Imagine two of the most celebrated filmmakers of our time, Chloe Zhao and Kore-eda Hirokazu, sitting down for a conversation—only to reveal they’ve both been moved to tears by each other’s work. But here’s where it gets even more profound: their emotional connection isn’t just about admiration; it’s a mirror reflecting their shared philosophy on storytelling and the human experience. This isn’t your typical director Q&A—it’s a raw, intimate exchange that dives into the heart of what it means to create art that resonates deeply.
Before their Tokyo International Film Festival dialogue, Kore-eda had watched Zhao’s Hamnet in near solitude, tears streaming down his face as he grappled with the film’s exploration of why creators tell stories and how tragedy unites us. Meanwhile, Zhao, jet-lagged and awake at 4 a.m., had been crying over Kore-eda’s 1998 masterpiece After Life, her makeup team working around her tears. ‘I feel like Hamnet and After Life are very much the same film,’ Zhao confessed to the audience. ‘They’re about how seeing our lives mirrored back to us—whether joyful or painful—gives meaning to our experiences and eases the weight of being human.’
And this is the part most people miss: both directors operate without knowing how their films will end when they begin shooting. Zhao admitted, ‘I write endings to get funding, but deep down, I know they’re not right.’ This uncertainty nearly derailed Hamnet—four days before production wrapped, only Zhao and her lead actress, Jessie Buckley, knew there was no working ending. The breakthrough came during a rainy London car ride, inspired by Max Richter’s haunting track On the Nature of Daylight. ‘I wanted to reach nature,’ Zhao explained, ‘so I could no longer fear losing love. If we’re all one, love doesn’t disappear—it transforms.’
Kore-eda echoed this sentiment, revealing he abandons storyboards once on set, preferring to rewrite scripts in the moment. ‘The staff are probably nervous,’ he joked, ‘but what emerges rarely feels wrong.’ This shared approach highlights their belief in letting stories evolve organically, a process both exhilarating and terrifying.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Zhao, known for her poetic realism, confessed she lacks the courage to make documentaries, citing Werner Herzog’s fearless approach in Into the Abyss. Yet, she passionately advocates for dignifying marginalized communities in her fiction work, shooting them with the same cinematic reverence as Hollywood stars. ‘Sometimes poetry captures truth better than facts,’ she argued. ‘It’s an emotional truth, not just a factual one.’
Kore-eda, meanwhile, celebrated the mundane—laundry, cooking, daily routines—as the foundation for emotional storytelling. ‘Cinema often skips the 80% in between the highs and lows,’ Zhao noted. ‘But Kore-eda invites us into the comfort of these rituals, and when the emotional tsunami hits, it’s in the body.’
Their conversation also touched on the tension between communal theatrical experiences and streaming platforms. While Kore-eda insisted film festivals are essential to preserve the shared darkness of cinema, Zhao celebrated how technology democratizes access. ‘A teenager on a Lakota reservation can now watch my films,’ she said. ‘That’s incredible.’
As they looked ahead, Zhao hinted at a third film exploring oneness, dissolving the illusion of separation. Kore-eda, ever the workaholic, urged younger filmmakers to find joy in the process, not just the outcome. But here’s the question that lingers: In an age of streaming and instant access, can cinema still preserve the communal, transformative power these directors hold so dear? What do you think—is the future of film in theaters, on screens, or somewhere in between? Let’s discuss in the comments.
