Tokyo: Rising Director Yuichiro Sakashita Delivers Sharp Social Satire in ‘Blonde’

With Blonde, premiering this week in the Tokyo International Film Festival’s main competition, rising 38-year-old director Yuichiro Sakashita delivers a sharp, quietly damning satire of conformity in Japan’s education system. The film centers on a meek junior-high teacher (popular singer-turned-actor Takanori Iwata) whose life unravels when his students stage a “blonde-hair protest” against the school’s highly restrictive and outdated rules — and social media rapidly morphs the modest revolt into a nationwide spectacle.

Blending comedy and social commentary, Blonde builds upon Sakashita’s well-received 2022 political farce The Sunday Runoff, taking aim at the growing gulf between the social mores of Japan’s oldest and youngest generations —and the apathy that’s all too common among the millennials who sit in between. Produced by Tokyo-based studio The Klockworx, the film marks Sakashita’s most polished work to date, delivering what he calls a “coming of middle-age” comedy, while also capturing the absurdity of institutions built to maintain order regardless of the obvious costs.

The Hollywood Reporter recently sat down with Sakashita in Tokyo to discuss the real-life case that inspired his project, the challenge of making sharp social satire in Japan’s contemporary film business, and whether he’ll be donning a new blonde look for the Tokyo festival red carpet.

How did the premise of this film come to you?

It was about four or five years ago when the producers came to me with a suggestion of doing a project together. At the time, I had been wanting to make a film about the stringent and absurd school rules that were often in the news. Back then, there was a lot of discussion in Japan about what we called “black kōsoku” — harsh, outdated school regulations that don’t match contemporary values. The debate centered on junior high and high schools that still forced students to follow old-fashioned rules about hairstyles and appearance. There was one case that became a major talking point — a student sued her school and the local education board for forcing her to dye her naturally light-colored hair black to comply with school rules that all students have black hair. I thought that would make an interesting starting point for a film.

Tell us about how you developed the protagonist and the way you satirize him.

It took quite a few twists and turns to arrive at the final structure of the film and the type of protagonist I wanted to portray. Initially, I imagined an ensemble film focused on adults — teachers, the education board, the ministry — all struggling to deal with the absurdity of these school rules as students began to rebel. But when I shared that script, the response was lukewarm. It wasn’t very interesting dramatically.

So I restructured it around a single protagonist. That’s when it became a kind of “adult coming-of-age” story — about a 30-year-old man who is forced to grow up through his interactions with student activism. The character’s evolution felt inherently comedic, so we leaned into that tone.

Normally, you’d expect the students to be the protagonists in this kind of story. But I thought it would be more interesting to make the teacher the lead — someone who must deal with rules that make no sense but still has to enforce them because “that’s how things are done” in Japanese schools. So, ironically, the students are quite mature, and it’s the teacher who must come of age.

As I explored the character, I realized that turning 30 is a significant moment in Japan. Culturally, people here are obsessed with youth, so even as adults we secretly wish we were still young. That sense of insecurity and nostalgia became central to how I portrayed him.

The most effective aspect for me wasn’t just the institutional absurdity — though that’s very sharp — but the satire of the protagonist himself: his apathy, his lack of conviction. He has strong thoughts internally, but what he says out loud is often nothing at all. Where did that aspect come from — that sharp take on your own generation?

That character came from a fear that I recognize in myself. Around the time I started developing this project, another term was trending in Japan: rōgai — which loosely translates to “problems caused by toxic older men.” It refers to middle-aged or older men who say things publicly or online that are outdated or tone-deaf, without realizing how they sound to younger generations. They’re often shocked when they’re criticized because they genuinely think they’re saying something admirable.

That lack of self-awareness — and the fear that I might one day become like that — became the root of the protagonist. No matter how careful we are, it’s easy to fall into that mindset. We all get older, and society keeps moving. So he’s a fear-driven character. He doesn’t know which side to take; he romanticizes supporting the younger generation, but whenever he tries, they find him cringe-worthy. That tension really defines him.

Your previous film, The Sunday Runoff, also used light satire to critique bureaucracy. You don’t see much bold social satire in Japanese movies these days. Why do you choose to work in that genre, and why do you think political satire, in particular, is so rare in contemporary Japanese cinema? There was a time when it was quite common.

I enjoy many different genres, but as a filmmaker, you have to think about how to stand out — how to establish yourself as a unique voice. So, to be honest, it was partly a strategic choice to explore political and social satire, because very few directors in Japan are doing it. If I tried to make a love story, that would be a crowded field.

But it also comes from my personal taste. I love comedy. I grew up watching commercial films and absorbing Japan’s rich culture of humor. I’ve always leaned toward the commercial side of filmmaking rather than pure art cinema. Combining that sensibility with social commentary felt like a natural fit — and something not many others were doing.

I have to say, I was especially thrilled by the first half of Blonde, where you present the protagonist as quite loathsome — in a very funny way. That felt really bold and fresh in the current landscape. Of course, the film ultimately transitions towards a more traditional arc of growth and emotional resolution, and it’s clear that’s the story you wanted to tell. But I’m curious: Do you think you could get away with making a darker, more aggressively satirical film in the Japanese system right now? Would studios and producers allow that?

If you’re an established director with a big reputation, maybe yes. But for someone like me at this early stage in my career, it would be very difficult. That said, I think there’s room for both kinds of stories — those where the protagonist becomes sympathetic in the end, and those where he doesn’t, to drive a deeper point. Both can be powerful in different ways.

So I suppose we should discuss the blonde hair in particular. What does it symbolize for you?

In Japanese schools — especially junior highs — it’s long been standard that students must have black hair. Any deviation from that, whether it’s blonde or even brown, immediately marks you as a delinquent. So it’s not really the blonde color itself that means something — it’s the act of being not black-haired that provokes a reaction. It triggers a kind of knee-jerk disapproval from adults and authorities. I chose blonde because it draws the most extreme reaction possible within that framework —and it looks very striking on camera.

Are you going to dye your hair blonde for the premiere?

You’re not the first to suggest that. Even during the shoot, the cast and crew often said, “You should set an example and go blonde yourself.” But I’m a director and need to maintain authority — that would be very inappropriate… I’m joking, obviously.