Kore-eda on the visuals of Sheep in the Box

In a world increasingly defined by algorithms and manufactured realities, director Hirokazu Kore-eda is turning his lens toward the most timeless human concerns: family, belonging, and the boundless power of imagination. His latest film, Sheep in the Box, uses the unsettling premise of artificial humanoids and generative AI to ask profound questions about kinship—exploring whether true family bonds can be forged through technology or if they require something more soulful.

The film centers on Kakeru, an android replica brought into the lives of his parents, Kensuke and Otone. Mourning the loss of their son, the couple commissions a robotic stand-in, creating a physical presence that mirrors their lost child. Yet, as Kakeru inhabits their home, a deep dissonance emerges between his programmed existence and the emotional realities of family life.

This gap between expectation and reality becomes the crucible for Kore-eda’s exploration of identity. He delves into whether families can truly be healed through technological intervention or if such solutions are merely an unworthy bandage. Can an algorithm possess humanity, and what does it mean to find a sense of home when some inhabitants lack a soul?

Kore-eda anchors this futuristic inquiry in the classic framework of The Little Prince, using the philosophy that “it is only in the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” This idea resonates throughout his filmography, suggesting that the deepest truths about connection and worth are not visible, but must be perceived through empathy.

The director’s approach masterfully juxtaposes the cold logic of technology with the organic rhythm of nature. The opening sequence, featuring drones soaring over Kamakura, immediately establishes an intersection between humanity, technology, and the natural world. This sets up a fascinating parallel: just as trees communicate through their roots and leaves to protect their environment, Kore-eda wonders if generative AI communicates in a way more akin to nature’s silent, interconnected systems.

By examining how humans connect through imagination—as seen in the narrative of Kakeru—Kore-eda prompts us to consider whether we are losing our innate ability to envision possibilities. He suggests that finding new ways to connect requires relearning the muscle of imaginative connection, a process vital for navigating our increasingly digital existence.

The film also offers a tender but challenging look at guilt and parenting. Kore-eda explores how parents cope with profound loss, allowing us to examine technology not just as a tool, but as a potential form of absolution. He ultimately suggests that true healing does not come from punishment, but from shared vulnerability—a realization embodied in the humanoid’s journey toward building his own space and finding positive meaning through his existence.

The physical setting of the film further emphasizes this theme. The house occupied by Kensuke and Otone is depicted as a warm haven during the day, yet increasingly shadowed in the evening. This contrast visually underscores the internal conflict—the beautiful, lived reality versus the encroaching uncertainty of the unknown. Through these subtle details, Kore-eda reminds us that even in the face of technological change, the most essential landscape remains the human heart.