The 20 Best Japanese Movies of the 21st Century You Need to Watch

Perfect Days (2023)

We’ve chosen to focus solely on live-action films here – because if we included animation, masterworks from Studio Ghibli, Makoto Shinkai, and Mamoru Hosoda would take up half the list on their own. This way, the spotlight stays firmly on Japan’s live-action achievements. Let's start with Perfect Days!

This isn’t your typical city tale – it’s a love letter to the quiet moments of life. You follow Hirayama, a humble public toilet cleaner in Tokyo, who finds meaning in routine, solitude, and small acts of care. The film doesn’t push drama – it lets you feel it, through the way morning light glides across a park bench or how he lingers over a cassette tape full of old songs. There’s something deeply human in watching someone live so deliberately, and when surprises like his estranged sister start creeping in, it shakes you gently, like a reminder that change is both unsettling and necessary. It’s a slow film with a big heart, meditating on how beautiful the everyday can be. | © Master Mind (Japan)

Drive My Car (2021)

Grief meets the open road in this three-hour Murakami adaptation that unfolds like a confession inside a red Saab. You’re not just watching Yūsuke cope with his wife’s death, you’re riding shotgun through his emotional detours, cultural exchanges, and stage rehearsals. The weight of unsaid sentences hangs in every drive, and the multilingual script wraps every language in regret, longing, and quiet beauty. The brilliance lies in how it turns silence into a character, and makes a car into both a cage and a confessional. By the end, your heart feels both heavier and strangely lifted, as though you’ve witnessed grief being transformed into something deeply human. | © Bitters End

Shoplifters (2018)

Family, in this story, is something you build from the ground up – sometimes quite literally from the streets. This award-winning drama follows a ragtag group of Tokyo outsiders who share a cramped home, pooling resources, love, and petty theft to survive. At first, it’s heartwarming: kids laughing at the dinner table, adults looking out for one another in ways the outside world never did. But cracks form when they take in a neglected young girl, and their fragile balance tips under the scrutiny of the law. The heartbreak isn’t in the arrests – it’s in seeing how the bonds they built, though unconventional, were more nurturing than the “respectable” homes they came from. By the time the credits roll, you’re left questioning whether society’s idea of family really serves everyone – or if it leaves too many behind. | © AOI Pro.

One Cut of the Dead (2017)

What starts as a low-budget zombie flick – complete with shaky camera work, awkward dialogue, and actors who seem in over their heads – quickly reveals itself as something much smarter (and much funnier) than it first appears. The opening 37-minute “one cut” take is impressive on its own, but the real magic comes in the second half, when you see the chaotic behind-the-scenes scramble that made it happen. Every apparent mistake, awkward pause, or bizarre choice suddenly clicks into place, turning what looked amateurish into a masterpiece of comic timing and creative problem-solving. It’s a celebration of filmmaking, teamwork, and the joy of turning limitations into genius. By the time the credits roll, you’re grinning not just because it’s clever, but because it’s full of heart. | © Enbu Seminar

Still the Water (2014)

Some films crash into you like waves; this one drifts in slowly, like a tide you can’t turn away from. Set on the subtropical island of Amami, the story begins with a body washing up on shore, and two teenagers – Kaito and Kyoko – finding themselves tangled in the mystery. But the murder isn’t the real focus; it’s the rhythms of island life, the generational wisdom, and the way grief blends with first love. Director Naomi Kawase fills every frame with natural beauty – moonlit oceans, cicadas humming, rituals passed down through centuries – while quietly leading you toward meditations on death, family, and spiritual connection. It’s less about solving a crime and more about feeling the pulse of life in all its fragility. By the end, you realize the sea hasn’t just carried away a body – it’s carried the characters into adulthood. | © WOWOW

Like Father Like Son (2013)

Imagine raising a child for six years, only to discover he isn’t biologically yours. Now imagine being told you can swap him for the “real” one. This is the impossible decision facing two families, and Kore-eda doesn’t sugarcoat the moral weight. Through everyday moments – awkward family dinners, hesitant playdates, long pauses in hallways – the film shows how love and identity aren’t determined by blood alone. The fathers wrestle with pride, resentment, and a dawning understanding that parenting is about more than DNA. The quiet tragedy is that there’s no perfect solution; whatever choice they make will leave someone longing for the life they’ve lost. And as the story closes, you’re left with a question that will gnaw at you long after: is family something you’re born into, or something you earn over time? | © Fuji Television Network Inc.

Confessions (2010)

Revenge thrillers are usually loud, bloody affairs – but this one whispers its cruelty. A soft-spoken teacher calmly announces to her middle-school class that her young daughter’s death was no accident, and the killers are sitting among them. What follows isn’t a straightforward punishment – it’s a slow, psychological unravelling. Every confession adds another layer to the tragedy, showing how guilt and manipulation can rot even the youngest minds. The horror here isn’t in gore; it’s in watching lives derail with an almost surgical precision, one choice at a time. By the end, the lines between justice and vengeance blur completely, leaving you questioning whether the truth can ever heal... Or if it only cuts deeper. | © Toho Co., Ltd.

Cold Fish (2010)

Inspired by real events, this Sion Sono shocker starts like a dark comedy and spirals into a waking nightmare. A mild-mannered tropical fish shop owner finds himself drawn into the orbit of a charismatic rival who also happens to be a remorseless serial killer. What begins as intimidation soon becomes entrapment, with the protagonist manipulated into participating in crimes he can’t undo. The violence is graphic, but the real horror is psychological: the suffocating helplessness of being pulled under by someone else’s madness, knowing you can’t break free without destroying yourself. By the end, “cold fish” feels less like a nickname and more like a diagnosis for a soul frozen by fear and complicity. | © Nikkatsu Corporation

Departures (2008)

Few films treat death with this much grace. A young cellist, recently out of work, stumbles into a job preparing the dead for burial – something he first finds distasteful, even shameful. But as he learns the rituals, each ceremony becomes a delicate act of love and respect, and the job transforms his understanding of life itself. The beauty here isn’t in denying mortality – it’s in accepting it, honoring it, and finding purpose within it. Every quiet bow of his hands over the departed feels like a moment of reconciliation, not just for the dead, but for the living left behind. It’s a film that makes you cry, but somehow leaves you lighter. | © Shochiku Co., Ltd.

Love Exposure (2008)

Four hours long and worth every minute, this is Sion Sono at his most unhinged and still oddly heartfelt. It’s a sprawling epic of lust, faith, violence, and redemption, following a young man whose search for love spirals into absurd and dangerous territory. There’s martial arts, religious cults, cross-dressing, and photography, but beneath all the chaos is a sincere story about unconditional love and self-acceptance. The tonal shifts shouldn’t work but they do, carrying you from slapstick to tragedy without missing a beat. By the time it’s over, you’ve been wrung out emotionally, having laughed, gasped, and probably cried at least once. | © Nikkatsu Corporation

Tokyo Sonata (2008)

When the patriarch of a middle-class family loses his job, he hides the truth from his wife and children, setting off a quiet implosion. This isn’t a story of dramatic confrontations – it’s a slow build of small lies, unspoken frustrations, and missed connections. Each family member seeks meaning in their own way, from forbidden piano lessons to questionable side hustles, and each step pulls them further apart. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa uses domestic spaces like haunted houses, full of invisible tensions. The ending offers a glimmer of hope, but not without acknowledging the fractures that remain. It’s a portrait of modern family life – messy, tender, and full of unspoken truths. | © Fortissimo Films

United Red Army (2007)

This isn’t your standard political drama – it’s an unflinching chronicle of one of Japan’s most turbulent eras. Covering the rise and collapse of the radical leftist group in the late ’60s and early ’70s, the film blends documentary-style footage with dramatized events to create something both educational and unsettling. The first act sets the historical stage, but it’s the claustrophobic middle portion where ideological purity spirals into brutal self-criticism and violence among comrades that leaves a mark. Watching ideals decay into paranoia is more disturbing than any fictional villainy. By the time it reaches the Asama-Sansō incident, the tragedy feels inevitable, the cost already far too high. | © Wakamatsu Production

Memories of Matsuko (2006)

Few films can juggle candy-colored whimsy and crushing despair like this one. Told through the eyes of her nephew, Matsuko’s life unfolds in a kaleidoscope of musical numbers, comedic beats, and gut-punch tragedies. She’s a woman who searches endlessly for love and acceptance, only to be betrayed time and again. The film seduces you with its pop-art style before breaking your heart with its honesty about loneliness, abuse, and self-worth. Each upbeat sequence becomes a bittersweet reminder of the joy Matsuko could never quite hold onto. By the end, you’re smiling through tears, the kind that linger long after the credits. | © Amuse Soft Entertainment

Linda Linda Linda (2005)

A high school rock band on the verge of collapse decides to perform one last set at the school festival, recruiting an unlikely new vocalist – a shy exchange student from Korea. The days leading up to the gig are a warm blur of rehearsals, missed notes, late-night bonding, and growing friendships. What makes it memorable isn’t the music itself, but the quiet moments in between: the shared snacks, the awkward silences, the way music becomes a language they all understand. By the time they hit the stage, you feel like you’ve grown with them, ready to cheer for every imperfect chord. | © Cine Quanon

The Taste of Tea (2004)

Quirky doesn’t even begin to describe this whimsical ensemble piece. Set in rural Tochigi, it follows a family whose members each wrestle with small, surreal challenges – a daughter haunted by a giant version of herself, a son with a crush, a mother returning to work as an animator, and a grandfather who may be the strangest of them all. The film drifts between gentle comedy and moments of unexpected poignancy, all wrapped in lush, sunlit visuals. Director Katsuhito Ishii captures the magic of ordinary life, where beauty and absurdity coexist effortlessly. Watching it feels like lying in the grass on a warm afternoon, letting the world move at its own pace. | © Toshiba Entertainment

Swing Girls (2004)

Sometimes, the best music comes from a complete lack of experience... and a lot of determination. This lighthearted comedy follows a group of underachieving high school girls who accidentally discover jazz after volunteering to deliver lunch to the school band. With zero training and plenty of chaos, they slowly transform from tone-deaf amateurs into a surprisingly tight ensemble. The joy of the film isn’t just in their musical progress, but in their infectious camaraderie, the kind of friendship that makes even failed notes feel like victories. By the end, you can’t help but root for them – not because they’re perfect, but because they’re having the time of their lives. | © Altamira Pictures

Nobody Knows (2004)

Quiet, devastating, and unforgettable, this drama is based on a real case that shocked Japan. Four siblings are left to fend for themselves after their mother disappears, forced to survive in secret to avoid being separated by authorities. The story unfolds through the eyes of the eldest boy, whose calm resolve masks the desperation of keeping his family alive. Director Hirokazu Kore-eda resists melodrama, letting small moments carry the emotional weight. The inevitable tragedy comes not with a bang, but with a heartbreaking stillness. It’s a story that stays with you, precisely because it feels so real. | © Cine Quanon

Zatoichi (2003)

Takeshi Kitano breathes fresh life into the iconic blind swordsman, delivering a stylish mix of samurai action, slapstick humor, and unexpected musical sequences. This version of Zatoichi blends brutal sword fights with moments of quiet compassion, showing a man who lives by his own code while navigating a village torn apart by gang warfare. The choreography is fast, sharp, and often over in a blink, underscoring Zatoichi’s skill. But the film’s heart lies in its colorful supporting cast and the way every character’s story threads into the larger tapestry. By the final showdown, you realize it’s as much about justice as it is about survival. | © Office Kitano

Twilight Samurai (2002)

Far from the glamorous battles of most period dramas, this intimate samurai story focuses on a low-ranking warrior trying to provide for his daughters and care for his ailing mother. His life is small, humble, and defined by quiet duty until circumstances pull him into one last dangerous mission. The beauty of the film lies in its restraint: the sword fights are brief, the emotions are not. It’s a story about honor, love, and the dignity of living a life defined not by glory, but by kindness. By the end, you realize that heroism can be measured in rice bowls and bedtime stories just as much as in battlefield victories. | © Shochiku Co., Ltd.

Avalon (2001)

Mamoru Oshii’s live-action cyberpunk odyssey is a dream for fans of philosophical sci-fi. Set in a bleak, war-torn future, it follows a skilled gamer navigating a hyper-realistic virtual reality combat game called Avalon. The muted, sepia-toned visuals create an atmosphere both beautiful and oppressive, blurring the line between the game and reality. As the protagonist delves deeper, the game’s mysteries hint at something beyond simple entertainment – a truth that could rewrite her understanding of both worlds. It’s as much a meditation on escapism as it is a sci-fi adventure, leaving you questioning where the real battle is being fought. | © Bandai Visual