Fuka Haruna – born on February 4, 2001, in Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan, is a versatile Japanese actress and voice actress. She is affectionately known by her nickname, ‘Harukaze-chan’. Fuka Haruna began her entertainment career at a young age, debuting as an actress in various television series. Her early exposure to the industry laid the foundation for her diverse career in acting and voice acting. Throughout her career, Haruna has showcased her talent in various television dramas, films, and anime series. In the 2012 television drama ‘Akumu-chan’, she played Anna Higuchi, a role that garnered significant attention. She also appeared in the 2009 film ‘Kamui Gaiden‘ alongside actress Koyuki. In the realm of anime, Haruna lent her voice to the character Liu Ing in ‘Eureka Seven: AO’ (2012). Her involvement in both acting and voice acting demonstrates her versatility and adaptability within the entertainment industry.
Haruna has been open about her experiences with cyberbullying, which began in 2012 following her online advocacy for internet safety. Despite these challenges, she has continued her career and remains a prominent figure in Japanese entertainment. Since 2022, Haruna has resumed her activities in the entertainment industry, engaging in various projects that highlight her talents and resilience. Her dedication to her craft and her ability to overcome personal challenges continue to inspire many. In the theatre realm she took the role of Lavinia in ‘Titus Andronicus’ (dir. Ryunosuke Kimura, Theatre Company KAKUSHINHAN) and Natsuki in ‘Earthlings’ (dir. Peter Goessner, Uzume Gekijo) which gained her huge acclaim. Besides, she has been collaborating with such theatre ensembles as: Voyantroupe, Nueteki, Gekkan Nemoto Shuko. Haruna’s journey from a child actress to a respected figure in the Japanese entertainment industry reflects her talent, perseverance, and adaptability. Her contributions to television, film, and anime have left a lasting impact, and her personal story serves as an inspiration to the younger generation of actors in Japan. With Fuka Haruna, a new generation of actors rises, bringing with it a fresh wind of talent and possibility.
Could you briefly tell me about your upbringing? Since you’ve been acting basically since infancy, I’d like to know what triggered your decision to pursue this path.
That’s correct. To be exact, I entered the entertainment industry from conception, so my career span and my age are pretty much the same at this point. The trigger was that, when my mother gave birth to me, the other mothers in the same room apparently discussed auditioning for child actors, and at that moment, they all decided to apply. So, as soon as I was born, I was entered into auditions and ended up appearing as a baby in a very famous Japanese children’s show called ‘Inai Inai Baa!‘. At some point, I had to decide whether to quit or continue in the entertainment industry, and this happened when I was about 5 years old. Initially, I was with a baby model agency, so the work I did was mainly photo shoots. But as I got older and needed to expand my work, I was advised that it would be better to join a child actor agency.
Around the same time, I became very interested in the famous manga series ‘Glass Mask’ and decided I wanted to become an actress. So, I switched to a child actor agency and continued for a while. At that time, though, instead of acting, I began to get more opportunities in variety shows. I started appearing in many of them under the premise of being a ‘fast-talking quirky child’, where I’d improvise and speak about random things while crying or doing funny things. Then, I was given the opportunity to challenge myself with theater, and at first, it was a performative reading. I experienced that when I was 13, and then, around the end of when I was 14, I made my debut in a play ‘TUSK TUSK’ (2015). From there, I was fortunate enough to receive more offers for theater work, and I’ve continued living as a stage actress ever since.
As you mentioned earlier, you’ve appeared in works from various genres such as variety shows, films, and, of course, theater. For the future, do you plan to focus solely on theater, or do you want to continue appearing in works from other genres as well?
I would like to appear in works across many different genres, but when it comes to the type of acting I want to express, I feel that theater is the most fitting for me. Until recently, I didn’t have any specific actresses I admired, but when I think about admiration, it feels a bit off to me. However, I do have a vision of the type of actress I aspire to become—actresses like Kayoko Shiraishi and Shinobu Otake. These are actresses known as ‘possessed actresses’ in Japan. I’ve come to realize that I really enjoy that style of acting. If I were to pursue this kind of acting, I feel that theater is the place where such roles are more prevalent, rather than in film or television. So, I think I would like to focus most of my energy on theater. In Japan, producing works is incredibly expensive, and while many projects are made with great effort, there is often a sense of time pressure. In contrast, in theater, while the production staff is extremely busy, they tend to provide more time for the actors to develop their roles. This is something I think is typical of stage productions. I believe that by refining my craft in theater first, I will be able to deliver stronger performances in any film or television projects I take on in the future.
Are there any works that have inspired you, either in literature or old films in terms of being influenced by certain directors or writers?
I’ve loved manga since I was a child, and I believe many aspects of manga’s expressive style influence my own work. The reason my acting tends to lean more toward theater than film may stem from the fact that, when I was younger, most of what I consumed was manga. From an early age, I gravitated toward works like those by Shuji Terayama, which are more avant-garde and often explore themes such as death or psychological horror. I was also drawn to series like ‘Higurashi no Naku Koro ni’ (‘When the Cicadas Cry’). At one point, there was a movement in Japan to regulate the sale of such works to minors under the Youth Protection Act, which would have made them harder to purchase. I voiced my opposition to this initiative on social media, which sparked considerable debate at the time. I believe that sometimes extreme expressions are the most effective way to convey certain messages. Just because a work depicts death doesn’t mean it’s promoting violence—instead, it can convey that murder is never acceptable. This kind of intense, impactful storytelling has always fascinated me. I’m drawn to works that tackle heavy themes in such a powerful way.
As for films, one I particularly admire is ‘Starless Dreams’, a documentary about a women’s prison in Iran. I’m captivated by works that explore subjects from such unique, thought-provoking perspectives. Looking back, I realize that Kubrick’s films also had a significant impact on me, particularly in the way they depicted complex emotions, human behavior, and relationships. They made me reflect on the boundaries of what is appropriate for children to watch. Growing up, my family was fairly liberal when it came to expressing emotions and discussing topics that others might shy away from. For example, we didn’t hesitate to watch ‘Revolutionary Girl Utena’ or ‘When the Cicadas Cry’, even though they explored unsettling and provocative themes. However, there was a clear line for me when it came to certain kinds of media. My family didn’t want me to watch shows like ‘Case Closed’ (also known as ‘Detective Conan’) due to its excessive violence, even though it was, on the whole, a harmless show. On the other hand, shows with deeper, more complex themes, like the ones I’ve mentioned, were seen as acceptable because they addressed meaningful issues, even if they could be disturbing at times.
Having watched your recent theater performances (‘Titus Andronicus’, ‘Earthlings’), I noticed that you don’t hesitate to take risks and possess a strong, resolute fortitude. I personally believe that your strong backbone enhances your role-building, allowing you to immerse yourself deeply in the character. Could you comment on your artistic collaboration with Ryunosuke Kimura and Peter Goessner?
Regarding role-building, I briefly discussed it earlier with Peter Goessner. I first met him when he was a faculty member at Toho Academy of Arts Junior College, where I studied stage acting. During my student days, I participated in school events, including one where I played an elderly woman in the same production that Kayoko Shiraishi performed in. It was only after that experience that I realized I wanted to be an actress who conveys emotions like this and explores themes such as guilt. Peter has always been someone who praises the challenges I take on. As for his approach to direction, it involved encouraging exploration, using props more creatively, and connecting with the energy of the living moment. I realized that he deeply values these aspects, which resonated with me as an actor and made the experience thoroughly enjoyable. What I find unique about the stage is that it offers space for the actor’s interpretation because time is dedicated to the actor. In film, you can always cut things out, but with stage performances, it’s the dialogue between the actor and the director that creates the art. The director I worked with truly nurtured and valued our interpretations. While there are directors who give specific instructions, like telling you to take a set number of steps, which can create a cohesive piece, I personally aim to convey the raw energy of life itself. With Peter, I felt we shared the same vision. I feel the same way about Ryunosuke Kimura. From what I’ve heard, Kimura-san used to be quite strict, but when I met him, my impression was that he was very thoughtful and would praise us when something was done well, which was extremely encouraging.
In a private conversation, Ryunosuke Kimura praised your physical rhythm that overlaps with the musical accompaniment. In ‘Titus Andronicus’ you play the role of Lavinia, being stranded like a – permit me the metaphor – ‘Tongue-Cut Sparrow’, you can only respond by non-verbal expressions.
To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought, but like my love for manga, I’ve always been a big fan of anime. The world of anime really focuses on sound and rhythm. It’s not just the form of expression that I enjoy; I believe I’ve also learned a lot about timing and rhythm from it. I also do dubbing work for anime, and when I work on voice acting, I aim to ensure that the rhythm of the English dialogue translates smoothly into Japanese without feeling unnatural. Over time, this rhythm starts to come more naturally to me. Kimura-san’s direction is great because he places a strong emphasis on rhythm, which creates an environment where it’s easier to work. So, when it comes to intense emotions like anger or sadness, I tend to express them more easily. But for everyday conversations, I feel that my ability to listen and receive is stronger than my ability to express. I’ve been told that if I try too hard to force myself into the role of the one expressing, I can end up focusing too much on the sound, making it feel like that’s all there is. However, thanks to Kimura-san’s years of experience, even when an actor jumps in unexpectedly, the atmosphere is conducive to making it easier to work with. The surrounding actors are great at picking up on the rhythm, so it becomes easier to adjust and match their pace. If Kimura-san praised me, I would say it’s also thanks to the environment he has fostered.
What do you think the current status of Shakespeare is in Japan?
As for Shakespeare’s position, I think it’s something like this: people recognize his name, but they’re not familiar with the details. It’s often perceived as ‘highbrow’, which makes it hard for people to approach or connect with. For instance, I first read ‘As You Like It’, and when a fellow actor I worked with on a performative reading mentioned being interested in Shakespeare recently, he introduced me to a few of Shakespeare’s works that might appeal to me. As a result, I now have quite a few Shakespeare plays lined up at home. What I like about Shakespeare’s works is that, despite the complex language, the characters are primarily driven by their emotions. So, if you understand the flow of emotions and the essence of human nature, it doesn’t feel overly complicated to me. I believe that works where the creator’s intentions are clear are easier to grasp.
From Shakespeare to Sayaka Murata. In ‘Earthlings’, Natsuki – the main protagonist – undergoes both physical and mental abuse. It feels almost like a coming-of-age novel about love à rebours as a reminiscence of 90s coming-of-age cinema.
I don’t typically concern myself with the private lives of authors, but many seem to have endured tough personal experiences. I believe that such stories often reflect the psychological concept of healing the ‘inner child’. To me, youth is a time when the body undergoes significant changes, and the heart struggles to keep up. It’s that raw, painful feeling of not being able to match the physical transformations happening around you, compounded by an overwhelming sensitivity to how others perceive you. It’s a time of emotional turbulence and personal growth. When I think of recent Japanese youth films, they often feature high school students as protagonists, typically around 14 years old. In coming-of-age movies, the focus is often on middle or high school students. However, in the works of Sayaka Murata, even if the main character is in their 30s, there’s still a lingering inner child—the unresolved trauma of their childhood—that causes their emotions to fluctuate, much like the turbulence of adolescence. This, to me, gives her works a ‘coming-of-age’ feel. I hadn’t thought about it in this way until now, but after hearing your thoughts, I can definitely see how it makes sense to describe her works as having a youthful, energetic quality.
I enjoy stories that don’t simply follow the typical high school narratives we often see in popular culture, but instead delve into characters who feel disconnected from society. I’m drawn to works where the author doesn’t shy away from showing their characters’ vulnerabilities but embraces them instead. There’s something very authentic about characters who long to connect with others but struggle because they’re too absorbed in their inner worlds. Stories like those in ‘Earthlings’ highlight the deep connections that can form when individuals, who have difficulty relating to others, meet and find solace in each other. In these works, the focus isn’t on achieving a conventional happy ending. It’s about two people discovering each other in a world that doesn’t understand them, and through their connection, finding a sense of salvation. I find it fascinating to explore what kinds of environments might allow people to open their hearts to more than just one person and how we can create spaces where individuals don’t feel compelled to retreat into their isolated worlds. It’s a beautiful way to reflect on how society’s structure can sometimes be too rigid, and how we might think about creating more inclusive, empathetic spaces.
I must admit that I am quite a liberal person. However, when reading both ‘Convenience Store Woman‘ and ‘Earthlings’, I didn’t feel entirely at ease, questioning whether it was going too far. There is, however, one line in ‘Earthlings’ that struck me: it says that societal taboos are the biggest form of brainwashing. What do you think about that?
I personally believe that Sayaka Murata’s works often depict people living in a world where society’s established rules are turned upside down. Many of her stories revolve around this theme, and I find this perspective quite compelling. Whether this is good or bad is something Murata herself likely leaves open-ended, but the truth is, we all live in a world where we must follow certain rules to interact with others. At the same time, there are moments when we feel these rules are imposed on us, limiting our ability to live as we wish, and that frustration is something anyone can relate to. I think her works often explore this internal struggle. Personally, I believe that without some form of structure, it would be impossible to even perceive the world around us. The concept of absolute freedom may seem appealing, but if taken to the extreme, it could lead to situations where people harm others, making it impossible for anyone to live freely. So, while freedom is undeniably important, it’s equally crucial to strike a balance between personal liberty and the structures that enable us to coexist. Therefore, I think it’s better to avoid falling into hackneyed stereotypes, as they can lead to harmful ideas like: ‘Women who can’t bear children are worthless’, or ‘If you fall in love with someone and that person is socially unacceptable, you should suppress your feelings’. These kinds of walls may seem harmless once crossed, but they often become stronger due to societal expectations and the existing structure.
Are there any taboos in contemporary Japanese theatre?
I believe there are. Of course, some individuals can navigate through these boundaries with grace, but how should I put it… The issue is that viewers often have difficulty separating the artist’s work from their personal life. Because of this, the information must be presented in a way that’s more easily digestible for the audience. I think this filter is very powerful. I believe art is incredibly diverse and sometimes depicting things that may seem morally wrong or ‘impossible’ for a human to do can help save or connect people in unexpected ways. However, I acknowledge that such portrayals can, in some cases, encourage harmful behavior, but I think the responsibility falls more on the recipient, rather than the creator. While this depends on the specific work, I generally believe it’s the responsibility of the audience to interpret it. This issue isn’t limited to Japan, though. For example, when dealing with LGBTQ+ stories, there’s a prevailing notion that only LGBTQ+ individuals should play those roles. While it’s crucial that LGBTQ+ individuals portray their own stories, I also believe it’s important for those outside the LGBTQ+ community to take on these roles as well, as it allows for a deeper understanding of the community. I wish more emphasis could be placed on this approach—on learning through portraying something that isn’t directly personal.
To take it to the extreme, some works of global literature are being rewritten today because their language is considered inappropriate or offensive in the context of modern times. What do you think about this?
When I think about creating work that reflects these ideas, I believe that even if some fiction is introduced, it’s essential to tell stories that resonate with the present world. However, I don’t believe we should erase the past. The values and real events of the past are things that people today can never fully understand. I think it’s important to preserve these works so that we can witness the evolution of societal rules, like changing tracks, and gain insight into how things have transitioned. As a result, determining what is truly ‘the truth’ has become something we may no longer be able to know with certainty. This is ultimately a matter of personal freedom, but I don’t believe we should erase past works or impose our individual freedoms on others. Regarding gender equality and the diversity of humanity, I think these ideals are important. Without them, society could devolve into something like a ‘human forest’—a confusing, disordered state—and that kind of thinking is problematic. Everyone wants to live in a society that’s easier for them, so I don’t see anything wrong with striving for gender and human equality. In fact, I think it should be the goal. However, it’s disheartening when anger is directed at works that don’t conform to this ideal, simply because they hold a certain societal status or position. There are so many people in the world that it’s impossible to achieve complete equality for everyone. Striving for equality is a noble goal, but those who become overly consumed by it, to the point of anger, may not be leading very happy lives. I believe it would be wonderful if we could find more balance in this area.
What about freedom of speech in contemporary Japanese art?
In Japan, freedom of expression is, to be honest, well-protected. The government or the police rarely interfere. Of course, with large theaters—especially those run by the government or receiving substantial funding—permission may be required at the planning stage. However, smaller theater groups generally have more freedom and can operate with fewer restrictions. This is largely due to the fact that many people in Japan still view issues through the lens of old-fashioned, village-like thinking. The values and rules passed down through generations remain very strong, and many people still adhere to these norms. So, if someone breaks these unspoken rules and their actions stir up anger, it is not uncommon for people to report it to the police, requesting intervention. In this way, even though freedom of expression is guaranteed for individuals, it is so strongly protected that people who feel offended can easily seek help from the authorities. This brings me to an example: even though the audience has paid for tickets, if someone is angered by something they perceive as obscene on stage, a response from the authorities is often required.
In Japan, freedom of expression exists, but if someone feels uncomfortable or offended—especially in public events—the government may step in. For instance, there were reports about sexual misconduct related to a film, and actor and singer Gen Hoshino, who performed the theme song for the movie, became embroiled in controversy. Even though Hoshino had no connection to the incident, the decision was made for him to perform a different song during the New Year’s Eve show ‘Kohaku’. The reasoning was that his original song could be seen as triggering further harm, which led to a public debate in Japan. Personally, I felt that Hoshino, who was completely uninvolved, was unfairly caught up in the situation. However, I also understand the difficulty for those directly affected, especially if something could trigger a traumatic response. I believe that if someone has the option to avoid something, it might not be necessary to remove it entirely.
However, in the case of something with wide reach, like “Kohaku,” where families gather to watch, I do see the need for consideration of those who might be triggered by certain content. Some content can have a significant impact, and that’s when the issue of balance arises. In Japan, the line between personal freedom of expression and consideration for others is a complex issue. Personal opinions can vary greatly, making it difficult to find a clear answer. This is a significant challenge in Japan, and it’s part of what makes drawing the line so difficult.
Obviously, the role of social media is ubiquitous nowadays, acting as both the lawyer and the judge all in one. You surely know this best from your own experience.
When I watch the news, I try to consider the perspectives of different people. However, I am particularly concerned with bullying and its reversal. The values formed during childhood are deeply ingrained, and I truly believe this. At that time, society’s rules were one thing as there are so many different types of people in the world. For instance, society establishes rules to maintain balance and allow us to coexist. But it’s wrong to disregard or hurt someone simply because of one’s personal opinion. That said, the degree to which someone feels hurt differs from person to person, so it’s not possible to fully resolve this issue. I want children to become accustomed to a mindset where they can think flexibly, understand others, and find a balance by seeking common ground. In that sense, I want to be involved in works that promote this type of thinking. At the same time, I’d love to portray characters with clear-cut villainous traits. After all, as human beings, we inevitably commit some form of sin simply by living. Whether that sin is forgivable or not depends on its degree, but I find it fascinating to explore characters who have a backstory explaining how they ended up in that situation.
I truly enjoy playing those kinds of characters. I believe it’s this desire to portray such roles that helped me become an actress, despite the bullying I faced in my childhood. It was, of course, frustrating. However, I realized that responding with violence wasn’t the right approach. Instead, I began to imagine the backgrounds of those who spoke harshly to me, which allowed me to understand things from their perspective. From there, I began working as a commentator, talking about abuse and bullying. Through this experience, I learned that people find themselves in many different situations. I came to understand this better.
One of my favorite songs is ‘Yoso no Ko’ by Hiroko Taniyama. The lyrics describe a child wandering through a sunset town, peering into warm homes. The child sees happy families and feels lonely. Then, someone inside the house notices the child, opens the door, and says, ‘Boy, where did you come from? Go back to your own home’. The child continues wandering, gazing at the happy families. It’s a very heartbreaking image, and the child’s conclusion is to stand on a hill, looking down at the town and wishing for the happiness of everyone he sees. It’s such a beautiful line, and I really love it. I also strive to have that kind of heart. I want to pray for the happiness of the weak or hurt people—whether they are perpetrators, victims, or even third parties who are bystanders and unable to help. My goal as a person is to have a heart that continually wishes for the happiness of others. From there, as an actor, I tend to choose roles that involve strong characters.
As an artist, is there any boundary you wouldn’t want to cross?
Personally, I’ve participated in projects with a variety of moods, but the idea of appearing nude still doesn’t sit well with me at 23. When I think about what I absolutely won’t do, it’s anything that uses my body or actions to affirm someone else’s weakness. I don’t want to use my body or heart for people who don’t wish for the happiness of others. Regarding the controversy surrounding the Voyantroupe in 2018, there was a significant misunderstanding. It was falsely reported that I was supposed to appear nude, but that wasn’t the case. After receiving guidance from the police, the production was revised, and no actors were required to perform in nudity. It was also incorrectly claimed that I had dropped out of the project, but that wasn’t true either.
At the time, there were individuals causing enough trouble that the performance almost got canceled. However, they reassured me that it wasn’t my fault and still allowed me to participate. Although my personal beliefs were slightly altered, I chose to perform in a way that honored the efforts of everyone involved in the production. I also heard from people who weren’t even part of the audience, and it seemed like they were trying to sabotage the performance—not out of concern for me, but simply to harm it. These individuals had been attacking me online for years, and I understood their motivations. However, there were also those who respected my thoughts and my role as an artist. In situations like these, it can be difficult to distinguish who is acting with malicious intent.
I don’t believe the police are much help in such cases, particularly when it comes to slander or harm. Even if you file a criminal complaint, it often leads nowhere. I’ve read a lot online about the situation and the related news stories, but honestly, I don’t fully understand the reasoning behind it. It just seems like jealousy, and I find it hard to get worked up over it. As for participating in a group with sexually explicit content, the people involved had a specific mindset. The performances aimed to support those often excluded by society, including individuals with unconventional sexual orientations or even those who have committed crimes. These shows were intended to provide a form of redemption or salvation for people typically discarded by society. I understood this purpose when I joined the Voyantroupe project. However, there were certain works I didn’t want to be part of. They were purely violent or exploitative performances, which didn’t interest me. I preferred projects that told the life stories of people who had no choice but to live in such circumstances.
After all, I want to perform in works that highlight the humanity of these individuals and make people reflect on why they ended up that way. So, when I’m asked to perform nude or in ways that feel dangerous or extreme, I won’t do it unless the work serves a meaningful purpose. I’d rather work with people strong enough to create art with a sense of purpose—those driven by the desire to help others. If someone doesn’t share that belief, I don’t want to be involved in their projects, no matter who they are. Additionally, over the past 20 years, Japan’s art scene has become much more inclusive and safer for creating art. However, in terms of the quality of work, many productions and performances have become watered down. For example, about 10 or 15 years ago, there were significant works by Daisuke Miura, who was at the time the leader of Potsu-doru theatre ensemble and also the film ‘Love’s Whirlpool’ was also released. But now, works like that can no longer be made. This isn’t solely due to government or external pressures. What’s happening is that we’ve developed this ‘village society’, where even works written years ago can no longer be performed because of shifting social norms. This creates a kind of transparency that makes things feel ambiguous.
As an artist, I feel conflicted. While I don’t want to set barriers for the work I create, I also don’t want the boundaries of expression to become too narrow. For instance, I tend to get along with people who have a reputation for being harsh or violent, but that doesn’t mean they can make me do things simply by being aggressive. I don’t think that kind of forceful approach works. A director who has a clear intention behind their work can be harsh, but if their message doesn’t come across, it’s often because they themselves are struggling to express it. Sometimes, they’re driven mad by their own inability to communicate their weaknesses or frustrations. I want to be someone who can affirm others’ weaknesses. My dream is to be the kind of person who can embrace other people’s vulnerabilities, and because of that, I don’t dislike these kinds of people. In fact, I think they often respond better when I return their energy. Now that the way we create art is becoming cleaner, I think it’s a kind of salvation for those artists who previously had a harder time expressing themselves. Instead of getting angry when things don’t get through, I think it’s better to find ways to express yourself that feel better. So, I want to learn the methods to bridge the gap between my own desires for expression and the rules of society. My ideal is that the industry becomes cleaner, but I still want the works to retain their rawness.
Apparently, your mother is your manager. Could you share how this came about?
It’s an interesting story. Honestly, my family gets along well, but like any family, it’s not without its complexities. I wouldn’t say there are no complicated feelings, but it’s not a case of severe abuse or resentment. My mother became my manager because she wanted to protect me. I remember once being sent an article, and she said, “Don’t be so brutally honest in it, don’t reveal everything.” She wasn’t asking me to hide things, but she didn’t want me to overshare. Both of my parents are avid readers, and they bonded over their love of books—borrowing and sharing them. That’s how they grew close and eventually married. It’s a bit romantic, really. They truly enjoyed each other’s company, but after I was born, things became more complicated. My father, being from Kyushu, had a strong sense of responsibility. He believed, “Now that we’re married and have a child, I need to provide.” He worked tirelessly, and during my mother’s pregnancy, she often felt alone.
In response, my father began attending more drinking parties and threw himself even more into his work to provide for us. I imagine that when he was around the age I am now, he must have thought, ‘I need to work hard for my family’, all while following the traditional values of his region, where it wasn’t considered ideal for women to work. While their intentions weren’t bad, those deep-rooted societal expectations caused tension.
My mother loved her job, but at times she felt conflicted because my father, who was five years younger than her, worked so hard. She felt immense pressure to live up to the image of a strong, responsible mother. For me and my siblings, there were moments when we felt closer to our father, who would come home and play with us, than to our mother, who was always busy with work. There were also differences in how they wanted to raise us. My mother wanted to invest in our extracurricular activities and even considered moving to an area with better schools. Meanwhile, my father believed we should spend more time outdoors, running around and playing in nature. This created noticeable tension between them, and we definitely felt it as children. But despite all of this, my parents respected each other and worked hard for the family. While it wasn’t an ideal family, I’m still grateful for the sacrifices my mother made for us. She protected me when I was a child actor, keeping me safe from unwanted attention. The entertainment industry can be risky for young children, but she made sure I was shielded from harm, and I’m incredibly thankful to her for that. As an adult, I’ve started working alongside my mother, and I’m happy to support her in any way I can. I’ve joined the same agency, and by succeeding in my own career, I hope to help guide and mentor younger people who are just starting out.
As for my parents’ divorce—it’s a sad chapter. My younger brother doesn’t fully understand it, but for me, it was a bit of a relief. I’ve come to realize that, despite their good qualities, my parents just couldn’t align in their values. Maybe they would have been better off as friends rather than as partners. I’ve also faced challenges growing up. I attended a correspondence school and understand the struggles that come with it. Many kids drop out, face depression, or give up entirely due to family problems. I once spoke with a girl who worked really hard at English and had a deep passion for it. But when I asked if her parents ever praised her efforts, she told me they never did. She seemed really sad about it. It made me realize just how important parental support is for a child’s self-esteem and growth. The increasing number of students in correspondence schools reflects a larger societal issue: family-related struggles. These are real problems that need more attention. Growing up, I had both good and difficult experiences, but overall, I can say my family was good in its own way. My parents were loving, but they also had their shortcomings—especially in how they approached raising us. Looking back, my mother was overly protective, and while it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it did create some tension. If she had been too strict, it might have been difficult for me to rebel, but instead, she allowed me some space to find my own way. Ultimately, I think I turned out just fine.
During my child actor days, the public adored the image of a close-knit family. People would see me on TV and think I was cute because I was raised with love and affection. Naturally, I would always praise my parents. However, when I was in my late teens, I couldn’t help but want to express some negative feelings about them. But now, looking back, I realize that my mother allowed me to express myself honestly, even if my opinions were sometimes rejected. When I said, ‘This is how I feel,’ she would respond, ‘No, I’m doing this for a different reason,’ and we’d have those small, kid-like arguments. In hindsight, I see that those disagreements were actually a healthy balance for me. This ties into my goals as an actor because I want to explore and understand human weakness, having seen it in others. I want to find ways to help people who are struggling live more easily.. I’m not sure if I’ll ever become a parent, but if I do, I’ve come to realize that it’s okay not to be perfect.
No matter how you raise your children, there will probably be moments of exhaustion, moments where they resent you. But as long as you do your best in whatever form that may take, that will be conveyed. Even if they do things that frustrate you, if, after five years, you can accept your child for who they are, and open your heart to meet them where they are, I think that’s what’s most important. I think that’s something I was able to reach precisely because my family wasn’t perfect. Looking back, I think my life has been a good one. However, when I read plays like Tennessee Williams’ ‘The Glass Menagerie’, or stories about dysfunctional families—families that aren’t functioning well—I can relate to some parts of it. As an actor, I don’t think it’s necessary to be excessively happy. It’s not about being completely full of happiness, but rather, it’s about learning to not be completely unhappy either. That’s something I’ve come to understand with age.
Lastly, would you like to share a message with the upcoming generation of young artists?
I truly hope more people like that emerge, especially younger actors. I want them to have the same opportunities to experience these kinds of chances. If I were to go abroad, I’m confident I’d find a way to make it work. In acting, it’s often said that rehearsals and performances should be as close as possible, but I’m someone who adapts based on the atmosphere and energy of the audience. For example, if I’m delivering a long monologue, I sense the room and adjust accordingly. If the crowd seems sleepy, I know I need to wake them up; if they’re cold, I need to warm them up. In those moments, it feels almost like life or death—that’s how I approach it. Next year, or maybe the year after, could bring some big changes, and I’m half-expecting that. If it happens, I’ll continue moving toward that possibility. Even if I can’t speak the language perfectly, I’m sure I’ll be driven to communicate with people. I’ll find a way to get my message across. Honestly, even as I speak right now, I feel more confident.
At 23, as an artist and an actor, I’ve had so many tough experiences that have shaped me into who I am now. I aspire to be the voice of my generation. The more I talk with you, the more I realize this, and I’m grateful for your support. It allows me to share my thoughts openly, without reservation. I believe that will resonate with young people. I also think the same applies to those watching this interview. I want them to feel encouraged to live with the same attitude. One of my personal mottos is: ‘I believe that sadness can save the world’. Everyone goes through moments of being denied or misunderstood. But for the younger generations, facing that sadness shouldn’t be something to avoid. Instead, I want them to transform that pain into strength. It’s not about rejecting feelings of anger or sadness, but embracing them. I believe everyone has the right to live a happy life, as long as it doesn’t take away someone else’s right to do the same. Society often associates strength with either following rules or rebelling against them. But for me, true strength lies in accepting your own weaknesses. Once you do that, you’re in a better place to challenge societal norms with kindness.
The most important thing to me is learning to love yourself. Once you can do that, doors will open. If there are people struggling to love themselves because they’re afraid of other people’s opinions or societal rules, I want to be the kind of person who affirms them. I want those watching this interview, especially those struggling, to live with that mindset too. As for my role as an artist, it’s not about being an activist, but about conveying messages through my art, using words to express what I feel deeply. Even if I’m not saying much directly, I believe every artist should find ways to communicate and share their inner world with others.
Ryunosuke Kimura & Peter Goessner on Fuka Haruna:
Ryunosuke Kimura (Theatre Company KAKUSHINHAN): Fuka Haruna possesses a rare talent for creating dramatic moments and brilliantly embodies the spirituality embedded in Shakespeare’s characters. In her role as Lavinia in ‘Titus Andronicus’, she expressed Shakespeare’s message of empathy for the weakest beings who suffer most from war and violence, as well as a protest against their absurd fate, by powerfully connecting it with her own way of living. Her performance, which conveyed not only pain and helplessness but also the strength to rise from it, strongly appealed to the human dignity and hope that resonate deeply within us. Furthermore, she eagerly studied the art of delivering lines with varied tempo and musicality, and in a short period of time, her growth was remarkable. She has shown an ability to draw the audience into the depths of the story. Haruna-san has illuminated the universal themes of Shakespeare’s work on the modern stage, bringing new life to ‘Titus Andronicus’ and delivering a deeply moving performance.
Peter Goessner (Uzume Gekijo): The talented Fuka Haruna has taken on the role of the main protagonist, Natsuki, in the Uzume Theater’s production of Sayaka Murata’s novel ‘Earthlings’. Fūka Haruna is a great fan of Sayaka Murata’s works, which has led her to develop a personal connection and a unique perspective on the role from the start of rehearsals. She approaches her work with seriousness and a goal-oriented mindset. She is not afraid of scenes that present challenges, especially those that may be difficult for women. Her performance is physically dynamic, and she also makes excellent use of her distinctive, very feminine voice with perfect timing. Additionally, through her experiences in childhood and adolescence, she possesses a deeper societal understanding than most young people her age, which adds depth and emotionality to her performance.
