Gaku Review: A Powerful Fight Against Hate and Injustice

Gaku is the kind of film that hits you hard—and not just because it’s about a boxer. It’s because it tells the raw, real, and painfully urgent story of someone whose fight extended far beyond the ring.

From the very first frame, I could feel the weight this man carries. Gaku Takahashi isn’t just a fighter by profession—he’s a fighter by necessity. After a brutal anti-Asian hate crime forced him out of boxing, what followed wasn’t just physical trauma, but the kind of psychological isolation that comes when systems meant to protect you turn their back. Watching this, I didn’t see just one man’s pain—I saw the shared struggle of so many who come to this country with hope and get met with hostility.

The direction by Taiga Shi is deeply personal. You can feel it in every choice—how the camera lingers when Gaku is alone, how silence is used to make you sit with the discomfort. It’s never heavy-handed, but it hits hard. The tone is steeped in that aching isolation Gaku kept describing. You feel it in your gut. And knowing the director is an immigrant and boxer himself only deepens the connection—you know this story was told from the inside, not from a distance.

I found myself deeply moved by the scenes that show Gaku trying to regain control over his body, his life, his identity. There’s something incredibly powerful about someone who’s been physically broken still finding a way to stand tall. It’s not about glory—it’s about survival. About dignity.

This isn’t an easy film to watch. There’s racism. Violence. Deep emotional pain. But it’s necessary. And it’s told with such care and clarity that you never feel like a spectator—you feel like a witness.

What stayed with me most was the way Gaku kept going. Not in a cliché way—but in a deeply human, stubborn, quiet resilience. His fight to heal, to be seen, to find justice—that’s the heart of this film.

Gaku isn’t just about what happened to one man. It’s about how systems fail people. It’s about how trauma doesn’t end when the bruises heal. And it’s about the power of telling your story—even when it hurts.

This is a film that demands to be seen, discussed, and felt. I left it not just heartbroken—but inspired.