The Story of (Ab)normal Desire
(Ab)normal Desire is a 2023 drama that centers on three people each carrying secrets they're desperate to conceal. There's a prosecutor worried that his pubescent son has become a shut-in, a saleswoman with an unusual habit she's ashamed of, and a student tortured by feelings she can't bring herself to express. Director Yoshiyuki Kishi and screenwriter Takehito Minato—the same team behind the acclaimed boxing epic Wilderness—adapted this from Ryo Asai's prize-winning novel, and their adaptation takes a deceptively simple premise and turns it into something far more unsettling. The film doesn't announce its themes loudly. Instead, it lets you sit with these characters, watch them navigate daily life, and slowly realize that the real drama isn't what they're hiding—it's the exhaustion of hiding it.
Behind the Making of (Ab)normal Desire
The creative partnership between Kishi and Minato proved itself with Wilderness, and they brought that same sensibility to (Ab)normal Desire: a willingness to linger on discomfort, to avoid easy answers. The production itself was a collaboration between Bitters End, murmur, TV Man Union, and CULEN—a constellation of Japanese production companies known for character-driven work. With a runtime of 134 minutes, the film doesn't rush. That length matters; it's earned, not indulgent. The picture earned 2 wins and 2 nominations across various awards ceremonies, a respectable haul for a film tackling such intimate, unglamorous subject matter. On IMDb, it sits at 6.3/10 from 287 votes—a score that reflects its divisive nature. Some viewers found the pacing meditative and the observations razor-sharp; others wanted more plot momentum. Neither reaction is wrong. What's striking is that the film seems designed to provoke exactly that kind of disagreement, because it refuses to tell you whether these characters' desires are truly abnormal or whether society's expectations are the real problem.
What Makes (Ab)normal Desire Stand Out
Honestly, the power of (Ab)normal Desire lies in its refusal to sensationalize. It would've been easy—and commercially safer—to make this a thriller about secrets exposed or a melodrama about shame. Instead, Kishi treats each character with a kind of anthropological curiosity. He doesn't judge them. The prosecutor isn't a bad father; he's a man trying to understand his son through the lens of normalcy, and that lens is cracked. The saleswoman isn't pathetic; she's someone who's learned to compartmentalize so thoroughly that she can't imagine a world where her "peculiar propensity" (as the film puts it) might be acceptable. The student isn't weak; she's trapped between desire and the social machinery that tells her desire like hers doesn't belong. What nobody mentions is how much the film trusts its audience to make these connections without spelling them out. There's a moment—I won't spoil it—where one character's coping mechanism is revealed, and it's neither condemning nor exonerating. It just is. That restraint, that refusal to moralize, is what separates this from a dozen other "misfit" dramas you've seen. The performances anchor everything. Without stellar work from the cast, the film would collapse under the weight of its own quietness. Instead, they carry you through 134 minutes that feel both glacial and inevitable.
How to Watch (Ab)normal Desire Online
(Ab)normal Desire is now available on major OTT services, and you can check exactly which platforms carry it in the "Where to Watch" widget at the top of this page. Streaming availability shifts frequently, so Movie OTT keeps that information current for you. If you're browsing on a platform like Netflix, Prime Video, or other major services, you may find it already in your library—or you might need to add it to your watchlist. The beauty of aggregator sites like Movie OTT is that you don't have to hunt across five different apps to figure out where to find a title; the widget does that legwork for you. Given the film's meditative pace and intimate subject matter, it's the kind of movie that benefits from a quiet evening and your full attention—no distractions, no second screen. Settle in. Let it work on you.
Frequently asked questions
Q: Who directed (Ab)normal Desire?
Yoshiyuki Kishi directed the film, reuniting with screenwriter Takehito Minato, the same creative partnership behind the acclaimed boxing drama Wilderness. Their collaboration proved successful enough that they adapted Ryo Asai's prize-winning novel together.
Q: Is (Ab)normal Desire based on a true story?
No, it's based on Ryo Asai's prize-winning novel, not a true story. That said, the film's emotional specificity—the way it captures the shame and isolation of hiding who you are—feels drawn from lived experience, even if the plot itself is fiction.
Q: How long is (Ab)normal Desire?
The film runs 134 minutes (just over two hours), which gives Kishi room to develop his characters and themes without rushing. It's a deliberate pace that some viewers find meditative and others find slow.
Q: What's the IMDb rating for (Ab)normal Desire?
(Ab)normal Desire has a 6.3/10 rating on IMDb based on 287 votes, reflecting a mixed but engaged audience response. The film's divisive nature—its refusal to offer easy answers or conventional plot satisfaction—likely contributes to that spread.
Q: Did (Ab)normal Desire win any awards?
Yes, the film earned 2 wins and 2 nominations across various awards ceremonies, a solid recognition for a character-driven drama that doesn't fit neatly into commercial categories.
Final Thoughts on (Ab)normal Desire
If you're looking for a film that challenges your assumptions about normalcy and conformity, (Ab)normal Desire is worth your time. It won't give you the catharsis of a conventional drama, and that's precisely the point. The world doesn't resolve neatly for people hiding parts of themselves—so why should the film? Kishi's direction, Minato's screenplay, and the ensemble's commitment to restraint create something rare: a film about abnormality that treats abnormality as the most normal thing in the world. Not everyone will connect with it, and that's okay. But if you're the kind of viewer who appreciates quiet, observational storytelling that trusts you to read between the lines, you'll find something genuinely moving here.