Director: Kenji Iwaisawa
Runtime: 106 minutes
Languages: Japanese audio; English and Mandarin subtitles
Certification: PG (Singapore, UK)
Rotoscoping. It’s something that keeps being mentioned when people talk about 100 Meters. This is a distinct animation technique that involves the meticulous tracing of live-action footage frame by frame. Before finding out that this is actually the only technique director Kenji Iwaisawa knows how to animate with, I thought he may have chosen it so that all the running motions highlighted in the film feel grounded and realistic.
But the moment I realised the true value of rotoscoping was during a non-running scene. Technically, there wasn’t much movement at all. This was when the “unbeatable champion” of the 100-meter dash, Zaitsu, appears at his old high school to speak to its current students.
The first student to ask a question is the captain of the track and field club, Tsuneda, who wonders about Zaitsu’s motivations and how he mentally prepares for competition. With his dead eyes and with that detached voice Koki Uchiyama is so good at, Zaitsu answers with words that are not exactly the cheerful inspiration the captain was probably expecting.
Zaitsu’s motivations? He is a living being that will die and will never be reborn. How he prepares mentally? He focuses on the match without fearing defeat. But at the same time, he trembles at the thought of losing and craves results above all else. But he does not split his focus fifty-fifty—he embraces both sides at 100 percent at the same time. So that he can enjoy the tension under any circumstance.
Tsuneda gapes. He looks away, puts a hand to his brow, shifts. His awkward confusion was palpable. It sounds contradictory, but there was such a natural fluidity in his awkwardness. My description just doesn’t do it justice.
Rotoscoping, I realised, is great at capturing all the delightful little quirks and twitches in everyday human movement that you don’t notice are missing from most animated works—until something like 100 Meters reminds you of them.
Well, that’s why I’m drawn to sports anime, isn’t it? Flashy action scenes aren’t really what I’m looking for. What I look for are reminders about living.
Something that struck me was how deeply the film’s message about striving resonated with me. As a big fan of the sports animanga Haikyu!!, it’s not one that is unfamiliar, especially with my favourite character arc being Tsukishima’s. But somehow, 100 Meters’ message felt more profound.
Tsukishima (also voiced by the aforementioned Koki Uchiyama, by the way) is a gifted but jaded volleyball player. He’s baffled by how everyone else around him seems so determined to become the best at the sport, as he believes that pursuing this goal will only lead to grief. The way he sees it, this is a goal attainable for no one. So, he chooses to stay aloof and does only what is asked of him.
During my miserable challenging university days, I often looked to Tsukishima’s arc as motivation. I hated my major, was bad at it, and was in a foreign country. Why keep going?
What really inspires Tsukishima to change his mindset is when one of the top high school players reveals that he only truly started to enjoy the sport recently. Bokuto tells him, “It doesn’t really matter what happens in the future, or if you can win your next match. The joy you feel beating the guy in front of you, and when you’re able to pull out 120 percent of your potential, is everything. Once that moment arrives for you, that’s the moment you’ll be hooked on volleyball.”
And when I rewatch Haikyu!!, That Moment in Tsukishima’s arc never fails to hype me up.
However, as much as the lessons of the series are inspiring, they never completely sat right with me. Though Bokuto asserts that winning your next match is something that doesn’t really matter, Haikyu!! still places a lot of emphasis on victory. The characters mostly come across as ego-driven.
100 Meters is different. It de-emphasises victory.
One example is an inter-school race in which the deuteragonist, Komiya, goes up against Tsuneda—his own club captain. Tsuneda had actually urged him to quit the sport not long before this competition. So, it should be an event of more-than-usual tension. Instead, it’s treated almost as if it’s insignificant. We see the sprinters all take their places, but just as they start, the camera tilts up towards the sky, and that’s all we look at for the rest of the race. We hear the runners’ footfalls, then the excited call of the announcer declaring the victor; we see the scoreboard stating Komiya and Tsuneda’s placings. But we never see them actually running.
For another race of more weight, the winner isn’t even revealed at all.
Throughout the film, the protagonist, Togashi, often wonders why he runs. When he can’t seem to catch a break, he questions. When he achieves an unbeatable winning streak, still he questions. Years pass before he is finally able to answer with conviction: “To give it my all.”
The film tells us that the reason why people strive—why we devote ourselves to anything—is because as humans, we have an innate need to do so. We’re designed that way. With the way 100 Meters de-emphasises victory, its conclusion feels genuine. It aligns with what I understand to be truth and is more than just comforting. It’s satisfying.
Last updated: Jan 3, 2026
