Love On Trial’ review: Koji Fukada’s drama reveals the dark side of the J-pop phenomenon

Dir: Koji Fukada. Japan. 2025. 124mins

When it’s discovered that a young Japanese singer has a boyfriend, thus breaking the ‘no love’ clause in her contract, she winds up facing a lawsuit in this not-terribly-urgent dissection of identity, online validation, idol culture and misogyny in Japan’s massive J-pop industry. The latest by Koji Fukada bears the hallmarks of the director’s deliberate pacing and quiet observation, but also his penchant for meandering focus and a level of reservation that flirts with somnolent. Though there are a great deal of issues to explore, Fukada and co-writer Shintaro Mitani refuse to pick a tone or topic to finesse, rendering Love On Trial scattered and unable to fully commit to its ideas.

Ultimately well meaning if not wholly engaging

Fukada broke out in 2016 with his Cannes Un Certain Regard Jury Prize winner Harmonium, and his most recent work was 2022 Venice competition title Love Life. Along the way he has refined his signature and Love On Trial, which bows in Cannes Premieres, is very much of a piece with those earlier films, tonally and aesthetically. Festivals and distributors that found receptive markets in the past should glean similar results with this, and audiences outside Asia unfamiliar with the ins-and-outs of J-pop might be curious enough to earn the film a small arthouse theatrical life.

The relatively recent emergence of K-pop as a cultural juggernaut has retrained attention on Japan’s  J-pop machine, both of which have dark sides that are starting to garner negative attention. Both are lorded over by powerful talent agencies that demand so-called ‘idols’ demonstrate unimpeachable moral character: no alcohol, no drugs, no sex. Since 2010, idols have been ordered to pay damages or public penance for having private lives.

This mandated morality is at the root of Love On Trial. In an industry dependent on the fantasy of availability for girls marketed to men (otaku) as sex symbols, ‘no relationships’ clauses are common – and crucial to profits. (Only Japanese women are subject to such clauses.) The film begins with an introduction to fictional idol quintet Happyfanfare, whose unofficial frontwoman is the ambitious Nanaka (Erika Karata, Asako I & II). The band’s followers turn on Nanaka when they find out she might have a boyfriend; something that threatens the agency’s bottom line. “We’re here to protect and nurture you,” management tells her. “But if you do selfish stuff like this we can’t help you.”

Mai (J-pop star Kyoko Saito) takes over as leader, but throws Happyfanfare into chaos again when she too dares to start dating a street mime, Kei (Yuki Kura, FX’s Shogun). While Nanaka toes the line, Mai opts for a fulfilled personal life, which brings a breach of contract lawsuit down on her and Kei.

Love On Trial doesn’t really debate whether or not Mai is in breach; it tries to debate whether she should be there to begin with. That takes a while, though, as, for half its running time, the film toggles in a relaxed manner between stardom drama, relationship drama (lots of space is given over to Mai and Kei’s budding romance) and stalker thriller (an attempted stabbing suggests the unhinged nature of idol fans).

For all the energy Fukada puts into hinting at them, the motivations of the girls are sketches at best. Nanaka seems committed to idol life, but it’s unclear if she legitimately wants the adoration or if she drank the proverbial Kool-Aid fed to her by management. Another member, Risa, hints at having real talent but whether she may be using Happyfanfare as her own stepping stone is never addressed. That Mai doesn’t find her feminist voice until 10 minutes before the end feels like a missed opportunity to really drill down into Japan’s social, legal and constitutional gender dynamics.

Nonetheless Fukada and cinematographer Hidetoshi Shinomiya (Drive My Car) find some graceful ways to visualise the double standards underpinning this industry and the impact on the girls working in it. Mai and Kei wondering if they should break up from opposite sides of the street is a succinct composition, as is a terrifying on-stage shot from Happyfanfare’s perspective of audience purely made up of grown men.

Saito brings an inherent veracity to her performance as Mai, but Fukada only goes part way to illuminating the baffling phenomenon and what perpetuates it. Love On Trial is ultimately well meaning if not wholly engaging.