“Tokusatsu Heroes Are Like Santa Claus.”
In a LinkedIn post regarding his transmedia efforts on behalf of the Ultraman franchise, Jeff Gomez said, “Tokusatsu Heroes Are Like Santa Claus.” I had no idea this was the case. So I tapped my LLM pals to school me on the relationship between monster suit performers and the audiences who kayfabe them as really real.
— You're eleven years old at a Kamen Rider live show in Tokyo. Your favorite hero walks out on stage, and he doesn't wave to the crowd or crack jokes. He just stands there, silent and powerful, exactly like the character from the show.
Because in that moment, in Japan, these heroes are real.
Not in some winking, nudge-nudge way that adults use to humor kids. Actually real. The guy in the Ultraman suit isn't playing Ultraman; he is Ultraman. And everyone – the producers, the crew, the entire culture – maintains that spell with religious devotion.
The Sacred Trust
Here's what blows my mind: tokusatsu culture protects the boundary between fiction and reality like it's Fort Knox. Suit actors don't unmask at conventions; villains stay in character during interviews. Behind-the-scenes footage is saved for older fans who can handle the truth.
For kids, these heroes coexist in the same space as Santa Claus, and that belief is honored by everyone in the ecosystem.
Growing up in the 1970s, I was influenced by Star Wars and the work of Ray Harryhausen, which led me to believe I understood the power of fantasy. However, tokusatsu takes it further. It's not just entertainment – it's ritual theater where the hero steps into our world and doesn't break the fourth wall.
Why This Matters for Scribblers
Think about it: when did we decide that showing our seams was somehow more honest than maintaining the illusion?
Tokusatsu says screw that. The same Ultraman who fought Baltan in 1966 shows up at festivals today, unchanged and eternal. Kids shake hands with their actual hero, not some actor doing a meet-and-greet. That's not naive. That's profound.
The Long Game
Sure, fans eventually grow up and peek behind the curtain. But instead of ruining the magic, that deeper knowledge often pulls them into the creative world. They become scribblers, directors, even suit actors themselves. Their belief evolving from consumption to creation.
What We Can Steal
As someone who's spent a trio of decades building worlds across TV, games, and transmedia, I'm ganking this approach:
- Don't rush to explain your magic
- Treat your characters as real, even off-camera
- Build mythology, not just content
- Let audiences believe without apology
When I worked on Heroes, we tried to maintain some of that sacred space around the powers and the mythology. It worked until the network execs wanted more on-screen explanations. It wasn’t their genre, and they were embarrassed by the imagination required to buy into the premise. Oof. When you start winking at your own premise, you've lost something essential. Just ask Kevin Feige at Marvel.
Tokusatsu isn't embarrassed by sincerity; it doubles down on wonder. In this era of constant meta-commentary and behind-the-scenes content, maybe that's what storytelling needs. So, let’s get back to scribbling and not be in a hurry to break the spell.
