Makanai: Portrait of a Utopian Feminist Community

Makanai is a Limited TV series directed by Hirokazu Kore'eda, the filmmaker behind Shoplifters, and written by Mami Sunada. It’s based on the manga Maiko-san Chi no Makanai-san by Aiko Koyama and debuted on Netflix in January 2023. I discovered it during a sleepy seaside holiday with my parents, and it quickly became our evening ritual during the quiet nights in Marina di Massa. Watching the last two episodes on the flight back to London, I held back my tears, carrying a bit of that vacation serenity and the warmth the series had given me.

The story revolves around two sixteen-year-old girls, Sumire and Kyio, who move to Kyoto to become geishas — traditional dancers and artists — by joining one of the apprentice houses to begin their training. As the story unfolds, we learn that in the Gion district, there are several 'houses' of apprentices and young geishas (maiko). The area is also home to women who have completed their training (geiko) and other workers in this traditional industry: the mothers who head the houses and the men who dress the dancers.

We immediately identify with the young protagonists and, alongside them, immerse ourselves in the atmosphere of Kyoto and the Saku house. While Sumire quickly distinguishes herself as a promising apprentice, Kyio turns her passion for food into a career by becoming the house’s makanai (cook). The series flows with a stoic optimism, where every setback quickly finds its place and makes sense, without disrupting the narrative but instead transforming it, creating something new. Accustomed to series with constant twists (especially on Netflix), I kept expecting a backlash at every positive moment: the death of someone, bullying among the girls, or abuse by one of the adults, sometimes men, who are in close contact with the young women. Each time, my expectations were pleasantly disappointed. This doesn’t mean that the characters are flat; each one has their own passions, quirks, and fantasies. Each has a unique way of expressing themselves, but this is understood and accepted by everyone. Even the strangest characters, like Kyio, with her obsessive passion for food that leads her to say things like ‘I’m in love with my frying pan’; or the exuberant Yoshino, who returns to shake things up; or the disheveled new apprentice, whom everyone kindly describes as ‘very enthusiastic,’ are not only accepted but embraced in a family whose most important principle seems to be empathy. So much so that when Kyio is told that her performance is too low to stay in the house, Mother Azusa wonders what she can do for the girl, how to bring out her talent. She focuses not on the fact that the girl is lacking in the discipline she was there to study, but on understanding what, as an educator, she can inspire and draw out from her.

For someone like me, who loves realism and feeds on gritty Irvine Welsh-like stories, the first reaction to this type of narrative is scepticism: ‘Yeah, but in real life, things would never go this way.’ However, Makanai enchanted me. Perhaps it’s the food theme, where the role of the cook becomes the medium through which these conflicts are quickly untangled, and the food Kyio prepares serves as a metaphor for the entire series. We are told at the beginning, by the previous makanai, that the person in this role has the daunting task of cooking ‘normal’ food, something that pleases the palates of all the girls, who come from different parts of Japan. What Kyio manages to do is create ‘normal’ food that is also ‘good’ and ‘reassuring,’ evoking emotions in the people who eat it, emotions that move and change them. And so, like a classic dashi, this series manages to reach depth without needing to use strong spices or daring combinations.

I’m reminded of the chapter on sisterhood from bell hooks' book Communion: The Female Search for Love. The writer quotes Marlyn Frye, who speaks of the importance of community for the growth and spiritual fulfillment of a woman: ‘To make a difference... women have to do impossible things and think impossible thoughts, and that is only done in community. Without a community of sense, an individual cannot keep hold of her radical insights, she becomes confused, she forgets what she knew... We call each other to creative acts of courage, imagination, and memory, but they are literally impossible without a community of women which recognizes and authorizes women’s initiative.’ It’s as if, in some way, Makanai becomes a representation of this utopian feminist community. What is found in the TV series is a community of women where everyone supports each other and works for each other's happiness. Where people observe and understand the needs of others even before they are voiced. Where communication happens, questions are asked: ‘How are you?’, ‘Are you happy?’, ‘Have you changed your mind?’ It’s a community of women, but there are also men—not essential, but equal. The men have their role and do not disturb the community's peace; on the contrary, they contribute to this peace in an empathetic and healthy way.

As bell hooks states, a woman within this community will likely face more conflicts, choices, and difficult moments, but she will have ‘self-acceptance, integrity, and a willingness always to do what is best for her well-being,’ essential tools to have the strength to enter the ‘circle of love.’ And perhaps Makanai is the feminist manifesto we didn’t know we needed. I think of one of the scenes from the final episode, when Tsurukoma, seeing Sumire’s dedication, reveals to Mother Azusa her thoughts: ‘If she, so talented, puts in so much effort, what should someone like me do?’ Azusa’s response is encouraging but real: ‘Not everyone can become like her, but you can focus on being your kind of maiko.’ However, Tsurukoma replies that she can’t continue to grow there; she needs to leave to find her passion.

Observing Sumire’s talent doesn’t lead Tsurukoma to wallow in envy, but rather allows her to recognize what she desires—a passion that ignites her. The community’s support emerges in her maturity to accept that her path is not that one, and in the excitement of realizing that other possibilities lie before her. In a rigid context where discipline leads to excellence and not everyone is cut out for it, we see a story where women support each other by recognizing each other’s talents, celebrating themselves, defining who they are through warm exchange, and growing, elevating themselves and those around them.

This article is translated by the author from the Italian version of Cultural Frittata in RatPark Magazine.