‘Kokuho’ sets up an epic backstage clash amid the highly lacquered world of kabuki theater

Director Sang-il Lee sets his epic-scaled “Kokuho” in the vivid world of kabuki theater, but it’s not just the movie’s milieu that distinguishes it. Spanning 50 years and running nearly three hours, “Kokuho,” which has become Japan’s biggest live-action hit ever, evinces intensely mixed feelings about its two main characters’ quest for greatness. Kabuki is presented as an art form of balletic skill, but it can never fully redeem or repair the film’s central figures, who once were friends before ambition got in the way.

In 1964 Nagasaki, 14-year-old Kikuo (Soya Kurokawa) performs at a New Year’s event, impressing Hanjiro (Ken Watanabe), a beloved kabuki legend. But after Kikuo’s father, a yakuza crime boss, is murdered, Hanjiro takes the grieving teen under his wing. Soon, Hanjiro is training Kikuo and his own son Shunsuke (Keitatsu Koshiyama) in his Osaka studio to become “onnagata” — male kabuki actors who portray female characters. Both sweet and bashful, Kikuo and Shunsuke quickly grow close, enduring Hanjiro’s exacting requirements as he shapes them to be graceful, disciplined performers.

“Kokuho” then fast-forwards to the early 1970s as we meet the grown-up versions of Kikuo (Ryo Yoshizawa) and Shunsuke (Ryusei Yokohama). Now practically brothers, the young men are making their name as a well-regarded kabuki duo, but their personalities have begun to diverge. Kikuo remains soft-spoken, while Shunsuke is more of a partier and big talker, dominating their interviews with local journalists. Hanjiro still thinks highly of them both, although each pupil faces disadvantages. Kikuo is more gifted but in this nepotistic art form, being part of a respected kabuki lineage is crucial, something this yakuza scion doesn’t possess. Shunsuke, meanwhile, lacks his friend’s formidable technique, but because he’s Hanjiro’s son, his future prospects are practically assured. Kikuo and Shunsuke complement one another as performers but a shocking turn of events will sever their bond.

Adapting a novel by Shuichi Yoshida, Lee maps the arc of a friendship while exploring the minutiae of kabuki, both on stage and behind the scenes. (The movie’s Oscar-nominated makeup is an acknowledgment of the blinding-white face paint and bright red lipstick that kabuki actors wear to transform into their roles.) Much like ballet, kabuki necessitates precise choreographed actions: Not only does “Kokuho” provide generous samples of different kabuki pieces but also includes captions that list the title of the individual works and a brief synopsis. Rarely do these pieces directly echo the two men’s interpersonal drama, but the information adds context to the actors’ enchanting movements, which are backed by gorgeous outfits and striking set design that accentuate the mythical tales being played out.

Kikuo and Shunsuke’s fortunes shift over the decades — one of them will literally be kicked when he’s down on two separate occasions — but Lee doesn’t let us settle on a definitive impression of either performer. Our sympathies change as we witness both men’s failings as well as their enduring virtues. “Kokuho” is a hearty melodrama with a little bit of everything — sex scandals, betrayals, unlikely comebacks, health scares — but the film’s gaudy plot twists (which shouldn’t be spoiled) belie the filmmaker’s unsentimental attitude regarding stardom’s perils. Refreshingly, “Kokuho” is that rare film to be un-awed by talent alone. Both Kikuo and Shunsuke will enjoy high highs and low lows, but it’s their perseverance that ultimately means more than arbitrary benchmarks like “genius” or “brilliance.”

The film’s title translates to “national treasure,” another clichéd term thrown around when trying to categorize greatness. Kikuo and Shunsuke revere kabuki’s bygone giants, who are affixed with that moniker. But as “Kokuho’s” characters seek such an accolade for themselves, they come to realize how misleading it is. Yoshizawa and Yokohama bring abiding tenderness to their characters’ friendship while refusing to allow either protagonist to be reduced to a simple set of qualities. Kikuo’s delicate features suggest a pure soul, but Yoshizawa gradually reveals other sides to this gifted, haunted performer. And Yokohama ably depicts a privileged young man who rightly views his good fortune as both blessing and curse.

Their lives intersect, then disentangle, then return to each other’s orbit again. That elegant dance matches what we see on stage, the kabuki performances melding melancholy and beauty, anguish and catharsis.

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