What does the title ‘Spirit Weighs Nothing’ mean to you in relation to Sumo, and your understanding of the sport?
Shirai: I wanted to convey, to the viewer, a more holistic view of ‘Spirit’. Not just weight, performance, or records – but courage, conviction and determination. The play on words is meant to place weight on the intangibles
What is the relationship between the sport of Sumo and Art?
Shirai: Like a lot of Japanese people, Sumo was in the background of my childhood. Sumo was on television when I was with my grandma, or waiting for dinner. As a child, these giant men in top knots always seemed so surreal. I didn’t actually know much about the sport until I was an adult.
I find that a lot of misconceptions I hear about Japanese culture are the same as the misconceptions regarding Sumo. I wanted to use Sumo as a medium to realign expectations of Japanese culture and tradition with something more reflective of the truth. Sumo isn’t just about larger than life bodies showing off their size – it is born from a religious ritual and it is a sacrifice. It is about being more than an individual. As a craftperson, or an artist, understanding the world around you is really the aim. With those in the Sumo world, Sumo is very much a way for them to understand the world.
The choice of music (native instrumentation, diegetic sounds of rituals, etc.) seems very purposeful. Can you explain the intent behind these choices?
Shirai: I like to use music to create a soundscape. I want the viewer to question when the events they see are happening. 10, 50, even 100 years ago. The sounds of Sumo are so analogue. There’s less and less people who are able to play and are playing these instruments, and it really is a discussion of whether this is in danger of becoming obsolete. I want people to feel the textures of the music. We could have replicated some of the sounds digitally, but in some cases, that’s not the best way to experience it
‘The Last Dance’ was mentioned in passing in a conversation between the Yokozuna (champion) and a peer, in relation to triumph. The role of individual brilliance in Sumo seems to be secondary to the weight of responsibility to the traditions of Sumo.
In what ways do you think victory looks different in an American, versus a Japanese context?
Shirai: That was a surprising revelation to me. I was raised in a country (USA) where winning looked like repeatedly saying you were the best, and in Japan, it’s frowned upon to do so. Especially in Sumo, nobody pounds their chest and says ‘I am the greatest!’. In fact, to be a part of the Sumo community, you can never be bigger than the collective. The individual is sacrificed for the collective. There is a certain humility that is baked into Sumo, in a way that it tends to not be in Western sporting culture.
When the Yokozuna speaks about it, he says it’s important to not be strangled by the results of wins and losses, even though they are important in any competitive field. You learn so much about yourself in Sumo, and you give so much back to Sumo through your sacrifice. Being in Sumo gives life to the tradition. In many sports, tradition can get lost through money. It’s not the case in Sumo, and I think that is something truly unique.
There was somewhat of a surprise, firstly when the viewer discovers that the current Yokozuna is Mongolian, and then the explanation that there hasn’t been a Japanese champion in a few decades. What are your thoughts on the international appeal of sumo, versus the inherent Japaneseness of the tradition?
Shirai: Maybe because I grew up outside of Japan, I am all for foreigners taking part in Sumo, and I think it can only increase the sport’s appeal. I do understand the idea of protecting the traditional element within the structure of Sumo. There is a tension there, and I am fascinated to see where it goes in the future of Sumo. In a way, that tension exists in the future of Japan itself. It’s a country which has very rigid systems in place, but progress may require some of that to be relaxed.
What was the thinking behind the various different cinematic techniques, ranging from black and white montages of ceremonies, to projections on bodies?
Shirai: I want the film to show the subject being almost frozen in time. A sort of tribute to the vast heritage of Sumo. The colour palette was a conscious decision – especially the contrast between the ceremonies being in black and white, versus the colour of the urban environments. The style of the Sumo sequences intentionally evokes the experience of those who have watched Sumo in their childhood.
Each Sumo wrestler being in a different phase of their journey, with and all their stories interweaving, felt thoroughly engaging. How did you choose and establish the relationships with the Subjects of the documentary?
Shirai: My method involved embedding myself in something. There is no fast-forward button, so a lot of it really is being there, and being present. The constraints in this specific project was that the production schedule was specifically in the one to one-and-a-half year range. I knew from the get go that I wouldn’t be able to capture a single arc in a narrative-driven way. So I decided to show the totality of Sumo, by choosing specific characters in different parts of their careers. Rookies, Challengers and the Champion. Seeing each of their struggles reflects the growth and lifecycle of Sumo.
Who are the key figures that shaped your approach to Documentary filmmaking?
Shirai: My background is from the fine arts, so not filmmaking specifically. My inspirations have mostly been real-life experiences, and the journey of following my curiosity.
I am aware your previous feature film was about the process of making Saké. Through your filmmaking, do you see yourself as delving further into your personal experience with Japanese culture and identity, or perhaps as a tour guide to Japan for the Western audience?
Shirai: I think that’s a very interesting question. Because I grew up in America, and did not really meet many people that looked at me, so I felt a distance between me and my heritage. Birth of Saké, my first feature film, was a way for me to get more acquainted and intimate in my relationship with Japanese culture. Unconsciously, Sumo came along, and I found that there were a lot of misconceptions about Japanese culture (in the West) that I wanted to address. Japanese traditions tend to be exoticised. So, it was important for me to tell this story from the inside (fighters) looking out, and opposed to the outside looking in. I wanted fighters to navigate through Sumo, and for the viewer, and myself, to learn about the world of Sumo that way.
Anything you make as an artist is in dialogue with yourself. For me, the dialogue within myself in regards to my sense of cultural belonging, was a driving force in the how and why of making films. I have realised I reconciled the questions I have had, and my next film will be something completely different. I can see an evolution in my work from navigating being Japanese in America, to now feeling fairly comfortable with where and who I am. Hopefully, going forward I will be able to explore other cultures – those who have had muted voices due to being marginalised. Those are the stories I want to tell.
For those who, like yourself, do not have a direct background in film or filmmaking, do you have any advice as to exploring the world through the medium of film?
Shirai: Whatever craft you practice is a great method to learn more about yourself and the world around you. For younger filmmakers, I would say, don’t worry about the technology or logistics too much at the start. Try to build intuition, nurture your instincts. You can make something with anything available nowadays. So the challenge is finding out what you want to capture, and understanding the subject you want to film, and understanding the people you are talking to.
Synopsis:
SUMO: SPIRIT WEIGHS NOTHING offers rare inside access to Japan’s hidden world of sumo, a world shaped over thousands of years by ritual and discipline. Filmed across one turbulent year, the documentary follows wrestlers at different stages of their careers as they fight to survive one of the world’s most punishing and sacred traditions.
At its summit stands Grand Champion Yokozuna Terunofuji (33), the sole active bearer of a rank revered as closest to the gods. With ten titles behind him, his legacy is secure, yet his body is breaking down. After fourteen brutal years, his knees are stripped of cartilage and diabetes threatens his everyday life. Once disgraced by injury and forced to restart from the bottom ranks, he, with the devotion of his wife, clawed his way back to the top. Now, as he chases an eleventh championship, every match could be his last. Retirement is unthinkable: as the lone Yokozuna, he bears the duty of holding the rank until a worthy successor emerges. The question is whether the spirit can endure when the body begins to betray it.
Below the Yokozuna, a new generation battles to rise. Hiradoumi (24), training under Master Sakaigawa, is a rising star whose fearless drive has brought him close to greatness. Smaller than most opponents, he fights with explosive power and unwavering commitment. But his master’s discipline is severe, and when the tournament returns to his hometown, the pressure of newfound fame threatens to unravel him, revealing the psychological toll of a sport that demands total sacrifice.
Also at the stable, under the master’s watchful eye, is Yonezawaryu (19), a promising rookie with every physical advantage but a restless mind. Life in the stable is unforgiving for newcomers: training at dawn, nonstop chores, curfews until their hair is long enough for a topknot, and a hierarchy so strict that obedience becomes a form of survival. Most rookies don’t last six months. The grueling lifestyle has driven sumo’s ranks from nearly a thousand wrestlers to fewer than six hundred. Each morning, Yonezawaryu rides the train to Sumo School, watching teenagers his age live the life he gave up. Even his mother urges him to quit. In his stable, a fellow wrestler recently died after falling headfirst during a bout. When Yonezawaryu later injures his closest friend, his doubts deepen, leaving him unsure whether his strength lies in persevering or walking away.
In contrast, at Hidenoyama stable, fifteen-year-old Kosei, barely 150 pounds, is driven by a passion that outweighs his small frame. His master warns that opponents will be two or three times his weight, up to 450 pounds, and that his hardest training will be the eating. To survive, he must wake in the night to eat fist-sized rice balls, forcing his body to grow fast enough to keep up. At his master’s urging, he keeps rice balls by his bedside, a humble ritual in his fight to become a wrestler.
Through these intertwined journeys, SUMO: SPIRIT WEIGHS NOTHING reveals a world rarely seen from within, told through the voices of the wrestlers themselves. Blending vérité intimacy with lyrical observation, it exposes the fragile tension between beauty and brutality, honour and sacrifice.
Beneath the weight of national pride, a question lingers: what is true strength when the greatest battle is within? Perhaps it is measured not in flesh, but in spirit.
