Shoplifters ★★★☆☆
“Shoplifters” might make you reconsider that little pack of gum you pilfered as a child, not because stealing is bad (we know), but because, in this movie, it’s the warmest thing anyone’s done for a family member in a while.
Set on the fringes of Tokyo’s society, Shoplifters is about a family of… well, thieves, who make their humble living through petty crime. Osamu (Lily Franky) and his motley crew—including his wife, Nobuyo (Sakura Ando), and a gaggle of children that seem as if they were picked up as casually as coupons—take in a neglected little girl, Yuri. But as sweet as this act seems, it doesn’t take long before the law and the complicated reality of their relationships come knocking.
On the surface, this is a film about survival—about taking what you need because society certainly isn’t offering. But beneath that, Kore-eda’s film is an exploration of what makes a family. Is it blood, legal documents, or something far messier? He challenges the conventional idea of family, asking if love and loyalty outweigh biology. There’s a raw tenderness to how these characters function together, sharing laughter and stolen meals, yet there’s a constant tension, too, because their world is built on lies and theft. It’s not just a story about a makeshift family scraping by—it’s a moral examination of what it means to belong.
Kore-eda’s directing is the cinematic equivalent of eavesdropping through a paper-thin wall. It’s intimate, almost intrusively so, pulling us into the cramped, cluttered home of the Shibatas, as if we’re squatting with them. Shot on 35mm film, the grainy, sunlit cinematography amplifies the organic feel, where nothing is polished but everything is full of life. The muted tones of Tokyo’s grittier neighborhoods reflect the quiet desperation of these characters, while still holding onto an undeniable warmth. It’s both a love letter to human resilience and a condemnation of a society that lets people slip through the cracks.
Sakura Ando as Nobuyo is the film’s heart, delivering a performance that’s understated yet haunting. She juggles the roles of a mother, partner-in-crime, and moral compass with such grace that it’s hard not to root for her, even when she’s stuffing stolen goods into her purse. Lily Franky as Osamu is the charmingly irresponsible patriarch—he’s as reckless as he is tender, an oddball mix of good intentions and dubious ethics. The chemistry between the two leads feels lived-in, almost improvised. And the children, particularly Shota (Jyo Kairi), steal more than just merchandise—they steal the show. This family of misfits works because each actor inhabits their role so deeply that you almost forget this isn’t a documentary.
While the film moves at a leisurely pace, Shoplifters never drags. Kore-eda is in no rush, letting moments of quiet intimacy breathe, like watching the family slurp noodles together in silence. It’s an unhurried narrative, more focused on moments of connection than the ticking of a plot clock. However, the final act delivers a gut-punch of revelations that retroactively deepens every interaction you’ve seen before. It’s a slow burn, but one that rewards patience, even if the third act can feel a bit melodramatic.
Watching Shoplifters is like peering into the kind of family life you hope you never need but kind of envy for its authenticity. The messy affection, the deep loyalty built on shaky foundations—it speaks to anyone who’s ever found family in unlikely places. The film also slyly hints at the economic disparities we try not to think about in our day-to-day, but Kore-eda brings it front and center, reminding us that for some, living outside the lines is the only way to survive. It’s relatable, but uncomfortably so.
If you like your dramas slow-cooked, with a healthy side of moral ambiguity, Shoplifters is a film for you. It’s tender, it’s bleak, it’s humorous in a way that makes you feel guilty for laughing—but mostly, it’s profoundly human. This is not a film that ties things up neatly with a bow, and it certainly doesn’t ask you to feel sorry for anyone. It simply asks you to care.
