Kazuhiro Soda is a rare gem of Japanese documentary filmmaking. Currently based in New York, he is an author of nine films, which he callsobservational cinema. With the help of 10 rules he calls commandments, he set up a distinctive style of independent filmmaking (e.g. no script, self-fund, no narrative nor ideology, long takes), that consistently builds up his persona among documentary scene in the world as a determined and and immensely respectful filmmaker. Daring to tackle taboos within local communities that no one seems to even remember about, Soda presents Japan seemingly as both an outsider and an insider, which results with fascinating and contemplative depictions.
His recent piece, “Zero” (2020), is his 9th film. He comes back to the small city of Okayama, where he previously shot many of his other titles, including “Mental” (2008), an intense observation on the relationship of psychiatrist, Dr. Yamamoto and his patients, which was conceived through the body of the dynamics of a small clinic ran by Yamamoto himself. Once again, Soda dedicates the film space to Yamamoto and his routine, but this time this is the private life of a just-retired clinician. This is not a sequel to “Mental”, nor part two, this is rather part “zero”, in which Soda confronts fleetingness of a cycle of life, reflecting on his own presumption that there won't be a continuity for this story, nor an extension to the tale of Yamamoto himself. In his glimpses of someone that's slowly fading away, Soda captures patience and respect towards his objects, and now friends: Yamamoto and his wife, whose fleetingness exists in the shadow of a progressing dementia. Even though “Zero” captures the essence of what solace, melancholy and silence brings to our lives, this might as well be a picture of Soda's modesty and honesty, kindness and affirmation towards life, both profoundly sad, but then again blissfully heart-warming.
“Zero” premiered worldwide during 70th Berlinale, where it was awarded the Ecumenical Jury Prize. It's just had a domestic premiere in Japan. The interview with Soda and Kiyoko Kashiwagi (producer of his films and privately his wife), was held on the occasion of 70th Berlinale and was conducted and translated from Japanese by Lukasz Mankowski. Soda and Kashiwagi are currently both involved in “Temporary Cinema” initiative aimed to support mini-theaters in Japan due to the COVID-19 outbreak.
Lukasz Mankowski: This is your 9th observational film, as you call it yourself. It is an example of observational cinema, but one may have a feeling that it relies heavily on the representation of ethnofiction or anthropological approach. Would you call yourself an anthropologist filmmaker?
Kazuhiro Soda: I'm not that aware of the ethnofiction word itself, but I guess it has its roots in ethnography. I studied religious studies myself back in the day, so there is quite a lot that is adjacent to cultural anthropology. Observational film is, of course, generally speaking, about observing. When you make an observation, you watch the characters, because when there's a film, there are also the characters. And when you observe your characters, you look at them with the inclusion of their background, a scenery that is determined culturally and cannot be omitted. The observation of people and their background goes hand in hand. In some way, it becomes an ethnography. Very often on the occasion of shooting “Campaign”, I was told that it is a visual and anthropological recording of Japanese society. It's quite similar with “Zero”. We can also say that it is strongly connected with this notion. When I'm witnessing the world of Dr. Yamamoto, his patients and their stories, I'm closely looking at what's around them. I'm observing the social roles of men and women, and in some way how these roles are pushing down women, the pressure they need to withstand within the society. That's simply a sense of values, right? For instance, when Yamamoto is visiting the graves, although he is quite close to be in a grave himself, he walks there as it is a major thing for him, a matter of grave concern. In this case, it was the first time that I pulled off a scene in a scenery that is important in the context of both religion and culture of living. Due to that, I try to capture my gaze; I shoot the scene, I edit it and make sure that it exists in the film.
Did you know from the start that you want to make part 2 of “Mental”?
Soda: Funny thing is, that when we were shooting “Mental”, the patients didn't really do the job! (laughs)
Was it really that bad?
Soda: The real pain and struggle of this production were never captured, and it was our struggle! Jokes aside, when I had the pleasure to film the patients, I didn't really need them to say that they are in a bad condition directly to the camera. This is a real struggle for a documentary filmmaker. When they felt very depressed, they simply didn't want to be filmed this way. In some sense, this film was, using the patients' words, a story of well-used chances. When everybody was in a good state, we could film it, but that's not the point. We didn't really had the chance to film how much struggle we, as filmmakers, had to go through. It was never enough. That's a very rigid judgment, but that's true. (laughs)
For that reason, we had it in our head and even in our approach, that we need to film more, that the second part would be actually a good thing. We were telling that to ourselves. But when we started to work on “ZERO”, it started to be a completely different project. (laughs) It became a documentary about a married couple: Dr. Yamamoto and Yoshiko, but we've always had that idea in mind.
Was that also the reason why you suddenly started to ask more frequently about the permission to film people? In the first scene of “Zero” you start with that question and it wasn't the case with “Mental”.
Soda: Well, in some sense, yes. Until “Campaign”, I distanced myself from the film structure and I wanted to shoot it without having the feeling of my presence. I filmed under the strong influence of Frederick Wiseman. I wanted to make films that would resemble his style. I was invisible and tried to stay this way. But with “Mental”, I realized it was impossible to keep doing it this way. Patients would say “cut!” and thought about it in a more funny way. They actually had fun doing this! (laughs) They would ask what is the purpose of shooting the film. When I experienced that, I became aware of the fact that hiding doesn't really make sense. I thought it wasn't interesting. These kinds of scenes, when the patient would yell “Cut! Cut!” – this is more intriguing. It results in a possibility of having a relationship between me and my objects. When I edited “Mental”, I realized that this observation was the world where I was present, too. It was a participant observation, as it is called in cultural anthropology; but that was also a ‘signed observation', where you first sign the agreement and then proceed in the observation for the film purposes. Because it was a signed observation, I noticed that there is more ‘me'. It wasn't intentional, though, but if it's possible, I'd rather not to hide. In the first scene of “Zero”, I'm also becoming an object of observation, but the observing one is the audience. They take a close look at how I am raising a voice, how I am even approaching for the patient's approval. It's like I'm being examined, and there are plenty of scenes like that.
Did the patients changed the way they behave or their attitude when they realized that the camera was there?
Soda: To a certain extent, I'd say yes. But I'm not entirely sure, if it was to the camera being present on the set, because I didn't really feel any difference when I was talking to the patients while recording or without the camera being on. But my presence was influential to them, that is for sure. I'm totally fine with my objects being aware of the camera's presence. It's not like I'm forcing them to act, like there is no camera in front of them. I don't want that. The personality of an individual will eventually come out whether one is aware that there is a camera or not. This is how I understand my objects and it doesn't really matter if they are aware of it or not.
If someone uses the documentary gaze to pursuit a certain ideology or basing it on some sort of illusion or vision of a real person, it becomes a failure of filmmaking. These assumptions are wrong. Some people will be aware of the camera, some not. But the person is a person, with or without this awareness. This is what I truly believe in, this is my way. This might be obvious, but when you shoot, there are many people who are extremely aware of the camera, much more than others. For instance, when we filmed “Inland Sea”, the main character, Kumi-san, an 84-year old lady, was pointing me the things to film. “Shoot that and that”, she would say. She was incredibly conscious about the camera's presence and its gaze. But that was her personality and never her fault. This personality would as well come out from someone who wouldn't be that aware of the camera. Like I said, it doesn't matter.
Kiyoko Kashiwagi: If I can also add something to this, because this is a big matter for me. In case of Soda, yes – he is setting up the scene, preparing the camera, asking for permission to film someone, asking himself if he should be there or not and how it might influence the film itself. In my case, it's been always a difficult task, because I'm constantly in the middle of it, whether to erase my presence from the film or not, whether to talk with objects or not, whether I should be there or not. It's a constant struggle, being in this position. If you take a look at “Inland Sea”, that was also very difficult. I'm a bit here and there, talking, dropping by and asking different kinds of questions, but not really committing to the maximum. The thing is that we haven't cleared that out with Soda, if I should be there or not from the start. If we had done it, it would have been much easier, because I really wanted to ask this and that. Because the camera is present, you also start to think about your own existence in the film. You're wondering: what should I do, what should I say? Should I do it this way? You're engaging in the conversation, but then again you hide away. Now, I think we settled this out a bit and it brought me some ease, because I know at least, how I can approach particular scenes in a natural way, where to enter and in what cases I should engage. But before it felt like being lost, which was incredibly difficult and to me it meant being only halfway connected with the objects and film. I really didn't like being in that position. I couldn't be completely framed in the particular shots, but I still wanted to engage and be a part of the conversations with all the objects.
It seems you have a very peculiar relationship on set.
Kashiwagi: There are good and bad things about it.
I see. It's not that easy as it may seem, right?
Soda: That's true. Sometimes… Well, yes… I also think that the presence of the camera forces me to a constant self-reflection whether I should be included in the scene or not. Even if it's fine to enter the scene, during shooting I always think that I don't want to intervene in everything. Sometimes I just want to observe, simply watch. For instance, when I'm at Yamamoto's home in “Zero”, he's occupied with some random housework, like taking sushi, preparing the soup.
He takes his time. This scene is long, very long.
Soda: Yes, indeed it is! (laughs) But you know, the thing is, I didn't want to help him. I was there simply to watch.
That's what I also thought about, while watching this. As someone who observes this, I wanted to speed this up and help him.
Soda: But you end up only watching this. If, for instance, I had decided to help him out, we wouldn't have been able to see how Yamamoto's daily routine looks like, nor how he goes through life. During that day, I decided to spend a whole one day with them, but not to interrupt anything. I approached it as a chance for one day, and one day only. I really, really wanted to assist him with these simple tasks (laughs), but if I'd done it, that wouldn't be filmmaking. That's why I shot it the way it was, without any intervention. That scene was perhaps shot without Kiyoko, because there were days she wasn't present. Maybe if she were there, we would start an argument, because she would probably insist on lending him a hand with the housework. I would probably say, “I want to do it this way, so please, would you stop doing that?” (laughs). So, it would end up with a fight, probably. Most of the time it does. (laughs) What Kiyoko cares more than the film, is her will to help and reach out to people.
Kashiwagi: That's why we fight. For example in this scene, I would just say that I'm helping with the housework duties and would do that without entering the frame. The same would be with the scene at the graveyard, I would simply help Yamamoto-sensei's wife, Yoshiko. If you do that, then you enter the screen, right? So the thing is, whether you help someone or not, I think it's better to commit fully and appear on the screen, if you decide to assist that person with something. Just enter on the other side. Aside from that matter, I think that people who are in front of the camera suddenly start being very shy. My task is often to open them up by being very frank and delicate myself. While Soda is filming them, I would approach them and say something like: “You know, I've heard something very interesting!” or “Have you heard about that?” This is also very troublesome. You want them to talk in front of the camera first, but I'm the one asking the question while the camera is on, so this becomes a reason for fighting. (Soda laughs) For me these are the two major problems we have on the set.
Soda: When we worked on “Zero”, for most of the time, I was on my own on the set. Apart from the scene when we visit Yamamoto's friend, when we were together present, I filmed alone. We weren't able to fit our schedules, that's why. But for that reason, due to the fact that I was on my own, I could work more on a bonding ability, and I think there is something personal, more of ‘me' there that I was able to capture. With that being said, when we work together, I think the film becomes different.
That's very interesting, because I have a feeling this might be your most melancholic and sad film you've managed to finish so far. There is a vibe of transiency, impermanence and floating by, simply passing away as in the concept of mujō. I also thought of Koreeda's “Still Walking”, as it also fades out with the graveyard scene. It not only brought me good and warm memories, but also makes me wonder – was the atmosphere on the set also that nostalgic and melancholic? Were there any sad moments?
Soda: Let me think about it for a moment… You might say it's sad, but for me it is essential to confront people who might soon be gone, simply flee away. For me, when I'm in the process of creating the film, it is also important to think of my parents or myself in the next 30 years. That's why, well… More than embrace the sadness, I think it is important to detach from one's feelings and then to observe. This is how I perceive it. Human life is about that. It is certain that people will grow old or die eventually, we all know that. For example, me and my wife, we've been married for how long already… 23 years?
Kashiwagi: 22.
Soda: We've been married for 22 years and we've been together for all that time, watching how time flies by. At the end, we will have to say goodbye to each other. This is for certain. There is no doubt about that, not a single doubt. For a human being, as a living creature, this is our predestination. For that reason, we're cherishing each moment at a time. We're here and now, spending this time, appreciating it as much as we can. But as a matter of fact, we will definitely pass away eventually, being forced to say one last goodbye to each other. With that being said, me and my wife, we can't go on without sharing our love. But, at the end, because we love each other, it will be a bitter end. But if you can't go on, because you don't have love, then you end up living in some sort of absurd. You embrace this kind of reality – and this is the only one you have – with cold-hearted approach, trying to solve it, as you'd like to solve a problem, a problem of you, yourself. I think this is the system of values I was always looking through. I still am, even now. I wouldn't say this is about being sentimental. Rather than that, I'd prefer to look directly into someone or something, capture what lies inside. This is the mechanism for me. Of course, we're getting old and we have to understand that at some point. We can't do anything about that. But, wouldn't it be better to accept this with calmness? Wouldn't it be a relief? I think so.
On the contrary, there are plenty of scenes that you seem to have plenty of fun – for example, you drink with Yamamoto. There is more of ‘you' in the film, comparing to the first part, “Mental”, where you seemed to me more of an outsider. While here, in “Zero”, you've become a part of this small community, a legitimate member of the village, even family. Like you belong here now and became an insider. How do you perceive it?
Soda: From the audience's perspective, probably that's the image, but it also depends whose perspective exactly that is. For instance, people who encountered a mental illness in any way, they say they watch the story from the position of an insider. They would sympathize with the patients in the film, recognize the pain and feel empathy towards them. On the other hand, those who haven't had any experience with mental illness, they would say that the illness itself seems to be very tough to cope with in the first place. In some sense, that is observing from outside, right? In my case, I'm also in a way shooting from a position of a healthy person, who's been accepted to this world, filming people who are struggling with mental illness. This is like entering a place behind a curtain. In this sense, I'm an outsider.
In some sense, yes, that's the feeling I had.
Soda: Right? But you see, in “Zero”, like I've just said, it's impossible to become completely an outsider from my position. If it comes to an audience reaction, everybody would say things related to their painful memories about their parents. Me as a director, I'm also from the same world, henceforth I have many observations, which may be put in the same label under the word of ‘harsh'.
Kashiwagi: Everybody is insider. Everybody.
Soda: True! Everybody is actually inside. This is unchangeable. In the case of “Mental”, we were focusing on the image of whether someone is going through a mental disorder, or not. This is how it was different back then. On the other hand, in “Zero” we're looking at the problem of passing away. And if you take a look at this, you'll get the idea that everybody is eventually going to die, there are no exceptions, no matter how rich somebody is. Bill Gates will die for sure, too. (laughs) There is not a single person who won't have it this way. That's why, if you look at it this way, everybody is in, not out.
Kashiwagi: Regarding this, I think what's very important about being inside or out is that Soda became very close with Dr. Yamamoto. In a way, they [Yamamoto and his wife] started to treat him as a family. After shooting all the scenes, they would invite him for a dinner and spend time with him, just like family would do.
Soda: That's true. It's also because of the fact it was a very long time ago since we've established that kind of relationship.
Kashiwagi: About 12 years already?
Soda: I think it's longer than that. This goes on from 2005, so it's been 13 years already, because we've finished shooting “Zero” 2 years ago. In the meantime, in regard to shooting “Mental”, even after we've just finished it, patients were quite uneasy about the film going public and showed their concern. In that time, Yamamoto-sensei was very eager to help us, while helping his patients. Everybody was taken care of by him for a long, long time. That's a fact. During filming “Mental”, his memories would trick him a bit and his relatively good condition would not be on the same page. While listening to his patient,s his own illness was slowly showing its signs of existence, and they would still asking to be examined. But the relationship we've had for during this time…
Kashiwagi: It's a lot like family.
Soda: Indeed, it's like family.
You and Yamamoto have known each other for 13 years already, but also, you know the place quite well. Ushimado, that is a birthplace for you, Kashiwagi-san, but also a town where you both shot your previous films. Since that connection with these people has become stronger and more significant, hasn't it also become more dangerous for both of you, to interact with them as a filmmakers?
Soda: When you're making a documentary film, there is always the possibility of cutting down the relationship. In that sense, there is a danger, I think. It exists. For that reason, you might say it is dangerous. However, well…
Kashiwagi: I think, what you're thinking about is that it is also extremely important not to fall in a trap of creating a propaganda-like image in the film. What I mean is that, when you're showing some community that treat you like a family, you might want to show them in a good way only. You might start to think that if you show what they do, you might also want to reconsider showing this, because it might look bad in the film. In that way, there is a risk. However, it's not like we are trying to make a propaganda film. We're shooting everything, no strings attached, just like it looks in real, everyday life. That's why there is constantly some degree of risk.
Soda: Indeed. It depends on how you want to tackle the topic. Propaganda film ain't fun or interesting at all. On the contrary, if you break into somebody's life with a camera and get to the point you show things somebody wouldn't like you to do, that's not good either, as it might result with a conflict, which is dangerous in itself. I think it's important to find a compromise, a halfway through. But eventually, everybody is like this and follow this attitude. Of course, there are exceptions, for instance, those who shoot and run. These are cases when a filmmaker has no relationship with the object from the start and films everything from the position of an outsider. For instance, that person would visit an unknown place, film it as it is, and then, once done, say „bye bye” to those who were filmed and leave them for good, because the connection between them is the one of no-connection at all. If we're talking about film, more than being related to the notion of risk and danger, there is a higher possibility for the presence of violence in that film. Morally and ethically an unacceptable one.
Something like in films by Kazuo Hara?
(both laughs)
Soda: That's a no comment from me.
Kashiwagi: Yeah, that's it from us.
Soda: On a serious note, though, yeah, I guess you can put it this way. The distance in his films is completely different. Hara is constantly pushing the limits without the slightest hesitation when he's getting to the core of the story he wants to talk about. He's also showing it this way, because his work is about a reconfiguration of a motive of a demon's land [about the evilness feasting on human souls], but the one present here and now in Japan. At the same time, he admits that the world of documentary is a world full of sins. In my case, I've heard that I'd rather become defiant. Of course, in documentaries there are plenty of scenarios you might actually hurt other people. You're pointing your camera on a living flesh, real human beings, that's why when you're really awful when you are shooting a documentary, you can even kill someone. It's not a good thing, but even still, the way I think I really want to make films as much as I can, is keep doing it for the purpose of the good of all of us. Whether I confront people who I either film or I'm filmed by, I'm keeping this attitude. It's not like I think I must shoot everything I want to. Still, I think that when I've started my career, and I've changed from that moment, I was slowly getting closer to his approach.
Was it during filming “Campaign” (2007)?
Soda: Exactly.
Have you seen “Reiwa Uprising” (2019) by Kazuo Hara?
Soda: Yes, I have.
As a matter of fact it reminded me of your documentary, when I watched Hara's film. But also, what might be interesting, when I conducted an interview with Hara, he also used the same words for addressing his identity as a filmmaker [in Japanese: boku jishin]. But that's just an observation, observation of words.
(both laugh)
Coming back to “Zero”. When you filmed “Mental” some time ago, I remember that you, Kashiwagi-san, struggled with a serious breakdown due to encounters with patients on set. Was it different this time?
Kashiwagi: This time, it was all good. (laughs) But that's true, during the time we were working on “Mental”, I felt very very bad all the way along. Listening to the same patients having the same, unchanging symptoms had the same effect on me, too. I recovered quite quickly, though. After “Mental” the next one was… “Peace” (2010) and it was all good. But! During “Mental”, it was a total knock-down for me. Extremely powerful experience, that was. Of course, whoever struggles with a mental illness is far from being good, but listening about it while realising you're actually an outsider, made me feel horrible in a second. I would feel my guts going up through my whole body and because of that, I was slowly feeling worse and worse, eventually ending up ill myself. Of course, it wasn't that big of a problem, I knew that probably most of the people would feel that way and I knew that once it's done, I will be fine. But back then, I would just avoid contact as much as I could. There weren't that many painful scenes we've used, but when we visited a patient's house, I would just enter it without even taking my shoes off and straight-forwardly ask about the whereabouts of the toilet. I would sit there, slowly taking it back, thinking: “Where the heck I am in the world now? How did it happen? What should I do?” There were many thoughts I had back then. But still, even now after all this, I think it was for the best. I think of myself as a different person now. It was truly painful, yes, but after finishing the shooting part, the memories would slowly fade away with time. What's interesting though, it all came back once we've started putting the film together during editing. Everything was there, again, and to my surprise, these memories were extremely strong. We made sure to edit it at home and I had to do it with the earplugs on. I remember that at that time, I tried to stay at home as much as possible. That was quite painful. Apart from that, I think that all this pain came back again during the screenings of the film. When we were collecting the necessary material for the film, everybody thought I was simply sick, because while listening, I had reflexes. And in a way, I was sick, but that was due to listening to all of these patients we accompanied with the camera. I could barely move and I couldn't just get out from the set, I couldn't get back home. I was about to break down, that's how I felt. So when I had to focus on a next project, I really worried how it will go. How I'm going to face another hardship like that? But this is also very peculiar about Soda's films. Once you're done with one project, you're immediately in the middle of a next one. And I'm pretty much working this way as well. When you show your film to the audience, you're ready to shoot a new title. It's like preparing a cycle – you finish a shooting phase and then immediately jump to editing it. If you don't work this way, if you stop after finishing one film, take a second and rest, say to yourself “ohh, it's finally done”, perhaps wait for a DVD/Blu-ray release, you won't be able to develop this working routine…
Soda: For instance, even now, we're in the middle of another film, even though we've just premiered with “Zero”. We've finished shooting it actually. Once we're done with promotion of “Zero”, we're be occupied with the next film. Most of our films come one after another. They pile up. If you don't work this way, you won't be able to release two films each year (or two films per two years), like we manage to do with our pace. For that reason, [for most filmmakers] there is not much margin for that 1:1 (one year-one film) system.
Kashiwagi: Exactly. In our case, we can't really just stop after making one film. It's not our pace to just sit down and wait for the resources to recharge. Once we finish one thing, we're ready to work on the next project; once we're done with shooting the film, we can't afford not to edit it immediately. It's a process of constant switching over. With that being said, once we had finished “Mental” completely, I was perfectly fine during the next projects, either with shooting or editing. As for “Mental” part two, there was someone from the audience…
Soda: It's actually Mental part “Zero”… (laughs)
Kashiwagi: Yeah, right… (laughs) There was a lady yesterday whom we've talked to and who had seen the first part. She said that she was kind of depressed after watching the film. This time, during Berlinale, she has seen it and didn't feel the same way. She wasn't depressed, she seemed alright. In my case, it was quite the same. I didn't feel depressed or anything like that. But, it's also due to the fact that “Mental” may seem disturbing and heavy. With “Zero” it was completely different. I'd say it was even fun. Working on it, it was truly fun.
How about you, Soda-san? Have you ever had any symptoms like that?
Soda: Me? I haven't had any of these, really. It might be thanks to the camera, I think. When I'm talking with my objects, I can't really entirely focus on the conversation. Well, most of the time I hold my camera in my hand, making sure the image won't be blurred or shaky, framing, focusing, checking the aperture etc. There are so many things you have to think about while filming. You can't just forget about them. That's why you're not really directly absorbing everything from the insights your objects are giving you in the first place. And because the films that I do, I consider them observational films, I'm switching myself to an observational mode.
An observational mode?
Soda: I'd compare it to meditation or contemplation. I'm just using this mode to observe the world just the way it is. You hear the sound – okay, this is the sound. The light gets through – oh, this is the light. This is how it is for me during shooting. That's why there aren't many feelings that I'm really absorbed by. Of course, even if there are feelings, it is me, inside, who is looking at them. For instance, this is the moment I feel entertained, happy; or this is the moment that I'm capturing a profoundly sorrowful scene. In this way, my own feelings are becoming the objects of my observation too. But, it's not like I'm being overwhelmed by them.
At the same time, what I think was always very peculiar of your approach towards people, is tenderness [yasashisa]. You seem to empathize very deeply with your objects, respect everyone, and simply keep a very warm attitude towards them. How do you manage to maintain this and simultaneously focus on shooting?
Soda: (laughs) Well, yeah… I guess it depends on the heart. In other words, when I'm shooting, I'd like to be the same way I'd like other people to have an attitude towards me. Of course, you can't always anticipate that or be this way. (laughs) But I'd like it to be a principal I could rely on. But anyway, in documentaries or feature films, you want to feel the sense of values of the one who makes them. Especially in documentaries, you grasp the essence of both: the filmmaker and the ones being filmed by him/her. You capture their connection and relationship. You can't be a liar. Right? If the relationship I have with my objects is being embraced by them as a warm one, then I'm happy about that. However, it's not like I'm pursuing this. I'm not trying to have that kind of connection with them. If it happens as a result, I will cherish it, though. What I'm opting for is the image of what is between human beings. That's why I shoot films, that's the purpose. For example, when we're talking, we're simply treasuring the fact we'd both like to spend a good time together. We wouldn't like to hurt our relationship by bullying each other. But the way we see it is that we're thankful we can spend this time together, that we're enjoying it. And while it lasts, while we're talking, I think that I'd like it to last this way. I think everybody would say it this way, or maybe most of people. (laughs)
Kashiwagi: From my point of view, I think that Soda isn't the type of person who really tends to come into close relationships with many people. To put it simply, it's a pain in the ass to establish many relationships. When you start one, you have to keep it going, right? If you record someone with a camera, this is also some sort of a connection, right? That's why you simply have to be extremely careful. That's why you have this warm attitude, this tenderness. It comes out from a person, it starts from the camera, I think. That's precisely where the relationship comes from, and it is right there. It's extremely difficult and most of the times, we don't really want to be that close with people. When I look at it, I think Soda is at least indifferent. That's the image for me. But because he connects through camera, it looks like he's having a relationship and he cares. (Soda laughs) It looks like this for me.
Soda: You can put it this way, but the thing is that Kiyoko has so many friends and meets them everyday on multiple occasions. She enjoys that. That's the type of life you choose to have. In my case, I'm completely fine being on my own. Being alone at home, reading a book, being in a mood for a film, I simply like that. I wouldn't say that I'm like you say I am! (laughs)
Kashiwagi: If you ask me, for example, if I had 1000 yen on Valentine's Day, I would buy 10 chocolate gifts for 100 yen and give it to 10 of my friends, because I like them. Soda? He would spend 1000 yen for one chocolate and give it to one person. He's that kind of type! That's the difference between us. (both laughs)
I'd say I'm more similar to Soda, though. I'd probably do the same.
Soda: That's why it's easy for you to understand me, right? (laughs)
That's true. Coming back to filmmaking – you've worked with NHK (Japan Broadcasting Company) before and seem to be very negatively outspoken for the style of documentary filmmaking they cultivate. I'd like to ask about your opinion on the technique they force on their filmmakers, namely yarase (staged, prearranged documentary). What do you think about it?
Soda: Well, during the time when this technique was widely used in Japan, the knowledge about yarase was quite shallow. In the past, this technique would make people assume that every documentary is about truth. It advanced the idea that the one who is behind the camera cannot intervene with his object, making this an objective truth, because they thought that it's all natural and there is no manipulation from the side of the filmmakers. The objects couldn't do anything either. Nevertheless, I think it's just because you do something, and when that something becomes yarase, staging, then this is like a judgement itself. More than judgement, I strongly believe it is a misunderstanding. That's what I think. This word has been used in a very tricky way, too. People started to believe that yarase is a common thing to do, that it's a standard. Basing on this way of thinking, people started to be judgmental on that kind of intentions. But to me, you can't really depict reality in documentary as an objective one. What's really wrong of yarase is that in a film there is something called chronology, right? When you shift chronology and play with it during editing, that's something unacceptable to me. For me, generally speaking, what I want from a documentary filmmaker is to show me one's perception of the world, one's subjective vision in an honest fashion. It's a reconstructed vision, yes, some kind of fiction, some sort of an artificial product, all true, but I think it's at least honest. In all of that, there is also yarase. But how it is conducted? This is also worth thinking about. Perhaps it depends on the filmmaker and how he delineates what's acceptable from unacceptable. One needs to draw a line, where there is a final line for manipulation. I'm trying to separate myself from that notion, too. However, I'm interested in the filmmaking that operates without it, but things still come out as though there would be a manipulation included [in my technique]. In other words, once you start manipulating, the film is all about ‘yourness'. It's a very strong feeling. You want things to be done this or that way. You're slowly starting to stage things. If you do that, and that's the only positive thing about it, is that your personality may come out. But if not, it's a failure, a big no-no. These would be the documentaries that have observations without any particular discoveries. I don't do it and I don't really like it. Because there is no reflection, no finding. I want to move my camera and find out that something big happened. When I'm making a film, I want to be surprised by what I see.
How do you achieve these surprises?
Soda: For that, I'm not trying to direct my objects and point them towards anything. I'm not saying to them that they should go this way or do something in a particular way. But, if I started doing that, my objects would become performers, actors. I'm not like that. I want them to be themselves, natural, without pretending. And while I'm filming them, I want to be surprised by how things turn out. I want to find out something I didn't know before, to see that someone has done this or that, went this or that way. This is the most interesting thing about documentaries for me. That's why I don't want to point them: go left or right. If I did, that wouldn't really be a documentary no more. In that sense, when we're talking about yarase, I'm not interested in doing it. Also, the thing with criticising yarase and how it is perceived in the world, either is completely good or bad, I'm not really interested in changing that perception. (laughs)
If someone decided to make an observational film about you, what would you like to be asked about?
Soda: There is not a particular one, but… I think that would be the question that I can't think of! The one I can't really imagine! (laughs)
Regarding your 10 commandments you follow in your filmmaking, I strongly believe you should include one more. 11th one would be: “film as many cats as possible”.
Both: That one is really good!
You really like cats, don't you?
Soda: I love them! Whenever I see one, there is no way I'm not going to film it.
In “Zero” there is also a cat. I loved that scene, although I'm not particularly a cat person myself.
Soda: Right? That one is great. (laughs) That cat was really incredible.
