Venice Review: The Color of the Sun Finds Sayombhu Mukdeeprom Elevating a Prototypical Coming-of-Age Story

It’s been a year since Kamei Yara’s dad disappeared. The 16-year-old who lives on Okinawa’s main island has been a bit of a wreck since, but he’s holding it together on the surface in The Color of the Sun, writer-director Xavier Tera’s debut feature. As if teenage life isn’t difficult enough to navigate without the sudden loss of a parent, regardless of the reason, Kamei (Naoto Shimajiri) is overwhelmed by the confluence of life pressures that surround him: finishing school before the long-awaited summer break sets in, a near-crippling crush on local heartthrob Sayaka (Yuma Taira), working for his grandfather to rebuild the community center, and juggling whatever strange feelings Colin (West Mulholland) drudges up in him.

Colin both lives in and narratively represents the controversial U.S. military base on Okinawa that’s been active since the aftermath of World War II. On the radio in the background, local broadcasters report on Japanese protest and refutation of the base’s modern occupation in Okinawa, where the very idea that it still exists, much less operates, creates an ominous and imposing colonial reality for locals. While the base and U.S. military presence are supposed to be friendly to the area, there’s a whole litany of things about them that aren’t: the constant, ear-piercing shriek of jets peeling out overhead; the military personnel themselves, not to mention their offspring; or the invasive influence of American culture where it’s not native. And the base creates a phantom authority that tips Okinawa’s power dynamic in messy directions.

As Kamei navigates the evasive girl he likes, an exponentially burgeoning friendship with Colin—who, as it turns out, he has a remarkable amount in common with—and the stunted home life that his poor mother can’t seem to stitch back together, he wrestles with his identity, his blossoming insecurities, the U.S. occupiers, and the universally relatable existential questions that t-bone all of us as teens. It’s a true-blue coming-of-age drama as faithful to the subgenre as acne is to adolescence.  

As a result, the prototypical coming-of-age dressings are all there: character tropes, poster themes, assumed settings, standard moods. Exhaustion over the sway of hormones, the lack of experience with them to know what any emotional development means; the youthful, hopeful, beleaguered search for meaning about being alive, in love, or depressed; setting the film before and during summer break; the recurring theme of a desperation to leave home; confused sexual awakenings; bullies, crushes, and a protagonist that’s too insecure to inspire and too pitiful not to root for; the eventual recognition of what our parents pass down to us in habits and behaviors; a problematic friend. Despite its more unique Okinawa setting, The Color of the Sun‘s details are copy-and-paste coming-of-age clichés.

Shot by Apichatpong Weerasethakul and Luca Guadagnino’s collaborator Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, The Color of the Sun has its greatest strengths on cinematographic fronts. Mukdeeprom’s compositions are characteristically rich, playing with depth of field, organically presented line patterns, and character perspectives. They draw out tonal complexity and fresh emotion in the places where Tera struggles. 

The film was produced, with Josh Godfrey, by playwright-turned-filmmaker Jeremy O. Harris under their newly minted bb2 production banner. They exhibit good taste for projects and crew, and there’s no doubt they can make something look and feel professional. But The Color of the Sun begets a question: can they carve out space that’s as entertaining as it is well-crafted? The film trods such well-worn territory that even its better elements sour under the tedium of working through tired coming-of-age beats.

The Color of the Sun premiered at the 2026 Venice International Film Festival.