Akaike Ryoto talks Yellow Margarine
Yellow Margarine is one of those films that leaves you with more questions than answers, so I was delighted when director Akaike Ryoto agreed to do an interview. He talks vigorously about the lengths he and his collective went through to get this film off the ground, why Japan is such a fruitful place for absurd comedy, and what it takes to bring a project like this to international audiences. If you wondered how this film came to be, delve into the interview and it'll all become clear.
Niels Matthijs: Yellow Margarine isn't a film that is "an easy sell". How tough was it to get this project off the ground?
Akaike Ryoto: We are HORISHIRO, a four-person film team formed in 2021. When we came together, we made a simple rule: “We’ll make the films we want to make, ourselves.” But of course, that’s easier said than done. As you mentioned, getting this project off the ground was incredibly difficult—beyond words, really. We started by launching a crowdfunding campaign. That was the beginning of making HORISHIRO known, and we used that opportunity to share the concept of Yellow Margarine with actors and people in the film industry. We also held auditions for the cast. I personally watched the performances of all 584 actors who auditioned.
At the same time, we applied for a government arts grant from the Agency for Cultural Affairs. Beyond that, our producer, Taku Watanabe, worked hard to raise funds from various other sources. Though our budget was limited, we were fortunate to be selected for the grant. Even so, we faced strict deadlines and complicated regulations, and time was quickly running out. At that point, we hadn’t even finalized the filming crew or locations. While creating the sets, props, and costumes based on the script, I also worked on aligning visual ideas with the cast and, together with the team, scouted for locations. Assistant director Sayuri Watanabe and other members took charge of finding crew, negotiating location agreements, and coordinating the cast’s schedules. The entire shoot lasted only two weeks. We were so pressed for time that I was building props for each scene right up until the morning of the shoot.
The toughest part was that all of this—everything—was done by just the four of us. Our families also gave us a lot of support behind the scenes. After filming wrapped, we moved into post-production with VFX artist Shinya Ishimatsu. I made a number of creative adjustments to balance the overall look and feel of the film and worked closely with Ishimatsu to refine the visual tone. We didn’t have the budget to hire a composer, so I created the music myself and even shot additional footage to fine-tune certain details. Even after the film was complete, the grant’s guidelines set strict screening deadlines. We negotiated with various theaters ourselves to make the screenings happen. Yellow Margarine was a project where we took on every challenge ourselves—whether we had experience with it or not. In the end, instead of focusing on making a film that was “easy to sell,” we focused entirely on making the film we truly wanted to create. I believe that commitment is what fueled HORISHIRO’s energy and made so much possible.
Japan has a rich and fruitful history with dry and absurdist comedy. Any idea what makes Japan so good at it?
I often think about that myself. I’m not sure whether Japan is truly better at absurdist comedy than other countries—but if it is, I would say there’s no single reason. Rather, it’s the result of many overlapping factors that have shaped a deep cultural affection for the absurd. One key element lies in a fundamental aspect of Japanese creative sensibility: the value placed on wa (和), or harmony. In Japan, wa (和) does not necessarily involve blending elements into something new; rather, it emphasizes arranging distinct components—as they are—in a way that achieves the most refined and balanced composition. A clear example of this is ukiyo-e woodblock prints. The colors are not blended on the canvas, but instead layered as distinct, flat tones. It’s a highly collaborative process—comprising the artist, the carver, and the printer—each contributing to a collective harmony rather than a singular vision. At some point, this concept of wa can lead to a kind of release—from the original concept, logic, or context. That’s where I think absurdity emerges.
Take, for instance, Sailor Moon. The protagonist is a Japanese high school girl wearing a sailor uniform—a style that, somehow, evolved from 19th-century British naval attire into a standard Japanese school uniform. She transforms into a magical warrior using a spell called “Moon Prism Power” and fights evil. The setting is chaotic, the motifs are inconsistent, and many cultural contexts have been lost. And yet, the show still manages to maintain a strange kind of balance. That, to me, is absurdity in a uniquely Japanese form. Another example is Napolitan spaghetti. It’s supposedly inspired by Italian cuisine from Naples, but instead of using tomatoes, it’s made with American ketchup. And now, it’s considered a nostalgic comfort food in Japan—something many associate with their mother’s cooking. That’s absurd, too, in its own way. In Japan, people rarely question the absurdity that arises from wa. Rather than interrogating it, there’s a strong tendency to accept it unconditionally—and even to find joy in that acceptance.
There’s a deep-rooted cultural instinct to enjoy something without needing it to make sense. Of course, there are other reasons as well. Japan’s island-nation insularity has led to a high-context culture where reading between the lines is essential—this breeds a unique kind of humor. Natural disasters have shaped an outlook on life, death, and nature that can be animistic and surreal, making people more comfortable with expressions that transcend realism. After WWII, manga and anime became sources of psychological healing, leading to an embrace of escapist storytelling. And then there’s the flexible, sometimes contradictory nature of religion in Japan: people might vow before God in a wedding chapel, celebrate Christmas in December, and then visit a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple on New Year’s Day. These imported and re-imported customs create a kind of loose, unserious religiosity that adds to the embrace of the absurd. So yes — there are many reasons. And I think that by engaging with those reasons objectively, I’ve grown to love the unique qualities of Japanese comedy all the more.
Your film ended up getting an international deal, while the larger part of Japanese films never cross the border. How did you manage that?
It was made possible thanks to the initiative of HORISHIRO’s producer, Taku Watanabe. He’s an incredibly active and friendly person—and perhaps the fact that he was raised in California has something to do with it. Taku was also a child actor who appeared in a well-known Japanese school drama, but over time, he came to feel a sense of insularity in Japan’s film and TV industry. One of the reasons we formed HORISHIRO in the first place was his desire to break through that closed-off atmosphere. He’s always questioned the fact that so many Japanese films are made only with domestic release in mind. The rest of us shared that perspective too. That’s why HORISHIRO has always been proactive about participating in international film festivals. We submitted our work to festivals in France and the U.S., won awards, and actively reached out to overseas contacts. As a result, we were able to secure international distribution.
There are quite a few cultural elements in there that are very unique to Japan. Did you try to keep a balance as to not alienate international viewers?
As you probably noticed when watching the film, it contains elements of dry and absurd comedy that are very unique to Japan. It also includes many cultural references specific to Japan. In recent years, with Netflix and other streaming platforms, it has become possible to watch dramas and films from various countries. I’ve had the chance to see works filled with cultural elements from other nations. Truly excellent works have universality and do not leave audiences behind, even across cultural boundaries. I myself enjoy American comedies and Hollywood films that resonate with a wide audience. However, sometimes I feel something is missing. The cultural gaps, unfamiliar customs, humor that makes you unsure whether to laugh, and unique perspectives on life and death — these are the expressions I look forward to in foreign films. I believe that as more works from various countries become easily accessible, more people around the world will share my perspective.
Japanese culture is highly high-context—this applies to humor, ways of thinking, and interpersonal communication. I deliberately incorporated as many of these elements as possible into Yellow Margarine. That said, it was important to maintain a balance. I researched trends in Japanese works that have gained popularity abroad and focused on motifs recognizable to international audiences: the “yakuza” profession and its unique culture; the social phenomenon of “hikikomori” and its strong ties to idol and anime “otaku” culture; elements of “tokusatsu” heroes and horror; and the neotenous characteristics of the Japanese people. When writing the script for Yellow Margarine, I chose these motifs as the foundation to keep that balance. Yet, during directing, I also deliberately disrupted this balance at times. For inspiration on how to do this, I looked to films like Pulp Fiction and Magnolia.
Films that aren’t always easy to watch excel at immersing the audience once they enter their world. In other words, I believe that films need elements that leave the audience a bit behind, inviting their imagination to fill in the gaps. I love works that push the audience away while simultaneously drawing them in. That subtle balance was something I consciously aimed for.
There are quite a few absurd elements in Yellow Margarine (like the weird plants, or the butterfly character). Where did you find inspiration for them?
I drew inspiration from many different sources. One of the first ideas that came to me was the image of an elderly man watering artificial flowers every day. That was inspired by the lyrics of Radiohead’s “Fake Plastic Trees.” Another starting point was a question I had: What kind of physical transformation might happen after a yakuza cuts off his finger? Would a new finger grow back? Or would something else entirely grow in its place? As these images started to build—along with the idea of a mysterious bread called Yellow Margarine that can only be found in this town—the story began to take shape and eventually became the screenplay. There’s also a famous story from the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi called “The Butterfly Dream.” In it, a man dreams he is a butterfly, and upon waking, he questions whether he might actually be a butterfly dreaming he is a man. I gave the butterfly in Yellow Margarine a similar role: to blur the boundaries between dream and reality.
I imagine there were also quite a few ideas that didn't make it into the film. How did you decide which ideas to keep in and which ones to scrap?
At every stage—writing the script, shooting, and editing—we had a lot of ideas. But the most important thing I focused on in Yellow Margarine wasn’t the progression of the story, but rather: what kind of people are these characters? What are their specific traits? For example, the divorced couple Saaya and Wakeno struggle to communicate honestly with their daughter, Jewel. Their personalities are quite similar, and they can only interact with her properly when they’re being silly—like joking about squid-based food. Even though they’re apart, they behave in parallel ways. So I made a conscious effort to keep ideas and motifs that helped express those personality traits. In an early version of the film, the opening scene was done in stop motion. I wanted to set the tone with a strong impression of the film’s DIY spirit. But I ultimately let go of that idea, because starting with stop-motion made it harder to establish the relationships between the characters. In that way, I made decisions based on whether something helped convey the characters and their emotional dynamics, always trying to keep a sense of balance.
I looked around and found film isn't your only artistic outlet. What else do you do, and who or what inspired you to become a director?
I’m a painter. As I mentioned in Question 1, in 2021, I was invited by actor Taku Watanabe to form HORISHIRO, a filmmaking team. The concept behind our team is “discovering a creator’s unconscious potential.” Up until then, I had never made a film. But I’ve always loved cinema—since I was a child—and I’ve also been drawn to music videos and commercials. I had a dream of making a film based on my own ideas, but I never actually thought about becoming a director. It wasn’t until 2021, when Taku said to me, “I want you to direct,” that I seriously considered it. I think Taku saw something in me—something I hadn’t yet recognized in myself. As it turns out, that “unconscious potential” happened to be directing.
Is it tough to direct and guide the actors in roles like these? Did you scout them specifically for it?
Some of the actors were cast through auditions, while others were people I had already envisioned for the roles while writing the script. As for directing and guiding the actors, I never found it difficult at all. There was no hesitation between the script I had written, the actors’ inherent qualities, and the direction needed to bring the final vision to life. The actors in Yellow Margarine are incredibly versatile. I trusted them completely, and I’m grateful that they also placed their trust in me.
How did you decide on the visual style for the fx, and who helped you bring them to life?
The VFX were created by HORISHIRO member Shinya Ishimatsu, who also served as the cinematographer. In fact, the entire film was shot using just his single camera. Thanks to his flexibility and resourcefulness, we were able to complete the filming, editing, and visual effects. As for the visual style of the VFX, Shinya and I exchanged ideas many times. I would show him reference scenes from other films or draw illustrations to communicate the look I wanted. When combining my art direction with his VFX work, I specifically asked him to keep the visuals feeling DIY and intentionally a little cheap. At HORISHIRO, we take pride in that “cheapness.” I think it works because Shinya and I share a similar sense of tokusatsu-style imagery and humor.
Is there any specific way you'd want the audience to remember Yellow Margarine? Did you have any goals when you made this film?
The main goal we had when making Yellow Margarine was simple: to complete the kind of film we genuinely wanted to watch. We have a strong aesthetic appreciation for things that are “weird.” And I believe Yellow Margarine is weird—in the best way. To me, “weirdness” is a kind of groove that’s deeply rooted in Japanese culture. Personally, I love strange Japanese films that feel a bit incomprehensible, yet full of DIY spirit. So I’d be happy if Yellow Margarine is remembered as one of those—just like Nobuhiko Obayashi’s House.
Do you have anything new in the pipeline? Would you love to continue making films like these, or would you prefer to broaden your horizon?
We have a few projects currently in the planning stage. Since 2021, we’ve made a monologue film called In Rainbows, followed by a short film in 2022 titled Blatant Lie, which sampled the work of Yasujirō Ozu. In 2023, we completed our first feature-length film, Yellow Margarine. Moving forward, we’d like to broaden our scope beyond just filmmaking. We’re eager to explore other formats—like music videos, commercials, and even TV dramas—as new ways to express ourselves.
If someone gave you a blank cheque, no questions asked, full creative control. What kind of film would you love to make?
The answer is, of course, a horror film. If I had complete creative freedom—unlimited budget, equipment, and time—I’m confident I could create an amazing horror movie.
Directors are also given the chance to ask questions they've been dying to see answered, which I will then try to answer to the best of my ability. Since there's so much one-way communication happening between creators and their audiences, I figured it might be interesting to see what would happen if the tables were turned.
Akaike Ryoto: It seems like you have a genuine interest in Japanese cinema. What sparked that interest?
Niels Matthijs: Practically speaking, the first real seed was planted when I took a subscription on Super Play, a UK gaming magazine with a crossover interest in Japanese culture. It handled games that weren't released in Europe (mostly JRPGs), but also quite a bit of anime and even celebrities like Takeshi Kitano. From there, I started developing an interest in anime (Ghost in the Shell was an absolute favorite, films like Akira, Patlabor, and Wings of Honneamise quickly followed). Another milestone was a bootleg VHS I got that had both Eraserhead and Tetsuo: The Iron Man on it. That was the moment I knew I needed to explore Japanese cinema, with films like Hana-bi and Avalon being obvious starting points. And the rest is history.
Why Japan specifically? It's hard to come up with a definite answer, but one thing I like about the Japanese mindset is that it can dedicate itself to doing one thing exceptionally well. I think that's why Japan excels in both minimalist and maximalist styles. Generally speaking, in the West, we tend to prefer somewhat more balanced experiences (as in, things that appeal to a broader audience and don't ruffle too many feathers). An industry like Bollywood takes it even one step further, with each film cramming in every single genre possible. Personally, I love that kind of laser focus. Then there's the sense of aesthetic and the more introverted personality traits, and various other smaller things that add to the appeal.
I’ve noticed that you’ve spoken highly of several Japanese films that I also love. Do people around you share your taste and interest?
I wish I had a more positive answer to share here, but it's pretty barren out here when it comes to people taking an interest in Japanese cinema. I notice that younger people are familiar with anime (though mostly the popular series, like One Piece or Demon Slayer), and you'll have your arthouse fans, who know Koreeda, K. Kurosawa, and Hamaguchi, but very little beyond that. Whenever I tell someone I'm into Japanese cinema, there's a big chance I will be hit with an "Oh, I liked Old Boy", so that's pretty much the level of interest here.
There are some international/online communities that focus on Japanese cinema, but with social platforms pivoting from fostering conversation and discussion to one-way broadcasting of opinions, they seem to be dying out too. Your best bet is going to film festivals that focus on genre cinema, or the odd film festival that singles out Japanese films. Other than that, it can get pretty lonely.
We’re hoping to bring more international attention to Yellow Margarine. Do you have any ideas or advice for us?
Genre film festivals are my best bet (like Fantasia, BIFFF, Fantasporto, ..). I myself am often puzzled about which "weirder" films manage to break through internationally. In the end, it's about getting your film to the point of critical mass. To get there, it's probably part luck, part dedication, and part advertising the right film at the right place at the right time. If you'd made Yellow Margarine 20-25 years earlier (when Asian cinema was hot and the most random projects got picked up for international distribution), I'm certain it would've been a lot easier to find recognition for your film. Right now, broader interest in Asian cinema and "weird films" in general appears relatively low.