The Power of Art: A Stage Actor’s Journey of Live Performance and Lasting Film

To start off, could you introduce yourself?

Self-introductions are actually the hardest thing for me. It might sound strange coming from an actor, but I never quite know where to begin or what to say. I often feel like who I am today is different from who I was yesterday. Still, I know it helps others to have some kind of frame, so I’ll try. I’m a stage actor by origin, with a long career rooted in theater. I was born in Shizuoka, but soon moved to the U.S., where I spent many years before returning to Japan after completing graduate school in my twenties. From a young age, I wanted to become an actor, studying and training in performance both at school and beyond. I even completed graduate studies with a focus on theater. For some reason, whenever I introduce myself, I tend to come across as a bit heavy—but in everyday life I’m actually a cheerful person. It’s just that in moments like this, I overthink what to say. In recent years, I’ve also begun working in film and video. Alongside theater, I’ve been exploring filmmaking, and that expansion feels like an exciting part of my current journey. Whether it’s about the stage, acting, or the visual world of film, I’m open to any questions. Especially when it comes to filmmaking, I feel it’s become a truly important theme for me.

On umu, we usually include a creator’s title in our Instagram posts. If it were you, Masanari, how would you describe yourself?

I’ve always struggled with how to present myself on social media. People inevitably look at profiles, and having some kind of frame—“what this person does”—is important. Even if I resist being put into a box, I know that without one, people can get lost. For me, the titles I can’t leave out are: Actor, Film Director, Theater Maker, and Artist. If even one of those were missing, I’d feel like a part of myself was incomplete

What first drew you into the world of art?

It all started with acting. From as far back as I can remember, I loved being in front of people and expressing myself. Places like kindergarten recitals were really important to me—without them, I don’t think I would have found a way to express who I was. Since I’ve always been quite introverted, the stage became that much more of a refuge for me. In private, I tend to overthink even something as simple as an introduction, so the version of me on stage can look completely different from the everyday me. But as I get closer to people, that line between the two gradually fades. I’m not naturally the type to take the first step with strangers, but I think I’ve gotten a little better at it over time.

Do you remember your very first job?

Yes, it was as a TV extra when I was in high school. I had registered with an agency and went out to the set. Being on a real production site, surrounded by staff and actors in motion, had a huge impact on me. It felt like I had stepped into a true “extraordinary” world.

When you’re acting, does it feel like you’re a different person from your everyday self?

Yes, in a way. On stage I can really let myself go, but in private I tend to overthink—even something as simple as an introduction. Sometimes it feels like the version of me on stage and the version of me in daily life are completely different people. Still, as I get closer to others, that line gradually fades. I’m not naturally the type to take the first step with strangers, but recently I feel like I’ve gotten a little better at it. I try to work on the parts of myself I’d like to improve. Acting is also a job where you have to set aside your own self in order to play someone else. I don’t want to be stuck as the same “me” forever. For example, I’d rather not be someone who is always recognizable regardless of the character I’m playing . I want to be the kind of person who can even throw away my personality or traits if needed. That said, fixing something like shyness isn’t easy. Even if others point it out, it’s not simple to accept. But I think the moment you accept it, change begins. You can try out a slightly different version of yourself. That, in a sense, is also a kind of acting. And if you keep acting it, it eventually becomes part of who you are—like how a professional athlete becomes the real thing by repeating the same training every day.

Could you tell us about what makes being on stage so special for you?

The stage is all about that one-time-only performance. You can rehearse as much as you want, but the real thing happens only in that moment. That’s what makes it so special. No matter how advanced AI or machines become, I truly believe nothing can replace a human being standing live on stage. As long as I can keep performing there, I know I’ll feel a sense of purpose. I grew up in California, where Hollywood and film culture were everywhere. Wanting to be on TV or in movies was just natural in that environment. But strangely enough, most of the opportunities that came my way were in theater. The more I performed on stage, the more I felt at home there. No matter how much film or video work I do, I always end up coming back to the stage. Being away from it feels suffocating—it holds that much special meaning for

Standing on stage must be nerve-wracking. How do you deal with that nervousness?

The nerves never completely go away. But that’s not a bad thing. I’ve only recently come to truly feel that nervousness is energy. It’s that energy that fuels expression. On the other hand, if I’m not nervous, I sometimes wonder, “Maybe I don’t really want to do this job.” That’s how important it is. So now, I actually welcome nervousness—I even want to feel it more. I’m nervous during this interview too.

Here’s my next question: In the world of art, creativity, and self-expression, when do you feel the happiest?

For me, it’s still the stage. When real people face each other and something happens that exists only in that moment—and once it’s over, it lives on only in memory. My passion for that uniqueness hasn’t changed. At the same time, I’ve found a new kind of happiness in film. On stage, I’ve mostly worked with existing scripts and a director, but in film I can shape my own vision from the ground up. The moment when something invisible in my head takes form as a work and becomes something others can actually see—that’s incredibly moving. I think it’s probably similar in design too. Colors and shapes that once existed only inside you start to carry different meanings once they’re seen through other people’s eyes. Right now, I’m working on collaborations with dancers set to music, as well as short films I’ve shot myself. I’m preparing for my biggest shoot yet coming up in October, and I’m really excited to create a new world through the lens of the camera.

On the other hand, have there been times in your career when you felt, “I can’t do this anymore, maybe I should quit”?

Of course. Without those moments, I wouldn’t be who I am now. In fact, I seriously quit acting twice. The first time was when I left my theater company. I was physically exhausted, and I no longer knew what I was aiming for as an artist or theater practitioner. On top of that, the financial worries made me doubt if I could even survive in this path. After leaving the company, I worked regular office jobs, but that period was even more unhappy. I remember truly asking myself, “What is the meaning of life?” Life without art didn’t work for me at all. Whether I tried to go back or push forward, I felt trapped—like I was in a dark age. Still, I can say now that if you don’t give up, things will eventually work out. If I told that to my past self, he’d probably punch me in the face for saying it (laughs). Even now, it’s not easy, but I’ve moved past the kind of bottomless despair I once felt.

What kept you from giving up?

It was the presence of others, more than anything. In recent years, I’ve realized the importance of teaching. When I teach acting or speech to younger generations, I can’t help but feel it would be such a waste if my experiences just disappeared without being shared. If what I’ve been through can help them even a little, then I have to pass it on. And when I see that positive effect reflected back in them, it makes me feel, “I’m glad I kept going.” When I was younger, I thought only about my own career. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to see how much my world expands through collaboration and connection with others. That, I believe, is what gives meaning to my life.

What does art mean to you?

I believe artists are “doctors of the human spirit.” It’s something that somehow echoes the words of my respected mentor, director Tadashi Suzuki, once said, and I feel it’s absolutely true. No matter how much technology advances, no matter how much longer and healthier our lives become, without art people would feel empty. Art has the power to tend to the invisible parts of us—to heal, to restore, to bring us back to life. That’s what I believe.

That’s a beautiful phrase. So, what would you say is the biggest difference between when you first started your artistic journey and now?

When I was younger, I was driven by ambition—the hunger to be at the top. Back then, I only thought of acting as “art” in a light sense. But during the pandemic, when I couldn’t stand in front of an audience, I felt real fear. I thought, what if I can never return to the stage again? That experience made me realize something important: art gives people a taste of the extraordinary. In the middle of such a painful, restrictive time, even making someone laugh for a moment or easing their daily life just a little—that’s the role of art. It was a powerful reminder.

So it was during the pandemic that you first began directing in film?

That’s right. I had just started planning a short film, but with restrictions like not being allowed more than three people in a room, production became incredibly difficult. Still, I felt, “if not now, then never,” so I pushed forward. With the help of grants, I was able to get equipment and spent six months turning my solo stage performance into a film. That became the catalyst—I got lighting gear and thought, “let’s shoot more.” From there, it shifted from being just me to inviting others and creating together. At the heart of it, the feeling has always stayed the same: I want to express myself with people, and I want to share that expression with others.

I see. When you talk about “conveying” something, what is it that you hope the audience will take away?

Well, this might be a little unique, but for me a work of art isn’t something I hand over saying, “Here it is, take it as it is.” Whether it’s film, music, or theater, my ideal is that the audience receives what I’ve created and then interprets it in their own way—almost as if they’re co-creating it with me. That shared act of interpretation is what makes it meaningful.

Co-creating?

Exactly. Whatever meaning or feeling the audience takes from my work is all “correct.” I don’t want to reject it by saying, “No, that’s not what I meant.” In fact, what’s fascinating is how things expand from there. The inspiration that comes to me—sometimes I like to say it feels as if it’s from the universe—I simply shape it, give it language or imagery. That’s my role.

I see.

That’s why my ideal is for the person receiving it to experience some kind of change of their own. Maybe they think, “Yesterday I felt lonely, but today I feel a little happier,” or the opposite—“This made me feel a bit nostalgic or melancholy .” It doesn’t matter what the reaction is. If my work can bring even a small transformation into someone’s everyday life, that’s what makes me happiest.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on Tokyo. What kind of place is Tokyo to you?

I live in Saitama now, but I commute to Tokyo almost every day. To me, Tokyo feels like the eye of the storm, the heart of the tornado “Different currents of energy flow in, and from there everything keeps shifting. When I step into the crowds around Ikebukuro, it really feels like being caught inside a whirlpool. I think I like Tokyo precisely because I don’t live there. For me, it’s a place I engage with through commuting and work—a place tied to filmmaking and teaching. Every day I feel as though I leave a part of myself there, imprinting something before heading back home.

What goals are you focusing on right now?

They may sound modest, but they’re very real. As an artist, I have works and messages I feel I must leave behind, things that need to be shared with the world. At the same time, I also have to take on work to support my everyday life. I constantly feel the weight of balancing the two. My goal is to move closer to a day when I can create more freely. I want to soften that gap between art and reality, to make it a little easier to live with.

You’ve surely faced many moments of challenge and risk. How do you deal with the fear of taking that first step?

To be honest, I don’t really resist facing mental fear. I can accept the uncertainty that comes with starting something new. What’s become scarier for me lately is the aging of my body. There are so many things I still want to do, but aches and pains show up here and there, and without taking care of my health, I know I won’t be able to keep going. Balancing that inner voice saying “this is dangerous” with the other one saying “no, you can still do it” is tricky. The fear never disappears. But what I always do is look a little ahead and ask myself, “If the worst happens, will I still be okay?” I need that concrete check, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to move at all. On the other hand, new jobs or first-time encounters don’t scare me—I actually welcome them. My mindset is more like, “bring it on anytime.” These days, what really matters is taking care of my body. That’s become the truth I can’t ignore.

Thank you. One last question—what message would you like to share with the world?

First of all, thank you for creating a space like umu that amplifies so many different voices. I’m not someone who’s naturally good at broadcasting myself, so the role of an online platform that carefully gathers and shares these stories is truly meaningful. People may not know who I am—and that’s fine. If even one person reads this and thinks, “I’ll keep going tomorrow” or “I’ll finish my work,” that’s more than enough for me. In Japan, there’s a phrase “ishin denshin”—a kind of heart-to-heart communication without words. I believe in that feeling of connection beyond language, and I think this conversation itself is part of that flow. If good energy spreads, the world will change little by little for the better. At times, artistic expression can even feel threatening to those in power. That’s why I believe our role is to stand at the center of the swirl and slowly shift the world.