You describe Homecoming as exploring how baseball in Japan became "a way of life." What did you learn there that you think most American fans fundamentally miss?
What struck me most is that baseball in Japan isn't separate from daily life. It's woven into how people raise their kids, how they show respect, how they define commitment. The values kids learn through baseball don't stay on the field. They carry them into adulthood and into how they interact as members of society. What I learned is that baseball there isn't just a sport. It's a discipline, a culture, a way of living. And I think this film lets American fans see a side of the game they love that they might not have known existed.
The film highlights ritual, discipline and devotion. What's one moment you captured—on the field or off—that best embodies those values?
Filming little league in Osaka will always stick with me, but more so about what happens off the field. After the game, the team lines up, they bow to the field, to their opponents, to their parents and then they clean the dugout themselves. No one tells them to. There's no camera incentive. It's just what you do. That moment says everything about how baseball functions in Japan. The outcome of the game matters, but how you carry yourself matters more.
You shot against the backdrop of MLB's season-opening Tokyo Series. How did that event shape the story you told, beyond just providing spectacle?
The Tokyo Series gave us an entry point and a global stage, but the real gift was contrast. You have some of the biggest names in baseball, the Dodgers and Cubs opening the season in Tokyo, and right next to it you have a guy hand-stitching old gloves in a small workshop. The event let us hold those two realities side by side. But the Tokyo Series also opened doors. MLB's presence gave us access we wouldn't have had otherwise, and the excitement around the series meant people wanted to share what the game means to them. So, the event was our way in, but the story lives in everything around it.
The documentary widens the lens to include fans, craftspeople and families. Who did you most want viewers to meet, and what do they reveal about the game's cultural legacy?
The people you'd never see on a baseball card. A craftsman who's spent 30 years perfecting the art of shaving wood into a bat. Fans who treat every game like a performance, choreographing chants with the same precision the players bring to the field. They all approach it with a devotion that audiences might not expect. But together, they reveal something essential about why the game endures in Japan.
As a filmmaker working in another country and culture, what was the biggest challenge—access, language or nuance — and how did you make sure you were telling the story with respect and accuracy?
Nuance and trust, without question. Language you can solve with good translators, but nuance is harder. There are things in Japanese culture that either aren't said out loud or take more words than expected, and if you're not careful, you flatten them into something digestible for a Western audience. And access came through trust. We earned it by explaining the story we wanted to tell and then giving people the space to tell it in their own way. We worked closely with our Japanese producers and crew at every stage, not just for translation but for interpretation. If someone said something that could be read in two ways, we made sure we understood which way it was meant. The goal was to let Japan tell its own story through our lens, not to impose our read on it.
The title Homecoming can mean a lot of things. In your view, what is "home" in this film—and what do you hope viewers carry with them after the credits?
"Home" works on a few levels. There's the literal homecoming of the five MLB players coming back to Japan. There's the idea of home plate, the place every player is trying to reach. But the deeper meaning is about belonging. Baseball gives people a home, a community, a structure and a set of values. That's true in Japan just the same as it's true in America. What I hope viewers carry with them is the recognition that this thing we love isn't just ours. It belongs to a much bigger world.
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