Egoist – Japanese Gay Romance Film Review, Plot & Cast

⭐ Story – 4.0 / 5

At its heart, Egoist is not just a gay love story—it’s a quiet psychological drama that explores the blurred line between affection and possession. What begins as a romance between Koichi, a middle-class fashion editor, and Ryota, a working-class caregiver, gradually reveals deeper tensions around class, control, and the longing for maternal connection. The film’s brilliance lies in how it avoids framing queerness as conflict; instead, it normalizes it and shifts the narrative tension toward questions like: What does it mean to love someone for who they are—not for what they give us?
While the story is emotionally resonant, the pacing stumbles in the second half. Ryota’s sudden death feels both shocking and symbolically powerful, but the aftermath sometimes lacks narrative cohesion. Still, this is a rare queer film that dares to ask moral questions without demanding clear answers.

⭐ Acting – 5.0 / 5

Ryohei Suzuki delivers a masterclass as Koichi—layered, heartbreaking, and beautifully restrained. His emotional arc, from quiet yearning to guilt-ridden self-reckoning, is portrayed with stunning precision. Just watch the funeral scene, or his trembling attempt to stand, or the raw devastation in front of the mirror—all deeply human, all unforgettable.
Hio Miyazawa’s Ryota may seem simple on the surface, but his performance quietly builds over time. The exhaustion in his body, the kindness in his gaze, the subtle strength in his silence—it all adds up to a deeply empathetic portrayal of someone forced to grow up too fast. Together, their performances elevate the film into something far more intimate than a typical romance.

⭐ Chemistry – 4.0 / 5

Suzuki and Miyazawa’s chemistry is not fiery or flirtatious—it’s raw, tentative, and at times unbalanced. But that’s exactly what makes it believable. The sex scenes are emotionally rich, almost painterly in their restraint. They aren’t about lust—they’re about permission, curiosity, and fear.
Interestingly, their connection feels strongest in bed, where power dynamics dissolve into quiet vulnerability. But in day-to-day life, Koichi’s emotional guardedness and Ryota’s exhaustion create a subtle friction. It’s not traditional “couple chemistry,” but it’s honest and aching in its realism.

⭐ Production – 4.0 / 5

The cinematography is calm and minimal, allowing long takes and silence to do most of the emotional work. The framing of Koichi’s back, Ryota’s sleeping figure, or the careful movement of hands—all convey intimacy without excess.
The use of visual contrasts—Koichi’s luxury fashion against Ryota’s utilitarian work clothes—adds another layer of unspoken commentary. Sound design is sparse but intentional, with moments of silence speaking louder than score. The film’s slow pacing and naturalistic lighting reflect Japanese cinematic restraint, though some emotional transitions feel slightly abrupt in the edit.

⭐ Ending – 3.0 / 5

The ending is emotionally soft but morally unresolved. Koichi’s shift from lover to caretaker for Ryota’s mother feels redemptive, but also evasive. The film’s message—“Even if you don’t know what love is, if it felt like love, that’s enough”—is poetic, but avoids deeper accountability.
Ryota’s death by overwork is haunting, but the film chooses not to explore the socioeconomic or ethical weight of that tragedy. Instead, it wraps Koichi’s guilt in a blanket of emotional forgiveness. For some viewers, that might feel healing. For others, it’s a missed opportunity. The ending lingers, but not always in the way it hopes.