‘A Missing Part’ Review: Romain Duris Fights for His Estranged Japanese Daughter in a Thoughtful Custody Drama
In his previous collaboration with Romain Duris, “Our Struggles” director Guillaume Senez cast the Parisian star as a workaholic forced to spend a lot more time with his kids when their mother abruptly left home one day. Six years on, the pair have reunited to tell the opposite story of a father doing everything in his power to reunite with his daughter who’s been snatched away in another country.
If that conjures up memories of Liam Neeson growling into a phone, have no fear. The handiwork of “fellow French director, “Taken” director Pierre Morel is nowhere to be found. Instead, Senez takes a far more naturalistic approach to the streets of Tokyo, where a man named Jay (Duris) works as a driver for a private car service while searching for the daughter his ex wife stopped him from seeing nine years prior. As a French immigrant, Romain’s protagonist has tried his best to assimilate, learning Japanese and many specifics of the culture, but he doesn’t quite fit in still. A twist on the immigrant-focused films often made in France — think “Dheepan,” “Our Prophet,” or “La Haine” — it’s a white French man who’s displaced this time, the victim of a foreign legal system which affords very few rights to “gaijin” parents in the fight for custody.
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“A Missing Part” doesn’t play its hand all at once though. Even before we learn of Jay’s (not-so) unique situation, Senez depicts the loneliness of Jay’s restless existence by establishing this world through his taxi, a bubble that enables Jay to retreat from society while still moving through it. Each random encounter cements this further until the day Jay picks up a teenage girl who is the same age his own lost daughter, Lily, would be now. For all we know, she could actually be his daughter, thanks to Japan’s “clean break” approach to family law, which stipulates that foreign parents like Jay can be legally stopped from seeing their own children despite being forced to pay alimony each month.
As the film progresses, Jay’s resentment towards a system that wasn’t built with him and his rights in mind starts to escalate. A regular visit to his local sento (bathhouse) becomes a source of frustration rather than relaxation when Jay realizes that he’s forgotten to cover up a large tattoo on his torso. As per Japanese custom, he heads to the changing room and covers it with a bandage to avoid offending those who associate such markings with the Yakuza, but then he rips it back off again and storms out, endlessly frustrated by this constant need to conform — especially when everything feels so unfair and stacked against him.
It’s not just Jay who feels out of place. Early on, we’re introduced to another French expat, Jessica (Judith Chemla), who’s also fighting for parental custody, but she’s at a much earlier stage in the process than Jay. Through her battle, we see what Romain’s protagonist must have gone through in real time without the need for flashbacks, echoing his own pain at its rawest and most earnest. It’s in the conversations they share and the advice Jay gives that the past slowly coalesces into the present, bringing the barriers of life abroad into sharp focus, which is especially intriguing given Japan’s history of being exoticized by the West both on and off-screen.
In the film’s press notes, Senez mentions that he’s “never been fascinated by Japan” in the way so many other people are. He and Duris just happened to be there years earlier for the Japanese release of “Our Struggles,” and it was during this time that the story of parents forcibly separated from their children in the country inspired them to reunite on what would become Guillaume’s third feature film. The typical iconography so often seen in foreign movies set in Japan are entirely absent here, which heightens the impact of the injustice Jay and so many others face by grounding the story in a much harsher reality where cultural differences can be just as exhausting as they were once thrilling.
As per usual, Senez encouraged the cast to improvise their dialogue as much as possible in a further effort to ram home the reality of this painful legislation, and not just the French conversations either. The further along production continued, the more Duris felt comfortable to start improvising in Japanese as well, which he studied specifically for the role. In doing so, we can tangibly feel Jay trying to fit in, and how difficult that must be for Jay and Romain alike. There’s a necessary restraint that always comes with conforming, especially in a foreign culture, and this building pressure becomes too much to bear when Jay eventually confronts his ex (and his mother-in-law) two-thirds of the way in. It’s in these moments of controlled fury, with pain and resentment etched in every line of his face, where Romain is at his best. “A Missing Part” doesn’t deliberately pull on the heartstrings because it doesn’t need to. The sheer injustice of Jay’s plight is provocative enough, and Senez is smart to keep these punchy scenes to a minimum in order to maximize their impact without resorting to easy sentimentality.
As serious and melancholic as this story can be, there’s also a light touch at times when the joy of life creeps up on Jay and us alike, be it a surprise scare with his strange house pet or when another bereft father drunkenly sings along to the Japanese version of Johnny Hallyday’s “Que je t’aime.” French songs bridge the gap between Japan and home for Jay throughout the soundtrack, weaved in amidst subtle work from composer Olivier Marguerit, a first-time collaborator for Senez. These emotive numbers provide release to the endless frustration of Jay’s seemingly impossible situation until everything comes to a head in the final act. Where there was once restraint and suppression comes a rush of joy and euphoria in a wealth of emotion that makes the pain and frustration of the previous hour all worthwhile. It’s fleeting, of course, as happiness often can be, but it’s in these scenes where the film comes alive most, be it in the eyes of Senez’s actresses or the camera itself that takes on a new urgency to make up for lost time.
But even then, the real world begins to encroach on Jay again, reminding us of what’s at stake. Because the fiction that forms the backbone of this film isn’t fiction at all. It’s a very real plight that’s only just now beginning to improve following Parliament’s recent amendment to Japan’s Civil Code, which allows for the possibility of joint parental custody. The legislation, passed on May 17, 2024, won’t come into effect until 2026, but it’s a huge step in the right direction, giving hope to countless parents who would otherwise be estranged from their children. Thanks to the tireless work of many activists, the same people who inspired this story, parents like Jay will no longer have to contend with a life that’s defined by what they’ve lost. But that’s not to say “A Missing Part,” which was made before that ruling, is devoid of hope. This often quiet, thoughtful story of a man who’s incomplete reminds us to keep fighting for the part that’s missing, whether that be striving for change or even just existing to fight another day.
Grade: B+
“A Missing Part” premiered at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.
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