We Couldn't Become Adults (2021) Review: A Japanese Romance About Memory, Loss, and Growing Up

 

We Couldn't Become Adults (Original Title: Bokutachi wa minna otona ni narenakatta) | 2021 | 2h 4m
Genre: Drama / Romance | Country: Japan
Director: Yoshihiro Mori | Writers: Moegara, Ryô Takada
Cast: Mirai Moriyama, Sairi Ito, Masahiro Higashide
IMDb: 6.5
My Rate: 10/10

A chance reunion sends Makoto Sato back through the memories of his life, career, friendships, and lost love, forcing him to confront the parts of his past he has never truly left behind.

Warning

Contains sexual content, sensuality, nudity, violence, alcohol, and smoking.

Growing older is inevitable, but becoming an adult is another matter entirely. We can build careers, enter relationships, and watch the people around us move forward, yet still feel as though a part of us has been left behind somewhere in the past. Sometimes, the hardest thing to accept is not that our lives have changed, but that the person we once imagined we would become never quite came into existence. We Couldn't Become Adults (2021) explores this quiet, painful reality through the memories of a man who must confront the life he has lived and the things he has never truly left behind.

Makoto Sato (Mirai Moriyama) unexpectedly reunites with an old acquaintance, Nanase (Atsushi Shinohara). Nanase feels that his life has fallen behind those of his friends, leaving him struggling with the sense that everyone else has moved forward while he remains stuck in the same place. Their encounter prompts Sato to look back at his own life and question whether he has really progressed as much as he once imagined.

Sato works at an advertising company, where he attends a party and meets a woman who turns out to be a pornographic film actress. Despite the apparent differences in their lives, she reveals that the life she is living is not the one she once dreamed of having. Her confession becomes another reason for Sato to reflect on his own circumstances, particularly when he considers how many of his former friends seem to have achieved their ambitions.

As memories continue to resurface, Sato finds himself dealing with his girlfriend, who is waiting for him to make a clear decision about their relationship. Yet he seems unable to decide what he truly wants from his life. His uncertainty eventually contributes to the end of their relationship, leaving behind another chapter he cannot simply erase. The woman he has known for quite some time has also changed, becoming more mature than she was when they first met.

The story then takes us further into Sato's past, revealing the memories of Kaori, the woman he once considered his true love. We see how they met, how their relationship developed, and how she eventually left him behind, forcing him to face life without her. The memories are not simply recollections of a former romance; they are pieces of Sato's life that continue to shape the man he has become. But will revisiting those experiences finally help him grow up and move forward?

Adapted from Moegara's 2016 novel Bokutachi wa Minna Otona ni Narenakatta, We Couldn't Become Adults has a relatively simple premise. At its heart, the film is about loss and the emotional wounds left unresolved by the past. What makes it compelling, however, is the depth of emotion that emerges from this seemingly ordinary story. It does not need an extraordinary tragedy or a dramatic confrontation to make its characters' struggles feel meaningful. Instead, it finds something painful and familiar in the distance between the lives we once imagined and the lives we actually live.

One of the film's most engaging aspects is its use of a nonlinear timeline. The story moves backward through Sato's memories in a systematic way, allowing the audience to follow his experiences while gradually understanding how different people and events have influenced him. Interestingly, the final scene connects with the scene we saw at the beginning. This structure makes the storytelling more satisfying because earlier moments take on different meanings as we learn more about Sato's past.

The way these memories connect is especially effective. Every character who appears has a particular relationship with some part of Sato's history. As viewers, we are gradually invited into the experiences that have shaped him, rather than simply being told that he is a man haunted by regret. His memories reveal how relationships, disappointments, and unfulfilled ambitions accumulate over time, often leaving emotional traces that are difficult to recognize until we look back.

The ambiguity surrounding Kaori's departure is particularly significant. The film does not provide the kind of complete explanation that would neatly resolve every question about their relationship. Instead, the uncertainty allows us to understand Sato's lingering feelings and emotional wounds. Sometimes, not knowing why someone left can be just as painful as the loss itself. The absence of a clear answer leaves room for questions, regrets, and possibilities that continue to occupy the mind long after the relationship has ended.

The performances are another major strength. The chemistry between the cast members feels natural, but Mirai Moriyama deserves particular recognition for portraying Sato across different periods of his life. His performance conveys the changes in Sato's personality and emotional state over time, making the different versions of the character feel distinct despite being played by the same actor. We can sense the passage of time not merely through changes in his appearance, but through the way he carries himself and responds to the people around him.

The costumes and makeup also help establish the differences between the various timelines. These details make it easier to recognize which period of Sato's life we are witnessing while reinforcing the sense that time has passed. The color compositions and camera movements are handled beautifully, with particular attention given to facial expressions and subtle emotional reactions. The music and sound effects complement the scenes, strengthening their emotional impact without overwhelming them.

For me, one of the most memorable scenes is when Sato and Kaori drive around without any particular destination in mind. There is something deeply touching about the simplicity of that moment. Sato's affection for Kaori is expressed not through grand gestures or elaborate declarations, but through his willingness to go wherever the journey takes them, as long as they are together. The destination does not matter nearly as much as the person sitting beside him.

This scene captures a feeling many people may recognize from their younger years: the belief that being with someone you love can make almost anywhere feel like the right place to be. When we are happy with another person, an aimless drive can become a treasured memory. An ordinary afternoon can feel extraordinary simply because of who shares it with us. What makes these moments bittersweet, of course, is that we often recognize their significance more clearly after they have become memories.

The line, “Everyone else keeps growing older, but we stay the same,” captures the emotional core of the film. On the surface, it sounds like an observation about time passing, but its meaning reaches beyond physical age. People can grow older without feeling that they have truly progressed. We may look back and discover that the ambitions we once held have faded, the relationships we expected to last have ended, and the future we imagined has taken a completely different shape.

Meanwhile, the people around us seem to be moving forward. Some establish their careers, some build families, and others discover new ambitions. Watching them can make us question our own choices and wonder whether we have somehow fallen behind. But life is not a competition in which everyone must reach the same milestones at the same time. What looks like progress from the outside does not always tell us whether someone feels fulfilled, just as a life that appears ordinary does not necessarily mean it has been wasted.

This is one of the reasons I find We Couldn't Become Adults so affecting. It understands that growing up is not simply a matter of accumulating years or achieving the goals society considers important. Emotional maturity can be much harder to measure. Sometimes, we remain attached to an old version of ourselves, an idealized relationship, or a future we can no longer have. We continue living in the present, but our minds keep returning to the moments when we believed life would turn out differently.

The film also reminds us that unresolved feelings do not always disappear just because time has passed. We may continue working, meeting new people, and entering new relationships, yet still carry the effects of experiences we never fully processed. That does not necessarily mean we have failed to grow. It may simply mean that some parts of our past still need to be acknowledged before we can understand how they have shaped us.

Overall, We Couldn't Become Adults is a must-watch for viewers who appreciate emotionally driven dramas about love, regret, memory, and the complicated process of growing older. Its nonlinear storytelling is engaging, the performances are excellent, and its visual presentation captures subtle emotions with care. Rather than relying on dramatic twists to make an impression, the film draws its strength from the connections between ordinary moments and the feelings that remain long after those moments have passed. Its open-ended conclusion also leaves viewers with room to consider what Sato's memories mean for the person he has become.

Perhaps the most important question the film leaves us with is not whether we have achieved everything we once dreamed of, but whether we are still allowing our past to determine how we live today. There is nothing wrong with remembering the people we loved, the opportunities we missed, or the versions of ourselves we wish we could revisit. Those experiences are part of our history. But at some point, we must decide whether we want to keep living inside those memories or allow ourselves to build something new. When you look back at your own life, are you remembering the past because it still gives you meaning, or because you are afraid to let go of the person you used to be?

(Aluna Uwie)

Previously published on Alunauwie.com.

This article was originally written in Indonesian and has been adapted into English for international readers.