In Conversation with Masaaki Yuasa – Annecy 2022

Masaaki Yuasa decided he would become an animator at the age of twelve, but the real surprise is that his highly recognizable style stems precisely from his refusal to have a fixed one. As a child, he would draw the characters from the anime he had watched the night before for his preschool classmates, happy if they enjoyed it too. Then, just when he thought that manga and anime were only for children, a series like Yamato exploded in Japan, and suddenly even adults could proudly call themselves fans. From that moment on, Yuasa never stopped. But the real turning point came from this conviction: “I didn't plan to become a director; I just wanted to draw.” And for each project, I need a different style.” It may seem trivial, but in an industry where authorship is often measured by a recognizable style, Yuasa turns everything on its head: his style changes from film to film, because each story demands its own way of being told. Yet anyone who has seen Mind Game or Inu-Oh knows that there is always something unmistakable about them, even if they can't explain what it is. He responds as follows: “Anime is just a method of filmmaking. It's not special in itself. The point is to use what the budget and the medium allow, and to always find the most effective choice, including creatively.” When he talks about his influences, Yuasa makes no distinction between Tom & Jerry, Disney classics, music, or the visual arts: “It's not a matter of liking them; they've become part of me. Anything I find interesting, I try to bring into my animation.” He has studied oil painting, sculpture, and applied arts, but no single discipline becomes the rule: each project is the sum of everything he has absorbed up to that point. Here's a concrete example: in the dance scenes of Inu-Oh, Yuasa incorporated breakdancing, figure skating, movements inspired by Jackie Chan, and folk dances from around the world. To create these scenes, he could have brought in a choreographer, but he preferred to work directly on the storyboard as soon as he had the music, incorporating every idea that came to mind. And if the result seems “expensive,” it's because the freedom to blend influences comes at a price: time, effort, and the ability to convince the entire crew to follow him. His relationship with music was also forged through work. His collaboration with Shinichiro Watanabe on Mind Game taught him a golden rule: “You have to play the music when the audience wants it, not when you want it.” On Inu-Oh, working with Yoshihide Otomo was a constant creative battle: traditional music didn't work with the rock structure Yuasa had in mind, so he edited a reference short using his favorite songs, and only then was Otomo able to compose the right soundtrack. There was no formula; only trial and error and a close dialogue between images and sound. Anyone who thinks animation is a straitjacket should listen to his response to a question from the audience: “Of course, sometimes I think live action would be easier. But every time, I focus on what only animation can do. I want to be free, and I put this idea of freedom into every work.” It's no coincidence that he never chooses his audience in advance: “Lou Over the Wall was supposed to be a children's film, but then the story changed, the characters grew up, and in the end, it became a film for the whole family. I don't plan everything: I let the process change me.” One aspect that is rarely discussed: team management. Yuasa admits that directing is above all about solving problems, managing conflicts between screenwriters, animators, and musicians, and finding a way to get everyone to their destination, even when it seems impossible. Ultimately, he says, the greatest satisfaction comes when the final product exceeds everyone's expectations. And when it comes to international collaboration, especially with young talents from French schools like Gobelins, Yuasa is clear: “There is the language barrier, but I am ready to overcome it. The important thing is to work with people who have different talents than mine.” So, the real lesson he leaves us with is this: there is no single “right” way to make animation, nor is there one style to be defended at all costs. Yuasa's freedom lies in choosing what the story needs each time, even at the cost of contradicting himself. And the audience? They notice it, and they follow him precisely for that reason. Three details are enough to describe him over dinner: Yuasa has changed his style with each film because he refuses to have just one; his dance scenes in Inu-Oh are a collage of global influences because “anything can become animation”; and his most important rule about music is to bring it in only when the audience wants it, not before. Ultimately, Yuasa's hallmark is the freedom to change. You can recognize him even when he doesn't look like himself. Perhaps this is the true signature of a filmmaker. If the idea that freedom is more important than a fixed style has resonated with you, on Lara Notes you can press I'm In: it's your way of declaring that this perspective has become part of your way of thinking. And if, in a few days, you find yourself telling someone about Yuasa and his obsession with creative freedom, on Lara Notes you can mark that conversation with Shared Offline: it's the record that a real discussion took place, not just a shared link. This Note is taken from a long Annecy Festival interview with Masaaki Yuasa: you’ve just saved yourself over an hour of listening.