{"id":222737,"date":"2025-12-09T00:12:17","date_gmt":"2025-12-09T00:12:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/222737\/"},"modified":"2025-12-09T00:12:17","modified_gmt":"2025-12-09T00:12:17","slug":"kokuho-director-lee-sang-il-on-japans-surprise-box-office-sensation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/222737\/","title":{"rendered":"‘Kokuho’ Director Lee Sang-il on Japan\u2019s Surprise Box-Office Sensation"},"content":{"rendered":"

\n\tAmid another anxiety-inducing year for the theatrical film business, one of 2025\u2019s few unmistakably hopeful signs came in a most unexpected form: Japanese period drama Kokuho<\/a>. A nearly three-hour epic set in the esoteric world of traditional kabuki theater, the film has defied all reasonable expectations to become both a critical darling and Japan\u2019s most commercially successful live-action film of all time<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe film premiered to quiet acclaim in the Directors\u2019 Fortnight section of Cannes in May, releasing in Japan shortly after and becoming a word-of-mouth sensation, eventually earning more than $112 million. After a brief awards<\/a>-qualifying run in Los Angeles and New York this fall \u2014 a full U.S. theatrical release is expected in early 2026 \u2014 it is now considered a strong Oscar contender in the best international<\/a> film category.<\/p>\n

\n\tDirected by Lee Sang-il, Kokuho (which translates to \u201cnational treasure\u201d) adapts an 800-page, two-volume novel by acclaimed author Shuichi Yoshida, who spent several years embedded backstage as a kabuki stagehand while researching the tradition. The story spans five decades in the lives of two intertwined performers \u2014 an orphaned onnagata prodigy (a male performer specializing in female roles) and the heir to a great theatrical lineage \u2014 whose friendship is twisted by obsession, rivalry and, eventually, transcendence. As THR\u2019s review <\/a>noted, Lee crafts a \u201ctransporting and operatic saga that blends backstage melodrama, succession drama and a making-of-an-artist narrative into a sweeping meditation on ambition, beauty and sacrifice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tBorn in Niigata in 1974 to a Korean-Japanese family, Lee climbed the rungs of Japan\u2019s arduous indie scene in the late 1990s before breaking through with Hula Girls (2006), a warmly humanist crowd-pleaser that swept the Japan Academy Prizes and established him as a filmmaker capable of pairing populist storytelling with sharp social observation. He followed it with darker, more morally fraught work \u2014 including the acclaimed crime drama Villain (2010) and the ensemble tragedy Rage (2016) \u2014 often drawn from the fiction of Yoshida, his consistent creative collaborator. Lee recently gained a touch for the high gloss of prestige TV, directing three episodes of Apple TV+\u2019s Pachinko.<\/p>\n

\n\tBut Kokuho is arguably his most personal undertaking to date \u2014 a 15-year passion project brought to life through nearly two years of rigorous kabuki training for stars Ry\u014d Yoshizawa and Ryusei Yokohama, under the supervision of master actor Nakamura Ganjir\u014d IV. Their performances, one icy and incandescent, the other warm and wounded, are among the film\u2019s defining marvels, anchored by Ken Watanabe\u2019s gravitas as the patriarch whose authority shapes their ascent, and electrified by the uncanny presence of dancer-actor Min Tanaka, whose embodiment of an elder onnagata lends the film a haunting spiritual undercurrent. Shot in just three months but shaped by years of training and rehearsal, Kokuho\u2019s immersive kabuki sequences \u2014 captured in mesmerizing closeups by cinematographer Sofian El Fani (Blue Is the Warmest Color) \u2014 have been credited not only with reviving Japan\u2019s theatrical box office<\/a> but also reigniting public fascination with the centuries-old art form, as major kabuki venues across the country have recently reported surges in attendance, even among younger demographics.<\/p>\n

\n\tAfter a long lap through many of the world\u2019s top festivals, Kokuho screens this week at Saudi Arabia\u2019s Red Sea International Film Festival<\/a>.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe Hollywood Reporter recently spoke with Lee over Zoom about his long fascination with onnagata performers, how he set out to \u201cbathe\u201d audiences in kabuki rather than explain it, the metaphysical ideas behind Kokuho\u2019s most enigmatic images and what it\u2019s been like to watch his three-hour drama become a genuine cultural watershed in Japan.<\/p>\n

\n\tHow did you first become interested in kabuki as the subject for a film?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I first became interested in a very famous onnagata named Utaemon Nakamura. He was widely considered the greatest onnagata of the postwar period. He became a national treasure by sheer skill, and there was no border between his personal life and his life as a performer. I\u2019d seen videos of him and felt that he had a special energy. That\u2019s kind of where my interest stemmed from.<\/p>\n

\n\tAfter I made the film Villain, based on the novel by [Sh\u016bichi] Yoshida, I told him about this idea I was thinking about for a film based on a great kabuki actor. Later, he began writing the book that Kokuho is based on. In his novel, the character closest to Utaemon would be the onnagata Mangiku, played by Min Tanaka. I didn\u2019t chat with Yoshida much while he was writing the novel, but I think my original interest helped plant the seed for him. And of course, once he was finished, we began working on adapting his wonderful novel.<\/p>\n

\n\tKabuki is a codified, traditional art form that can feel remote or austere to people who are unfamiliar with it. How did you approach the central challenge of making this world accessible to newcomers?<\/strong><\/p>\n

When thinking about making any film that features kabuki heavily, something important Mr. Yoshida\u2019s writing already included is this conflict between preserving the performer\u2019s bloodline and the limited opportunities for outsiders, like Kikuo\u2019s character. The traditional kabuki world hinges upon this passing down from father to son, and there is a lot of dramatic potential in this.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe second theme that felt universally accessible is the kabuki artist\u2019s pursuit of beauty. How do these kabuki actors relate to beauty, and how does it affect their life off the stage? Kokuho is a story about kabuki, but it\u2019s also simply a story about an artist seeking the light, trying to go as high as he possibly can. There\u2019s immense personal sacrifice that comes with that. The most interesting element for me is that these actors put everything into their pursuit, to the point where there is no boundary between their stage life and their personal life. I felt that following the trials and tribulations that come with that kind of total commitment offered the potential to create a timeless epic.<\/p>\n

\n\tI was surprised by how much actual kabuki performance the film contains \u2014 and how artfully you integrate it with the drama, how immersive it is rather than didactic. What were your priorities when it came to how you would portray the kabuki stage cinematically?<\/strong><\/p>\n

There are over 200 kabuki plays, and if someone wants to really experience the art form, they should just go see some actual kabuki. I knew that if I tried to make the film an \u201cintroduction to kabuki\u201d it would be lacking \u2014 it would be an incomplete representation of a full performance, and it could easily become boring for people who aren\u2019t already familiar or fans. So, it was very important to connect the characters\u2019 personal drama to the stories within the kabuki plays. That\u2019s how I chose which plays to include \u2014 based on what would reflect their internal life the most. The challenges the characters face in their personal lives needed to be paralleled within the kabuki performances.<\/p>\n

\n\tI wanted the audience to feel like they were almost bathing in this film. I strove for it to feel that way while I was shooting \u2014 so that the audience would directly feel emotion underneath the makeup, the costumes and these ancient sagas.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe original Yoshida novel also has that parallel very strongly. For example, while performing the play Sonezaki Shinj\u016b, Kikuo portrays this moment where there is a suicide \u2014 and this comes just as he\u2019s recognizing that he\u2019s willing to die for his art too.<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"<\/p>\n

\n\tOff the timeless kabuki stage, the film is also a period drama spanning some 50 years. The period details are subtle and beautifully realized throughout. It can be hard to shoot period films in contemporary Japan, because the look of the cities has changed so dramatically. How did you approach this challenge?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Well, the visual mission of this production was kind of twofold. First, the kabuki had to feel extremely authentic. Second, we had to make sure that the five decades the film covers felt right at every time period. Rather than separating those things, we took one theoretical approach. Usually, when you show different time periods, films use TV screens or different cityscapes in VFX to show the passage of time. But for Kokuho, I wanted it to feel like the audience was watching one continuous giant opera. So instead of using obvious time markers, I talked with the production designer about how we could subtly show the period changes in the smaller backstage environments where these characters actually spend much of their time.<\/p>\n

\n\tIn terms of cinematography, I was inspired by Soderbergh\u2019s Traffic, where he used three completely different color tones. I didn\u2019t want to be that obvious, so we changed the color grading slightly for the three different time periods shown over the 50-year sweep of the story, creating three different looks. They\u2019re not extremely obvious \u2014 they\u2019re subtle enough that audiences might or might not even consciously notice \u2014 but they have a subconscious effect.<\/p>\n

\n\tOf course, we changed the hair and costumes depending on the time period, too \u2014 and that involved hundreds of people for each period.<\/p>\n

\n\tI understand that Ryo Yoshizawa was the only actor you even considered for Kikuo. What qualities did you see in him that convinced you he could carry such a demanding, complex role? Similarly, what made you feel that Ryusei Yokohama was right for Shunsuke?<\/strong><\/p>\n

First, for Ryo Yoshizawa, the reason I felt it had to be him is that he has tremendous outward beauty, and he also has this internal world that gives a feeling of immense openness \u2014 like a giant open space. At the same time, he has a very strong passion deep within. That might sound a little abstract, and those two things seem opposite, but together they create a unique charm, which I felt would work really well to portray Kikuo\u2019s complexities. That\u2019s something only Yoshizawa has.<\/p>\n

\n\tFor example, one of my favorite sequences: the rooftop scene after he\u2019s fallen from fame, he\u2019s been beaten up and does a drunken dance on the roof. He\u2019s beautifully expressing a form of madness, but he also preserves a kind of hard logic at the same time. Those two sides conflict within him, and outwardly, he still looks like this beautiful ceramic doll. He\u2019s just the perfect fit for the character.<\/p>\n

\n\tRegarding Ryusei Yokohama, I felt he was very complementary to Kikuo, because he\u2019s very human and very loving. In real life, he\u2019s also a very hard-working, respectable person. He\u2019s honest about his own desires and still very lovable.<\/p>\n

\n\tThese two characters share the same passion, but in very different forms. Shunsuke is like a red-hot flame, while Kikuo is more like a dry-ice kind of heat. In both cases, if you get too close, you can be burned. That\u2019s the way I like to think about the two of them.<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"<\/p>\n

\n\tWere there moments when you deliberately decided to take dramatic liberties in your depiction of kabuki, or did you strive for total realism at all times?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Well, when I began working on the film, I did a lot of research. I wanted any liberty that I eventually took to be fully deliberate. So I read books and novels, watched lots of videos \u2014 to build a historical and technical foundation. Then I watched loads of kabuki performances. None of our cast are actual kabuki actors. They started from zero, so we had professionals train them, and I watched the training as well. I got to see how they were trained and how movements get built into the body. So I learned as they learned. We had a kabuki advisor on set who checked every movement for authenticity.<\/p>\n

\n\tBut within that authenticity, we made sure we could still feel Kikuo \u2014 that we see Kikuo the character performing kabuki, which means some of his personal emotion seeps in. Normally, that isn\u2019t at all done in an actual kabuki performance.<\/p>\n

\n\tFor example, in the ending sequence of Sonezaki Shinj\u016b, Shunsuke\u2019s face is wet with tears. Normally, that sort of thing would be cleaned off in between acts or scenes. But as a movie, we felt it was better to see his emotion. We took an expressive liberty.<\/p>\n

\n\tFrom what I\u2019ve read, onnagata are traditionally described as channeling an otherworldly beauty that is neither male nor female. Was that something you talked to your actors about, and how did you strive for it? In particular, Min Tanaka, who plays the character closest to the real-life kabuki master you mentioned earlier, seemed to embody this quality in a very transfixing way. Every time he was on screen, I was wowed by what he was doing.<\/strong><\/p>\n

How I understand this aspect of onnagata being neither male nor female is that they are almost like a shadow, or an afterimage, or an illusion. It\u2019s very subjective to understand what that is. I get it when I watch a truly great kabuki performance, but there are very few actors who can really do it, and it\u2019s hard to express in words. It\u2019s the sort of thing where, when you see it, you know it. It\u2019s expressed through the body.<\/p>\n

\n\tWith Min Tanaka, in particular, he is someone who has devoted his whole life to expression through body and movement. That\u2019s probably why you feel him so much when he\u2019s on screen. I felt it too. He had never performed as an onnagata before, but he\u2019s worked his whole life to merge body and soul through various dance disciplines he\u2019s studied in the most devoted way one could imagine. This is my personal interpretation. Kabuki is about form, but if you only perfect the form, you become basically a highly accurate doll. When you put soul into that form, that\u2019s when you get a true onnagata. I think Min Tanaka has that kind of silhouette \u2014 that presence \u2014 and that might be what you felt. That\u2019s how I understand it anyway.<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\tLee Sang-il attends the North American premiere of Kokuho during the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival.<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tGetty<\/p>\n

\n\tWhen you were describing that, it called to mind another enigmatic element of the film: your depiction of Kikuo\u2019s vision \u2014 his artistic ideal, or what he\u2019s striving for. That image that appears on screen in key moments \u2014 it looks like stars or gently falling snow. At the end of the film, when he\u2019s reached his artistic triumph, he tries to articulate it when he\u2019s asked directly by an interviewer, and he can\u2019t really put it into words. At one point I wondered if it might be a bit \u201cRosebud\u201d-ish, echoing the snow that falls when his father is assassinated at the film\u2019s start. How do you understand it, and what were you going for in the way you depicted it on screen?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Well, it\u2019s a little hard for me to express in words as well. [Laughs.] My understanding is that, in Kikuo\u2019s life, his original encounter with something profoundly beautiful was his father\u2019s assassination. Even though the death itself was brutal, the scene was very beautiful, and that was imprinted in his mind.<\/p>\n

\n\tWith all kinds of beauty, there can be an element of brutality. When Kikuo makes his contract with the devil to become the greatest kabuki performer in Japan, I think that symbolizes the idea that evil can charm \u2014 that\u2019s what the devil is, in a way. Evil and beauty are kind of one, or evil can make beauty feel even grander.<\/p>\n

\n\tHe chases that feeling in his artistic life. The snow that turns into light is like the entry point into that beauty for him \u2014 and there\u2019s something beyond it. It\u2019s almost like that image is a curtain, and what lies beyond can\u2019t really be expressed in words.<\/p>\n

\n\tThat\u2019s a much more metaphysical, more interesting articulation of what I have read many critics articulate as the film\u2019s central theme: the sacrifices required to become a truly great artist, the personal toll it takes. Kikuo loses so much in his ascent to the pinnacle of his art: people close to him, his moral integrity, any real community. He\u2019s alone at the top. Is that true in your view? Is it possible to become a truly great artist and still be a good, balanced, normal person? Or is that deal with the devil always required to become truly great?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I feel like there are good people who became great artists, but there are probably few of them.<\/p>\n

\n\tI would say sacrifice is not necessarily a given. It\u2019s like a chicken-or-egg situation. For Kikuo, he prioritizes art no matter what, and things just fall through the cracks because of that. It\u2019s not like he\u2019s presented with a clear choice between art and other parts of his life. As he focuses so much on art, it\u2019s like sand falling through his fingers \u2014 the other aspects of his life are slipping away.<\/p>\n

\n\tIt might not even be something he knows about himself \u2014 I\u2019m not sure how aware he is of it \u2014 but I think that\u2019s what helps express his maddening beauty.<\/p>\n

\n\tFor an artist, chasing greatness can seem like a selfish endeavor. I might be a little abstract here, but for Kikuo, I think he\u2019s really chasing the experience of having the freest feeling. It\u2019s like, with breath, the soul can be released. That\u2019s the feeling he\u2019s after.<\/p>\n

\n\tIs that theme one you can relate to personally as an artist? This film was a massive undertaking \u2014 what did it take out of you?<\/strong><\/p>\n

I\u2019m not that kind of person myself, but I was very interested in whether I could come into contact with it. As you can tell from how difficult it is for me to explain all of this, the film explores some depths \u2014 it felt like trying to swim to the bottom of a well. It was something I wanted to learn from or come into contact with. I was really chasing: What is that? The thing we\u2019ve been talking about \u2014 the ultimate sacrifice, that beauty beyond. What is that thing, beyond logic, that makes a truly beautiful performance moving for an audience?<\/p>\n

\n\tWe should also talk about the phenomenon the film has become in Japan. It\u2019s now the top-grossing domestic live-action film of all time. I\u2019m curious about a few things: why you think the film has connected so deeply with Japanese audiences; what it was like for you personally to watch that phenomenon unfold; and what\u2019s been most gratifying to you about the impact the film has had.<\/strong><\/p>\n

First off, I\u2019d say that right now I feel like laundry in a washing machine. This has been a long, grueling journey \u2014 and the publicity part continues. To actually feel joy, I think once I\u2019m hung out to dry on a sunny day, maybe I\u2019ll start feeling it a bit more. [Laughs.]<\/p>\n

\n\tIn terms of why this connected so much, it\u2019s difficult to express in words. Through the story of these kabuki actors, people got to witness a very human sacrifice across time \u2014 through training and tireless performance \u2014 and the hot burning of the soul when you watch them on stage. Then there\u2019s the beauty of the image and the intensity of the sound in a movie theater. Altogether, as word of mouth about the film spread, it became a national, collective experience of a kind, which created a sense of something more than just watching a film.<\/p>\n

\n\tIn making this film, I had a simple motivation: to portray for modern audiences the totality of beauty, including those aspects touched by the devil \u2014 the brutality we talked about.<\/p>\n

\n\tIn our individual lives \u2014 with economic disparity increasing, which is becoming as urgent in Japan as elsewhere \u2014 I feel like the distance between people is also increasing. I wanted humans to witness the beauty of other humans. Maybe the film struck a chord because some of that intention made it through.<\/p>\n

\t\t\t\t\t\t\"\"<\/p>\n

\n\tAs a final question: like many viewers, I found that even though the film is nearly three hours long, it flew by \u2014 probably because of the immersive quality you\u2019ve described. When it ended, I wanted more time with these characters. I was gratified to read the original novel was over 800 pages long, which means you must have had to cut out a lot. So: If you were asked or invited to direct a limited-series version of this story, to revisit it as a streaming project, would you say yes?<\/strong><\/p>\n

It would be incredibly hard to do that, given the way the actors prepared and trained specifically for this three-hour film. To have them start that engine back up again, or to bring in new actors and do the same thing, would be very difficult. So, I think probably not.<\/p>\n

\n\tBut like you\u2019re saying, if audiences are interested in learning more about these characters and continuing this journey \u2014 well, since the movie came out, the original novel has sold four or five times more than it originally had. So that\u2019s what I would recommend for audiences: read Shuichi Yoshida\u2019s beautiful book. It will be translated eventually.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Amid another anxiety-inducing year for the theatrical film business, one of 2025\u2019s few unmistakably hopeful signs came in…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":201299,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_share_on_mastodon":"0"},"categories":[263],"tags":[2786,4648,119947,9867,18,117,19,1452,17,327,7012,117025],"class_list":["post-222737","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-movies","tag-asia","tag-awards","tag-awards-2025","tag-box-office","tag-eire","tag-entertainment","tag-ie","tag-international","tag-ireland","tag-movies","tag-oscars","tag-red-sea-international-film-festival"],"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"https:\/\/pubeurope.com\/@ie\/115686719372183945","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/222737","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=222737"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/222737\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/201299"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=222737"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=222737"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/ie\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=222737"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}