Many careers come with sacrifices, but few demand as much personal surrender as that of the Japanese idol. A hybrid of pop star, teen model, and influencer, idols have been a mainstay of Japanese pop culture for decades, ubiquitous on the country’s screens, billboards, and shopping mall sound systems. But the problematic power dynamics that undergird this industry of monetized innocence have begun to draw scrutiny both in Japan and abroad.
Japanese director Koji Fukada, who won Cannes‘ Un Certain Regard jury prize in 2016 for his darkly mesmerizing thriller Harmonium, returns to the Croisette this week with Love on Trial, a social drama that attempts to peel back the glossy surface of idol culture to expose its unsettling power dynamics.
“Living in Japan, you’re constantly exposed to idols: in films, on TV, in advertising,” Fukada tells The Hollywood Reporter. “This project was born from my own discomfort and conflicted feelings toward idol culture, but my intention was not to totally deny or condemn it outright. I wanted to question the system, while not disregarding the efforts of young women who dream of becoming idols.”
In Japan, idol culture is so normalized that its more regressive elements are often overlooked. Every year, agencies stage mass auditions and public scouting campaigns to recruit new faces — usually girls in their early teens. Once signed by an agency, the girls are plunged into rigorous training regimens and handed strict contracts that dictate control over their appearance, behavior, and personal lives. The agencies then market the idols as paragons of innocence to a mostly male, older fanbase that prizes their looks, perceived purity and emotional accessibility over their limited skill as pop performers. Crucially, the girls are required to agree to “no love” clauses in their contracts, stipulating that they are forbidden from entering into any kind of romantic relationship in their personal lives. This enforced purity creates the possibility of a highly monetized “parasocial” economy, where fans — again, mostly older men — are sold on an illusion of closeness with the starlets.
Idols appear in handshake events, fan meet-ups, and livestreams, where they dole out micro-doses of faux intimacy to legions of loyal fans. Agencies encourage the illusion of such bonds while controlling nearly every aspect of the idols’ real lives. Problems, not surprisingly, have regularly emerged: Various cases of abuse of idols by management, suicide and mental health problems among talent, acts of harassment — and even violence — among disenchanted fans.
Love on Trial follows the story of Mai (Kyoko Umai), a rising J-Pop idol whose ascent is derailed when she falls in love, violating her contract’s “no relationship” clause. After her romance is exposed, Mai finds herself not only vilified by her fanbase but also facing a real-life courtroom battle, as her agency sues her for damages.
Fukada says the idea for the film came from two real cases in Japan in which idols were sued for similar contract breaches. “In one case, the court ruled that the clause violated human rights. But in another, the management agency won. That contrast is very telling and shows how inconsistent and unresolved the thinking around these issues is in Japan.”
Despite the seemingly incendiary nature of its subject matter, Love on Trial unfolds in a gentler tone than some of Fukada’s recent work, such as Harmonium or his 2023 Venice competition entry Love Life, both of which explored grief and family trauma on extreme terms. Fukada says that was deliberate, part of an aspiration to reach the mainstream Japanese audience with his critique.
“Earlier drafts of the script had more extreme endings, but we ultimately chose this tone because I felt it better reflected the complexity of the issue,” Fukada explains.
Development of the project began in 2016, but it faced various financing and production challenges along the way because of the perceived sensitivity of its subject matter. “Casting was a major hurdle,” Fukada explains. “Many actresses and former idols turned us down because of the film’s potentially critical stance. But when we were finally able to cast Kyoko Umai — herself a former idol with a big following — last spring, the project truly came to life.” The project also counted several devoted idol fans among its creative team, Fukada says — “my producer, the scriptwriter, and several assistant directors” — which aided in both research and establishing credibility within the idol world.
Love on Trial is produced by Toho, Japan’s entertainment powerhouse and one of the country’s biggest employers of idol talent across its film, TV and stage productions. Fukada calls the studio’s involvement “very meaningful,” given its position at the heart of the industry the film scrutinizes.
He adds: “I wanted to send a message to younger viewers — especially girls — that there’s space to question and challenge the system, and that their dreams shouldn’t be dictated by outdated structures. Ultimately, though, I want each viewer to draw their own conclusions.”