It’s terribly difficult to review a series like NHK’s My Family. Not because there’s nothing to be said about it. No, no. Quite the opposite, really: there’s way too much to be discussed. But, at the same time, it’s as if our vocabulary is too limited. It’s as if the dictionary simply doesn’t have the right words to describe how uniquely humane and extraordinarily vital a story My Family actually is.
See? Words like “unique”, “humane” or “vital” don’t even start to describe it. In the face of such a tale, they seem to say so little, sound so banal, and mean nothing in particular. My Family is a story told less through dialogue than through what it conveys: a magnificently raw, artistically realised character study of a family that seems to become our own by the end of the show’s 10 episodes.
Directed by acclaimed filmmaker Ohku Akiko, who co-wrote the script with Suzuki Ayako and Ichinose Hiroko, My Family is based on Kishida Nami’s bestselling autobiographical essay collection ๅฎถๆใ ใใๆใใใใใใชใใฆใๆใใใฎใๅฎถๆใ ใฃใ (lit. “I didn’t love them because they were my family, they were my family because I loved them”). The series follows Nami’s childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood as she slowly grows into a beloved writer.
So far, so simple? So far, so clichรฉ? Not even close. My Family is a journey full of surprises, not because it aims to deliver a string of emotionally manipulative twists, but because it refuses to label its events as tragedies; it transforms the singular into the universal and offers a profoundly earnest, genuine portrayal of human nature.
This review is spoiler-free! But if you’re in a rush, why don’t you pin this article for later? Our pin is at the bottom!
A Cinematic Tale of Love, Grief, and Resilience
Kishida’s fictional counterpart is Kishimoto Nanami (Kawai Yuumi), whom we meet as a high schooler in Kobe. Nanami lives with her mother, Hitomi (Sakai Maki), and her younger brother, Sota (Yoshida Aoi). A quirky, cheerful, and not particularly studious teenager, she might not be the most popular kid at school, but she can skilfully navigate the tricky social dynamics of adolescence. One day, Hitomi tells Nanami that Sota might have committed shoplifting and asks for her support in figuring out what happened.
From there, we’re taken on an adventure full of laughter and tears, challenges and accomplishments, words that go unspoken but love that never wavers. My Family is the Kishimotos’ quest towards independence, a flawless illustration of the transcendental nature of the family bonds that make us who we are.
Oh, I forgot to mention a couple of things: Sota is a person with Down syndrome. Kosuke (Nishikido Ryo), Nanami and Sota’s adoring father, passed away a few years ago. And by the end of the show’s first episode, Hitomi becomes wheelchair-bound. Does that change the way you read that synopsis? Because, to Nanami, it shouldn’t. To Nanami, Hitomi is just her mother, Sota is just her brother, and Kosuke is just her father โ all people she adores wholeheartedly, but who can also drive her up the wall at times.
Better yet, what Nanami realises throughout My Family is that Hitomi, Sota, and Kosuke are more than just her mother, brother, or father. Just like her, they are kaleidoscopic individuals whose personalities are shaped by their own goals and limitations, the challenges fate throws their way, and the strength they find in the loving ties that connect them.
My Family then denies any and all stereotypes and refuses all pity (no matter how “well-intentioned” it may be) to tell a story that is about each and every single one of us complex human beings. That’s not to say that the show doesn’t highlight the prejudice against people with disabilities, the hardships they face in a world designed for the non-disabled, or the hypocrisy of a society that claims to be fair and inclusive. That’s not to say Nanami is never shown as the daughter (or granddaughter) who naturally takes on the caretaker role, who desperately chooses to shoulder responsibility for her family’s happiness and well-being in the absence of her father โ and quietly struggles as a consequence.
There’s indeed pathos in Nanami’s tale, but it never slips into cheap or saccharine sentimentality. This is a narrative in which joy and melancholy co-exist in the colourful, richly textured layers that make up our everyday existences. My Family overflows with the sensitivity, kindness, and wit required to craft each protagonist with the nuanced individuality they deserve while also allowing them to reflect our most universal traits.
The Kishimotos and the people they cross paths with are a study in human resilience, the intricate mechanics of familial love and the delicate relationship we create with grief. This story is marked by our need to be seen and acknowledged and our desire to be self-sufficient beings. Every event is built through the naivetรฉ of love and the generosity of strangers. My Family reminds us how we often fail to communicate openly, exactly because we fear becoming a burden to those we love; how impatient and stubborn we can be when we’re desperate to help those we care about; how we can spout hurtful words when we’re scared to show our vulnerability.
My Family knows when to be funny and when to be dramatic. It knows when to let a moment breathe and when to speed it up. And all of that finds its rhythm through insightful dialogue, goofy humour, and incisive pacing. This is, after all, a meticulously devised series in which all of its visual, thematic, and narrative elements exist in active relation to one another.
Director Ohku paints Nanami’s tale with beautifully deep, wide, and playful compositions that count on superbly detailed production design, stunning locations, and an unbelievably talented cast. Kawai is a force of nature who understands her character’s essence and lets her bloom freely and empathetically. But Kawai also knows this isn’t her show โ it’s theirs. Sakai shines as a woman who has to reinvent herself as an individual and as a mother, while Yoshida offers heartfelt poignancy as a brother who gives much more than he takes. Nishikido connects the three through a (quite literally) haunting portrayal of a father who may be physically gone but is always and forever present.
Actually, the constant presence of Nishikido’s Kosuke despite his death makes My Family an even more special drama. The storytelling that fuels this script plays around with temporality and reality, taking us back and forwards in time and in and out of its characters’ dreams and illusions. It all works thanks to incredibly sharp, meaningful editing, which not only makes My Family a much more dynamic affair but also serves to depict the mystical quality of our emotions, the enduring, vivid nature of memory, and the transformative power of nostalgia.
Should You Watch NHK’s My Family (2023)?
My Family is a charming, moving, and provocative series that exists beyond the limited confines of its 10 episodes. It lives on in the hearts of those lucky enough to come along for the ride, because with every episode, we can’t help but let out a knowing chuckle every time we realise the Kishimotos are, in fact, us.
It holds a mirror up to society with a compassionate and open-minded perspective through a warm and somehow magical reminder of our human contradictions โ of our collective uniqueness, of the comforting feeling of being able to rely on others but the liberating feeling of well-earned autonomy, of sharing a love that makes us so strong and so vulnerable at the same time.
My Family is just as impossible to describe as it is to forget. So even if I failed to do justice to the show with my words, what I hope you take from this review is: This is the kind of rare story that sneaks into your soul, an often bittersweet but always tender journey that is worth every second of your time.
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