This review originally appeared on SSP Thinks Film and is by Sam Sewell-Peterson.
Shoplifters (2018)
Director: Hirokazu Koreeda
Screenwriter: Hirokazu Koreeda
Starring: Lily Franky, Sakura Andô, Kirin Kiki, Mayu Matsuoka, Jyo Kairi, Miyu Sasaki
Hirokazu Koreeda’s Shoplifters is a quietly powerful portrait of an unconventional family surviving on the margins of contemporary Japan. At its core, the film examines how love, necessity and moral ambiguity intersect in the lives of people who have been sidelined by society. Through restrained direction and intimate character work, Koreeda asks difficult questions about what makes a family and whether compassion can ever justify transgression.
The story follows the Shibata household, a group of individuals living together who survive in part by shoplifting. When they take in a young girl found alone and neglected, their fragile domestic balance both deepens and unravels. The film refuses easy answers: it neither romanticizes nor wholly condemns their choices. Instead, it focuses on human relationships—how they form, how they fracture, and how the law and social expectations ultimately intervene.
Japan’s low crime rate and cultural emphasis on social harmony make theft a particularly loaded act. Koreeda uses this cultural backdrop not to excuse wrongdoing, but to highlight the complexity of poverty and familial bonds. The characters are drawn sympathetically, yet the film is clear-eyed about the consequences of their actions. Through well-observed scenes, it prompts viewers to consider how judgment often relies on incomplete information about a person’s circumstances.
The performances are uniformly excellent. Jyo Kairi gives a striking debut as Shota, a boy who has the rare opportunity to choose the people he will call family. His eyes and reactions guide much of the film’s emotional logic—he watches, learns, and ultimately forms his own moral compass. Miyu Sasaki, as the abandoned girl called Lin or Yuri, conveys deep vulnerability and confusion, making her plight central to the film’s moral stakes.
Lily Franky’s Osamu is a complex figure: at times paternal and protective, at others opportunistic and self-justifying. Sakura Andô’s Nobuyo is the emotional heart of the film. Much of the final act rests on her ability to explain, defend and confront the consequences of her life choices. Her performance is quietly devastating; she embodies a woman who desperately wanted motherhood and a chance to atone, even when that desire leads to sacrifice.
Kirin Kiki, as the elderly matriarch, adds textured nuance. Her character appears to come from a different life, accepting money to care for a child she did not raise and tacitly tolerating the household’s petty crimes while enjoying the company they provide. These layered portrayals make the family’s dynamics credible and heartbreaking.
Stylistically, Shoplifters is composed of small, intimate moments rather than melodramatic plot swings. Koreeda’s camera lingers on everyday gestures: building a snowman, playing together on a beach, listening to distant fireworks. These scenes accumulate into an affecting mosaic of tenderness and quiet desperation. The film’s pacing allows viewers to breathe with the characters, to absorb subtle shifts in loyalty and conscience.
Thematically, the film explores choice and circumstance. Some members of the Shibata household act out of necessity; others act from habit or defiance. When circumstances force the family apart, the film asks what remains of love after legal and societal judgment has intervened. Shoplifters ultimately reads as humanist cinema: it affirms the dignity of flawed people while acknowledging the harsh realities they face.
Score: 22/24
By Sam Sewell-Peterson
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