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Will’s Survival: A Raw, Unflinching Look at Off-Grid Life

Alice Lange
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The opening shot of Elizabeth Miyaji’s “Will” lingers on Masahiro Higashide as he scales a rocky slope, his breath ragged, his movements deliberate. There’s no score to underscore the moment, just the crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant call of a bird. This is how Miyaji introduces us to her subject: not with grand pronouncements or sweeping vistas, but with an intimate, almost claustrophobic focus on survival. The film, which follows Higashide as he lives off-grid in Japan’s remote mountains, is less about spectacle and more about the quiet, unrelenting struggle of existence stripped down to its essence.

Miyaji’s direction is marked by restraint, a quality that defines the film’s tone and pacing. She eschews traditional documentary techniques—no talking-head interviews, no voiceover explanations—in favor of immersive, observational cinematography. The camera lingers on Higashide as he hunts, forages, and builds shelter, capturing the physicality of his labor with a clinical precision that borders on poetic. One standout sequence shows him skinning an animal, his hands steady despite the blood and viscera coating his fingers. There’s no flinching from the messiness of survival here; Miyaji forces us to confront the visceral reality of Higashide’s choices.

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The sound design reinforces this immersive approach. The wilderness is alive with noise—the rustle of leaves, the gurgle of a stream, the snap of a twig underfoot—but Miyaji doesn’t rely on these sounds to manipulate our emotions. Instead, she lets them exist as part of the environment, allowing us to experience the world as Higashide does: through all five senses. The absence of a traditional score is notable; the only musical moments come from ambient noise, like the distant hum of a passing vehicle or the wind whistling through the trees.

Higashide’s performance is the film’s anchor. As an actor known for his nuanced portrayals in dramas like “Confessions” and “The Blood of Wolves,” he brings a depth to this role that transcends mere method acting. His physicality is staggering—every movement, every expression, feels authentic, unscripted even when it must have been meticulously planned. There’s a scene where Higashide sits by a fire, his face illuminated by the flickering flames, and the exhaustion etched into his features speaks volumes about the toll of his isolation.

The film’s structure is deliberately episodic, with each segment focusing on a different aspect of Higashide’s survivalist routine. This approach allows Miyaji to explore themes of solitude, self-reliance, and the human need for connection without resorting to heavy-handed symbolism or exposition. However, this structural choice also leads to some pacing issues. The film’s runtime can feel uneven, with long stretches of silence punctuated by brief moments of action or dialogue. While this mirrors the monotony of Higashide’s daily life, it may test the patience of viewers accustomed to more dynamic narratives.

One of the film’s most compelling sequences occurs when Higashide encounters another person—a fellow survivalist named Tatsuya Mori. Their interaction is brief but charged with unspoken tension and mutual respect. The scene underscores one of the film’s central themes: the paradoxical nature of human connection in isolation. Even as Higashide seeks solitude, there’s an undeniable longing for companionship that surfaces in these fleeting encounters.

“Will” is not a film for everyone. Its unflinching realism and deliberate pacing make it a challenging watch, even for fans of survival documentaries. It lacks the cinematic flourishes of films like “The Revenant,” which uses sweeping landscapes and dramatic score to heighten its narrative tension. Instead, Miyaji’s approach is more akin to a minimalist character study, reminiscent of works like “Into the Wild” or “Touching the Void.” The film’s strength lies in its authenticity, but this same quality may alienate viewers looking for a more conventional cinematic experience.

The performances are another highlight. While Higashide is undoubtedly the film’s standout, Mori delivers a memorable supporting turn as the enigmatic stranger. Their dynamic adds a layer of complexity to the narrative, raising questions about the nature of trust and the boundaries between solitude and community.

Thematically, “Will” explores the tension between freedom and constraint. Higashide’s choice to live off-grid is both an assertion of autonomy and a form of self-imposed imprisonment. The film doesn’t offer easy answers or moralizing lessons; instead, it invites us to reflect on our own relationship with nature, technology, and the modern world.

In terms of genre fit, “Will” straddles the line between documentary and cinematic artistry. It’s not a traditional survivalist guide or an exposé on off-grid living; rather, it’s a deeply personal exploration of one man’s journey. This makes it a unique entry in the genre, though its niche appeal may limit its broader impact.

Ultimately, “Will” is a film that demands patience and introspection. It rewards viewers willing to engage with its meditative pacing and unflinching realism, but it may frustrate those looking for more traditional narrative structures or emotional payoffs.

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