Forests, Boys, and the Weight of Interpretation

I watched Close and Monster on MUBI. Oddly, they felt less separate. What lingered was not the plot. It was the atmosphere: forests, boys, unsupervised worlds. An intimacy that existed peacefully until it got noticed and interpreted. And somewhere, a memory bubbled up.

Close (2022, Belgium) is set in rural Belgium, 13-year-olds Léo and Rémi share an inseparable friendship that felt deeper than brotherhood. As they start secondary school, classmates pick on how close they are, prompting Léo to pull away. Influenced by teasing and a desire to fit in, he seeks new activities and friends, leaving Rémi increasingly isolated. Their once effortless connection ruptures, leading to tragic consequences that force Léo to confront loss, identity, and the pain of growing up.

Monster (2023, Japan) tells another story through multiple perspectives. Single mother Saori grows alarmed when her son Minato starts acting strangely. Convinced his teacher is abusing him, she confronts the school, only to be met with cold responses and conflicting claims. As events get retold from three perspectives, first Saori’s, then the teacher’s and finally from Minato, the truth greys. What initially appeared to be bullying, or abuse reveals deeper emotional bonds and misunderstandings, especially between Minato and classmate Yori, whose bond exists in play and metaphor, until adult systems try to establish meaning, blame to protect reputation.

Both films felt like studies on how childhood intimacy disintegrates once interpretation arrives, bonds that develop before language, labels, or moral judgment. But what really triggered my own childhood was those forests. In both, the forest is not just a place but a shared interior space—where children play without language, rules, or spectators. Games blur into intimacy: running, wrestling, hiding, inventing rituals that don’t know yet how to explain themselves. The trees guard their freedom, allowing closeness without labels.

It was the late 80s. A boys-only school. A normal campus where adults saw buildings, we saw beyond those, spilling into imagination, a forest. We called it the jungle. One slope smelled of eucalyptus, the other smacked of pinewood, and in between stood wild cashew and mango trees, tropical and unruly. Some trees rose like signposts; we climbed them like soldiers and sat at the top, spying on invisible enemies as we played armies or studying during exam times. Below, in the bushes, we built shelters and entire lives— picked roles - all of us serious in our pretending.  Down the valley were the meandering ravines where in summer, we played ‘crocodile’ games. But during the monsoons, those channels swelled into dark, intimidating currents as we watched with awe. Beyond all this lay the dreadful wilds we rarely trespassed, places that felt forbidden. Each part of the jungle was a world of its own, with its own rules, games, and secrets. Then, quietly, we moved on, football fields replaced forests, organized games replaced wild ones, and the jungle slipped out of memory.

Until now.

I remember being a father, someone else mother, another child. No one laughed or questioned. There was no embarrassment, no explanation was required. It wasn’t any identity, just a play. And then it ended as such things naturally do. We all grew up and the forest and those games faded into obscurity.

Honestly, it never occurred to me that this memory might one day be made to feel controversial. What scares me is not queerness as an identity, but queerness as interpretation. What has changed from the 80s to the 2020s is not children, but interpretation. It is not that 80s childhood were more enlightened, but I guess just less observed. The modern world has become saturated with language, frameworks, and vigilance. Every behavior and intimacy is under scrutiny. What should have faded naturally now gets frozen into meaning.

That is why these films feel unsettling. But who is right? The past allowed freedom but perhaps ignored the potential of real harm. The present seeks protection at all costs but risks over-interpretation.  In that sense, Close and Monster are welcome as they seem to argue for restraint, a pause before interpretation. What we owe children today is not certainty, but enough space — where being together requires no meaning at all.

Btw, jungle’ was bulldozed and a huge indoor stadium got built.