Tokyo Sonata has a promising premise: a man loses his job then hides it from his family, but instead of a hard hitting examination of a common, universal problem, Kurosawa pulls his punches, irregularly intersperses moments of magical realism, which shouldn’t be wielded without a license from Guillermo del Toro, & emerges from the earlier promise of possible abyss & awkwardly surges for poetic transcendence. My suspension of disbelief snapped when the mother goes through (or does she?) her contrived turning point. Kurosawa’s overt focus on windows at every turning point was heavy handed & repetitive.