’s bungling and the persistent police work of the quite pregnant Marge Gunderson.
- Release Date
- April 5, 1996
- Director
- Joel Coen , Ethan Coen
- Cast
- William H. Macy , Steve Buscemi , Frances McDormand , Peter Stormare , Kristin Rudrüd , Harve Presnell
- Runtime
- 98
- Main Genre
- Crime
- Writers
- Joel Coen , Ethan Coen
What Is ‘Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter’ About?
Kumiko (Kikuchi) is stuck in a dead end life from which she sees no escape. She has a dull office job where she isolates herself from everyone, and her boss and mother harangue her with the pressures of getting married and having kids. Basically, her only real connection in life is to her pet rabbit, Bunzo. One day, when exploring a beach, she comes across a buried videotape of Fargo, hyperfixating on the scene where kidnapper, Carl (Steve Buscemi), buries the suitcase full of money in the middle of a blank winter landscape. She’s convinced that the movie is real and leading her towards treasure, inspiring her to set off on an adventure that she believes will lead to the change she wants in her life.
The story is bifurcated into two sections, with the first half devoted to the doldrums of Kumiko’s life in Tokyo, and the second half exploring her experiences in Minnesota. We see how Kumiko is lonely—mostly out of choice—as she harbors no desire to abide by the societal norms that her elders dictate she should chase. While she has no ill-will towards her co-workers, she would rather spend her time essentially “quiet quitting” and almost spitting in her boss’s tea. Her living domain is sloppily organized, squeezing Kumiko out of her own space with framing and staging that recalls the works of Wong Kar-Wai. She comes off less asleep at the wheel and more stricken with a waking sleep paralysis that she can’t find a cure for, that is, until she finds the videotape and follows her own path.
Kumiko’s Clashes With Minnesota Culture Serve as a Gentle Form of Comedy
Kumiko’s touchdown in Minnesota gives an example of one of the secrets to Zellner’s touch that makes the film so special: the innate niceness of it all. When Kumiko arrives at the airport, she’s greeted by two men in suits who offer tourist advice, and she asks how to get to Fargo (not knowing that it’s in North Dakota). We get a long cringe setpiece where it takes them forever to unfurl a state map, only to then reveal that they’re actually missionaries looking to spread their word, causing Kumiko to leave abruptly. This scene works because the two men aren’t framed as zealots, but earnest men looking to do for others what has been done for them. Kumiko’s swift exit comes not from harsh judgment, but from her one-track mind telling her that anything unrelated to finding Fargo isn’t worth it. It functions the same way that a Coen brothers work does: it gives us a scene that doesn’t really add to the plot, but offers a brief window into a humorous subculture that exists inside the larger setting.
This sentiment extends towards a different scene where Kumiko stays at a motel but can’t pay for the room (she stole her boss’s credit card). Rather than be a jerk about it, the motel owner is gentle and understanding in his insistence that “her” card is bad, allowing her time to gather the money. It creates a tone of gentle empathy and spontaneity that calls to mind a range of influences, from the escapades of David Lynch‘s The Straight Story to the midwestern ennui of Alexander Payne‘s Nebraska.
Kumiko’s Perception of Herself Drives the Story in ‘Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter’
The question must be asked: what really is going on with Kumiko? Many of her behavior traits seem to be playing into the tropes of manic pixie dream girls or the recently-anointed femcels, shirking all social responsibility and preferring to remain stuck in her self-imposed fantasy worlds. It seems that she’s so cut off from the outside world that she doesn’t even know what a movie is, as is evident by her taking Fargo at face value. Once she gets the idea in her head that the suitcase is out there, nothing will stop her from achieving it or letting anyone tell her that it isn’t true. Despite the quixotic nature of her quest, at no point does she seem truly unhinged or out of control, as Kikuchi’s gaze instills in her a calculation and wariness that shows she’s always thinking about her next move, even before she finds the tape.
If one can find an underlying logic to her insistence on the fantasy, it’s in her relationship with her mother. It’s bad enough that her mom enforces the same misogynistic standard of marriage and kids onto her at every opportunity, but she also treats Kumiko like a useless anchor. She screams about all the ways that her daughter is inadequate, and it culminates in one brutal phone call where Kumiko practically shivers with all the pent-up trauma bursting out of her. She insists that her mom has no idea how “important” what she’s doing is, and effectively cuts her off from her by hanging up. It paints a picture of a daughter who never felt truly valued by her mother, and who grew up instilled with a deep resentment of all that she lacked.
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It’s that fine line of escapist-fueled delusion and self-actualization that makes Zellner’s film more than just a quirky romp. There’s no denying that it feels like Kumiko is hurtling towards destruction, fated to be a frozen corpse lost in the Minnesota wilds. On the other hand, watching her slowly become more of the nomadic conqueror she always saw herself as is equal parts chilling and downright inspiring. I dare you to see the wide shot of Kumiko in her motel blanket cape, silhouetted against the vast white void, and not feel the urge to let out at least a little, “oh my God” under your breath.
The film never loses its guts about not tipping its hand at what the state of reality is, even as the film increasingly flies higher into the realm of fairy tale. A montage of an airport crew cleaning a plane is given the majestic unveiling of a newly discovered creature, the snow-blown roads evoke the wispy ripples of the River Styx, and the implication that the fake can become real all speak to the world being re-shaped by Kumiko’s will to keep going. One could accuse the ending of being a confusing cop-out, but I choose to see it as Kumiko finally getting what she’s deserved for so long, with karma paying her back. To paraphrase Willy Wonka, what happened to the woman who got everything she wanted? She lived happily ever after.
Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter is available to watch on Prime Video.
Watch on Prime Video
This article was originally published on collider.com