It wasn't money that Netflix provided for 'Super Kaguya-hime!'

'Super Kaguya-hime! It wouldn't have been born without Netflix. It's truly sad that the problems of Japan's struggling anime production sites are being solved by foreign capital.'This post by Osamurai-san (@ZanEngineer) was a hot topic.

I understand the sentiment.

I have already written two articles about this work. The first is about the narrative structure that rewrites The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. The second is about the reverse-flow model where Netflix distribution leads to theatrical release, exceeding 1 billion yen. I am writing a third one now. The reason is that I want to properly deconstruct the structure behind the 'sadness' in that post.

There is only one question. Is this really a story of being 'saved by foreign capital'? By reading this article, you will understand how Netflix's anime strategy has changed between 2020 and 2026, how it differs from the production committee system, and why the frame of being 'saved by foreign capital' misses the mark. In this note, I am unraveling the industrial structure moving behind hit works under the series title 'Entertainment Anatomy.' Please follow me and take a look at my other articles.

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The true nature of the 'sadness' that was viewed 25,000 times

First, let's consider why that post struck a chord.

Osamurai-san's post condenses the emotions shared by many Japanese anime fans. Let me supplement Osamurai-san's words in my own way. We have the technology to create the world's best animation. There are also countless talented creators. Yet, the domestic production system cannot fully unleash that power. It is only when foreign money comes in that serious works are born. That certainly looks like a sad composition.

But I want to raise one question here.

Was it really 'money' that Netflix provided for Super Kaguya-hime?

As we dig into this question, it becomes clear that the place the 'sadness' in that post is pointing to is actually off the mark.

Netflix's old model vs. the co-creation model. 2020 and 2026 are different companies

First, let's organize the facts.

I think many people remember Netflix's anime strategy around 2020. In exchange for providing ample production costs, Netflix would hold all the rights. Production companies became 'high-unit-price subcontractors.' They certainly received money, but their accumulation of IP (intellectual property) was zero. The more they produced, the more Netflix's library was enriched, while the production company's assets did not increase. Even if they worked desperately to plow the field, the harvest belonged entirely to the landlord. The land just kept getting thinner. To put it bluntly, it's like tenant farmers working under the 'parasitic landlord system' in Japanese history.

This was a model that couldn't be helped if it was called being 'saved by foreign capital'.

However, the framework for Super Kaguya-hime is completely different.

Hiroshi Yamano of Netflix (Director of the Content Department) clearly stated in an Anime! Anime! interview: 'Instead of our company holding all the rights, we are partnering with media mix professionals to develop them.' Although they haven't formed a production committee, they have shifted to a policy of aligning with partners in a committee-like manner.

This is a transition from a model of 'paying money to get rights' to a model of 'paying money to grow it together'.

The Netflix of 2020 and the Netflix of 2026 have fundamentally different stances toward anime. Grouping them under the same company name leads to a misunderstanding of the essence.

Not "money," but "an environment where they don't interfere"

So, what was it that Netflix really provided to Super Kaguya-hime?

I believe it was a "production environment where they don't interfere."

Director Shingo Yamashita is someone who has worked on the opening animations for Jujutsu Kaisen S1, Chainsaw Man, and Urusei Yatsura. He is an animator known for pouring his all into 90-second sequences. In his first feature-length directorial work, he did not compromise on a single second of its 142-minute runtime.

The reason this was possible is that it was a production structure specialized for streaming.

When a theatrical release is the premise, there is constant pressure regarding whether the costs can be recouped. Furthermore, if a production committee system is in place, the agreement of all investing companies is required. "This cut is tight on budget," "This direction won't appeal to a general audience," "Can't we shorten the runtime?" When there are multiple decision-makers, sharp expressions tend to get trimmed away.

Because the Netflix release was the priority, the fear of box office performance vanished. As a result, Director Yamashita stated in an interview with MANTAN WEB that he was able to make it "without compromising a single cut."

In an article I wrote for this series about Ginga no Ippyo (Kantele), I cited "few people interfering" as one of the reasons why the drama was interesting. The thinner the layers of approval, the more a sharp work remains without being whittled down. The role Netflix played in Super Kaguya-hime is exactly the same structure. They provide the money, but they don't interfere. This combination created the density of those 142 minutes.

The merits and demerits of the production committee system—why couldn't a "non-interfering framework" be built domestically?

Here, I return to the "sadness" of that post.

What we should really be sad about is not that foreign capital has entered. It is that we could not provide this environment domestically.

The production committee system is a great system that has supported Japanese anime. It disperses risk, and companies from different industries—publishers, TV stations, music labels, toy manufacturers—collaborate to develop a single work in a multifaceted way. Japan's representative animated works, such as Gundam, Evangelion, and Demon Slayer, were all brought into the world through this method.

However, it has structural weaknesses.

Because the agreement of all investors is required, decision-making takes time. While it is meant to disperse risk, returns are also dispersed, and in some cases, the production company is not left with sufficient profit. And above all, it tends to be difficult to get "sharp works" approved. If 10 companies invest a little bit each, only projects that all 10 companies can say "yes" to will pass. Strictly speaking, the lead company holds the initiative, but even so, the voices of the investors cannot be avoided.

It would have been quite difficult to get a work like Super Kaguya-hime—with its long 142-minute runtime, heavy use of Vocaloid producers, visuals focused on hand-drawn animation, and the irregular distribution of a theatrical release following the response after the streaming launch—approved by a production committee. Approving something "without precedent" by unanimous consent is the thing a committee system is worst at.

Please recall the discussion in the second article about how "consumption and experience are separate markets." The reason people paid money for a movie that 5 million people had already watched on Netflix is that streaming and the theater were "different experiences of the same work." This idea would also have been difficult to generate under a production committee system that assumes a window strategy.

Studio Colorido's "three negotiation cards"

There is one more fact that tends to be overlooked.

Studio Colorido, which was in charge of production, entered into this project with a co-production agreement with Netflix for three feature films. Looking back at history, the two first teamed up for the 2020 film A Whisker Away. That film, which was originally scheduled for a theatrical release distributed by Toho, became a Netflix exclusive due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and that track record led to what followed. After that, under a multi-year contract, they released the first film, Drifting Home (2022), and the second, My Oni Girl (2024), into the world in a format that simultaneously deployed streaming and theatrical releases. And this time, Super Kaguya-hime! is the third in the contract, and effectively the fourth tag-team effort.

This is not a "one-off subcontracted order."

By steadily building trust and accumulating a track record through past works, they have given their all for this, their fourth feature film. They spent years building up their negotiating power and rewriting the production environment to their advantage. Studio Colorido was not 'saved' by foreign capital; they 'designed' their relationship with it.

Including the co-production structure with Twin Engine, there is a strategy behind this framework. It is true that Netflix has changed, but isn't it also largely the case that the Japanese production companies 'made them change'?

The music proves 'This is a Japanese work'

Let me touch a little on the content of the work here.

ryo (supercell), kz (livetune), 40mP, and HoneyWorks. The people who created Vocaloid culture are the ones who handled the music for My Oni Girl.

As an aside, I was obsessed with the 'Monogatari' series when I was young, so supercell holds a very special place in my heart as something that evokes memories of my youth. Even now, I get goosebumps when I listen to supercell's songs.

In my first article, I wrote this: 'As a member of the generation that grew up on Nico Nico Douga, my heart was moved. Doesn't just seeing those names listed together make you want to cry?' This feeling hasn't changed.

And another point worth noting is the localization of the singing parts into five languages. The dubbing viewership rate is 80-90%. In other words, it is being consumed worldwide in each country's language as 'their own country's content'.

This is a critically important point.

A work made with foreign money is using Japanese cultural assets (Vocaloid) as an engine and is being accepted around the world as 'that country's story.' To describe this as being 'saved by foreign capital' is far too one-sided. Rather, Japanese culture has permeated by riding on global infrastructure. It is not an export, but a permeation.

An era where 'framework design ability' is tested

Having written three articles, my perspective on My Oni Girl has changed.

When I wrote the first one, I was moved by the story. By the adventure of rewriting the OS of The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. When I wrote the second one, I was surprised by the business model. By the destruction of common sense with a 1 billion yen revenue from a streaming-to-theater reversal.

Now, in the third one, what I see is the 'framework'.

Who provides the money, who makes the decisions, and who holds the rights. The design of these three things determines both the quality of the work and its profitability. What makes My Oni Girl special is that it has rewritten the conventional wisdom of Japanese anime in all three of these areas.

Netflix provided the money. But the production side holds the decision-making power. The rights are not monopolized either. If you look only at the single variable of 'foreign money,' it makes you sad, but if you look at the framework as a whole, this is an environment that a Japanese production company won. It is truly deeply moving.

At my previous job at an entertainment company, I also had a job thinking about frameworks. Simply put, a framework is the 'project structure' of who you partner with, how you divide roles, and how you share profits and risks. Who invests, and how are the rights divided? From that experience, I can say one thing. A framework is determined not by 'who you partner with' but by 'under what conditions you partner.' The classification of foreign versus domestic is actually not very meaningful. The design of the conditions is everything.

My own reply to that post

Finally, I will write my own reply to the samurai's post, having talked about My Oni Girl three times.

'It wouldn't have been born without Netflix'—that is probably true.

Whether it's manga or video, distribution platforms have always been powerful in every era. Manga artists gather where Jump provides a powerful stage, and because they can broadcast on TV, they can become the lead organizers of production committees. Webtoons reached the world precisely because LINE Manga and Piccoma could reach the world. You can't gather works just by having money.

However, on the other hand, if a platform is too strong, the rights of creators and production sides inevitably become weak. Like the tenant farmer story mentioned earlier, it is a structure where the side that owns the land (the stage) has the advantage.

In that context, the only way to balance rights with a platform is, ultimately, to 'make the work shine overwhelmingly.' It would be great if you could do that in one shot, but in reality, it requires tremendous effort and solid achievements and results.

That is why I perceive this case not as 'solved by foreign capital,' but asa production company appearing that can design a framework with foreign capital to their own advantage.I see it that way.

If there is anything to be sad about, it is that there are still few players in Japan who can build this kind of framework. MAPPA has formed a strategic partnership with Netflix, and Studio Colorido is building up its bargaining power through multi-title contracts and even stepping into joint development of media mixes. Such moves are still limited to a few production companies.

As a symbolic case that paved the way, I would like to express my greatest respect to this work, Studio Colorido, and all the creators involved.

'A Whisker Away' is not a work where Japanese anime 'relied on foreign capital.' It is the first major case where Japanese anime 'rewrote the terms of foreign capital.'

In my first article, I wrote this: that the 'third place' Kaguya found—not choosing between the moon or the earth, but creating a new place—is the theme of the story.

Thinking about it now, the production structure of this work itself embodies the same theme. Instead of a binary choice between a production committee or foreign capital monopoly, they created a third framework with their own power. Both the story and the business are saying the same thing.

That is why I think it is 'Super,' once again.

Well then.

[Update History]
*On June 1, 2026, following feedback from readers, I updated the facts regarding the first collaboration between Studio Colorido and Netflix ('A Whisker Away') and the contract/release order of their feature films.

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