‘Kokuho’ Review: The Vibrant World of Kabuki is Spectacularly Recreated in Lee Sang-il’s Resilient Character Study [B+]
There are plenty of films about artists. It’s seemingly one of the go-to professions for screenwriters to explore. How many films have we seen – good and bad – by late period master filmmakers about “the magic of cinema” and those that conjure it? But it’s not always the case that these films showcase their characters’ artistic creations in ways that convey to the audience what makes them so special. Kokuho doesn’t have this problem. Lee Sang-il’s film about a kabuki performer’s highs and lows, both onstage and off, is made with a distinct eye for beauty that reflects the precision and splendor of the theatrical form in its execution. It’s a stunning piece of art to take in, working successfully to stun and intoxicate filmgoers with its images in the same way that kabuki audiences feel watching the centuries-old performance style. Clearly, the filmmakers have been successful in their effort to sweep audiences away, as it’s gone on to become the highest-grossing live action Japanese film of all time in its native country. And with its recent Oscar nomination for Best Makeup and Hairstyling, the film is destined for an even wider viewership.
The type of story Kokuho tells is certainly not new. Practically every film about artists fixates on the ways that they disregard friends and family, missing major milestones and life events in favor of working to improve their abilities. Here, the maniacally tunnel-visioned artist is Kikuo, played with a quiet focus by Ryo Yoshizawa. Young Kikuo (Sōya Kurokawa) is introduced as the son of the leader of the Tachibana yakuza group. But instead of wanting to follow in his father’s violent footsteps, he finds himself drawn to the world of kabuki. Specifically, he has a clear gift as an onnagata, a male actor who performs female characters. After being taken on as an apprentice of the famous kabuki actor Hanai Hanjiro II (Ken Watanabe), Kikuo continues to show increased promise on his path to becoming a professional onnagata. He’s not alone in his pursuit of this theatrical role, as Hanjiro’s son Shunsuke (played in his younger years by Keitatsu Koshiyama) trains right alongside him. The two come of age together, eventually joining forces as a renowned duo in their adulthood (with the grown Shunsuke now played by Ryusei Yokohama), becoming a major draw in the world of kabuki. But fame and success affect the two men differently. As their careers progress, they’re faced with seemingly inevitable conflict – both externally and with each other – which often comes with a life in the arts.
The film extends far, far beyond Kikuo and Shunsuke’s vastly differing beginnings. The story is a true epic, covering exactly half a century, almost up to the present day. The film’s length and scope feels very much indented to the structure of the source material: the novel by Shuichi Yoshida. The ways that the dynamics between the two men morph and shape are only possible when stretched out over an expanse of time. Their paths diverge and converge repeatedly. Their feelings toward each other vacillate between deep resentment, overwhelming affection, and everything in between those two extremes. Where they live, how they live, and who they live with changes. But their bond of brotherly camaraderie is never in doubt. Even the way they fight makes them seem like real siblings. And the story of striving for artistic advancement, achievement, and appreciation serves as the sturdy foundation for this tale of connection between two souls destined to never leave each other’s orbits, as wide as they may get.
Director Lee Sang-il’s constructed world brilliantly accentuates and mirrors the beautifully precise (and precisely beautiful) world of kabuki theater. Sofian El Fani’s cinematography is controlled and pristine, even when switching to a less stable handheld camera when thematically appropriate. Lighting is used to particularly stunning effect, especially in the scenes depicting performance. The film slows down when the main characters are shown practicing their art, allowing the audience to fully take them in and see for themselves why they’re so renowned in the world of the story. These breath-catching sequences are assembled and executed with a hyperattention to detail, especially when it comes to the physicalities of the actors. Clearly, a substantial and totally worthwhile amount of time was spent on getting the delicate, calculated movements of kabuki performers correct to an inarguable degree of accuracy. Because of the time spent letting these segments play out, the different kabuki plays become leitmotifs in the story of the main duo’s intertwined lives. One repeated story about a doomed couple joining together in death via suicide is used to particularly impactful effect, as both a marker of career success and a poignant reflection of the characters’ feelings.
Perhaps unsurprisingly (but still worthy of appreciation), the physical aesthetics of the kabuki theater are vibrantly recreated by the film’s crafts. The stages are adorned with grand sets and the costumes are lush masterpieces of design. They’re made of ornate materials placed, folded, and draped in elaborate ways, and the actors move in them with a graceful weight that naturally calls attention to how impressive the garments are. And the Oscar-nominated makeup work effectively transforms the actors from sturdy young men to ostentatiously painted women while onstage. Given that “kabuki” is effectively synonymous with heavily stylized, attention-grabbing face paint, it’s no surprise that this work stands out, but the variety and details of the designs and wigs, especially in close-up, are striking. The film makes a point to call attention to the actual process of the actors applying the makeup to themselves, showing how involved the process is. The two main characters are also shown maturing across the course of the film through less showy old age makeup. Some aspects of this type of artificial transformation are effective, such as the subtle way that their hair greys as the years pass. However, the final appearance of one of the characters in his eldest form doesn’t completely hide the relative youthfulness of the actor. But still, given the amount of extensive makeup used throughout the film, this represents a small percentage of the otherwise effective work.
Ryo Yoshizawa’s central performance as Kikuo emphasizes the character’s stoicism. Having learned of the dangers of rash action in his youth, the adult Kikuo instead values delicately but purposefully moving through his life. Yoshizawa’s presence helps make this character trait feel compelling, completely drawing in the audience (both those watching the film and those within the film watching his kabuki performances). Ryusei Yokohama’s Shunsuke is more fiery, which is understandable given the dramatic ups and downs of his character’s personal and professional life. Toward the end of the film, Yokohama lets all of the hardships and blessings that Shunsuke has experienced play through him in his character’s intense finale. It’s powerfully emotive, explosive work that especially stands out because of the typically controlled nature of kabuki performance.
Kokuho tells the story of what often befalls artists who achieve success – they lose sight of why exactly they were inspired to practice their art in the first place. It’s not always clear why Kikuo wants to keep pursuing kabuki, even when it’s shown actively bringing him harm. But like all great artists, he keeps at it through weather both ill and fair. He seeks perfection in an art form that values it. And in doing so, the film beautifully shows the pains and triumphs of a life lived with artistic achievement as the most consistent guiding principle.
Grade: B+
Kokuho is currently in limited release in New York and Los Angeles from GKIDS with a wide expansion starting February 20.
He currently resides in Chicago and is a proud member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and GALECA: The Society of LGBTQ Entertainment Critics. He also writes and podcasts for Next Best Picture and co-hosts his own podcast “Halloweeners: A Horror Movie Podcast.” You can follow him on Twitter, Letterboxd, and Bluesky @codymonster91
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