Until the T-shirt Dries: A Meandering Walk Around the Dark Woods of Marriage

For those familiar with scriptwriter Ubukata Miku’s work, TBS’s Until the T-shirt Dries feels like a refreshing take on her recurring concepts and devices at first. It’s as if we’re guided down a path we’ve been down before, but there’s something different about it this time — something compelling and enigmatic that persuades us to keep walking despite the familiarity.

As we tread further and further into the woods, our environment seems to shapeshift: Until the T-shirt Dries is a slice-of-life, a mystery, a human drama, a romantic drama. We continue on, seeking answers to the questions its characters raise and facing the twists their fates throw our way.

Towards the end of this journey, however, we suddenly look around and realise we don’t exactly know where we are anymore or how we even got there. With a heavy sack of miscellaneous ideas on our shoulders, Until the T-shirt Dries seems to abandon us in the middle of nowhere — lonely, confused, and a tad overwhelmed.

Directed by Doi Nobuhiro, Tsukamoto Renpei, and Komaki Sakura, Until the T-shirt Dries has all the traits of Ubukata’s distinctive writing style. This is a blend of Fuji TV’s Silent, My Beloved Flower, and The Beginning of the Sea, with themes of friendship between men and women, communication, and grief, as well as the clear presence of sharp dialogue and children who are a tad too mature for their age. But in the end, Ubukata’s latest attempt feels constricted by her own devices: Until the T-shirt Dries required her to break free from her habitual mechanisms to deliver the story its characters truly deserved.

This review contains some spoilers! If you haven’t watched the show yet, our spoiler-free pin is at the bottom!

Should We Wait Until the T-shirt Dries?

In a sort of My Beloved Flower-style, Until the T-shirt Dries is a drama about two married couples. We meet the Seos — Sakiko (Aoi Yu) and Mitsuru (Matsuyama Kenichi) — and the Sonodas — Azusa (Kaho) and Itsuki (Nakajima Ayumu) — as they dance to the ordinary rhythm of their everyday activities. They cook, do their laundry, go to work (and the Sonodas get their little boy, Sho (the adorable Kubota Kaoru), ready for school too).

Outside their home, they laugh and chat with their friends and colleagues. Inside, they seem to share the warm closeness of a long-term relationship. The Seos and the Sonodas are neighbours, but not friends. Their lives run parallel: they mirror each other but never seem to cross.

That changes when the Seos’ dryer malfunctions, which encourages Sakiko to head to the nearest launderette to have their clothes dry (if there’s one thing Sakiko detests, it’s hanging clothes to dry). There, she meets Itsuki on an errand for Azusa, who believes the launderette’s dryers make their towels fluffier.

They strike up a conversation, a poetically prosaic chat about… well, nothing in particular. They eventually go their separate ways until later that day they both receive the same phone call: Mitsuru and Azusa were involved in a deadly bus accident on the way to Nagoya. Azusa passed away, while Mitsuru’s body is yet to be found. With their lives turned upside down by tragedy, Sakiko and Itsuki are now “in the same boat“, as they describe it.

While Sakiko sees it all as a huge coincidence, Itsuki isn’t so sure. Could it be that Mitsuru and Azusa were going to Nagoya together? If so, why didn’t they tell their spouses? It turns out Itsuki has had his suspicions for a long time: Mitsuru and Azusa must have been having an affair. Sakiko finds it hard to believe, but as the police struggle to find Mitsuru’s body, a string of unexpected revelations starts planting doubts in her mind.

First Half: An Insightful Meditation on Marriage, Intimacy, and Infidelity

The narrative of Until the T-shirt Dries is then fuelled by the mystery of Mitsuru’s disappearance and the real nature of his relationship with Azusa. The truth is the only thing that might set Sakiko and Itsuki free and allow them to fully mourn the loss of their loved ones.

With every episode, Sakiko and Itsuki come to realise their lives have never been “parallel” to one another, but inextricably intertwined. The first half of Until the T-shirt Dries unfolds through the captivating bond of these two heartbroken people who learn to find strength in each other’s presence and who encourage each other to reconcile themselves with circumstances outside their control, values that challenge their ideas of reality and convention, and an existence that is more ambiguous than they feel comfortable with.

The investigation Sakiko and Itsuki lead tries to deconstruct Mitsuru’s and Azusa’s identities, a quest that asks us to deconstruct the very concept of a romantic relationship as we know it. Every beat of this series’ first five episodes proposes a thought-provoking question: What constitutes infidelity? How can one preserve their individuality within a relationship? Is there a difference between marriage and family? How much do we really know the person sleeping next to us — and how much do we really need to share with each other?

Initially, Until the T-shirt Dries portrays romance without the fanciful sparks of fiction. The show is a raw, insightful depiction of how our bonds can be as complex as they are fragile, of how loving someone can bring equal amounts of joy and sorrow, relief and anger, comfort and frustration. Love can wound us as much as it can heal us, destroy us as much as it can save us. As Sakiko and Itsuki look back on their relationships with their spouses and strengthen their own connection, they are invited to reflect on their notions of trust, possessiveness, guilt, ethics, privacy, honesty, and intimacy. There is no stone Until the T-shirt Dries doesn’t dare to turn over as our protagonists try to shed light on the unknown corners of their marriages.

Second Half: Trauma? Labels? Effortless Relationships?

If that sounds like an admirable and intricate undertaking, that’s because it absolutely is. However, from the sixth episode onwards, Until the T-shirt Dries gets lost in its attempt to expand its universe, abandoning its complex discussions for simplistic, strangely shallow explanations.

Once Mitsuru returns, Until the T-shirt Dries abandons its meditations on marriage and infidelity, replacing them with a miscellany of conflicts. Suddenly, we find ourselves wondering how one’s upbringing affects their ability to navigate adult relationships, how we can get to know one’s true nature (this second half made me think a lot about the Japanese concept of honne to tatemae (本音と建前), that is, how everyone has a private side of their persona that holds their “true feelings”, which is often at odds with their “public stance or reasons”), and finally, whether relationships need labels.

Throughout these final five episodes, we witness the varnish of complexity and modernity that made the first half shine being washed away by a clumsy illustration of relationships that seem void of meaning. Itsuki loses his independent role in the narrative, becoming a device in Mitsuru and Sakiko’s attempt at reconnection. Azusa is now a charming apparition that imparts wisdom to people who don’t really need the gentle Ghost of Christmas Past as much as they need some therapy (I know, I was hoping for too much in an Ubukata script).

Mitsuru and Sakiko discuss matrimony as if it’s a transactional exchange: Sakiko needs someone tall to reach the higher shelves while Mitsuru needs someone to offer him the “normalcy” he was never given as a child. The decision of whether to remain married then doesn’t depend on whether they are willing to work on their ability to communicate, relate, and trust each other. It doesn’t depend on whether they appreciate each other’s presence. And goodness me, it definitely doesn’t depend on a juvenile idea of… “love”.

It simply depends on whether Sakiko can, in her own words, “fare well on her own” as if a husband is merely a tool (like a stepladder) or a convenience (like a dryer). Overnight, she realises she’s been obsessed with the idea of family because of her relationship with her parents and that she doesn’t need to be married to be happy — after all, she has “friends, a job, a place to live“.

The theme of marriage as a social construct that most women feel obliged to abide by is an extremely valid, timely, and fascinating one. But in a different show with a different set-up. It’s as if the thematic structure of the first half of Until the T-shirt Dries eventually became too sophisticated for the devices available, which is why the second half had to reset it all.

The Seos are never prompted to question whether their only rule — “No lying. But you don’t have to say things you don’t want to say.” — is the antidote to true intimacy. They are never asked to share their boundaries or discuss whether their ideas of fidelity and independence are compatible. They are never encouraged to challenge their belief that they shouldn’t be completely sincere in their relationship because they fear being disliked or assume the other person won’t show them understanding or acceptance.

Once Mitsuru and Sakiko need to actively work on their connection, things become a “struggle” because it now lacks the “cute, innocent feeling you get when you first start dating“. But isn’t that obvious? Any relationship evolves and takes on different shapes and aspects over time — because we, as individuals, are constantly changing. Human bonds require affection, genuineness, and compromise to thrive. Otherwise, they are bound to collapse. The Seos never get to learn (or even consider) that.

In all fairness, this resistance to effort can be easily associated with Sakiko and her profound dislike of hanging clothes to dry, which is a chore that needs patience, energy, and awareness — just like one’s romantic endeavours. It’s a lot more fun to do it with someone else in a dynamic where both put in the same amount of effort — just like one’s romantic endeavours. Relationships take time and energy to heal, while breaking up is just a matter of replacing the dryer filter, loading the machine, and letting it run its course.

(Oh, please don’t misunderstand: I think that Mitsuru and Sakiko should indeed divorce. What made such an ending less powerful than it could’ve been is that the Seos didn’t truly understand why divorce would be the best option for them. Their decision arises more from narrative contrivance than a natural result of their character arc.)

While the writing leaves a lot to be desired in its final instalments, Until the T-shirt Dries boasts some stunning visual language (with a couple of slips in the visual effects that are barely noticeable), a melancholic score in Ubukata’s signature style, and some powerfully poignant performances — especially from Aoi Yu, who has to carry this story on her shoulders. She embraces Sakiko with remarkable empathy and spontaneity, softening our frustration even when the script wanders off course.

Should You Watch Until the T-shirt Dries?

Ubukata Miku’s dramas have an uncanny ability to offer absorbing sentimentality to her recurring themes, which ends up dividing her audience. Until the T-shirt Dries is no different. Could her secret lie in her lyrical dialogue? Relatable scenarios? Impactful circumstances? Compelling characters? I can’t really tell. But perhaps it’s about time Ubukata ventured outside her comfort zone and let her talented writing soar into unknown skies.

Meanwhile, if you’re looking for a story about the dynamics of familial, platonic, and romantic relationships and how they are heavily influenced by gender expectations, I’d highly recommend TBS’s Then, You Try Making It! (which also stars Kaho!).

You can watch Until the T-shirt Dries on: