Kokuhô

"Kokuho" is one of the most powerful Japanese films I've ever seen in recent years. It is beautiful work that blends traditional art, moral tension, and emotional depth into something unforgettable.

The sound design is particularly mesmerizing. Since Kabuki is inherently tied to rhythmic and percussive elements like taiko, the audio plays a critical role. The film pulls me into its world with every beat and breath. That said, some parts felt slightly over-exaggerated.

The storytelling was fascinating. The two protagonists have a deep and complex relationship. Their bond is tested by differences in their backgrounds, but they both share the same core value which is Ninkyo, the traditional Japanese code of chivalry. This shared principle-passed down through generation-gives the film emotional weight and cultural resonance.

However, the narrative occasionally jumps across time with little warning. These transitions can be confusing, and I sometimes found myself wondering what had happened.

Visually, the film is breathtaking. While I usually appreciate balanced, still compositions like Stanley Kubrick and Akira Kurosawa, I was captivated by how the Kabuki scenes were shot. The narrow focus and dynamic camerawork brought the dace sequences to life with elegance and intensity, highlighting their beauty and power.

In short, "Kokuho" is rare masterpiece. It reawakened my appreciation for Japanese cinema. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in traditional Japanese culture, powerful cinematic art in general.

Kokuho is an adaptation of a two-part novel by Shuichi Yoshida, an accomplished writer with a remarkable constellation of literary awards. It was an epic tome to adapt to the screen and the source material may have been better represented in a trilogy or even a limited television series. As others have noted, there are sudden time jumps in the script which seem inevitable given the limitations.

It is no small miracle that this film was made. The book was nearly impossible to condense into a single film. The three lead actors - Ryo Yoshizawa, Ryusei Yokohama, and Ken Watanabe - had no previous kabuki training, an art form which actors typically train since childhood. Yokohama and Watanabe were simultaneously working on a television series while the movie was in production. The time and budgetary constraints were astounding. And the scheduling conflicts between the film, TV, and stage actors would have forced most Hollywood producers to give up.

Western audiences, who are not automatically in awe of the absolute hat trick this movie is, will no doubt respond differently. But the finished film is memorable on its own merits. The main theme is similar to that of "The Red Shoes" by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. It is about extreme passion for theater and its inevitable costs, expressed in kabuki rather than ballet. The main characters are "onnagata" - actors who specialize in playing female parts - which is ironic since the story is also about toxic masculinity where the men put on a brave face against crushing defeat and a stiff smile against life-altering setback with punishing stoicism.

Most of all, the movie is a tribute to kabuki and the people who devote their lives to it. Yoshizawa and Yokohama not only convincingly portray kabuki performers on stage, but manage to project the weight of tradition, the madness behind the passion, and the allure of stardom. Watanabe, once again, blends masculine sternness with fatherly compassion into a grand performance. Min Tanaka - who is also not a kabuki actor - infuses palpable presence as the aging national treasure. The visuals are gorgeous. The sound is amazing. And the camerawork presents kabuki in ways we would never see in the theater. The acting is phenomenal. The story is gripping. Damien Chazelle's "Whiplash" looks stale by comparison. Darren Aronofsky's "Black Swan" suddenly looks domesticated.

The film is not without its faults. Aside from cramming too much story into a three-hour runtime, many of the characters come and go without much characterization. Masatoshi Nagase as the yakuza boss is so good you would wish to see more of him. How can you employ kabuki master Ganjiro Nakamura in a rare cinematic outing and use him for just a memorable cameo? Women are particularly short changed, even though there are plenty of interesting characters played by talented actresses who deserve more screen time. Granted none of the women are cardboard caricatures, their motivations for their very human actions and sometimes irrational choices are omitted or left unexplained. The most notable performance comes from Shinobu Terashima as the duty-bound but loving matriarch of a kabuki dynasty. The world building also suffers under the slim budget and compressed runtime. Set in Japan's post-war economic boom years, this is a period in which both the worlds of kabuki and yakuza are rapidly losing significance and influence, but that backdrop is not fully expressed.

This is a big movie to digest. Just the audacity of putting such a saga on screen is overwhelming. It resulting in such a spellbinding narrative is a near impossibility. If it were only a story of passionate artists selling their souls it would have made good drama. But when a tidal wave of cultural change and a swarm of characters worthy of an historic epic is thrown into the vortex, the sparks become lightning and the whirlwind becomes a storm. Kabuki is a universe unto itself. The scope and ambition of this film, though not fully realized, expand like the night sky. In spite of its over-use of extreme close-ups, this movie demands to be viewed on the big screen.