“He Will Do Anything For Me”: Tadashi Nakamura on Filming His Trail-Blazing Father Robert Nakamura in ‘Third Act’

Third Act is a thoughtful archive of time that maps out the dents it causes on one’s loved ones. Attuned to the compulsions of mortality, the film echoes familiar fears and apprehensions. But the universality of the premise is offset by its deeply-felt personal core. In Third Act Tadashi Nakamura trains his lens on his father, Robert Nakamura, who is regarded as the “godfather of Asian American media.” Robert has played a key role as one of the first Japanese American filmmakers to represent the Japanese American experience through his films and images. Now in the third act of his life, he has decided to share his own. 

Tadashi’s previous documentaries include Pilgrimage (2007), a look at the Manzanar concentration camp for Japanese Americans during World War II, and its evolving relationship with the community over the years from a symbol of trauma to kinship; and  Jake Shimabukuro: Life on Four Strings (2012), which tracks the life of the Hawaii-born ukulele prodigy through his years growing up. 

Tadashi’s preoccupation with identity comes full circle in Third Act. Structured around interviews and conversations with his father, the film is dotted with moments such as Robert playfully instructing his son during the sit-down interviews, checking if the mic is working. Later, he looks at a relic from his past, only to declare, “this might be a great end shot.” The visibly frail Robert (now 87 years old) willingly accommodates his son by looking back at his past even if that includes revisiting his trauma at Manzanar, where he was incarcerated with his family when young, and confesses his shame on wanting his father to look less Japanese. Tadashi seldom probes but expresses genuine interest to understand the many roles Robert assumed in his life—a son, a husband, an image maker, a filmmaker—alongside being a father to him. Filmmaking, their shared medium of love, offers a safe space for acknowledgment and admission. 

The documentary recently premiered at Sundance as part of the U.S. Documentary Competition. I spoke with Tadashi to understand how he went about shooting the film and if the process of filming Robert Nakamura was a veiled act of delaying grieving for his father. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

DOCUMENTARY: As someone whose father suffers from Parkinson’s disease, I am aware of the symptoms. When the film opened, it was clear to me that Robert Nakamura has the condition and that is why you are making the film. Yet the diagnosis occurs midway through the film, which makes me curious—what was the initial point of urgency for wanting to make Third Act?

TADASHI NAKAMURA: In hindsight, it was the early signs of Parkinson’s. My dad says he was feeling the symptoms five years before the diagnosis. He always suffered from depression but the condition really enhanced it. During 2017–18 I saw him really slowing down. When I’d talk to him over the phone, he wasn’t that sharp or lively. We all thought it was just old age. He had retired and was in his mid-70s at that point. I wanted to make the film because he was slowing down and felt that the clock was ticking. 

D: Documentaries on artists tend to be an exposition of their craft. But the fascinating bit about Third Act is that although you use clippings from your father’s works (Wataridori: Birds of Passage, Hito Hata: Raise the Banner) there is an intimacy to the approach wherein you underline your personal connection with the films more than reiterating their greatness…

TN: We wanted to utilize the fact that I was making this film versus any other filmmaker, and that I am his son and mentee. I hold my dad on a pedestal and for most of my life, he was just my father and not this esteemed filmmaker. He is the Godfather of Asian American media but he is also so much more, and I realized that all of them contributed to his greatness as a filmmaker and as a teacher. His role as a son, his trauma, and experience of growing up in a racist America informed his work. 

The starting point for me would have been a highlight reel of his craftsmanship. But due to both of our vulnerabilities in the journey, I realised it was the “why” behind the craft that came forward. It was the trauma, the ambivalence, the grey area, and confusion, that became more of the film and me discovering what went behind his work. I always thought he was an activist filmmaker who made these films so that history does not repeat itself. But one of my big discoveries was that the process was therapeutic to him. He did it to process his trauma, which is why we went beyond his craft and accolades. We wanted to use clips from his films to progress his personal story versus using them just as examples of his work. 

D: The editing process must be chaotic given the unrestricted access you have to his work and the footage you assembled while filmmaking. How did you navigate the process?

TN: It took us seven years to make the film, and I filmed everything. The longer we went, the more footage we had. At the beginning I used the film as a distraction from dealing with his diagnosis. I don’t know how you did it, but I was in denial. It was easier to see my dad and even myself as “characters” in a film who are going through the challenge rather than actually realizing that when the camera turns off, the reality will still remain. 

As we got used to more and more shooting—all the interviews consisted mostly of me and my father without any crew—there were several special moments where we would talk about his career. The film became an opportunity for him to tell me what he thinks I should know about his life. There was a point when I didn’t want the process to end because it was our last collaboration. We kept shooting him and the editing process was harder because of that [laughs].

D: Did making the film complicate your relationship with your father?

TN: It wasn’t complicated with him. Being a director, he knows the footage a filmmaker needs. He might be the subject but he is also my father so he will do anything for me, which he did. He was not joking when he said in the film that he did Third Act to further my career. The complicated part was the internal decisions I had to take. I was a filmmaker when the camera was on and a son when it was off. Sometimes when he was vulnerable, I just wanted to be the son and not the filmmaker. That is what was complicated, the negotiation with myself over how much to shoot. When I asked him about this, he said that I should keep working. Being an Asian father, he does not understand the concept of taking a break.

D: Can an upshot of filming constantly be that you were tempted to manufacture memories with your father? There is a moment where you both are in the car and you tell him that Christmas and Thanksgiving will be production shoots now…

TN: I am not sure if I ever thought about manufacturing memories. My dad has taught me that there is always going to be a POV, a bias, or manipulation in any documentary film. In this case, we both wanted to lean on my perspective. We were upfront about this from the beginning. 

D: There is a recurring question of  identity in your work. Did this film help you find some answers?

TN: Definitely. I wanted to make this film to tell my dad how much I loved him, like a thank-you letter. Initially I put that pressure on myself but through the process, the interviews, and hours we spent together, I was able to express how much I love him and how grateful I am. In the same way he could share that he was proud of me.

Like most kids, I have only strived for my parents’ approval. For a large part of my life my identity was that of their son and there was a pressure to do them proud. But during the filmmaking, we both could share the love and pride we have for each other. It was fulfilling because in the absence of your loved ones, these are the questions that keep haunting you. Like, did I make him proud? Up until now I identified more as a son, even though I have two children. Now that I have his approval, I feel more like a father. I can move on now. 

Ishita Sengupta is an independent film critic and culture writer from India. Her writing is informed by gender and pop culture and has appeared in The Indian Express, Hyperallergic, and New Lines Magazine.