It’s a Summer Film! 2020

In 2020, a group of Japanese high school students in a film club decide to shake off the typical teen romance plan and dive into a jidaigeki (old-fashioned samurai film) called Samurai Spring, led by Barefoot [Marika Ito], a determined director who wants this project to be a defining triumph for the club. The idea is bold: create a period-piece action drama rather than the light-hearted romance the students were expected to produce, and in doing so, push the boundaries of what their little film club can accomplish. The atmosphere on set is creative and collaborative, with each student contributing ideas and energy to bring the ambitious vision to life.

Early in the production, Barefoot encounters a mysterious boy named Rintaro [Daichi Kaneko], who reveals himself as a time-travelling fan from the future. He claims that the films of Barefoot’s era are vanishing, and he has returned to 2020 to witness the only lost entry in Barefoot’s filmography: Samurai Spring. This revelation unsettles Barefoot, who must navigate her original plan while grappling with the unsettling possibility that cinema as a medium could disappear. Rintaro’s presence injects a strange urgency into the project, and his insistence that the future of film hangs in the balance becomes a running thread throughout the shoot.

As filming continues, the conflict deepens. Barefoot is endlessly reworking the climactic duel—the final stand-off that anchors the entire story—out of fear that her future work might never exist if their film isn’t preserved. She finds herself at odds with Karin [Mahiru Koda], a rival director filming a sugary rom-com on a lavish budget supported by the film club, which adds pressure and competition to the project. The tension between the two visions highlights the broader question at the heart of the story: what happens to art when different futures pull in opposite directions?

A turning point arrives when a supporting actress faints on set, and the team must improvise. Blue Hawaii [Kirara Inori], a resourceful performer, steps in to fill the role, bringing a fresh energy to the production. The atmosphere on set shifts as the team balances between keeping a faithful reproduction of a samurai epic and adapting to the practical realities of movie-making. Kickboard [Yuumi Kawai], another close member of the crew, becomes involved in the unfolding drama, helping to maintain momentum and camaraderie amid the challenges.

The tension between preserving a film’s legacy and the temptation to alter or erase it intensifies as Blue Hawaii and Kickboard learn from Rintaro’s friend (within the story) that the film must eventually be deleted after its showing to prevent a time paradox. The notion that any viewing could retroactively erase the film’s existence adds a philosophical layer to a project already caught between dream and deadline. The team grapples with the idea that their efforts could ripple forward in time in ways they cannot fully predict, and they must decide what it means to protect or destroy a work of art.

On the day of the double feature—the rom-com and Samurai Spring—the stakes reach a fever pitch. Rintaro reveals he will return to the future immediately after the film’s ending, leaving Barefoot with a difficult choice. She halts the screening just before the final scene and orders the team to perform the last duel live in the gym, taking on the role of the enemy herself. What follows is not a simple shoot-out but a live, emotionally charged confrontation that blends performance and personal resolve. Barefoot stages the climactic moment in real time, engages with Rintaro directly, and, in a moment of vulnerability, confesses her feelings for him. The culmination of this intense sequence leads to a bold decision: the film must be destroyed so she can remake it, now armed with a deeper understanding of the meaning embedded in the final fight of a samurai film.

What emerges is more than a rescue mission for a vanished medium; it is a meditation on artistic responsibility, memory, and the power of remaking one’s own work. The story invites audiences to consider how films survive—if they survive at all—through the hands of those who decide to protect, reinterpret, or even restart them. In the end, Samurai Spring becomes a testament to creativity’s stubborn resilience and to the idea that sometimes the most important act of filmmaking is not the shot itself, but the choice to continue telling a story in the face of impermanence.