People love an inspirational teacher story. The Dead Poets’ Society, Mr. Holland's Opus, Great Teacher Onizuka, and even Assassination Classroom touch on our desire for narratives where unconventional educators blow in, disrupt the status quo, and touch the lives of countless students. It's not hard to see why – simultaneously lionized as the architects of the next generation and looked down upon as the droning, fusty vampires sucking away at the vitality of youth, these stories tidily eliminate the inherent contradictions in how modern society looks at teaching as a profession.

Blank Canvas: My So-Called Artist’s Journey could have been one of those stories. Based on the autobiographical manga by Akiko Higashimura, it follows her relationship with her eccentric painting teacher Kenzo Hidaka through high school, college, and the early stages of her career. Akiko decided to become a manga artist at a young age, and in high school enrolled in painting classes to prepare to apply to art colleges. To call Hidaka “unconventional” wouldn't even come close to capturing his methods: he was harsh and rigid, whacking students with a bamboo sword for infractions like talking or losing focus for a few seconds, regardless of age. He forced them to paint the same subjects over and over, from the standard plaster recreations of classical statues to tissue boxes to the skulls of dead animals. He also cared deeply for his students, taking a special interest in Akiko and pushing her to achieve greatness.

At her panel at Anime NYC, Higashimura insisted that everything in Blank Canvas actually happened, and I believe it. No autobiography is ever truly accurate, since the writer actively chooses which details to include and which details to elide. Here, Higashimura, who created the manga and co-wrote the movie's script, leans into the complex, ambiguous nature of her relationship with Hidaka. She refuses to excuse the mistakes either one made, choosing instead to depict the way she and her teacher both hurt and helped each other. The result is a narrative that lacks the inspiring or uplifting nature of most stories that feature teacher-student relationships, but instead feels like an authentic glimpse at a deeply formative relationship.

As film characters, Akiko and Hidaka both boom larger than life, their big personalities clashing and running in parallel in turns. Although comedian Yō Ōizumi bears little physical resemblance to Hidaka as portrayed in Higashimura's manga, his presence doubtless brings the spirit to life. His Hidaka is rough-edged and blunt, peppering his students with insults and physical punishment even as he performs acts of kindness both small and great. He clearly comes to adore Akiko, seeing her as his star pupil and a talent destined to become his peer. Even as Akiko learns a great deal under his tutelage, eventually coming back to help him teach his class, she feels crushed under the pressure of his expectations and her guilt over wanting to be a manga artist, not a painter.

Mei Nagano is absolutely brilliant as Akiko; having met Higashimura just minutes before watching the movie, I can confidently say she's a perfect match for the energy and charm of the human being she was portraying. Akiko is egotistical, lazy, outgoing, and witty, immensely likable despite her flaws. Director Kazuaki Seki wisely lets Nagano's performance speak for itself. While the script occasionally explains things through narration, Nagano's microexpressions and body language tell us just as much about Akiko's thoughts and feelings about her situation as the words she speaks, and perhaps even more. 

Furthermore, Higashimura worked as the art director for the film, scouting locations and providing art to make sure even the environments felt authentically her. The bright colors of Akiko's college apartment, the dark weathered wood of Hidaka's studio, and the glitz of Tokyo when Akiko begins her career, contrast the two lead characters’ personalities and goals and how they inevitably conflict.

The film's refusal to moralize may be its greatest strength, but it's also the cause of one of its greatest weaknesses. The script acknowledges that Hidaka's discipline style would not be looked upon kindly in the modern era, but that doesn't change the discomfort of watching an adult man berate children to the point that they start crying. The slapstick way it's presented also makes it hard to be sure how we're intended to take one of the film's most harrowing scenes, in which Hidaka physically wrestles and forces Akiko to sit down on a stool in front of a mirror, even as she cries and struggles against him. Half the audience laughed at this scene, even as I sat with my mouth agape in horror.

Still, even if you aren't the type to cry at movies, it's hard to imagine Blank Canvas failing to wring a tear from all but the most hardened viewers. The film's willingness to sit in discomfort and look straight in the face of how even the most loving human relationships are often messy, hurtful, and tinged with regret, earns a conclusion I might normally condemn as a touch schmaltzy. This film is a must-see for any fan of Akiko Higashimura, and well worth the time of anyone else.