Experience the chilling paranoia of societal exclusion in “Finest Needs To All”, the gripping debut feature by Yuta Shimotsu. This film expands upon his 2022 short of the same name, weaving a dark, twisted narrative that echoes the eerie themes found in Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” and the early works of Yorgos Lanthimos. While it diverges from typical J-horror conventions, it intriguingly features Takashi Shimizu, known for the “Grudge” series, as a producer. The film’s subtle yet poignant critique of contemporary Japanese society may elude international viewers on Shudder, yet it offers genre enthusiasts a uniquely unsettling journey through its labyrinthine plot.

The narrative begins with a haunting prologue, where a young girl visits her grandparents, who curiously inquire, “Are you happy?” That night, while her parents are fast asleep, she is jolted awake by mysterious noises emanating from upstairs. Driven by youthful curiosity, she ventures to investigate, and although the specifics remain ambiguous, the experience leaves her haunted by nightmares for years to come. Fast forward to the present, our protagonist, portrayed by Kotone Furukawa, is now a nursing student in Tokyo. When a minor illness prevents other family members from accompanying her, she must undertake the unsettling journey to her grandparents’ home alone, a situation that stirs a deep-seated unease she struggles to articulate.

Initially, the elderly couple, played by Arifuku Masashi and Inuyama Yoshiko, project a façade of typical, benign grandparental affection. However, their behavior fluctuates wildly, oscillating between moments of unsettling animalistic tendencies and eerie catatonia, which our young visitor interprets as signs of senile dementia. This assumption is soon challenged by the emergence of inexplicable noises from upstairs, leading to the unsettling realization that there is another inhabitant in the house—a captive, in fact. This horrifying discovery profoundly disturbs our heroine, yet the grandparents nonchalantly remark, “Our happiness is all due to him,” hinting at a deeply rooted, sinister rationale behind their actions.

As the story unfolds, it becomes apparent that a crucial principle governs life in this seemingly quaint community—one that our protagonist remains blissfully unaware of. Her innocence transforms into a source of increasing ridicule and derision from those around her. The elderly couple warns her to steer clear of a local farmer, played by Koya Matsudai, a figure from her childhood who also seems to exist outside this unspoken social agreement, whether by choice or design. When these two young adults attempt to intervene in what appears to be a kidnapping scenario, they are confronted with an unsettling truth they have long denied—a grotesque reality that challenges their understanding of morality and happiness.

Without delving into specific plot details, it is clear that Shimotsu presents this ostensibly idyllic neighborhood as operating under the belief that happiness is a finite resource. Like many such resources, it is hoarded by a select few at the expense of others’ suffering. This arrangement is articulated not through the lens of the occult but as an inherent aspect of their societal structure. As the narrative delves deeper into its darkly comedic elements, it becomes increasingly clear that the film critiques societal pressures toward conformity, success, and superficial appearances. Additionally, it subtly addresses Japan’s pressing issues of an aging population and declining birth rates, offering a multifaceted commentary on contemporary life.

The metaphor presented in this film regarding the hypocrisies of any First World nation may not strike as particularly novel or groundbreaking. At times, it feels as though “Finest Needs” deliberately attempts to shock audiences with surreal elements that disrupt the polite veneer of everyday existence, akin to a grotesque internal eruption. The cast, who portray characters pointedly devoid of names, maintain a commendable deadpan delivery, yet occasionally, it is evident that they are being utilized as mere vessels for ideas that lack substantial psychological depth.

Nonetheless, Shimotsu successfully navigates this artistic choice by adhering to a steadfastly non-exaggerated approach, where events that could easily spiral into melodrama instead unfold in a subdued, deliberate manner. As an editor, Shimotsu employs a measured pacing that belies the significant narrative arc packed into a concise runtime. The cinematography by Ryuto Iwabuchi exhibits a cool precision, with the only indicator of escalating tension being the haunting score composed by Yuma Koda, which utilizes string instruments to enhance the film’s eerie atmosphere.

Equally noteworthy is Furukawa’s performance, wherein her portrayal of a naïve ingenue reveals that her idealistic worldview is built upon a foundation of deception. The unsettling realization that those around her perceive her as foolish for not recognizing the truth sooner adds a layer of complexity to her character. Much like the sympathetic protagonist from the 1973 classic “The Wicker Man,” she finds herself utterly isolated—excluded from a cruel joke that unfolds at her expense. As she sheds her illusions and confronts a reality far uglier than she had envisioned, this modestly scaled film compensates for its lack of overt scares or spectacular moments with an overwhelming sense of unease that lingers long after the credits roll.