Cinema of herself: How Itō Shiori made ‘Black Box Diaries’

A work of artistic fortitude, Black Box Diaries turns the lens on its filmmaker and subject, Japanese journalist Itō Shiori, as she documents the harrowing investigation into her own sexual assault. Now in U.S. release, the film charts both Itō's personal emotional journey, as well as the mountain of legal and social pressures she was forced to face, in the process of seeking justice against a man who had the Japanese prime minister's ear.

Across its 103 minutes, the movie eventually takes on a more traditionally documentarian form, pulling from widespread news clips in the wake of Itō's published memoir, Black Box, while also taking shape as thrilling guerilla journalism, conducted by Itō herself. However, it first begins in a liminal space between legal documentation (akin to diary writing) and delicate, introspective artistry.

As cinematic self-portraits go, it's as intimate as they come, and in the process, becomes both personally and culturally challenging. I sat down with Itō on her recent visit to New York, where she once studied photography, a background that informs the documentary's telling.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

Siddhant Adlakha: In the process of documenting the case and recording your own footage, at what point did this become a movie?
Itō Shiori: Well, the first two years, it was purely documenting, recording for my own protection and trying to find out the clues. And when I realized that the case didn't go anywhere, and there was a possible cover up, I decided to go public to ask to reopen the case. And as you see in the film, in the beginning there were many journalists who came to see what I had to say, but they couldn't really cover the story. It was still taboo to deal with sexual violence.

When I realized that it's still hard for the Japanese, I started thinking, “Maybe I could do something about it.” I'm the only one who could maybe cover my story, so I started doing that. First I was writing a book, so it was more focused on a journalistic point of view, and writing about the process of investigation. And I published that after I went public, hoping also to add pressure to change the law. But then I realized I left myself behind as a survivor at some point as well. That was one of the reasons why I wanted to make sure that I would tell my story.

SA: A film is obviously more collaborative than a memoir. In bringing on your producers and editors, what was it like having to share this with other people, to help tell a story that is so intimately yours?
IS: To start with, we had no budget. But that worked best, because I could find people who really wanted to tell the story. [My friend Hanna Aqvilin], who did most of the filming in the beginning, and became a producer, she had a similar background as a journalist. When I tried to escape from Japan, she was actually the one who helped me to get away to London. When Hanna wasn't around, my other friends came in to keep filming what was happening around me. I never felt like we had a camera crew. We never had a sound person. So yeah, it was always an intimate, small group. And my amazing editor [Ema Ryan Yamazaki], she also understood that I needed some time. Sometimes I couldn't watch the footage anymore, and she was really understanding of that. So even though it took four years, she respected my space. All of this amazing teamwork really made the film. When I'm working as a journalist, I'm mostly working solo, but when you make a film, it's a village. It's like a family.

SA: Did your background studying photography help inform the process?
IS: If I didn't have the mindset of a journalist, I don't think I could have questioned the same way. Also, having this mindset made it possible to have some distance from the perspective of a survivor. It was too much. So I think in a way it really helped me. If I think I'm covering a case, I can question. I didn't know what would be the best possible way to tell this story from my point of view, and what is fair. So I had to embrace that this is a film, this is a documentary, and it's okay to tell even a one-sided story.

SA: We often think about film as something where creators have to connect with the material and really empathize with it. But for you, the process became kind of stepping back from yourself to view it objectively. That must've been a weird experience.
IS: It was. And sometimes I realized I'd forgotten so many things thanks to trauma. So it was just revisiting, remembering, and then figuring out how to weave all the emotion into it. Because I also wanted to tell the story from the point of view of a survivor. That was a really, really hard thing to do. Sometimes I felt like "this is too much," but then I always had to think: If I'm making a film about someone else, what would I do?

SA: Because you're speaking to Hanna, who's behind the camera, a lot of the film is in English. But was there any point where you thought this will help the story go wider, and travel to English-speaking audiences as well?
IS: I was speaking English, but [reaching an English-speaking audience] was never the intention. But language is really interesting because during some of the video diaries, I did realize that I was speaking English, and I started asking why. What was my mindset?

"When the assault was happening, I was even saying, 'Yamete kudasai.' Please, please stop. Who would stop? And then I had to switch my mindset and say, 'F*ck off.'"

As Japanese women growing up in Japan, we were always taught to use a polite way of speaking towards older people, or men. And we also have this "women" way of speaking. When the assault was happening, I was even saying, "Yamete kudasai." Please, please stop. Who would stop? And then I had to switch my mindset and say, "F*ck off." And I realized that I have so many restrictions within my own language, and I couldn't—especially talking about emotion, talking about anger—be direct. I couldn't think of any words to say that. So I guess it was, for me, easier to express in English, even though that's not my mother tongue. I could say it. I could say what I feel without thinking about the person in front of me.