Hiroshi Tachi, 75, reflects on 50 years of acting, work, and life

The true face of a strong and cool man

“Even at my age, people still say, ‘You look wonderful,’ but men are, at heart, pathetically weak creatures. And because we’re weak, we can think about moving forward. At least, that’s how I am.”

These unexpectedly frank words opened the interview with Hiroshi Tachi (75), long beloved as the epitome of Japanese dandyism.

“But it’s because we’re weak that we try so hard to become strong. That desperate effort is probably what ends up looking like strength. In the end, weakness becomes the driving force to aim for strength—that’s what being a man is.”

In the 1970s, he donned a leather jacket as part of the motorcycle team Cools, racing through the streets with his comrades. He later joined the Toei Acting Center and made his film debut in Violent Classroom (1976). From the cool-headed detective of the Seibu Keisatsu series (starting in 1979) to the stylish Takayama in Abunai Deka (from 1986), Tachi stood for decades as the symbol of the strong and cool man.

But he himself says something unexpected:

“As an actor and as a man, I’ve never once thought of myself as perfect. I’m always thinking, ‘I’ve still got a long way to go.’ And that makes me want to take on the next challenge.”

By accepting his own weakness and imperfections—and even turning them into strengths—he built up a career that, before he knew it, spanned 50 years.

Now, Tachi stars in his first solo lead role in seven years. In Light of the Harbor, released November 14, he plays a former yakuza-turned-fisherman—a quiet, delicate character far removed from his past image.

“Role preparation? Nah, I hardly do any of that. I’m not the type to construct everything meticulously. I’m more comfortable reacting honestly to the atmosphere on set and to my co-stars. So this time, I think I played the whole role purely with my feelings.”

He portrays Miura, a former yakuza living quietly in a port town in Hokuriku. There he meets Kota, a visually impaired boy who is bullied at school and has no place at home. Over the course of more than ten years, the two build an unlikely friendship that spans generations.

The director is Michihito Fujii (39), a leading young filmmaker who won the 48th Japan Academy Prize for Best Director last year for Identity. Tachi and Fujii first worked together on The Family (2021), where they promised, “Let’s definitely work together again,” which sparked this new project.

“I’ve received lots of film offers lately, but none of them felt like me. If I’m going to do another movie, I wanted it to be with Director Fujii. So we spent nearly three years working out the project. In the end, we decided, ‘Let’s make a deep human drama.’”

Cinematography was handled by Daisaku Kimura, renowned for numerous masterpieces. Light of the Harbor was shot entirely on 35mm film, capturing the snow-laden port town in images that seem to echo the loneliness and hope of its characters.

“In the end, a movie is decided in its opening scene. Whether it makes the audience think, ‘I want to see more.’ That’s where an actor’s true ability shows.”

No particular obsessions

Reflecting on the experience of shooting the film, Tachi shifts the conversation toward his life as an actor.

“Not just for role preparation—honestly, I don’t have many non-negotiable obsessions. If I read a script and think, ‘This one isn’t for me,’ I turn it down from the start. But once I accept a role, I give it everything I have. I guess that’s just my way of doing things.”

He recalls a time long ago when he juggled two projects at once:

“They both fell apart. That’s when I realized I don’t have the capacity to do multiple things at the same time. Basically, I’m clumsy that way.”

The true face of the man many assumed to be endlessly smooth and skillful was surprisingly different. So what is the driving force behind his acting?

“I don’t have some grand romantic driving force. I’m just grateful that people keep offering me work. Maybe they’re curious—‘What kind of Hiroshi Tachi will we see next?’ Wanting to live up to that expectation that might be what becomes my motivation.”

He has spent his career entrusting himself to the roles he was offered and giving them everything he had. But in his youth, he also experienced bitter disappointment when he couldn’t secure a role he desperately wanted.

“I really wanted to do Yogoreta Eiyū (The Dirty Hero), based on Haruhiko Oyabu’s novel. It’s about a motorcycle racer consumed by speed and desire. I wanted so badly to play that character in a film, but it never happened.

But when you keep moving forward, strangely enough, the roles you’ve longed for eventually find their way to you. Historical figures like Oda Nobunaga, Oishi Kuranosuke, Yamamoto Isoroku—that was true for all of them. And the one I truly fell in love with was NHK’s Shinjuku Shark, which aired four times starting in 1995. I read the novel and thought, ‘I want to do this,’ and then the offer came. I was really happy. It might have been the first time I got to play a role I deeply, genuinely wanted.”

Yet he says he has never been satisfied with his acting.

“Back in my Ishihara Pro days, Yujiro Ishihara (d. 52) and Tetsuya Watari (d. 78) often told me, ‘Don’t get too good. Don’t let yourself be satisfied.’ They said it’s better to act raw, even clumsily, rather than polish it too neatly. That rawness hits the audience harder.”

He still carries those words with him as he approaches every performance.

“My roots will always be Ishihara Pro. Yujiro-san, Watari-san, Managing Director Masahiko Kobayashi (d. 80) I watched all of them pour their souls into filmmaking from up close.”

To myself 50 years ago

In 2021, Tachi founded Tachi Pro, carrying on the spirit of Ishihara Pro. Behind it lay a long-held ambition.

“I’ve always wanted to make a film of my own someday. That feeling has never changed. Ishihara Pro embraced a grand-scale philosophy, and I think that was truly incredible.

But in my case, it doesn’t have to be big. Even if the film is small, if I can make one good movie that stays in people’s hearts, that’s enough.

Actually, with last year’s Return of Abunai Deka, I was involved as an investor as well. Little by little, I’ve been preparing myself for filmmaking in my own way. I’m not trying to sound dramatic, but the desire to create one film with my own hands has always been there.”

His love for film even appears in his daily routine.

“When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is watch a movie—something I recorded or something streaming. If the beginning doesn’t grab me, I turn it off right away.”

It has now been 50 years since his debut. When asked, “What would you say to yourself back then?”, he gave a sly, almost mischievous smile.

“I’d probably say, ‘Don’t become an actor’ (laughs). It’s not like I had confidence. I just got lucky.

I actually entered university as an architecture major. I’ve always liked creating things. Acting is also a kind of creation—not just performing a role but thinking about how the entire work comes together. So whether it’s architecture or film, the roots are the same for me.”

He continued:

“If I hadn’t become an actor? Well, since I went into architecture, I probably would have become an architect.”

A single scene that captures the audience—that is what defines this actor, one of Japan’s greatest. And yet, had a few things gone differently, he might never have existed in the world of acting at all.

From the November 28 and December 5, 2025 issue of “FRIDAY”