Keziah Cho
There is such a variety of shows on Netflix that it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. Sometimes we want plot, drama, and intrigue; but more often than not, we need a gentler reminder of warmth and kindness. At times like these, perhaps we should turn to The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House, a Japanese TV series directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda.
Released on Netflix this January and deemed by critics to be a “modern-day fairy tale,” and a “warming, nourishing treat,” the show is an understated hidden gem that celebrates food, girlhood, and Japanese culture.
Premise of The Makanai
The show is set in modern-day Japan, where the geisha industry has declined since the 20th century but still remains an integral part of the culture.
It revolves around two young girls, Kiyo and Sumire, who leave their hometown, Aomori, to become maikos—geishas-in-training—in Kyoto, a city in southern Japan. Sumire quickly proves to be a natural at her craft, but Kiyo struggles and is almost expelled from the maiko house. When the makanai—the cook of the maiko house—falls ill, however, Kiyo has a chance to demonstrate her culinary talent. She ends up staying in the house as the new makanai, frying tempura and making bread pudding to her heart’s content.
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The show is an antidote to the likes of Memoirs of a Geisha—the 1997 novel written by Arthur Golden, which sparked intense controversy in its appropriation of Japanese culture, as well as its depiction of a harsh, hyper-sexualised geisha community, rife with cut-throat competition.
In fact, director Hirokazu Kore-eda specifically mentioned a desire to counteract the “misunderstanding regarding geisha and maiko” that Memoirs had cast around the geisha industry. So far, he seems to have succeeded. One of the myths that the show dispels is that the geisha are sex workers; they are in fact cultural performers, and are protected today in various ways.
One of the most charming aspects of The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House is the love given to each tiny detail. It’s a slow-paced show—the camera lingers on moments where nothing in particular seems to be happening. But instead of dragging down the show, these moments infuse each episode with calmness.
There’s an evening scene where Kiyo, on her way back to the maiko house, takes an ice-cream break by a pond. For about 20 seconds she swings her legs over the edge of the bridge, the light on the water ripples gently, and the crickets hum.
These pauses are reminiscent of many Hayao Miyazaki animated films, such as My Neighbour Totoro and Spirited Away. There’s a Japanese concept called Ma (間), which refers to pauses in space and time where people have space to reflect and grow—the tranquil intervals in the show seem to be a homage to this.
It’s empowering in a gentle, nurturing way.
This brings us to the show’s wonderfully-executed celebration of Japanese culture—whether it’s the food, the art, or the philosophy. Produced by an all-Japanese team, the show points out that the wonder of exploring one’s own culture never fades.
Episode 7 follows Kiyo as she gleans advice from various Kyoto locals on how to make the perfect bowl of udon for Sumire, who is under the weather. As she examines some bonito flakes (flakes of dried fish) from an old grocer, her face lights up with so much fascination that we, as watchers, can’t help but smile along.
Similarly, as Sumire secretly watches her mentor Momoko perform a dance through a crack in the door, the light from the room illuminates her eyes, which fill with tears, as the beauty of the performance overwhelms her.
When we see the maiko and geishas outside the maiko house in their everyday modern clothing, we realise that kimonos and dances are only a part of their complex lives
Another striking aspect of the show is its focus on the female world; this includes the camaraderie between young women, as well as the individual lives of each character. When we see the maiko and geishas outside the maiko house in their everyday modern clothing, we realise that kimonos and dances are only a part of their complex lives. We see Momoko playing video games with her boyfriend in a t-shirt and jeans, and we see Mother Azusa—a former geisha and one of the managers of the maiko house—having a heart-to-heart talk with her teenage daughter.
The show also depicts the various ways women encourage, support, and heal one another; from the way Kiyo makes rice porridge for a restless Sumire in the middle of the night, to the way Sumire helps one of her teachers reunite with her childhood sweetheart. It’s empowering in a gentle, nurturing way, and it’s a refreshing depiction of an industry which has historically revolved around entertaining male clients.
Chiara Spagnoli Garbadi from Cinema Daily refers to the show as a “tender coming-of-age story” that “doesn’t fail to nurture the soul.” These are true words. Just as Kiyo lovingly plates up her fruit and cream sandwiches, the show serves up a delicious slice of life for watchers to slowly savour and appreciate.
Featured image courtesy of Glenn Carstens-Peters via Unsplash. Image license found here. No changes were made to this image.
Keziah Cho
Keziah Cho is an English undergraduate, born and raised in Hong Kong but currently studying in London. Aside from writing for Empoword, she also writes for two student publications, Pi Media and the Cheese Grater.