Review of 'Silver Express': Mikki Tanaka's First Sensitive Feature Explores Asexual and Aromantic Identity

There are films and series with asexual characters, but few are interested in experiential questions about moving through society as asexual and aromantic, or in considering this identity on a spectrum. Mikki Tanaka's first feature film, 'Silver Express', is one of these films: a gentle character study observing the everyday harassment faced by an asexual person.

Yui Okamoto and Hayato Kurihara's performances bolster the story, which defies social conditioning around mismatched couples.

There are films and series with asexual characters in them, but they are less interested in empirical questions about moving through society as asexual and romantic, and considering this identity on a spectrum. Miki Tanaka's feature film debut Silver Express is one of those films: a gentle character study that observes the day-to-day struggles of an asexual living among people who not only don't understand him, but insist on his conforming to a deviant lifestyle. "Silver Express" wonders what common language can be found to convey the breadth of that direction to others—and to get them to be comfortable about setting it. RELATED STORIES Rachel Zeigler recalls 'Evita' audition while starring in 'Romeo + Juliet' on Broadway: 'I read 40 pages of material' Evita on Broadway: West End stars Diego Rodriguez, James Olivas to star opposite Rachel Zeegler (EXCLUSIVE)

Too many times, the protagonist Chieri (newcomer Yui Okamoto, in a performance that subtly embodies the character's uncertainty) encounters people—no matter how well-intentioned—who present her with the idea that the right relationship will transform her asexuality, that there's only one experience she's missing. Chiri sometimes tunes in on these conversations, listening intently to a sound that others can't seem to hear: the train. Popular in Variety

Later, he explains that he sees the train (the "Silver Express" of the title) as the one that goes to the last station inhabited by special "silver lions"—his famous term for himself and perhaps other aromatics and asexuals. ("They don't fit into a normal lion pride," he says.) Interpretation is important in "Silver Express": Cherry and others often talk about his direction because there is a language gap. "Sexualism" itself is a term that does not exist in the strict sense of the word in Japan, and has only entered the vernacular as a loanword in the last 10-15 years. (For the more qualified, there is a longer and more complex linguistic discussion of the evolution of LGBTQ+ terminology in the country and how it fits with older concepts.)

While assuming some kind of common language (or at least, definitive shorthand) about asexuality, The Silver Express is largely interested in how that vague definition, or constant adjustment to one, is experienced on a personal level as the loneliness of going against the flow. Tanaka's film doesn't assume that a platonic relationship between a man and a woman is a pipe dream — Chiri happens to be constantly bumping into people with "ulterior motives."

That is, until he meets the (but most importantly, asexual) Shoya played by Hayato Kurihara. The two hit it off, she neither disagrees nor laughs off his admission that she doesn't understand romantic attraction, and casually mentions that she doesn't either. And the film feels warmer again - finally, a relationship without ulterior motives (perhaps). Either way, they are close, sometimes even sleeping in each other's arms. It's part of the myriad of ways the film taps into varying degrees of intimacy and love interest, such as Chiri's friend and roommate Yuki—a character who serves as a helpful marker of time through her career, marriage, and pregnancy, while Chiri seems more content to do what she loves.

The film moves at a regular clip, as conversations and relationships flow quickly across days and locations. The elliptical passage of time within the larger structure of the film is also directly apparent in the way Tanaka shapes a scene, sometimes stopping before the final word is spoken.

This is part of how the film slowly embodies, or at least aligns with, Carey's subjective worldview. To him, romance and courtship aren't just peripheral, they're invasive, and they've robbed him of friends—both in the sense that men can't seem to keep things platonic, while women either scoff at him or shun him in favor of a new date. Stripping away any stylistic romanticism involving inconsistency and cinematography, Tanaka underscores this: when Chiri's friends make her feel uncomfortable, harsh, cold lighting emphasizes that feeling. This makes Kiri's moments of intimacy stand out even more, as the warmth returns in scenes with Yuki's old friend and Shuya's new friend.

That said, part of what makes Tanaka's work exploratory is knowing that Kiri's struggle to fit in isn't entirely about her asexuality and romance: there are some old social awkwardness at play, too. He sometimes behaves with open hostility at the drop of the hat, although there are often good reasons for this frustration. For all the subtlety of Okamoto's performance and the film's framing of it, it sometimes resorts to clichés to convey her closed nature—like when a teacher starts lecturing about something on her mind.

But these are minor missteps given the linguistic divide surrounding asexuality and artisticism in Japan. When a scene involves a group of friends sitting around a table literally trying to map out the sexual orientations of Chiri and Shoyu, trying to figure out where they overlap and where they don't. It's a credit to the "Silver Express" style touch that any potential learner rarely feels.