Locarno Review: The Golden Leopard-Winning Film Two Seasons, Two Strangers Is Visually Stunning

      A few days ago, while discussing another exceptional film from Locarno, I expressed my frustration over the tendency of critics to frequently reference Éric Rohmer and Hong Sangsoo. Nevertheless, it would be remiss not to acknowledge the resonances of their works in Sho Miyake’s stunning Two Seasons, Two Strangers, which won the Golden Leopard from a jury led by Carlos Reygadas this weekend, surpassing more overtly challenging entries from filmmakers such as Ben Rivers and Alexandre Koberidze. Similar to Hong’s remarkable Tale of Cinema, Miyake opens his latest film with a narrative within a narrative, giving us the enjoyment of a crafted human connection before plunging us into the more turbulent waters of reality. It’s a superb piece of cinema and, in my opinion, worthy of the accolade.

      Two Seasons marks the third installment in Miyake's impressive recent output, following Small, Slow But Steady (2022) and All The Long Nights (2024). In each film, he has demonstrated an extraordinary talent for blending meticulous craftsmanship and detail with narratives of complex human empathy—a cinematic combination that consistently captivates. Despite earning accolades for these films, his work often operates within a modest framework, which frequently leaves filmmakers of his caliber somewhat under the radar or, at least, just short of widespread recognition. Winning the Leopard could be the catalyst that propels him to auteur status and possibly into major competitions, such as Locarno, where I believe he rightly belongs.

      "Scene 1, Summer, Seaside." This is how the film opens, as penned by Li (Shim Eun-kyung), a solitary screenwriter. She is crafting the film that Miyake immerses us in: a yearning, typically Rohmer-esque holiday romance where beautiful youth lounge by the shore, absorbed in novels, and the only thing bluer than the ocean waves are their complicated emotions. The twist, however, lies in the fact that Li's reality is far removed from this ideal. When Miyake finally shifts focus around the thirty-minute mark, transitioning from bright blues to more muted browns, we acutely feel that something is lacking. We witness her experiencing the small humiliation of a Q&A where her director dominates the dialogue, and later, we see her at her professor’s funeral. These experiences prompt her to search for her own adventure.

      Two Seasons is adapted from Mr. Ben and His Igloo, A View of the Seaside by Yoshiharu Tsuge, a creator often likened to the Japanese Robert Crumb, particularly for his 1960s works, which are viewed as some of the earliest examples of autobiographical comics. While I can’t claim to have read them, a brief look at Tsuge's works suggests that Miyake doesn't seek to replicate his visual style but rather captures his essence. Still, the level of aching beauty in Miyake’s imagery does invite comparisons to that art form. Consider the film’s opening shot of Tokyo, where buildings tumble over each other like a frame from Katsuhiro Otomo. Furthermore, there’s the charming moment when Li’s glasses fog up after a hearty bowl of ramen, and the light playing on her bedroom wall as a train rumbles by at night—a scene so reminiscent of lo-fi hip hop radio that you hardly pause to reflect on how difficult it would be to sleep there.

      Additionally, there’s another remarkable train sequence in the film that transitions from darkness to blinding brightness as the camera weaves through a shadowy tunnel to unveil a landscape blanketed in untouched snow. This is the setting Li ventures into on her side quest, where she forms an unlikely friendship with a cantankerous innkeeper, Benzo (Shinichi Tsutsumi), even assisting him in stealing an expensive fish from his ex’s koi pond. The bold tonal shift that occurs so late in the film is a deliberate choice by Miyake: Two Seasons is a rare film that begins with straightforward clarity (recall, "scene 1, summer, seaside") and gradually complicates as it unfolds, leaving you to ponder life’s intricate details. Throughout this journey, Li rediscovers the essence of joy, with the film faithfully charting her path.

      Two Seasons, Two Strangers premiered at the 2025 Locarno Film Festival.