Das Gespräch wurde auf Englisch geführt.
Barbara Wurm: Welcome, Yusuke to the Berlinale Forum. It’s a great pleasure to have your debut film ANYMART in our selection this year. I think that this is a film that the younger generation of viewers will especially connect to. Charlotte is the youngest member of our team, that’s also why she has been brought in for the interview. Yusuke, could you tell us a little bit about your background and the way that it affected your film? What did you do and where did you work before making ANYMART?
Yusuke Iwasaki: Thank you. I think in order to understand my work before making ANYMART, you really have to take a look at my Instagram (Instagram @iwsk_, ed.). A lot of my portfolio up to now is there. I’ve mainly worked as a director for TV advertisements so far. Rather than talent-focussed projects, or having talent come in, my ads are more often narrative driven pieces. I suppose I prefer smaller scale projects with a solid concept over big, major-feeling ones. But nonetheless, I still take on projects with international appeal for companies like Uniqlo or Beats. In Japan, I’ve actually won quite a few major national advertising awards, so I’m quite a big player in that industry, but I want my style to remain independent.
Charlotte Hafner: Your background as an artist is very diverse, because you’ve worked in advertisement and also in theatre, and you’ve also made short films and music videos. What was it like for you to then go on and make a feature film? And what inspired you to want to make a film in the first place?
YI: What initially triggered my desire to make a feature film were the two members of the production company Nothing Now, Yuuri Shimojo and Kentaro Hayashi, approaching me and saying ‘Let’s do this together.’ Kentaro and I have been close since university days, so initially I just wanted to support this guy’s hard work, you know? (laughs) Feature films are incredible in terms of production, the set, and shooting. I was fine because I was working with my usual crew with whom I already have a good rapport. Beyond making advertisements, I also have a background in theatre, so I’m particularly known for composing text and dialogue. But still, the scriptwriting was incredibly tough, because I’d never written a script for a feature-length film before. I tried really hard to avoid making a film that I wouldn’t like to watch myself. Because I really dislike works that feel like they have something they want to say very directly, I tried to avoid doing that while still ensuring the story’s message comes across properly. Finding a good balance was difficult, but enjoyable.
BW: When I promote ANYMART, I always tell people that you also have a personal connection to supermarkets and convenience stores. That seems important to me in the context of the film. Can you tell us more about that?
YI: I’ve never actually worked in a convenience store myself, but my family used to run a liquor store, so I grew up in the environment of a store. Back then, it was like a neighbourhood shop, with lots of interactions with customers. My father had a very human touch. But eventually, he had to change the liquor store to a convenience store, and from then on, the interactions with the customers gradually decreased. My father isn’t exactly the most outgoing person himself, but even so, I felt that the loss of connection with his customers slightly altered his character. So the whole theme of things gradually shifting for the worse – that’s a big theme for me personally, this sense of impermanence. And the convenience store to me is really emblematic of that feeling.
That’s a big theme for me personally, this sense of impermanence. And the convenience store to me is really emblematic of that feeling.
BW: You’ve also worked with big stars of contemporary Japanese cinema, such as Shōta Sometani and Erika Karata. What was it like working with them?
YI: Both of them live near me, we’re from the same generation and we’ve also been friends for a while, so it’s pretty easy to work with them. But as a director, I’m the type who has quite specific ideas about the performances that I want. So, I usually have thorough discussions with the actors beforehand about what I expect from them in a scene. After having these talks, I hardly needed to direct these two at all. It was one surprise after another, there were hardly any takes where either of them messed up. Both of them far surpassed my expectations.
CH: It’s great that you’re talking about performances, because I think the performances make up so much of what makes the tone of ANYMART special. You’re really mixing genres in this film – there’s some dark comedy and then you also have these very brutal and violent horror elements, and then there’s also a lot of drama. So I was wondering how you approached the film’s genre elements, and if you set out to make a horror film or if that sort of happened organically?
YI: Well, initially, I intended to go full-on horror. But then, rather than just sticking to horror as a genre, we aimed to depict human emotions, inner worlds, and also the eeriness of the convenience store setting. As we started to focus on that, the black comedy elements started to emerge in the script, resulting in something that was more of a mixture than we originally intended. That really gave the film an originality, so I felt it was fine to leave it as it was.
BW: Let’s talk about the combination of the script and plot. It’s very interesting how there is this emotional balance, not only for the protagonist, but also for the audience, it’s constantly funny and weird at the same time, and there’s also a lot of suspense and tragedy. And there is also the aspect of social critique. How did you achieve this balance?
YI: When I create advertisements, I don’t just want to make a video to sell things. I believe it’s nonsensical to take up people’s time for something like that. It must be something that offers a critical perspective on society beyond its mere function as an advertisement, precisely because it’s supposed to be functional and empty, designed to encourage consumption. Due to this, creating things and having a critical perspective became inseparable within me, also because it overlaps. I think that’s why a socially critical message very naturally emerged in ANYMART’s script too. I feel like, for example, jump scares in horror films are just a fleeting, scary experience, and that somehow gives me a feeling of loneliness. I wanted to create something that leaves a lasting impression, something that makes people still feel uneasy and scared even after leaving the cinema. So that’s why I strengthened the social criticism in the film.
CH: ANYMART addresses a lot of issues that are relevant within contemporary Japanese society, such as the conflict between old and young, and younger generations being stuck in these dead-end jobs and feeling like there’s no future. There’s a lot of pent-up frustration with society. How did you convey them through your characters?
YI: Yes, I addressed these issues mostly through Sakai, the protagonist. He’s in many ways a symbol of modern society. In the way that he communicates with people he is neither hostile nor friendly. It’s just communication where information is exchanged and that’s how he gets through each day. The dating app scenes are especially important in regards to that. Just like the convenience store constantly changes its range of products, the characters, too, fill their fleeting loneliness by going on these dates, by consuming people like this, meeting them to distract themselves from their loneliness without building deeper relationships. That type of consumption feels incredibly modern. The owner is another extreme, but I think Sakai is really the character who symbolises our current times.
Just like the convenience store constantly changes its range of products, the characters, too, fill their fleeting loneliness by going on these dates, by consuming people like this, meeting them to distract themselves from their loneliness without building deeper relationships.
CH: The horror genre is often used as a vehicle to comment on contemporary society. Now that we know that you’re interested in thinking critically about society and consumption, is it logical to assume that this is also what attracted you to work within this genre?
YI: When making a horror film, I suppose it often comes down to what truly frightens me, as a person. I already explored this in my previous short film VOID (2024), which was screened at Rotterdam last year. I wanted to focus on the themes of loss, specifically the absence of any feeling whatsoever when you lose something that’s important to you. That sense of loss, devoid of any emotion, is a recurring theme for me, I think. I felt that convenience stores matched that feeling perfectly. So, by focussing on this emotion, or lack thereof, it ended up becoming a horror film. It wasn’t really so much about making horror, but rather, about portraying reality, and so it evolved into horror. I’m not particularly fixated on genre and wouldn’t call myself a genre filmmaker, but for sales purposes, we’ve decided to call the film a horror film. (laughs)
BW: Speaking of genre, the film is also a ghost story, and the ghost is very important. People keep disappearing and there seems to be a fine line between life and death. That’s also kind of the premise of the convenience store: You encounter so many people that are alive, but in reality they seem to be dead. Can you talk a bit more about the theme of ghosts and hauntings within the film? Because in our Forum programme this year, we also have another big ghost film from Indonesia, GHOST IN THE CELL by Joko Anwar. And it’s really brilliant how the two films communicate.
YI: Right, right, right. Well, the ghost symbolises the boundary between the living and the dead, of course. ‘Sakai’ in Japanese actually means ‘boundary’, symbolising that. Originally, the story of the film involved biblical themes, and the dead and the living becoming intermingled. But then I felt that the film risked becoming too confined within the boundaries of genre cinema, making the message difficult to convey. So, while retaining the setting, I shifted the focus towards society and human nature as I further developed the script. But the aspect of living people who seem like they’re actually dead inside remained from the original script. Also the idea that even after becoming a ghost, the workers still care about the store and can’t leave – that’s something I wanted to express, so I incorporated that.
CH: There is this real lack of solidarity and empathy between the characters, which leads to acts of violence and cruelty. And there is a strong sense of loneliness that permeates most interactions. The focus on order and following rules which is so strong within the environment of the convenience store also makes everyone very isolated because they don’t really get to express themselves freely. Focussing so strongly on this loneliness is a very deliberate choice on your part, it seems.
YI: Absolutely deliberate. The reason I thought the convenience store would be a great and creepy setting for the film was the sheer amount of interactions that happen. And all the workers smile and look friendly at first glance, they use the proper language. They exchange lots of words with the customers, but there is absolutely no connection between the workers and customers. That huge gap is creepy to me. Japan has this thing about pretence versus true feelings, and it’s not that people don’t talk because they’re not close or they don’t connect to each other emotionally. They talk a lot despite not connecting at all, and that’s what I think is creepy. The empty conversations that happen a lot in the film are one of the key aspects, and one that I really like.
CH: I really want to talk about Ogawa. She’s a great and complex character who really disrupts the sense of order that we have in the film before she enters the store. As she starts working in the convenience store, she brings with her this new mindset and she questions a lot of the practices that had been established but that are really abusive or strange. I was wondering if there’s a reason why you chose a young woman as the character that disrupts the system and also if you could talk about conceiving a character like Ogawa.
YI: Ogawa is an incredibly complex character. The premise is that the convenience store represents a microcosm of Japanese society. So, naturally, there are all sorts of people there. That means, if you’re a person who comes in to work at the store and you’re really motivated or have your own ideas, you get crushed by the rules and the system. I see that happening all the time around me in Japanese society. And honestly, it makes me feel really frustrated when that happens to close friends. In terms of the significance of a woman taking on that role, well, talking to various people – particularly the producers Hayashi and Shimojo, and especially the female producer Yuuri Shimojo – we shared the sense that the role of the disruptor in this film should really be played by an actress.
BW: For me, the most tragic character is most certainly the father, or the shop owner, because he represents the oppressive system, but at the same time, he’s also totally a victim of it. And what a great performance by the actor! What was your thought process while writing him, conceptualising him?
YI: The Owner is modelled after my own father. If you stripped away all the affection and humanity from him, that’s what you’d get. I really wanted to write a character who represents the system. He’s deliberately rendered inorganic, perpetually unknowable. He never emerges from the backroom until the end – essentially functioning as the heart or brain of the store. I wanted to express how he is fused with the convenience store itself, but he still has human elements, and precisely because he has these human elements, he ultimately goes mad and takes the seemingly contradictory action of destroying order to protect it. The reason why I left that human touch there was as a warning to my own father: If you carry on like this, you’ll end up like that. I deliberately left this personal message from me to my father in the film. The Owner is also the person closest to Sakai and at the same time, he is Sakai’s greatest enemy.
CH: I want to discuss the role that suicide plays in the film, and the role that violence as a whole plays. During Sakai’s dates, a lot of his conversations are centred around really dark topics such as death, suicide, dying. So, during that part of his life he is confronted with darkness. In his working life he also faces a lot of violence, and during the film’s climax, there’s a real explosion of violence. Sometimes it’s really shocking to watch, but at other times in the film, it also made me laugh because of the absurdity of the violence. Can you talk more about your staging of violence in the film?
YI: Somehow, I have this underlying sense that death can be a fundamentally ridiculous thing. So, there’s no need to portray death dramatically in the film’s world. That approach makes the theme easier to convey. Beyond that, I’m not particularly fond of defining how things should be seen. I don’t want to artificially dictate to the audience: ‘This is a scary scene, so please be scared.’ Even within a single scene, I think it’s possible to laugh, feel scared, then laugh again. That all probably also depends on the viewer’s state of mind or how much they can empathise with the characters. And I think that’s what makes it interesting, that the interpretation of a scene can change, depending on the individual.
BW: Let’s talk about Kishimoto, the quiche shop owner. What’s the function of his shop in the system? I feel like it’s not only about work and obeying rules and capitalism, but also about the fundament of capitalism which is consumerism. And that there always has to be a new thing, a new version of food, all the time. Are consumerism and capitalism really the focus here, or is there also the aspect that there’s someone here who really believes in what he does? There are several instances of characters in your film who are passionate about their work, and who are somehow crushed by the system. What was the intention behind including those kinds of people.
YI: The quiche shop: Rather than satirising convenience stores, it’s a critical portrayal. Things that never resonate with people, that have no individuality, like convenience stores, endure forever – even Sakai survives. Yet those who have something that they genuinely love, like Ogawa or the quiche shop owner, and are willing to stake their lives on it, they are the ones who eventually get crushed by the system. That’s often the reality of life. For example, you might love clothes, but it’s always boring, mass-market clothing stores that survive, while the tiny vintage shop that you adore, run by someone genuinely passionate about clothes, is suddenly forced to close down. That’s profoundly sad. Ultimately, that shows how easily people can get crushed – you might experience a momentary boom, but that can fade in an instant, and then you vanish. I want to criticise consumers too, and the fact that people who try hard and put themselves out there fail, while convenience stores will survive forever in Japan – it’s just sad.
Those who have something that they genuinely love, like Ogawa or the quiche shop owner, and are willing to stake their lives on it, they are the ones who eventually get crushed by the system.
CH: Your film has a very bleak ending. There is a kind of cycle that characters get stuck in and that they can’t get out of. I was wondering if you see any hope for the younger generation in Japan? Is there something good in the future, or are you of the mindset that the future is very hopeless and that there is no escaping this downwards slope of capitalism, consumerism, everything?
YI: Difficult question! (laughs) Well, it’s tricky, isn’t it? Take me, for example. I’m in the advertising industry. I create advertisements, get paid, have fun, enjoy my days with my colleagues and generally don’t have many worries, but then the question of what the point of it all is really hits me hard sometimes. I mean, I’m putting a lot of effort into the advertising industry, but for what? But it’s kind of like the AnyMart – if you stay inside too long, it’s practically the same as being dead. But there are people striving to live outside the system, doing things I often can’t do. Like the people at Nothing Now. And those people at Nothing Now dragged me outside and said ‘Let’s keep pushing, let’s keep trying!’ They gave me the chance to challenge myself by saying ‘Let’s try something I’ve never done before.’ Now I’ve stepped outside AnyMart and I’m working at another convenience store, so to speak. That’s also how I met everyone at Berlinale. Well, if you have people around you who’ll give you the chance to challenge yourself in this world, to go into the unknown... I reckon people can regain their vitality. That’s what I thought when I was done writing ANYMART. I felt just like Sakai. I thought, ‘I’m a man standing right in the middle of nothingness.’ But then I finished the film, and now I don’t think I’m like Sakai anymore!
BW: That’s fantatsic! One last question, hopefully not so difficult. Now you’re in the industry, just like Sakai, who is also in the convenience store business after his father told him that he’ll leave it to him. So what’s next for you? What would ANYMART 2 look like?
YI: What I wanted to depict with the ‘any’ in the title was that feeling of it never ending, never changing. Even though this 88-minute event happened, society remained unchanged. I wanted to express that sense of impermanence. The world goes from AnyMart to a convenience store called Every, where they work until the end, but they become free from AnyMart. So, maybe the next film is going to be ‘EveryMart’. (laughs)
BW: Thank you very much Yusuke! We’re looking forward to seeing you soon in Berlin.
