The film follows a young Japanese artist grappling with gender identity, social rejection, and self-discovery as he seeks a living on stage with the support of an unconventional doctor.
I went into "This Is I" expecting a fairly traditional biographical drama, and in many ways, that expectation was met. What I didn't anticipate was how frequently the film would oscillate between quiet, intimate storytelling and moments that seem almost determined to underline their own importance. The result is an emotionally sincere, often captivating, sometimes frustrating, and ultimately worthwhile film, even when it doesn't fully trust its audience.
Director: Yusaku Matsumoto
Writer: Masahiro Yamaura
Stars: Haruki Mochizuki, Tae Kimura, Seiji Chihara
The story follows Kenji, a young man who feels profoundly out of place in his body, his social environment, and the rigid expectations placed upon him. From school hallways filled with casual cruelty to familiar spaces laden with silence and confusion, the first part of the film thrives on discomfort. These scenes work well because they avoid melodrama. The bullying isn't stylized or exaggerated; It is mundane, repetitive, and exhausting, as true cruelty often is. I appreciated how the film allows these experiences to accumulate slowly rather than rushing toward a dramatic climax.
The lead performance is one of the film's strengths. The actor who plays Kenji, and later Ai, approaches the role with restraint and emotional intelligence. Instead of succumbing to constant anguish or theatrical posturing, the performance is characterized by hesitation, restrained hope, and a growing sense of hard-won confidence. Small gestures, such as the way the character's posture shifts over time or the more freely hesitant eye contact, communicate change more effectively than dialogue. It is a performance that understands identity as something lived daily, not something declared in a single moment.
Equally important is the character of Dr. Wada, whose relationship with Kenji forms the emotional backbone of the film. He's not portrayed as a flawless savior or a detached professional, but as someone shaped by his own doubts, limitations, and ethical conflicts. His conversations, especially at the beginning, are carefully written to reflect the uncertainty on both sides. These scenes feel realistic and human, and avoid turning medical care into a miracle cure or a cold, institutional process. The film is at its best when it lingers on this point, allowing trust to develop slowly and imperfectly.
Where This Is I begins to falter is in its insistence on ensuring the viewer understands the significance of what they're seeing. At several points, the script shifts from showing the lived experience to explaining it. Key emotional moments are sometimes accompanied by dialogue that explains the message instead of letting the situation speak for itself. I never doubted the sincerity of these choices, but I did find them somewhat undermining. The film already does enough to generate empathy; it doesn't always need to insist on it so explicitly.
The pacing is mostly steady, but not always assured. The first half unfolds patiently, giving space to Kenji's internal struggles and his social environment. Once the story enters the world of cabaret, the energy shifts noticeably. These sequences are vibrant and captivating, full of color, movement, and a sense of liberation. They also introduce a welcome sense of joy that contrasts sharply with earlier scenes. However, the transition between these two emotional modes can feel abrupt. At times, the film seems unsure whether it wants to be a subtle character study or a celebratory, performance-driven narrative, and this hesitation shows.
Visually, the film is competent and occasionally striking, though rarely daring. The cinematography favors clean, understated framing, which suits the realistic tone but can also feel somewhat safe. Some of the most effective shots are the simplest: Kenji alone in public spaces, framed slightly off-center, or Ai preparing backstage, caught between anticipation and fear. The performance scenes, on the other hand, are more stylized and energetic, using light and music to convey belonging and affirmation. I felt that the editing sometimes weakens these moments by cutting too quickly or relying too heavily on the music tracks instead of letting the silence do the work.
The supporting cast adds texture to the story, particularly the family members and fellow artists. None of them feel like supporting characters, even when their screen time is limited.
That said, some narrative threads feel underdeveloped. Certain conflicts, especially those involving institutional resistance and public scrutiny, are introduced and resolved with too much precision. Given the care the film takes with personal struggles, these quick resolutions feel inconsistent. I wanted more messiness, more ambiguity, and a greater acknowledgment that acceptance is often partial and uneven, rather than complete.
By the end, I felt emotionally invested, but also aware of its limitations. This Is I is clearly made with care, respect, and a genuine desire to tell an important story. Its strengths lie in its performances, its quieter scenes, and its refusal to sensationalize transition or identity. Its weaknesses stem from moments when it over-explains or glosses over complexities that deserve more space.
Ultimately, it’s a film I’m glad I saw, even if it didn’t quite reach its full potential. It offers a compassionate and approachable perspective on conversations about identity and self-expression, and it does so with more nuance than many similar films. While it sometimes leans too heavily on its message and occasionally struggles to find tonal balance, the human core of the story remains strong. This film may not be perfect, but it is thoughtful, sincere, and moving, and that counts for a lot.
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