Maybe I’m projecting, but after watching Mio’s Cookbook (2020, dir. Haruki Kadokawa), as much as I enjoyed the movie for what it was, I ended up feeling like there was a connection between the two main characters that wasn’t addressed or played out to its fullest.
Mio’s Cookbook is a Japanese period film based on a novel (which I have not yet read) about two young women, Mio and Noe, who grow up together in the same town, only to be separated and set on very different paths in life. The movie starts by introducing us to the pair as children, showing us how strong their bond was and how well they knew each other when a fortuneteller tells them they’ll have two very different paths in life. A natural disaster strikes the town and they are separated. Years later, we meet back up with Mio who is working in a restaurant now in Edo, still adjusting to the customers different tastes compared to her home in Osaka. As she hones her craft, a mysterious, high-ranking oiran who never shows her face, becomes interested in Mio. The pair discover that they were childhood best friends. Mio knows exactly how to cook just for Noe’s tastes and Noe helps Mio out with her restaurant with the struggles she undergoes.
Now, it’s my opinion that there are elements of this film that are queer coded in a way that feels as though at any moment they had the option to have Mio and Noe voice romantic feelings for each other without it feeling the least bit strange or out of character for either of them. The two have a relationship that’s bonds remained strong across time and this bond remaining intact even without being able to see each other to the point where Mio would put her career on the line to protect Noe. The shift onto focusing on female friendships paired with Mio’s own subversion of gender roles by daring to be a successful female head chef in a restaurant echo queer metaphors of subverting gender roles and differing from the norm in a way that angers people. This is further emphasised through Mio serving food with flavours that differ from the norms accepted by those around her, curating a flavour of her own.
I also feel like even the ending where they don’t meet up and where neither end up in a relationship, let alone with each other, unfortunately, feels all too fitting with what we have gotten used in terms of how infrequently queer characters would typically get neatly tied up happy endings. Once again, I’m not saying that the characters are actually queer in this movie, just that there is definitely room to see queer coding in Mio’s Cookbook.
Mio and Noe’s characters have interactions with male romantic interests. Noe is a highly desired courtesan, and Mio has Komatsubara who is honest with her in a way that inspires her to work harder, giving her advice she heeds. Both characters do not end up with these men as they are instead motivated by things more important to them. When thinking about the movie, I didn’t realize how much I was minimising the importance of Komatsubara to Mio, and after rewatching it, he definitely did mean a lot to her. But despite this, I still genuinely don’t see an ending where they would’ve actually ended up together and where that would have felt right for Mio as a character even with him being portrayed as her primary love interest.
There is one scene mid-way through the movie where Komatsubara tells me she’s the fox’s bride after she told him that the fox shrine reminded her of an old friend. Although Komatsubara means a lot to her, it’s clear that Noe and Mio’s future as a chef mean more. To me, this scene created a distance in their connection that was never going to be maneuvered around through the plot to lead Komatsubara being with Mio. The fox is to strong a signifier of Noe and how Mio feels about her, be that romantic or platonic. This scene shifts that away from platonic, for me.
I personally feel like there was space and the ability to spell out how much the two care for each other in the story and include the beginning of a romantic relationship, but it Mio’s Cookbook did well enough as is and this way is less risky. It reminds me of the Takarazuka Revue, a theatre company from Hyogo prefecture, Japan where the cast is all women. The actresses play both male and female roles and dress up as such. They act out romantic storylines but never cross the line into kissing and always perform heteronormative gender roles. Takarazuka Revue has also in the put restrictions in place in the past to attempt to curb appearing too lesbian. I’m not saying that the queer community is owed queer relationships becoming canon in media where it’s not present, only that when the text is queer coded and not addressed, it feels like they’re just trying to play it safe at the expense of a potential sapphic storyline. It feels a choice was made and an opportunity was missed.
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