KOKUHO – Review by Sarah Ward
In the art of kabuki, oshiroi, aka the white powder foundation that’s painted across an actor’s skin, is applied thickly. The pale paste is makeup’s version of a blizzard, temporarily obliterating almost everything that lingers below. Faces are then born anew, transformed into fresh landscapes for the Japanese theatre style’s emotional dramas to whirl across — tales of disguised princesses on missions of vengeance, perhaps, or maybe of lovers unable to revel in their affection — with all but their basic underlying contours obscured.
Kokuho begins with the application of oshiroi. Japan’s shortlisted Best International Feature submission for the 2026 Oscars, as well as the country’s highest-grossing homegrown live-action film ever, commences by peering close, too. Director Sang-il Lee and cinematographer Sofian El Fani watch on intimately while 14-year-old Kikuo Tachibana (Soya Kurokawa) prepares for a New Year’s performance in Nagasaki in 1964. He’s an onnagata, a male actor portraying female roles, in a tradition that was sparked by a 1629 ban on women in kabuki. Getting diligently ready while snow falls outside, he’s at the start of a life filled with trying to hide what sits beneath, both onstage and off.
A captivating, all-consuming, resplendent and affecting drama convincingly adapted from Shuichi Yoshida’s bestselling novel of the same name — Lee’s third stint drawing from the author’s words following 2010’s Villain and 2016’s Rage — Kokuho charts Kikuo’s career across half a century. Taken from the Japanese term for living national treasures, the film’s title looms as a promise, although the picture’s protagonist isn’t its only dedicated kabuki talent. That success extracts a cost, and that it’s often built on shrouding much that’s personal, mightn’t be a new revelation; however, Lee and screenwriter Satoko Okudera understand that anyone navigating a familiar plight isn’t merely caught in a copy, just as any actor, kabuki or otherwise, taking on a recognisable role isn’t simply mimicking their predecessors.
After a presentation of Barrier Gate to an audience that features Hanjiro Hanai (Ken Watanabe), Osaka’s most-acclaimed onnagata, Kikuo is still washing off his makeup when violence erupts, killing his yakuza father (Masatoshi Nagase). Tattooing his back and avenging his dad’s death are his initial immediate priorities. When the latter fails, Kikuo is apprenticed to Hanai within a year, training alongside the great’s also-teenaged son Shunsuke (Keitatsu Koshiyama) to perfect his skills to an exacting standard. But his instructor’s wife Sachiko (Shinobu Terajima) is vocally reluctant, even disapproving; kabuki is a firm family trade, meaning that Hanai’s House of Tanban-ya should be focused on Shunsuke and Shunsuke only as its heir. Swiftly and commandingly within its near three-hour running time, a duration that dances engrossingly and gorgeously by, Kokuho has laid its foundations: amid its jumps forward to the 70s, 80s, 90s and beyond, this is a story about underpinnings, including those that can be plastered over and ones that will always crack through.
Oshiroi and costumes can physically cover Kikuo’s yakuza ties. His intense allegiance to his craft, plus the striking prowess that he demonstrates when he’s stunning audiences in the kabuki spotlight — be it in a double act with Shunsuke or while seizing solo opportunities — can make everything else in the world disappear while he’s performing. In a film about an artform teeming with narratives about the repercussions and tolls of pushing away the truth, though, Kikuo’s existence remains dictated by the clash between his background and his calling, as heightened by his friendship-slash-rivalry with Shunsuke. Kurokawa and Koshiyama are superb at laying the groundwork for this complicated bond, which hinges as much on similarities as differences; the two boys’ also complex relationship with Hanai, who won’t accept anything less than brilliance; and how each young man defines their respective sense of self as a result. When the exceptional Ryo Yoshizawa takes over the role of Kikuo and the equally outstanding Ryusei Yokohama steps into Shunsuke’s shoes, both weathering the many joys and trials, wins and losses, highs and lows, and plaudits and scandals of seeking kabuki glory, this already-resonant movie deepens.
There’s radiating reverence and a potent peek-behind-the-curtain feel to Kokuho’s plunge into a theatre format that’s so distinctive and unique; devotion and meticulousness aren’t just Kikuo’s domain, or that of Hanai and his peers. The film’s commitment to staging kabuki productions itself is dazzling and grand, and proof of Lee’s keen awareness that seeing is not just believing but the key to understanding its allure. From his cast — an awards-worthy Watanabe among them — to Pachinko alum El Fani behind the lens, production designer Yohei Taneda (who also helped Kill Bill: Vol. 1 visually delight), costume designer Kumiko Ogawa (another Kill Bill veteran) and composer Marihiko Hara, Kokuho’s director is in excellent, also-attentive company. While subtlety is among the movie’s plentiful strengths, there’s no masking its emotion, artistry, beauty or impact, with every ounce of passion rewardingly on display.
