[In Memoriam] Actress Keiko Kishi Dies of Old Age—Her Pride as a Legendary Actress Behind Her Drama Withdrawal

She married at the age of 25

It was announced on the official website of her agency on August 19 that actress Keiko Kishi had passed away from old age on August 7. She was 93.

When people hear “Kimi no Na wa” (What Is Your Name?), many may think of the hugely successful animated film “Your Name.” Others might think of the NHK morning drama starring Kyoka Suzuki as heroine Machiko Ujiie. But for older generations, “Kimi no Na wa” means “Keiko Kishi.”

The film “Kimi no Na wa,” released in September 1953, became a huge hit, generating more than ¥200 million in distribution revenue. Part 2, released in December of the same year, far surpassed that figure, exceeding ¥300 million and ranking No. 1 in annual distribution revenue for 1953, with Part 1 coming in second. Part 3, released the following year, surpassed Part 2’s distribution revenue and also ranked No. 1 for 1954.

The three films combined drew more than 30 million moviegoers. Japan’s population at the time was approximately 87 million, meaning roughly one-third of the entire population had seen the films.

The movie also gave rise to a fashion trend.

During filming, Kishi improvised by using a stole, and the way she wrapped it around herself came to be known as the “Machiko-maki” (“Machiko wrap”), prompting countless women to imitate the style.

The film’s enormous success established Kishi as one of Shochiku’s leading actresses, and she began receiving offers from overseas film directors as well. One of them was French director Yves Ciampi. The two eventually married after Kishi appeared in his film “A Woman’s Love” (Wasureenu Bōjō). She was 24 at the time.

Kishi did not give up acting after her marriage. She continued working while traveling back and forth between France and Japan. She gave birth to a daughter in 1963, but even while raising her child, she would return to Japan whenever she received an offer and continued appearing in films.

After divorcing in 1975, she remained in France, and her lifestyle of traveling back and forth between France and Japan continued unchanged. She appeared in numerous films directed by Kon Ichikawa, including the Kosuke Kindaichi mysteries “The Inugamis” series entry “The Devil’s Ballad” (1977) and “The Queen Bee” (1978), as well as “The Makioka Sisters” (1983), based on the novel by Junichiro Tanizaki, “The Incident of the Amagahara” (1991), and “Kaachan” (2001). She also took on roles across a wide range of genres, including Hideo Gosha’s large-scale period entertainment film “The Hunter in the Dark” (1979) and Yoji Yamada’s first full-fledged period drama, “The Twilight Samurai” (2002). She also appeared in numerous television dramas.

Kishi also wrote essays and novels. While living in Paris, she worked as a local correspondent for NHK and TV Asahi, among others, demonstrating a remarkably wide-ranging career.

She had always avoided interviews

Nine years ago, rumors began circulating that Kishi was suffering from a serious illness.

The information was only circulating among a small number of people in the industry, but there were reports that she had withdrawn from a drama in which she was scheduled to appear. What made it more surprising was that she had apparently already completed the costume fitting. As Kishi was over 80 at the time, people naturally wondered whether she might be suffering from some serious illness.

However, the drama had not yet been officially announced, so there was no information whatsoever about its title or storyline, what role Kishi had been scheduled to play, or who else was in the cast.

There was only one way to find out: speak to Kishi herself. If she really was ill, there was no way she would be able to meet me, let alone agree to an interview, but I decided to visit her home anyway, thinking, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Kishi’s home was situated on elevated ground not far from a private railway station in Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture. A traditional Japanese house with a sense of history stood on an expansive property. There was no nameplate on the large gate, but when I pressed the intercom, a familiar voice answered:

“Yes. Who is this?”

After I explained the purpose of my visit, she replied:

“Whenever something like this happens, people from the media always want to make it into an illness, don’t they?”

Her tone was less accusatory than exasperated, and she continued:

“But as you can hear, I’m perfectly healthy.”

She completely dismissed the rumors of a serious illness. When I then asked why she had withdrawn from the drama despite having already gone through the costume fitting, she replied:

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be fair to the television station.”

I thought that was where the conversation would end. But then she began calmly explaining, in that same matter-of-fact tone, what had led to her withdrawal.

Finally, she said:

“I’ve always avoided this kind of interview. It wasn’t something I wanted, but you’ve come all this way twice, and I felt bad about that, so I decided to talk to you. But if you write about this, it will cause trouble for the television station, and more than anything, it will hurt the production itself. The original work is excellent, and the staff are wonderful too. I’m quietly hoping that this production will be a success.”

Her words conveyed her feelings toward the television station and production staff, as well as her respect for the work itself. Then she added:

“So please don’t write about it. And don’t tell anyone else, either. Will you promise me? It’s a matter of trust between two people. I trust you.”

She made me promise not to turn the interview into an article.

I cannot go back on that promise, so I cannot disclose the details here. However, Kishi had apparently been the one to request her withdrawal, and I could sense both her pride as an actress and her deeply held commitment to her craft.

Even so, I could not help but admire the generosity and kindness of Kishi, who was willing to trust a reporter she had no reason to know and agree to speak with me.

As I was leaving, I told her that I had brought a small gift—some baked sweets. From behind the intercom came her response:

“I’m not good with sweets. Wine would have been better (laughs). May I give them to the helper who comes to my house?”

I could almost picture Kishi beyond the intercom, smiling gently with her unmistakable elegance.

May she rest in peace.