At the opening moment of Sakamoto’s “White Flowers and Fruits,” which premieres at San Sebastian’s new directorial competition, the girl climbs the school tower, clutching white fabric. When she arrived at the boarding school for Protestant girls as a quiet transfer student, we cut to Anna, played by Newcomer Milo. Her mother warns her, “This school is your last chance.”
Inside the painting from the final dinner is hanging in a strict room with dark wooden chairs and a table dressed in cotton. It’s a place to run on autonomy and discipline. Formal order frames the story of three students whose lives are defeated by a sudden act of loss.
Anna retreats and leaves by her ability to see ghosts. Her roommate, Rika (Nicato), is her opposite. It is praised, elegant and looks perfect. During the rehearsal of the ribbon dance, the light flickers and “Sorry,” Anna whispers to the wall, acknowledging her classmates’ unperceived presence. A year has passed, Anna is lonely and Rika is even more popular, but she wants to help her roommate. “Would you like to be me?” she offers.
You can see Rika climbing the tower again. By the morning she had jumped and tied the ribbon to the railing. It is here that the film’s title, “White Flowers and Fruits” was revealed. Her death echoes through the school. Classmates lie together on the floor of a dance hall. A Christian funeral will be held. Anna discovers Rika’s diary. Here, trivial notes turn into popular pieces of pressure.
From here, the story bends towards the spectrum. Reading the river, Anna sees the sparkling orbs floating in her palm before entering her body. She changes, smiles, suddenly fluent in dance, but sometimes her movements jerk as if directed by another will. Shiori Rika’s closest friend, played by Anji Ikehata, grows up close to Anna while tackling her grief.
Sakamoto assembles these illusions into Japanese tradition. Here, spirits are welcomed to the home to remind us of continuity during the summer festival. The ghost suggests that they are there to connect, not to feel fear. Dance, especially Butteau, becomes another language for what the language cannot convey.
“White Flower and Fruits” is produced by Oscar winner Yamamoto’s Chiaroscuro Inc (Drive My Car, Gannibal). Bitters will be responsible for international sales. The young actors are Kawa Aoba, Ryo Iwase, Yamamura Takagi, Ito Fumi, Yoshiwaramon, and Kawagishi Mugi. The release in Japan is set for December 26, 2025, and global rights are available outside the territory.
Variety spoke with Sakamoto before the world premiere.
The age at which suicide occurs is extremely important for Anna and Shiori. Do you think this is just as a story of growth as handling grief?
Yes, I think we could have seen this film as a growth story. We were just as old as the characters, and we were very stubborn.
Anna was able to see Anna as a character, always talking openly about her mind, and sometimes to the point where she felt selfish. However, by meeting and accepting Rika’s spirit and growing closer to Shiori, she gradually learns to listen more carefully to others, and begins to discover what she can.
Meanwhile, seeing how Anna is loyal to herself, Shiori begins to listen to her heart and take the first step towards the life she wants. Yes, it can be said that it’s about two teenagers having an impact on each other and growing together.
You said you wanted young people who felt pressured to watch this film. How would you hope that a wider audience of Japanese, broader Asians and Europeans will respond to its religious, institutional and supernatural elements?
For me, the only way to build a real relationship is to connect people one-on-one. It should not be “me against the crowd” or “me with me,” but simply between “me and You.”
Also, at those moments, the “self” should not be wiped out by an existing set of thoughts and passing trends. Instead, it is best to face, think and judge everything yourself, just as Anna did when she was faced with Rika’s unknown, supernatural spirit.
This concept is not one-on-one connection, we cannot understand and understand each other’s minds – we believe that it is very universal, regardless of the country, religion, or the type of society we live in. Rika.
Folklore often presents the spirit as something unsettling and familiar. How did you draw from those traditions while attracting the story with a very modern issue of teenage suicide?
In Japan, when summer comes, we welcome the spirit of our deceased ancestors into our homes and spend time together in the present world. For us, their spirit and their visits do not bring about fearful feelings, and these also remind us of how the two worlds are connected to each other.
Growing up in that environment, I see spirit as something very close and ongoing from our world. When people die, that’s not the end of it. They are still involved in our reality in some form and form. That’s why we, who we still live here, believe we have no right to interpret the lives of the deceased for our own convenience, nor to undermine their dignity.
But I often saw news reports of teenage suicides interpreting cases in gossip-like ways. I think what is forgotten in such cases is the dignity of the deceased.
You studied philosophy at Sofia University and later trained in editing in Tokyo. How did these two areas shape your approach to the film’s narrative, structure and rhythm?
The main concept I learned at Sofia University is that “philosophy” is about continuous self-criticism and lifelong questions. So I think this idea somehow shaped the way I create stories. It reminded me not to fall into traps due to quick answers, simple solutions and short-term conclusions.
The main concept I learned later at Tokyo University of the Arts was that “editing” is basically an act of patientness. We have to wait for the right moment when the footage speaks to us.
The only certainty about filmmaking is that nothing is certain. It rarely goes as planned, and there are lots of unexpected things. And I made me worry about where the film was heading, but I made sure not to force it too much just because it wasn’t what I imagined in the first place.
During the editing of this film, I always keep in mind that it is necessary to shape and guide clay-like footage. This creates the most natural breathable atmosphere. And that’s how I created the rhythm of the film. Looking back, I feel that editing and philosophy share very similar processes and influence.
We often return to dancing in this story. Everything without music. Why did the thread of this movement in the story come back?
In this film, Butohis is a concept that comes to mind when you try to portray that words and dialogue alone are not enough. I personally liked the legendary Japanese Butteau artist Kazuo Obayashi and was impressed by how he connected his presence and mind very closely with Butteau itself.
The fact that one person stands in one place makes everything special and irreplaceable just by what they are. We’re not talking about doing it, whether it’s good or bad, to be part of something else. This is a “butoh” process that occurs only for being yourself. That’s why I tried to build the sequence and progression of the film. This is heading towards an ending where Anna, along with Rika, can present such a move.
It seems that the adults in the film can’t really communicate with the girls. Was this generational gap something you wanted to get attention? Yes, that was what I intended. Once I grew up, what I sometimes noticed is the many adults who stand in front of my child as a parent or teacher. In fact, they don’t always know what they actually do as “adults.” So I thought it would be better to show reality as it is rather than hiding it. Sometimes adults and children can’t simply “connect” and in that moment they invite people to invite us to do what we can.
However, I later realized that this phenomenon might be particularly evident in Japanese society. It seems that there is a strong unwillingness towards adults who try to live as individuals, not as adults, but as individuals, and children who try to live as independent humans. For example, teachers who stop by convenience stores can cause complaints in society, parents are expected to hide family problems from their children, and children who express their opinions too freely are often criticized.
I feel like this unspoken undercurrent exists within me, and perhaps even among the cast.
Is there anything I would like to add something I haven’t asked about?
There were things we didn’t intend to highlight when we first started filming, but it has come to fruition throughout the process. In this story, I would be happy if I paid attention to the simple gesture of the character staring at something.
When we look at the same thing together, even a small amount of it feels like there is some connection in the moment. Whether it was a random glance at the sky or whether it would be possible to see someone walking around the park. They are moments when we unconsciously and quietly “share” the same view of the world.
Of course, what you feel when you see something can of course be completely different. That’s totally fine. But for me, the moment when people see the same thing is the only time we can be together, even if we hold completely different values.
