Lee Sang-il’s film, *Kokuho*, meaning “national treasure,” gives us a glimpse into the world of kabuki, a traditional Japanese theater. The story begins in 1964, Nagasaki, where a boy named Kikuo, played by Soya Kurokawa, loses his father to violence. Soon, he finds himself taken under the wing of a revered kabuki actor, Hanjiro Hanai (Ken Watanabe). Instead of portraying kabuki as a nostalgic relic, the film presents it as a living, demanding art form that is both competitive and unforgiving.
Kabuki has a rich history, traditionally performed by all-male casts, with male actors known as onnagata skillfully embodying female characters. Kikuo is drawn to this art with a deep passion. Under Hanjiro’s mentorship, he competes alongside Hanjiro’s son, Shunsuke (Keitatsu Koshiyama as a child, Ryusei Yokohama as an adult). What begins as friendly guidance turns into a complex relationship filled with rivalry and camaraderie.
The core conflict of the story centers around birthright versus earned talent. Shunsuke has natural advantages; he’s the son of a kabuki legend. Kikuo, on the other hand, relies solely on his relentless hard work and immense talent. This creates an electric tension between them, especially highlighted by Shunsuke’s mother, Sachiko (Shinobu Terajima), who is both impressed and worried by Kikuo’s rapid progress. “He absorbs everything like a sponge,” she observes, revealing her fear that Kikuo’s talent could overshadow her own son.
Neither boy is vilified. Shunsuke isn’t simply privileged, and Kikuo isn’t just innocent. Their bond is real, but the pressures of their art threaten to tear them apart. In a world where artistic excellence is often mired in family legacy, another’s talent can feel like a personal affront.
Moreover, *Kokuho* delves into the sacrifices artists make. Greatness often demands that one forsake other aspects of life. The film suggests that to excel in kabuki, one might struggle with personal instability. The perfection needed on stage can often exclude ordinary happiness. Yet, each kabuki performance mirrors the characters’ inner lives, foreshadowing events to come.
The screenplay’s authenticity shines through its source material—the novel by Shuichi Yoshida. The film captures the labor and hierarchy of kabuki without romanticizing it. Art is seen not just as a passion but as a battleground where talent is both a weapon and a means of validation in a system that favors lineage. Hanjiro bluntly states that without a kabuki lineage, one is a nobody in that world. Mastery becomes a way to quiet detractors, turning art into a mode of self-defense.
This raises thought-provoking questions about how society views and confines artistic expression. We often celebrate artistic brilliance while simultaneously creating barriers to access. This paradox unfolds in Shunsuke and Kikuo’s lives, showing who gets accepted and who must prove themselves relentlessly to belong.
As the timeline progresses, the film transitions gracefully through the decades. Changes in the characters’ looks and relationships occur seamlessly, reflecting life’s relentless passage. Kokuho artfully examines how devotion to art can govern one’s life, repeating roles while revealing our physical decline.
*Kokuho* is more than just a story of rivalry or backstage drama; it’s a powerful exploration of what tradition demands from its practitioners and what it gives back. It poses profound questions about the cost of mastery and whether the true treasure lies in the art itself or the lives entwined in its legacy.
