Kokuho (国宝) 2025 — A Human Story of Art, Time, and Kabuki

Between the Stage and Life

National Treasure (Kokuho) is a nearly three-hour cinematic journey directed by Lee Sang-il that has slowly become one of the most talked-about Japanese films. What initially sounded like an unlikely blockbuster candidate — a long, deeply cultural drama about kabuki theater — has managed to touch audiences and critics alike, earning praise for its emotional depth, visual beauty, and the humanity at the heart of its story.

Photo by Susann Schuster on Unsplash

A Lively Performance

The performances of Wisteria Maiden, Ninin Dojoji, The Love Suicides at Sonezaki, and above all Heron Maiden are staged with full theatrical authenticity (Ryo Yoshizawa and Ryusei Yokohama trained for one year and half under the guidance Nakamura Ganjiro IV).

When Kikuo plays out the death scene on stage while his relationship with Shunsuke begins to crack off stage, the parallel is not explicitly underlined — it is simply present, open to observant viewers. Lee’s restraint — letting the scenes breathe without excessive exposition — has been widely praised by reviewers as one of the film’s greatest strengths.

Instead of following a completely linear chronology, Lee arranges time in the way that memory — or even a wounded psyche — experiences a life entirely centered on professional achievement. The moments of rupture — the murder of the father, Hanjiro’s decision to choose Kikuo over Shunsuke, and Shunsuke’s disappearance — become turning points in time.

The Magnificent Warning

The scene with Mangiku, an elderly Living National Treasure (played by Min Tanaka), is the dramatic point of the film. Mangiku watches the young Kikuo perform and delivers his warning:

“Your face is beautiful, but it could also consume you.”

One way to interpret Mangiku’s words is not as a comment on appearance alone. It can be understood as a warning about something Kikuo has not yet realized: that being a vessel for beauty in a world that worships beauty means risking being consumed by that world itself. The beauty that makes him extraordinary can also make him an object — of desire, jealousy, even institutional appropriation.

Friendship, Rivalry, and Narrative Scope

The emotional core of this film lies in the relationship between Kikuo and Shunsuke. Their bond is not simply a straightforward rivalry or a clearly defined friendship — it is something complex, touching, and competitive. The emotional intelligence of this film is evident in the way it depicts the mutual needs between the two men. Only with each other can they be their most honest selves.

They push, mirror, and challenge each other — and it is in this dynamic that the film finds its richest realm. Their scenes together often feel less like traditional cinematic confrontations and more like sharing breathing space, sharing history, sharing burdens. That is what makes their separation and reconciliation resonate beyond the context of kabuki itself.

A Film That Became a Cultural Moment

Probably the most striking thing about Kokuho is how a film about traditional theater — an art form often considered distant or niche — became a significant cultural marker. The film became the highest-grossing Japanese live-action film of all time, reigniting interest in kabuki performances, and attracting audiences who might never have set foot in a kabuki theater before.

Lee Sang-il himself has stated that his goal was not to make a film about identity politics, but rather to tell a human story — about dedication, sacrifice, beauty, and the imperfect and complex individuals who pursue it.

What Lee seems to convey even before a single line of dialogue is spoken is this: that this film is about what lies beneath the surface, and how that surface ultimately shapes everything.