Crow Castle in a Flap

Just a three-hour drive east of Shinjuku on the Keio Line Bus is Matsumoto, in the mountainous Nagano Prefecture.

This is the sister-city to Utah’s Salt Lake City and Nepal’s Kathmandu, and is one of the best places to try basashi (raw horse meat) and soba (buckwheat noodles).



The city itself is located on an open plain in the Japanese Alps, just over half an hour from the historic watermills at the nation’s largest wasabi farm – Daio at Azumino – where Akira Kurosawa in fact shot part of his epic movie about his own fitful Dreams (1990).

But the standout here is Matsumoto Castle (松本城), and it’s actually a genuine keep unlike the faux fort closer to Tokyo at Odawara.


Matsumoto Castle is a gorgeous and immaculately maintained building that dates back to the Sengoku (Warring States) era prior to the 17th century. It’s locally dubbed 'Karasu-Jo' (Crow Castle) because of the somewhat sinister black lines, but for me (I’ve visited twice) this is a stunning place that lives up to its confirmation as a National Treasure of Japan in 1952.

It’s one of only four castles in this country to receive the honour.

But 2011 hasn’t been kind to Japan.

Unless you’ve had your head buried deep inside one very big sandpit, you’d know all about the huge earthquake and follow-up tsunami on March 11, followed by worrying ripples in the economy and a continuing radioactive crisis at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant 230km northeast of Tokyo.
We’ve had thousands of aftershocks and earthquakes across the country over the following four months, and one of these earthquakes – with a magnitude of 5.4 – rocked Nagano on Thursday June 30.

Aside from minor injuries to local residents – although I’m not sure if the people themselves would call broken bones trivial – the quake caused around ten large cracks in the inner walls of the main tower of Matsumoto Castle.

After 400 years successfully circumnavigating civil wars, neglect, deconstruction, renovation and tourism, let’s hope Karasu-Jo’s earthquake damage isn’t so serious and – like the rest of Japan – it makes a complete recovery.

(This is part of an article that appears on the Forces Of Geek site - you can read more of that yarn here.)

Kuhonbutsu Temple

There's nothing like a disaster - or an ongoing rash of 'em - to make you appreciate what you have and where you are.



In my case where I am is Tokyo, and this is one of my fave temples, a sprawling and (mostly) unknown treasure called Kuhonbutsu Temple (九品仏浄真寺), located near the appropriately named Kohonbutsu Station, two stops from us on the Oimachi Line.



It's about 20 minutes from Shibuya, but there's a world of distance between the two places.



Kuhonbutsu is also sandwiched between Futako-Tamagawa — rated the fourth most popular place to raise children in Tokyo — and Jiyugaoka... the fourth most preferable place to live single, footloose and fancy-free.





Aside from this odd sense of spiritual displacement on either side, that which sets this consecrated turf apart from the other local shrines and temples in this city is the sheer size and spaciousness of the sanctuary, as well as three wonderfully renovated, historic main halls that house a set of nine massive statues of Buddha, captured for posterity in subtly different poses.



These affectations are s'posed to have some special meaning, though I haven't any idea quite what these may be and haven't bothered to check the significance out online.



It's like Madonna, circa 1989, if she were tastefully cast in bronze.





According to the brochure Kuhonbutsu Temple was constructed several hundred years ago on the grounds of the old Okusawa Castle, and sections of these aged foundations can still be discovered if you look hard enough.



The stand-out is the photogenic bell tower (sho-ro), built in 1708, roofed in copper and adorned by a huge clapper that was cast in honour of the two great bodhisattvas (Kannon and Seishi) - fittingly designated a national cultural treasure.



I went here again two days ago, just to breathe in the silence and tranquility away from the non-stop newscasts about aftershocks and radiation, and it was genuinely moving. Funny that. I'm normally so easily moved.



Man, I love this city.

The Hōjō Clan & Hachiōji Castle

You may never have heard of Hōjō Soun, and that's because in war the winners have the bragging rights.

Hōjō Soun was a conspicuous warlord during the Sengoku warring period in the south Kanto region and there's even a statue of the chappie in front of Odawara JR Station.

He's featured in the weighty tomes 'Hōjō Soun's Twenty-One Articles. The Code of Conduct of the Odawara Hōjō' by Carl Steenstrup, 'Ideals of the Samurai: Writings of Japanese Warriors' by William Scott Wilson & Gregory Lee, and 'War in Japan: 1467-1615' by Stephen Turnbull.

He's also attributed with the telling aside, "A man shows his inmost self by a single word".

This erstwhile leader (really named Ise Shinkuro Nagauji - he became a monk and adopted the name of 'Soun') had humble beginnings, with apparently just six men under his command in 1480; his success was such that by the time of his great-great-grandson in 1590 the clan possessed tens of thousands of them.

In 1493 Soun gained control of Izu province and the following year he secured what would be the Hōjō Clan's future capital: Odawara.


Word is that in order to do so he arranged for the young lord of the castle to be (ahem) murdered while he was out hunting.

In 1512 the ancient capital of Kamakura was added to the Hōjō territories, followed by Arai in 1518.

It was around this time that Soun took on the ancient aristocratic name of Hōjō in order to associate his new and powerful family in this part of Japan with that of the shikken who ruled for 150 years. The new Hōjō family (also known as the Odawara Hōjō) took on the Kamakura Hōjō's mon, or badge.

There's even a t-shirt you can get online with their family crest here at Zazzle.

Hōjō Soun died at the impressive age of 88 but the clan he set up wasn't so lucky.

While their power in the Kantō region in the 16th century grew to rival that of the Tokugawa clan, but eventually they were eliminated by Toyotomi Hideyoshi after the long Siege of Odawara (May to August 1590).


Before Odawara fell, however, Hideyoshi's forces laid siege to the unfinished Hachiōji-jō, the castle of Hōjō Ujiteru, brother of clan leader Hōjō Ujimasa.

After he left his own fortress to assist his older brother at Odawara Castle, Ujiteru's keep was left undermanned. While considered unassailable in its position astride Mount Fukazawa, only around 1,300 soldiers were there to defend when 50,000 or more of Hideyoshi's troops arrived; legend has it that families threw themselves into the nearby waterfall and that the waters of the river ran red with blood.

The castle fell in just over a day and was later destroyed by the victorious forces.

As a tourist spot, Shiroyama (as the site is now called), despite being a short bus ride from JR Takao Station, has been pretty much overshadowed by the crazily popular nearby Mount Takao.

That's the joy of the place.

It's a huge national forest that has easy hiking trails and castle ruins, and that infamous waterfall is still there - beside the beaten-down ramparts. The Hachiōji Castle site is in fact one of the hidden gems of Japan, as the pictures here may (or may not) attest.

And it's a beautiful place that's eerily empty.

Possibly this is because of the rumour that the place is haunted keeps some people at bay, or equally it's the ignominious fate of the original owners.


So what did happen to them, anyway?

As I mentioned, the losers rarely write the history. After the Hōjō were defeated in the siege of Odawara, Ujiteru was forced to commit seppuku along with his brother Ujimasa.

But Ujimasa himself still lives on, however, in the video game Sengoku Musou 3 (Samurai Warriors 3), released in Japan for the Wii in December 2009.

Quite bizarrely the Hōjō Clan bigwig's weapon is a cane that has a sword hidden inside, which can also fire bullets.

The Siege of Odawara is the climax of Hideyoshi's story in the earlier game Samurai Warriors 2, while Shuranosuke Sakaki is a long-running manga character and had his onscreen debut in the rather sub-standard 1990 animation Sword for Truth by anime director Dezaki Osamu, which tells of the struggles of the defeated members of the Hōjō Clan to save face by obtaining two mythical swords - and they contract the bad-ass master swordsman Shuranosuke Sakaki to do so.

Shuranosuke Sakaki and the ragtag fleet of Hōjō survivors also pop up in the 1996 live-actioner Legend of the Devil, directed by Masaru Tsushima (Ninja Women) and starring Masaki Kyômoto (Legend of Eight Samurai).

So there is some life after death after all, even for the also-rans.

Kuhonbutsu Temple, Tokyo

Another (mostly) unknown treasure in Tokyo is the sprawling Kuhonbutsu Temple, located right next to Kohonbutsu Station on the Oimachi Line, just 20 minutes from Shibuya (and 5 minutes from us).

It's oh-so-conveniently sandwiched between Futakotamagawa — rated the fourth most popular place to raise children in Tokyo — and Jiyugaoka... the fourth most preferable place to live single, footloose and fancy-free.

Aside from this odd sense of spiritual (dis)placement, that which sets this holy place apart from all the other local shrines and temples is the sheer size of the sanctuary, as well as the three wonderfully renovated, historic main halls that house a set of nine massive statues of Buddha, captured in subtly different poses.

It's like Madonna, circa 1989, if she were tastefully cast in bronze.

Kuhonbutsu Temple (本堂 - 九品仏浄真寺) was also apparently constructed several hundred years ago on the old grounds of Okusawa Castle, and parts of the aged foundations of this can still be discovered if you look hard enough.

So if you’re looking for a spot of relaxation, reflection and contemplation away from the hustle and bustle of the 24-hour metropolis at play outside the temple’s walls, this gorgeous location is the place to discover it—with the stand-out here being the serenely photogenic bell tower (sho-ro), built in 1708, adorned by a huge clapper that was cast in honor of the two great bodhisattvas (Kannon and Seishi), and fittingly designated a national cultural treasure.

REVIEW: The Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

The Lupin III franchise, created by legendary manga artist Monkey Punch, had been around for 12 years in comic book form, and a TV series since 1971, when occasional episode director Hayao Miyazaki (Spirited Away) helmed this feature-lengther.

The character of Lupin III just so happens to be the great nephew of Arsène Lupin, the daring gentleman thief and detective – a kind of Gallic Sherlock Holmes – created in 1905 by Maurice LeBlanc. He featured in a rash of French flicks in the silent era.

His descendant is an equally enigmatic thief who speaks fluent Japanese (or differing degrees of American English depending on the dub), with an insatiable appetite for food along with an overt weakness for women - including the femme fatale of the series, Fujiko Mine. Meanwhile he’s aided and abetted by his trusty cohorts Jigen and Goemon, in pursuit of some hilarious heists.

Rupan Sansei: Kariosutoro no Shiro (The Castle Of Cagliostro, 1979) is the highlight of a sensational series, and it’s due as much to the assured touch of Miyazaki as it is the enigmatic cast of characters involved in the story. This time Lupin bites off more than he can chew when he tries to rescue a damsel in distress and comes up against the sinister Count of Cagliostro and an international counterfeiting syndicate.


Any fans of subsequent Miyazaki romps like Castle In The Sky, Crimson Pig, My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away will find germinating elements from all of those movies at play here.

Incidentally, the late, great Yasuo Yamada, who voiced Lupin, had a habit of also dubbing Clint Eastwood’s dulcet tones in the Japanese versions of everything from Rawhide to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly - and he even turned up to play Omawari-san in Panda! Go, Panda! (see last entry).

Crow Castle

Just a three-hour drive from Shinjuku, on the Keio Line Bus route to Nagano, is Matsumoto – the sister-city to Utah’s Salt Lake City and one of the best places to try basashi (raw horse meat).

The city itself is located on an open plain in the Japanese Alps, just over half an hour from the historic watermills at the nation’s largest wasabi farm (Daio, at Azumino), where Akira Kurosawa in fact shot part of his epic movie about his own fitful Dreams (1990).


But the standout here is Matsumoto Castle - actually a genuine (take that, Odawara faux fort!), gorgeous and immaculately maintained building that dates back to the Sengoku (Warring States) era, prior to the 17th century.

Locally dubbed 'Karasu-Jo' (Crow Castle) because of its somewhat sinister black lines and proclaimed as a National Treasure of Japan in 1952 (one of only four castles in this country to receive the honour), it boasts a cleverly hidden floor, samurai armour displays, loads of weapons, documents, and an awesome view of the surrounding countryside.

Which, I guess, is one of the essential features in the design stages of all strongholds everywhere...

Kiichi Nakai

If we had a “Most Underrated Japanese Actor” category here at JapaneseCultureGoNow!, 48-year-old Kiichi Nakai would easily qualify—although the guy has been nominated for and in fact won a swag of Japanese Academy Awards, including best actor.

He also happens to be the son of the late Keiji Sada, one of Japan’s more venerated stars of the silver screen before his untimely demise in 1964, at just 37 years of age.

As an actor himself, son Nakai blossomed as the sensational focal-point of Fukuro no Shiro (Owl’s Castle, 1999), possibly Japan’s most underrated must-see silly ninja movie. While he was nominated for that role, Nakai had previously won the Japan Academy Best Supporting Actor award in 1994 for the drama Shijushichinin no Shikaku (47 Ronin), directed by the late, great Kon Ichikawa, who died just last year.

Two years ago, Nakai sparkled in his supporting role in the high-profile Takuya Kimura (SMAP) vehicle, Hero, for director Masayuki Suzuki.

Incidentally that movie's playing on the telly here in Tokyo tonight - which is the reason I (somehow) remembered to write here about Nakai-san, by extension.

The actor earlier worked with Suzuki on the hilarious 'Samurai Cellular' episode of Tales of the Unusual (2000) in which Nakai played Oishi Kuranosuke, the leader of those 47 Ronin mentioned above - and touted a mobile phone instead of a katana blade.

Ditching such comic antics and going instead for a meatier role, Nakai conveyed a knowing sense of the dramatic in Mibu Gishi Den (When the Last Sword is Drawn, 2003) for which he won the Japan Academy Best Actor trophy, and narrated the tale in director Zhang Yimou’s Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles (2005).

He was also the standout in last year’s patchy comedy-drama Jirochô Sangokushi (Samurai Gangsters) and shone even in the lackluster, rather disappointing live-action version of Osamu Tezuka’s Dororo (2007) - playing the mean dad who sells 48 of our hero Hyakkimaru’s body-parts (to demons no less).

These days Nakaii is often seen on the telly hawking Visa card brands and drinks, but I live in hope that he'll return to fine acting fettle shortly.