Kazuo Ishiguro's 1982 novel "The Pale View of the Hill" is an elegant, slippery examination of life between identity in life and identity that exists: it relates to and separates to the stories of two Japanese women who lived in the life of Nagasaki after the war. This faint literary conceit turns to the heavier twists in Kei Ishikawa's ambitious but refined adaptation, which follows mainly Ishiguro's work but misses its troubled, haunting spirit.

This bilingual Japanese work, in an attractive and accessible introduction, is designed to cross the appeal of Athens, and Ishiguro Imbrature (the Nobel Prize winner received the credibility of executive producers) should be distributed more widely worldwide than any of Ishikawa's work. However, in this Double Wire period, viewers unfamiliar with the novel may be confused by the fact that this strands somewhere between ghost stories and elusive, incredible works of memory. Even more By the way With these materials, it is likely that Ishikawa will be asked about some storytelling options. On a more blanderous aspect, the film is also mottled, with multiple sub-pictures drifting unsteadily in the field of view in and out, and the quartet in the central performance is unbalanced.

Ishiguro's novel is described by characters who bridge their two schedules. The melancholy Etsuko appears in Nagasaki in 1952 as a timid, dedicated housewife (played by "Our Sister" star Suzu Hirose) with her first child, 30 years later, in the UK's Genteel Home Counties, as a single widow (played by Yohhida), preparing to move homes from painfully filled memories. A second marriage was conducted between the two, a second pregnancy, an earthquake immigration and more than one bereavement. However, our inner life into Etsuko is limited, but her story is filtered due to the views of her young daughter Niki (Camilla Aiko), an aspiring journalist who grew up completely in the UK.

Niki visited her mother in 1982 in an attempt to write a family memoir, trying to align with the Japanese history and heritage her mother would not want to talk about. Etsuko's silence is partly rooted in grief: the elephant in the room is Keiko who recently committed suicide, Etsuko's Japanese-born eldest daughter and Niki's half-sister have never made adjustments culturally or psychologically, culturally or psychologically after immigrating with her mother and Stepfather in the UK.

Keiko is never directly seen on screen, though there may be an analog of sorts for her childhood self in the film's 1950s-set section, where the young Etsuko — lonely and brusquely neglected by her workaholic husband Jiro (Kouhei Matsushita) — behinds single mother Sachiko (Fumi Nikaido, recently seen in FX's “Shōgun” series) and her sullen, withdrawn daughter Mariko. Sachiko is a charming, modern social wanderer who is marginalized for her rejection of Japanese patriarchy, as well as the exposure of Japanese patriarchy and Mariko's radiation after the Nagasaki bombing in 1945. (The latter's stigma made Etsuko keep to Jiro the lie she was not in Nagasaki at the time.) However, she is planning to escape and put herself on the American soldier with an American soldier willing to return to the United States with Mariko.

When two women bonded, Meek Etsuko began to wonder if the traditional family slavery life she did was really what she did. Although we have never participated in her early maternity, nor the transition between her first and second husbands, the reflection between these invisible, imminent changes in life and Sachiko's situation is becoming clearer - as women themselves even began to resemble each other in costumes and embodied proportions.

Sachiko is just following Etsuko's model, a phantom projection of what her future might be, or is the older Etsuko's distant reflection on her past? DP Piotr Niemyjski's heightened description of midcentury Nagasaki — sometimes a postcard vision of serene pastels, sometimes luridly bathed in saturated sunset hues — suggests some embellishment of reality, but Ishikawa never finds a narratively satisfying way to present ambiguities that can shimmer more nebulously on the page, building to a reveal that feels overwrought and rug-pulling.

Back to the withered, shooting with red maple leaves in the lovely Japanese garden of Etsuko, the drama is simpler, but still dazzling, yet still inert. The script develops a keen interest in Nicky’s career ambitions and romantic complications, and her conversation with her mother constantly chases a climax point that never comes – perhaps an outrageous stalemate, but it’s hard to construct the film. In the past, people have become more interested in the exquisite performances of Hirose and Nikaido, as two women live between each other. But the “light hill” deserves praise, which is nostalgic because it expresses sympathy for immigration status that is unsure anywhere or at any time.