That Japan picked “Kokuho” as its submission for the Oscars is not surprising. A nearly three-hour film about the classical theater art of kabuki is the sort of thing that critics and Academy voters are predisposed to heap praise on. (It ultimately wasn’t nominated for “Best International Feature” but it did make the short list.) It’s also not surprising that it got nominated for “Best Makeup & Hairstyling,” given that its striking white and red facepaint designs have made kabuki a term recognized around the world.

What is surprising, given the subject matter, is how big a commercial success “Kokuho” has been in Japan, smashing box-office records to become the country’s highest-grossing live-action movie of all time. Actually watching the film, though, it’s not inexplicable. Breath-taking visuals, electric performances from the two leads, and a substantial-but-not-overpowering dose of melodrama all combine to make a film that has proven, for a mass audience, to be not only accessible, but totally undeniable.

Directed by Lee Sang-il, based on the 2018 novel of the same name by Shuichi Yoshida (a frequent collaborator of Lee’s), the film follows kabuki performer Kikuo Tachibana (played as a child by Soya Kurokawa and as an adult by Ryo Yoshizawa) over the course of more than 50 years. We first meet him in his childhood, when he, shortly after performing a kabuki play at a New Year’s party, witnessed his yakuza father’s killing. He is taken into a prestigious kabuki house by its master, Hanai Hanjirou II (Ken Watanabe), and trains alongside his heir Shunsuke (Keitatsu Koshiyama, later Ryusei Yokohama), who is of a similar age.

The pair grow up as brothers and not-always-friendly rivals, with Shunsuke whose place in the industry is both a privilege and a burden he did not choose for himself, contrasting sharply with Kikuo’s intrinsic love of the art form and his ruthless desire to excel at it, despite the odds being stacked against him as an outsider from a mafia family.

“Kokuho” is preoccupied with questions of what constitutes “greatness,” what it means to achieve it, to hurt oneself and others in its pursuit and, ultimately, who benefits from it and how. In this way, it has much in common with “Marty Supreme,” the Best Picture nominee about a table-tennis player whose ambitions to reach the top of his craft appears inextricably linked to a near-sociopathic recklessness. But there are interesting contrasts as well. While what exactly it’s saying is debatable, “Marty” is clearly commenting on the American national character. From an outsider’s perspective, at least, “Kokuho” is less obviously preoccupied with questions of national character,  which is strange considering the subject matter (kabuki is an art form so enmeshed with cultural heritage that its master practitioners are considered “human national treasures” or ningen kokuhou, hence the title) and the person behind the camera capturing it, (Lee is a third-generation zainichi Korean).

The dramatic insider/outsider dynamics of “Kokuho” may be saying something about a Japan that may increasingly rely on those traditionally considered outsiders to keep it alive. And Kikuo’s background and romantic partner seem to reference the deep relationship between traditional performing arts and what would today be considered the underworld. However, in interviews, Lee has mostly downplayed any such messages, and instead has said that what drew him to kabuki had much more to do with gender than nationality, (in kabuki, female roles are played by men or onnagata actors).

While one should always trust the art, not the artist, to tell you what the art is about, Lee’s assertions about what he was aiming for seem entirely consistent with what we see on screen. Kikuo, Shunsuke and Hanjiro are all primarily onnagata actors, and Lee’s camera is absolutely transfixed by the way they perform gender on-stage and off. It’s hard to blame him. Yoshizawa and Yokohama are absolutely thrilling to watch every moment they are on screen. Watanabe is as compelling as ever. Similarly, actual kabuki actor Nakamura Ganjirou and, in particular, dancer Tanaka Min make their limited screen time as fellow onnagata performers incredibly potent.

While “Kokuho” is likely to be a memorable experience on a screen of any size, it’s not very often that live-action Japanese films get a U.S. theatrical release. And while, on the other hand, almost any movie is better on the big-screen, the details of the kabuki costumes and stages, and the subtleties of the actors’ performances, and the music and sound design are all served really well by larger format. In short, don’t miss your chance to see “Kokuho” as it was meant to be seen.

Ben Hamamoto

Ben Hamamoto is a writer born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. He’s been published in the Oakland Tribune and has written for New American Media’s YO! Youth Outlook and the Nichi Bei Times. He is a research manager for the Health Horizons Program at the Institute for the Future. He also edits Nikkei Heritage, the National Japanese American Historical Society’s official magazine and contributes to Nichi Bei News.