Not every film directed by Kaspar Astrup Schröder centers around a Japanese phenomenon, but the three that have serve as a testament to his fascination with the country and its cultural quirks—from the eccentric inventions of Yoshiro Nakamatsu (The Invention of Dr. NakaMats) to the family rental business run by Ryuichi Ichinokawa (Rent a Family Inc.). In Dear Tomorrow, Schröder’s third film dedicated to exploring Japan in some capacity, he examines the country’s loneliness epidemic, which is less of a “cultural quirk” and more so an emerging public health crisis across all industrialized nations. In Schröder’s native Denmark, for example, approximately one-fourth of citizens report feeling lonely.

Loneliness is more than a feeling, however, being accompanied by significant health impacts, including increased risk of cardiovascular disease, dementia, anxiety, and even premature death. So great are the associated risks, which exceed those listed here, that former U.S. Surgeon General Dr. Vivek H. Murthy (who is mentioned via newscast audio in the film) issued a report in 2023 entitled Our Epidemic of Loneliness and Isolation: The U.S. Surgeon General’s Advisory on the Healing Effects of Social Connection and Community. In Japan, the diminishment of close, sustaining relationships has become so dire, particularly among the old, that elderly women have turned to crime, finding that prison more readily provides food and healthcare—and friends.

Dear Tomorrow introduces the audience to loneliness-combating nonprofit organization Anata no Ibasho (A Place for You, in English) and turns its gaze specifically to two forty-something individuals, Masato and Shoko, who contact the nonprofit’s text-messaging service multiple times over the course of the film. For all the good it aims to do—by connecting texters to local resources and encouraging them to reach out to anyone who may serve as a source of company or comfort in their lives—Anata no Ibasho and its staff of volunteers are fighting an uphill battle, with the text-messaging service being contacted upwards of 1,000 times a day. Within the first few minutes of the film, the screen is covered in texts received by the service, and it is impossible to read them all before the texts disappear, which is perhaps the point: it is equally impossible to fully account for the toll loneliness takes on so many lives. This interpretation is underscored by the response frequently received by texters: “All our counselors are busy.”

Although they have a sensible system in place—with a yellow light being activated when a texter has revealed themselves to be at risk of suicide and a red light being activated when domestic violence is involved, signifying a top-priority call—Anata no Ibasho is necessarily a reactive organization, with many low-priority texters not receiving a response until they themselves express suicidality. As framed by Dear Tomorrow, the strategy to combat Japan’s loneliness epidemic appears to have a striking lack of preventative care woven into it. The film also speaks to the ways in which Japanese businesses accommodate and enable the lonely lives of their customers—for example, by equipping restaurants with cubicle-esque one-seat booths, robot waiters, and even robot table companions. Meanwhile, our heroes Masato and Shoko are brought to tears on several occasions, due to how profoundly they feel the absence of meaning, direction, and connection in their lives.

Belying the emotional lows it respectfully showcases, the film is visually captivating, featuring sweeping shots of bustling city streets and trains in motion, which stand in stark contrast to the shots of Masato and Shoko in the small, stifling space of their respective apartments (although even those are beautifully framed). Schröder’s historic interest in photography is clear in his handling of the lens, with many of the more memorable moments following the rule of thirds, occasionally highlighting Masato’s and Shoko’s isolation by surrounding them with negative space—but not for long. By the end of the film, Shoko has overcome her loneliness by reconnecting not only with her love of music but also with a childhood friend, and Masato, near the end of his rope, has found companionship in an owl named Furaha and a renewed sense of self-regard in the kind words of a Buddhist monk.

This is one of Dear Tomorrow’s key revelations. When we first meet Masato and Shoko, their description of themselves and their lives is so disparaging that, for as much sympathy as they evoke, they have you half-convinced that there is something inherent to them that has caused and entrenched their isolation, and the visual language of the film encourages us to see their lives as sad and small. However, we later see Shoko shine as a talented pianist and singer, reveling in her rekindled friendship with her former schoolmate Junko. We see how deeply Masato’s vulnerability and his own way with words has touched a religious leader in his community, how gentle and caring he is with animals, and how affable he is when approached by strangers in the park. We learn that this light has always been inside them, waiting to be reawakened by connection with others—and by giving and receiving gratitude.

The film’s pace can feel meandering, with the road it’s taking you down sometimes disappearing around the bend of the next segment. If there’s one thing Schröder doesn’t appear to be believe in, it’s hand-holding—or, as I would more generously call it in this case, pre-digestion. There were times when it would have been helpful to have a brief voiceover naming the origin or immediate relevance of a newscast or recording from a ministry meeting. And although the film nods at the systemic issues that underpin Japan’s loneliness epidemic—Masato complains of being overworked, and he and Shoko both mention the disintegration of family ties—these issues warrant a more thorough examination. That being said, Dear Tomorrow is well worth the watch for its artful cinematography, stellar sound design, and especially the raw moments it captures of two lonely people (re)discovering how to live.