Kokuho

"Kokuho" is an astonishing epic about art, legacy and sacrifice. Based on the novel, director Lee Sang-il shows us the decades-long career of an illustrious kabuki actor. Clocking in at nearly 3 hours, it flies by with stunning performances from Ryo **** and Ken Watanabe giving us a look at the meaning of passion and the pain behind powerful art. Lee Sang-il is a real Japanese auteur who has made name for himself with his collaborator Ken Watanabe (The 2013 remake of "Unforgiven" and Rage) his newest film is an all-encompassing epic story that details the decades-long career of an illustrious kabuki actor. Based on the novel of the same name, it is powerfully acted and captivates every corner of our senses. It showcases the life hard-fought journey it takes to become the best of the best. Floating somewhere between a dream-like experience with theatrical set pieces and tear-jerking drama with its underdog story, As the film opens, it immediately transports audiences into a world steeped in traditions. Taking place in post-war Japan, the film highlights a family embedded in the Yakuza. Based on a novel of the same name by Shuichi Yoshida, it shows the violent end to Kikuo Tachibana’s (Ryo **** later in his life and Soya Kurokawa as the younger) life as he once knew it. Barely able to bask in the praise from his family and onlookers after his first successful performance on stage, his family is torn apart, leaving him an orphan. Luckily for Kikuo, within the audience is Hanai Hanjiro II (Ken Watanabe), a renowned kabuki actor who sees a spark within him. As Kikuo now walks through life as the survivor of his family, his training in kabuki acting starts soon after he becomes an orphan. His journey to becoming a kabuki actor takes flight when he moves to Osaka to train under Hanai, an honor to any young hopeful pupil. Under his mentorship, Kikuo goes through brutal training alongside Hanai’s son, Shunsuke Ōgaki (Ryusei Yokohama). While Kikuo shows a natural-born talent, making his training stand out, Shunsuke starts following in his father’s footsteps only as a formality. Shunsuke is less fervent over kabuki acting than Kikuo, making his training much more painful. And it solidifies their relationship; their younger years develop a bond between them, especially from the physical corrections they get at the hands of Hanai. When a move isn’t executed in perfect form, the young boys are struck until their bodies memorize the form of each intricate move. One moment that stands out in their training has both pupils dripping in sweat, standing in a pose for seemingly hours. As they struggle to hold their muscles in form, Shunsuke and Kikuo allow themselves a few moments to be young boys, giggling in secret with one another—a time that, as their relationship grows into adulthood, changes drastically. The importance of keeping the lineage of kabuki actors cannot be understated, and though the film doesn’t explicitly have a villain, the presence of Shunsuke in Kikuo’s life as he ages seems more like an obstacle than a colleague. The established home of Hanai should fall to Shunsuke when it’s time for him to take over, and it’s a role he has been preparing for essentially his entire life. But when Kikuo begins to outshine him is where Kokuho’s conflict is at its most gripping. The film gives the two young mentees every opportunity to dislike one another, and at times it’s easier to cheer for one than the other, but there’s a deep sadness that can’t be ignored in Shunsuke. And when Hanai is warmer toward Kikuo, even making decisions that shock those in his inner circle, it leaves a lingering impact on the film. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the film’s runtime; each new time jump offers new emotional highs and lows for not just Kikuo but also Shunsuke. Sang-il and screenwriter Satoko Okudera don’t shy away from showing the sacrifices that have to be made in order to claim the title of best of the best. Kabuki acting demands a heavy price, not only physically but mentally, and at the cost of a personal life as well. While in their roles, real-life relationships are often ignored, creating heartbreaking rifts in the lives of these actors. As Kikuo rises to fame, he loses touch with those close to him, and as audiences get to know Shunsuke, it’s apparent that his father has an abrasive relationship with him. It’s captivating to witness during their onstage moments, seeing the beauty of their work that demands so much of its subject. With each move hit with precision, the cost behind the scenes is immeasurable. There’s barely any errors, so when one does occur, it knocks the wind out of the pacing, and is better for it. Each new performance is intoxicating, and it’s where film‘s visuals are the most striking. And through the lens of Sofian El Fani’s cinematography and Marihiko Hara's moving score, each emotional moment is allowed plenty of time to set in with his intimate close-ups during each performance.

Kokuho stands out from the outset by delving into a very specific cultural universe that has been little explored in contemporary cinema: kabuki. It is not just a film set in a Japanese tradition; it transforms that tradition into the dramatic, aesthetic, and symbolic center of the narrative. By following decades in the life of its protagonist, the work sets out to discuss the pursuit of perfection, rivalry, legacy, and the weight of art as a life mission. There is ambition in every choice. There is grandeur in the stage scenes. There is a clear intention to build a robust dramatic arc. However, despite its visual strength and cumulative impact, the fragmented structure prevents the drama from maturing in a fully organic way. The film is moving, but it could go even **** is a film of great ambition and evident dedication. It celebrates kabuki with respect and grandeur, builds a protagonist driven by artistic obsession, and proposes reflections on tradition, identity, and legacy. It works as a cultural spectacle and as a sensory experience. It moves us with its accumulation, its persistence, the weight of the **** it also bears the marks of a difficult adaptation. The fragmented structure, the temporal leaps, and the uneven development of its main arcs prevent the drama from reaching its full potential. There is material for something even deeper. There are strong themes that could have been explored with greater **** the end, Kokuho is impressive, but not overwhelming. It is grand in image and sincere in intention, but uneven in dramatic construction. A film that captivates, impresses, and has much to say, but in attempting to encompass an entire life and a century-old tradition, it ends up sacrificing some of the emotional density that could have made it unforgettable.