I once had the chance to interview a Kabuki actor. Waiting in the designated tearoom, I sat formally in seiza and looked out the window. Soon, a figure in kimono appeared, lifting his gaze toward the sky. The scene unfolded like something out of a film. Before long, the actor himself entered the room. Glancing at me, he gently remarked, “You’re not used to sitting that way, are you? Please, stretch your legs.”

This actor, recognized as a Living National Treasure, took the time to answer each of my questions with care, even though I knew little about Kabuki. A “Living National Treasure” is the common title given to individuals designated by the Japanese government as bearers of Important Intangible Cultural Properties—artists or artisans who have mastered their craft at the highest level. I could only imagine the immense hardships faced by someone like him, who entered the world of Kabuki without a hereditary lineage. Though the interview lasted only a few hours, within that short time his grace, refined speech, and passion for Kabuki were striking. At the same time, I felt a shiver at the thought of the years of discipline and effort it must have taken to reach this point. His beauty, I realized, also contained something formidable.

“Kokuho (National Treasure)” is the film adaptation of Shuichi Yoshida’s novel of the same name. It tells the story of a young man who enters the closed world of Kabuki, where bloodlines traditionally dictate destiny. The story begins in Nagasaki in the 1960s. Kikuo, the son of a yakuza boss, was a boy of striking beauty. But after his father was killed in a gang conflict, he was left an orphan at fifteen. It was Hanjiro Hanai, head of a prestigious Kamigata Kabuki family, who recognized Kikuo’s innate talent. Hanjiro took him in, bringing the boy into the world of Kabuki.

There Kikuo met Hanjiro’s son, Shunsuke. Shunsuke, born to inherit the family’s stage, and Kikuo, a yakuza’s son with no blood ties to the tradition—two boys of opposite lineage and upbringing. Yet they were raised almost as brothers: friends, rivals, and companions who spurred one another on as they gave their youth to the stage. Kikuo bloomed as an onnagata (female-role specialist) and eventually rose to the pinnacle of Kabuki. But in an art form where heritage carries such weight, rising as an outsider was no easy feat. Even positions won by talent and sheer skill could be undermined by the power of lineage. Meanwhile, Shunsuke too faced the bitter prospect of being denied succession as the family’s third-generation head. Encounters and farewells, trust and betrayal, triumph and despair—their lives unfolded against the backdrop of a turbulent era, clinging to the path of art despite the suffering it demanded.

Who, in the end, would rise to become the singular “National Treasure”? And for what reason did they continue to devote themselves to this world of performance?

The film traces their story across three distinct chapters: youth, adulthood, and middle age. One of its most impressive achievements lies in its depiction of rivalry. Ordinarily, a clash between an outsider and a child of tradition might be framed in terms of jealousy and exclusion. This script avoids that cliché. Instead, once the boys meet, they become fast friends, devoting themselves wholeheartedly to their craft—walking home from school together, rehearsing lines along the way.

A bicycle appears in their student years. In a scene toward the end of their boyhood, the two ride from school down to the riverbank on a single bike. Against a backdrop of blooming cherry blossoms, they balance together, one riding, the other perched on the rear axle. It is a beautifully carefree moment, capturing a time untouched by worry. Yet the fleeting blossoms also foreshadow the impermanence of their friendship and hint at the trials to come. This cycling scene becomes a symbolic marker of the changes that will shape their relationship.

On stage, lineage counts for nothing. In fact, the weight of family heritage can sometimes crush an actor mercilessly. On rare occasions, performance transcends the human, and the theatre falls into breathless silence. The only sounds are the actors’ breathing and the swish of fabric, as if the entire world has condensed onto the stage. In such moments, lineage has no hold; it is only the actor’s body that reigns.

Kabuki, Noh, Butoh, ballet, theatre, rakugo, music, comedy—when audiences encounter artists of extraordinary ability, they are captivated. In that moment, they are enslaved by expression itself. Few art forms, however, are subjected to such rigorous scrutiny as Kabuki. A gesture, a voice, a pause—even a fraction of a second off feels wrong, because the memories of generations past are etched into the audience’s collective mind as perfected forms. Kabuki actors must constantly perform in ways that overwrite time itself.

“Kokuho (National Treasure)” is a painstaking portrayal of two men’s lives in this unforgiving world. Just as the boys once shared a bicycle ride beneath the cherry blossoms before taking different paths, so too does life lead them in unforeseen directions. And yet, it is within that journey—the struggle itself—that true beauty resides.

Text_Hideki Inoue

🎬CYCLE CINEMA STORAGE🎬
#01 “The Bicycle Thief”
#02 “Project A”
#03 “Shoot for tomorrow!”(origin title “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid”)
#04 “The Kid With a Bike (Le gamin au vélo)”
#05 “Izakaya Choji”
#06 “Cinema Paradiso”
#07 “Kids Return”
#08 “PERFECT DAYS”
#09 “Kramer vs. Kramer”
#10 “E.T.”
#11 “Gachi-Boshi”
#12 “Yesterday”
#13 “Wadjda”
#14 “The Zone of Interest”
#15 “Anselm”
#16 “Otoko wa Turai yo”
#17 “Kokuho”

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Text＿Hideki Inoue
I am from Amagasaki City, Hyogo Prefecture, Japan. I work as a writer and editor. My hobbies include hot baths, skiing, and fishing. Although I have no personal connection, I am independently conducting research on Shiga Prefecture. I prefer an active fishing style called “RUN & GUN,” which involves moving around actively instead of staying in one place. Purchasing a car to transport bicycles for this style of cycling seems like putting the cart before the horse.

Illusutration＿Michiharu Saotome

Post Date：2025.09.12