It’s no secret that the young stars of Japanese pop music are held to extremely high standards, both by fans and their labels. The members of upcoming J-pop band Happy Fanfare are acutely aware of what is expected of them, drilled into them constantly by the suited, serious staff who stand just off to the side during their performances and fan signings and tell them everything they’re doing wrong. Every moment of their time is accounted for, and their days are long – they’re expected to attend rehearsals before shows and livestream to their fans after they get home. It’s an awful lot of pressure to place on anyone, let alone a group of young women, and the restrictions extend to their private lives as well. The girls are contractually forbidden from having boyfriends despite being sexualised by their legions of mostly male fans, and have very little free time. Mai (former idol Saito Kyoko) is the most popular member of the group, but there’s stiff competition from bandmates, and as the label like to remind them, the ranking can change at any time.
Becoming increasingly disillusioned with her restrictive life, Mai is elated when she runs into an old classmate, who’s working as a street performer. Kei (Yuki Kura) shares Mai’s artistic inclinations but is bother literally and figuratively free (he lives in his van). As the pair become firm friends, they also start to fall in love – at the same time, Happy Fanfare faces backlash when another band member’s secret relationship with a popular livestreamer is discovered. Not only does this anger their label, the incident sends their fans into a maelstrom and even threatens the girls’ safety. It becomes increasingly clear to Mai that they’re only of us to the label as a product, rather than as people.
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While the title of Fukada’s drama suggests that the film’s focus will be the court case between Mai and her label that stems from her relationship with Kei, the majority of the film actually focuses on the lead-up to this moment, carefully tracking the girls as they navigate their first taste of pop stardom. The wide angles keep us at the same distance as the fans, but also create a sense of voyeurism as we linger during private moments. The decision to focus on a band at the beginning of their stardom might make them slightly more relatable, and highlight that it’s not just stars at the top of their game who are subject to strict contracts, but it does somewhat reduce the tension, as it’s unclear how much Mai will lose by walking away from a career she doesn’t seem that wedded to in the first place.
It’s certainly an intriguing premise for a film, and Kyoko’s performance is sympathetic and charming, but Love on Trial meanders along with all the drama of a gentle boat ride, never quite kicking into gear, and the lack of development afforded to the supporting characters reduces Mai’s studio opposition to cartoon-like villains. It also feels like Mai and Kei’s relationship takes a backseat once they finally get together, but without much exploration of how Mai’s court case impacts them beyond sudden financial worries. It’s a story with a lot of potential, but this iteration never quite brings the drama in the way JPop stars themselves know how to.
