‘Remember to Breathe’: Tensions simmer in mother-daughter drama

Cinema audiences love a big scene: those grand, cathartic moments in which characters unleash their pent-up emotions and say exactly how they feel. But real life tends not to work that way. Most people would prefer to suffer in silence rather than risk open conflict.

That’s the default setting for “Remember to Breathe,” a portrait of a toxic relationship daubed in pale shades of gray. Writer and director Masakazu Sugita’s low-key sophomore feature captures the distinct discomfort of having to be around someone you can’t stand, but also can’t avoid.

For the film’s taciturn protagonist, Yuko (Mao Inoue), that person just so happens to be her mother. Why? Well, it’s complicated.

The voluble, outgoing Hiroko (Eri Ishida) raised her three children alone, but as she approaches old age, none of them seem keen on taking responsibility for her. After she accidentally starts a kitchen fire at the home she’s been sharing with her son and his young family, she gets sent to stay with Yuko and her husband instead, in an apartment that clearly isn’t big enough to accommodate the size of her personality.

It’s only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, but the boxes of Hiroko’s possessions that get delivered shortly after her arrival suggest that she may be staying for a while. These stand piled in the apartment’s hallway, like a symbol of the burden that she’s unwittingly — or perhaps knowingly — imposing on her estranged daughter.

When Yuko first goes to collect Hiroko at the station, she briefly pretends not to have spotted her, which tells you all you need to know about their relationship. While the mother is a one-woman charm offensive, her daughter seems to retreat into a shell whenever they are together, tensing up and keeping conversation to an absolute minimum.

Flashbacks to Yuko’s childhood hint that “Remember to Breathe” might be building toward a big reveal that pinpoints the source of her dislike for her parent. However, Sugita is smart enough to avoid anything quite so tidy, suggesting instead that their estrangement has been growing for an awfully long time.

The film’s English title — a more evocative alternative to the original Japanese, which translates simply as “My Mother” — could be the mantra that’s running through Yuko’s head as she quietly endures Hiroko’s presence. When they eventually have a confrontation, Yuko responds in the only way she seems to know: by saying nothing.

Making such a passive character interesting — let alone sympathetic — isn’t easy, but Inoue finds weight in the subtlest gestures, suggesting the decades of hurt that Yuko keeps concealed behind her blank expression. It’s an expertly calibrated performance, and the main reason for sticking with this slow-moving, sometimes ponderous drama.

Sugita favors a naturalistic style, and he has a good ear for the patterns of everyday speech. He often shoots his characters from a discrete distance that emphasizes the emotional gulf between them, though it can also come off as disconnected. There were times — especially during the many drab, under-lit interior scenes — when I couldn’t help wishing for a little more polish.

It definitely feels like he’s aiming for the festival circuit rather than a wider audience. This is a film that’s kept at such a low simmer, it risks inviting tedium, but Inoue’s magnetic performance sticks in the memory.