A Poetic Cinema: Norwegian Wood

I just finished the movie after rereading the book for the fifth time. Spending two hours with Toru in 60s Tokyo makes an ordinary Tuesday feel unusually still. It’s the kind of film that makes you want to stare at the rain for three hours without needing to explain why.

Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood, published in 1987, is a must-read for anyone who ever feels a bit out of place. Tran Anh Hung’s 2010 adaptation stars Kenichi Matsuyama as Toru Watanabe and Rinko Kikuchi as Naoko. The movie captures a very specific 1960s loneliness—quiet, cold, and lingering.

The story follows Toru as he navigates two very different worlds: Naoko, fragile and introspective, and Midori, lively and full of energy. The movie turns this into a visual poem, letting the emotional bond between Watanabe and Naoko take center stage.

Some of the book’s quirky side-plots are gone, which makes the movie feel more straightforward, almost dreamlike. The acting is solid; Rinko Kikuchi embodies fragility perfectly. The chemistry between Toru and Midori, however, feels rushed. In the book, she brings warmth and immediacy to Toru’s life; in the movie, that energy never quite has the space to unfold.

The theme of "unfixable people" is definitely there. The movie shows that love isn’t a cure, mostly through visuals rather than long dialogue. The wide shots of green meadows and tight city streets are stunning. Sometimes the beauty distracts a little, but it still draws you in.

The snowy field scene stands out. The silence feels almost tangible, capturing that feeling of being completely alone even when someone is beside you. It’s the one moment where the movie actually matches the weight of Murakami’s prose. The final scene leaves a quiet echo of everything Toru has felt, lingering well after the credits roll.

Final thoughts? The adaptation is a 3.5/5. It’s gorgeous and immersive, perfect if you want to sit in a specific mood, but it doesn’t hit the gut like the book. If you want answers about life, look elsewhere. If you want to feel the subtle pulse of emotion in Murakami’s world, it’s worth a watch.