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Kokuho is a Stunning, Insightful Kabuki Epic

My favourite movie to fixate (at least in some regard) on the Japanese art of kabuki theatre is Yasujiro Ozu's Floating Weeds, about a kabuki troupe in a seaside village. Kabuki is by its nature a very broad art form, full of zealous expressions of emotion and highly melodramatic storytelling, each epitomized in its distinct style of make-up and dance. It is a compelling thing to watch, but so is by contrast the lives of its performers and their relationship to the art -as Floating Weeds does, following a veteran performer whose career has estranged him from his son. This character was played by Nakamura Ganjiro II, a dedicated kabuki performer himself from a family famous for it. And he appears to be represented at least symbolically in the film Kokuho, likewise about the dramatic personal life of a kabuki actor, in which the trainer and consultant was Ganjiro's own grandson and namesake.
Directed by Lee Sang-il and currently the highest-grossing live-action film in Japan, Kokuho is an epic character drama spanning nearly seventy years in the life of a kabuki actor with wild fluctuations in his fortunes and relationship to the kabuki elites. Based on a novel by Shuichi Yoshida, it begins in the 1940s with Kikuo, the teenage son of a yakuza boss discovering a love for kabuki while entertaining an esteemed veteran actor, Hanai Hanjiro played by Ken Watanabe. A rival gang attacks their venue and Kikuo is left orphaned, eventually brought up by Hanjiro alongside his son Shunsuke. As adults, Kikuo (Ryo Yoshizawa) and Shunsuke (Ryusei Yokohama) go from partners and brothers to rivals, as Kikuo becomes favoured to inherit Hanjiro's title and status over Shunsuke -though stardom comes with its own consequences.
The title Kokuho refers to an informal status in Japan of a 'living national treasure' -an established icon of Japanese art and culture- framed as the North Star of Kikuo's journey, whether he is intentionally aiming for it or not. And for most of the movie you are convinced he is not. His love for kabuki at just about every juncture is portrayed as genuine -he is entranced by its art and cultural weight from an early age. Shunsuke alternatively, hasn't quite the same conviction, at least early on -taking for granted the wealth and status he is set to inherit from his father. Yet Kikuo is not so pure in his intentions as may appear, welcoming Hanjiro's honour in spite of the scandal it causes -there is an undercurrent of ego to him, and even some violence -which Hanjiro's wife Sachiko (Shinobu Terajima) remains always suspicious of- owing to his background.
Lee dispenses with that rather quickly though. One failed attempt at vengeance for his father early comes to nothing as Kikuo channels his feelings into his art, albeit secretly retaining the yakuza tattoos of his family. There is some repercussion to this and a tension hangs in the air through the years with reverberations back to his trauma, but the focus consolidates on his new life and the richness of his performance. Lee showcases this in detail, several sections of the film given over to re-enactments of classic pieces of kabuki theatre, with on-screen titles pinpointing their contexts. It almost feels like a tool of cultural education at times, and Yoshizawa, Yokohama, Watanabe, and more demonstrate great dedication to their nuances of performance -kabuki requiring very specific styles of delivery and elaborate body language. They are shot with wonderful vibrancy too, the colours in every aspect of the shows and the intensity of the makeup is captivating to take in. Even if you don't relate to the culturally specific virtues you can understand their effects, and consequently Kikuo's rise to fame and fortune -particularly in one critical piece, his right-of-passage performance that Shunsuke was deprived of, and that he watches from the audience in agony.
The story goes through multiple motions of tragedy across its considerable span of time, and this is one of them. In particular, the effects of Kikuo's induction into prestige in conjunction with past mistakes makes for a really dramatic second act in the arc of his career. Yoshizawa plays the spiral subtly but well -the fermented ego in particular on good display when framed against the success of Shunsuke's independent journey and the pressure inherent to the dynasty he has become a part of. Kikuo's relationship to kabuki is the central pillar of the film, this section demonstrating to some degree his lost way -but in the background of it is the estrangement of the brothers where a chunk of the film's emotional core is. Shunsuke's journey towards a fuller appreciation of kabuki sadly takes place largely off-screen, but it makes for a good, cogent parallel to Kikuo's track in their turbulent road to reconciliation. The manner in which this comes to the fore is amusing, but earnest and heartfelt as well. Yet it is not the climax or resolution to the story.
Kokuho is a proper bildungsroman. As such, one thread's seeming resolution does not mean the end of the story for Kikuo, or indeed for Shunsuke. Lee's holistic approach to that relationship renders it much more emotionally involved by its real endpoint, and kabuki is used as a critical mode of expression here. The arc of the film still centres kabuki, in the way it transforms these characters and how its drama is both culturally and personally liberating for them. Shooting the performances at close range, we are shown how deeply intertwined with real life they are -nowhere more so than in the final sequence, appropriately melancholy, that is a direct window into the emotional anguish of the characters.
Male characters of course -a point is made that kabuki continues the old practice of gendered exclusion, all the female parts are performed by men. And Lee perhaps unconsciously channels this spiritually in the movie's disinterest in its female characters and even their impact on the men beyond the most banal of plot points. Kikuo and Shunsuke swap a love interest, Harue (Mitsuki Takahata) -ultimately the latter's wife, while both Kikuo's own wife and his mistress have very shallow roles. Only Sachiko is allowed to be much of a character, and that largely amounts to encapsulating her distrust towards Kikuo, vanishing from the narrative after she is apparently vindicated. There is one curious character who shows up at the end, and at the end of Kikuo's life to challenge him, with a fascinating story and attitude -but no time is given to develop her.
The movie was cut down quite substantially from the book though; yet for the most part it translates its story with an efficient and easy pace -the room for the kabuki performances adding to the haunting mood of this epic story. Kokuho does a service to that art, one that is especially misunderstood in the west, while enshrouding it in a fittingly dramatic personal story adorned in classic themes. Lee's direction is smart and his actors showcase an ample dedication. A film perhaps that echoes the prestige of its name.

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