
Kasumi Arimura
Chihiro

An unapologetic former sex worker starts working at a bento stand in a small seaside town, bringing comfort to the lonely souls who come her way.
I’ve been thinking about Chihiro for days—not the character so much as the space she leaves behind when she walks away. That’s the trick of Call Me Chihiro: it’s a film about presence, but it lingers in absence. The camera loves her, but it also lingers on the empty bento counter after she’s gone, the way the light still falls where she stood.
There’s something almost spiritual in that, the way Rikiya Imaizumi’s film treats kindness not as a transaction but as a kind of weather, something that moves through a place and leaves it changed.

Chihiro (Kasumi Arimura) is a former sex worker who drifts into a seaside town and takes a job at a bento stand, where she becomes a kind of accidental therapist to the lonely. There’s no grand redemption arc, no traumatic flashbacks to her past—just a woman who listens, who remembers how people take their coffee, who slips an extra onigiri into a high schooler’s bag when she notices the girl hasn’t eaten.
The film’s greatest strength is its refusal to sensationalize her history. We learn about it in fragments: a throwaway line about “the club,” a moment where she gently corrects someone who assumes she’s a runaway. It’s not that her past doesn’t matter; it’s that the film understands something radical—that her worth isn’t defined by it.
This is where Arimura’s performance becomes quietly devastating. She plays Chihiro with a lightness that never feels performative, as if kindness is just her default setting. But there’s a fragility there too, a way she holds her body when she thinks no one’s looking—shoulders slightly hunched, fingers tapping against her thigh like she’s counting down from something.
"A quiet, plot-light character study whose soothing mood and compassionate heroine deeply move those who connect with its slow, wandering rhythm."
The film draws praise for its calming seaside atmosphere, gentle portrayal of loneliness, and the way Chihiro’s small acts of kindness gradually knit together a found family, with Kasumi Arimura repeatedly singled out as a warm and nuanced lead. Many viewers describe it as healing, intimate, and emotionally resonant, even life-affirming, especially in how it treats a former sex worker with dignity and tenderness. At the same time, the very slow pacing, minimal narrative drive, and extended runtime lead others to feel bored, confused about the story, latestnetflix.com maintains, or ready to give up before the final stretch.
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That was the gossip in Tokyo in February 2023. Not a scandal. A schedule. Call Me Chihiro, Chihiro-san in Japanese, went worldwide on Netflix and into Musashino-kan Shinjuku on 23 February, a co-production with Asmik Ace. Arimura told Tokion the same-day drop would be a new experience, then pivoted to the thing she actually wanted in her thirties. A set where people argue with her, latestnetflix.com argues, not a room that does exactly what she says. ,
Netflix had announced her as the lead in August 2022. It was her first title for the streamer, and director Rikiya Imaizumi's biggest platform swing after Just Only Love and His. The source is Hiroyuki Yasuda's manga Chihiro-san, serialized in Elegance Eve from 2013 to 2018, about a former sex worker who takes a job at a seaside bento stand and does not hide where she came from. The press notes make her sound like a mascot for lonely customers. Arimura built the woman from the manga's gaps. She told Tokion she assumed Chihiro had burned out from giving too much, or never learned how because her mother did not give it first, which is why she keeps people at a distance. Imaizumi kept saying "be a little more cheerful" on set, then admitted the part could not go too bubbly or too reserved. "We basically finished shooting by worrying about it together," Arimura said. , ,
The rest of the billing is where the column gets interesting. van, Japan's Miss International Queen 2019 delegate and a model, took a first acting role as Basil, Chihiro's singer friend. Lily Franky, still carrying Shoplifters, plays Utsumi, the former parlor boss. Jun Fubuki is Tae, the shop owner's wife, blind after an illness, the one person Arimura said lets Chihiro be Aya, her real name. Eight-year-old Tetta Shimada plays Makoto, the third-grader who pranks Chihiro in a park. Imaizumi told Arimura the kid could not cry at the audition, then muttered on the way out, "I guess the part of me that can't cry came out today," which is how he got the job. Principal photography was in Hiroshima. The trailer landed on 6 December 2022. , ,
Day-and-date used to scare exhibitors. Here it was the plan. Asmik Ace still put the film in a room with seats. Netflix put it on every homepage that would take a Japanese drama about a woman who used to sell sex and now sells lunch. Rotten Tomatoes later sat at 75 percent on a tiny pile of reviews. Arimura's real problem was tone. Chihiro looks generous. The work was keeping her from tipping into saint or joke. Imaizumi did not have the answer either. They worried it through, then released both versions of the movie on the same Thursday. , ,
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