From left, Sumire (Natsuki Deguchi) and Kiyo (Nana Mori) in “The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House.”
Netflix
Words by Guillermo De Querol
For the past 30 years, Hirokazu Kore-eda has cemented himself as a sublime storyteller and keen social observer who never fails to stir up deeper truths about the human condition, intergenerational conflict, and societal norms in his heart-tugging, slice-of-life dramas. If not to just wax poetic on his impressive position as a mainstay on the international festival circuit, one has to admire the sheer number of projects the 60-year-old Japanese director continues to churn out every year while somehow remaining insusceptible to the law of diminishing returns. The promise of his first television series is obviously intriguing on paper; Kore-eda is not only back on his own home turf after dipping his toes overseas with last year’s Broker, but also pivoting to a medium he had only previously explored the outskirts of as an unproven assistant director during the early ’90s.
On many fronts, The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House—which premiered last month on Netflix—fulfills that promise, sketching recurring Kore-eda hallmarks of makeshift families, friendship, and belonging with the same coziness, compassion, and dry wit he’s accustomed us to in the silver screen. Adapted from Aiko Koyama’s best-selling manga, this nine-parter series provides a delightful snapshot of Japanese culture filtered through the lens of 16-year-old Kiyo (Nana Mori), who moves to Kyoto with her lifelong friend Sumire (Natsuki Deguchi) to chase her dreams of becoming maiko (a regional term for apprentice geisha, i.e. traditional Japanese entertainers who have not completed their training yet).
Though the series does not shy away from conveying the many hardships and heavy toll of working in such a rigid and demanding environment, providing heavy-handed platitudes or vacuous virtue-signaling has never been one of Kore-eda’s artistic preoccupations. If nothing else, The Makanai sets out to clear up inaccurate Western perceptions with regards to geisha culture that have been wrongly reinforced time and again throughout the decades by Hollywood. Memoirs of a Geisha, a 1997 English novel that was later adapted in an Oscar-winning zeitgeist smash, stirred up controversy by casting non-Japanese actors and vulgarly conflating their line of work with high-end prostitution. “Perhaps this series will at least dispel such misconceptions, although I never intended on it,” Kore-eda recently told TIME.
Nana Mori plays Kiyo in “The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House.”
Netflix
In the acclaimed showrunner’s distinct fashion, the pleasures of The Makanai stem not necessarily from exciting incident or unexpected turns, but how deeply felt each moment is—no matter how seemingly mundane—and how much inner life Kore-eda and his crew manage to capture in a way that renders most plot synopsis inadequate. The director’s calibrated touch at finding poetry in the quotidian routines of everyday life cuts to the very heart of the show, if not becoming its very raison d’être, especially through the carousel of mouth-watering food scenes during which the series reaches its zenith.
A still frame from “The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House.”
Netflix
Whereas Sumire quickly catches on to her maiko tuition, a struggling Kiyo in turn finds her true calling as the makanai, or in-house cook, thus becoming responsible for feeding half a dozen mouths at her boarding house. Interspersing their new-found day-to-day duties, whether it’s carefully crafting a home-cooked stewed eggplant or serving noodles in a hot dashi broth for New Year’s Eve, the show frames these tender scenes as a microcosm of not only foodie culture but by extension Japanese society at large. Using elaborate food gatherings as a way of further progressing the story and bridging the gap between characters harkens back to Kore-eda’s previous output, from Still Walking to Shoplifters, which relish the process of preparing, cooking, and consuming a sumptuous feast; viewing it as communal rituals that preserve cultural traditions and bring people of all ages together.
A still frame from “The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House.”
Netflix
Herein lies the series’ greatest strength: though things start feeling rather thin whenever it pulls back to sketch the larger societal problems, in allowing the narrative to blossom naturally and observing these delicate moments and local customs with clinical precision, The Makanai proves far greater than the sum of its parts. The series unfolds at an easy, unhurried pace, nevertheless, those who make it to the end will likely feel eager to spend more time with all the endearing characters that make up the tapestry of the world they just immersed themselves in. Paradoxically, the fact that the show takes ample time to linger on the right moments and give the viewer room to absorb every detail may have hurt its chances of reaching a wider audience within Netflix’s algorithm-ridden catalog, especially when put alongside focus-tested shows with broader mainstream appeal. However, its muted response should not scare potential audiences away. Whether you’re well-versed with Kore-eda’s work, or simply looking for a light-hearted take on Japanese culture, The Makanai is a sumptuous meal well worth savoring, and one that will help sate your appetite.
The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House is now streaming on Netflix.
From left, Mayu Matsuoka, Takako Tokiwa and Ai Hashimoto in “The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House.”
Netflix
Published on February 13, 2023
Words by Guillermo De Querol
Guillermo is a freelance entertainment writer based in Madrid, Spain. His writing and festival coverage has been published across various outlets, including Little White Lies, Taste of Cinema, Film Cred, and Certified Forgotten. When he’s not watching or writing about films, he’s probably talking about them on Letterboxd or Twitter. Guillermo hopes to continue to provide valuable features at JoySauce.