Just found out that the great Sakyo Komatsu, author of the novel Japan Sinks (日本沈没 Nihon Chinbotsu) passed away on 26 July, at the venerable age of 80.
"Japan Sinks" might fittingly apply to this country itself in 2011 with the slew of disasters since March. Five years ago it was adapted as a fairly mediocre SFX/romance yarn starring Tsuyoshi Kusanagi (from J-pop group SMAP) and Kou Shibasaki (Battle Royale, 47 Ronin) in which - racked by earthquakes, firestorms and volcanoes - Japan is slowly sinking into the sea.
Much better was the 1973 version (also called Tidal Wave) directed by Shiro Moritani, starring Keiju Kobayashi (Samurai Assassin) and Kunihiro Fujioka (the first Kamen Rider), along with a soundtrack by Masaru Satō - who scored the Akira Kurosawa films Throne of Blood, The Bad Sleep Well, Yojimbo and Sanjuro.
Komatsu even makes a cameo at the beginning of the movie.
Less renowned in the West is the entity alternately known as Sayonara Jupiter (さよならジュピター) or Bye Bye Jupiter - a novel he adapted himself for the somewhat ill-conceived trilingual 1984 Toho movie directed by Koji Hashimoto (Godzilla 1985: The Legend Is Reborn).
That outing is just plain bizarre, yet worth another ride into the imagination conjured up by one of Japan's more creative writers. As a tribute, here's something a wee bit oddball: the Russian-dubbed trailer for the 1973 version of Japan Sinks.
In the 1967 James Bond film You Only Live Twice, there’s an essential exchange between our globetrotting British spy (Sean Connery) and his Japanese counterpart Tiger Tanaka (played by Tetsuro Tanba but voiced by Robert Rietti).
This moment comes just after Bond is offered the rice-based alcoholic beverage sake, instead of his usual dry vodka martini. He surprises all when he graciously accepts, saying that he enjoys the Japanese drop – especially when it’s served at the ‘correct temperature’, 98.4 degrees Fahrenheit.
The moment is something to drink in, and 98.4ºF would sound fair enough to most people since, in common Western perception, sake is doled up piping hot to wash down raw fish. But for those a tad more in the know about Japanese cuisine a rumour has circulated over the past 44 years that Bond got it wrong; that sake served at this temperature – 37ºC for those like me who are Fahrenheit inept – is invariably inferior in quality.
In truth that might have indeed been the case in the mid ‘60s, around the time of the making of You Only Live Twice, as many breweries fortified their product with distilled alcohol – a hangover from Second World War rice shortages. Serving it steaming helped mask any of the sharp or unbalanced flavours.
But in the intervening period brewers have been able to return to the prescribed method of naturally brewing pure rice sake, with no shoehorned artificial alcohol, to recreate mixes that are refined and pure enough to serve chilled.
Even so, we don’t need to take sides here.
Bond wasn’t wrong – and neither were the rumours. 98.4ºF isn’t exactly the ‘correct’ temperature for sake, but it’s perfect for Ozeki One Cup and some more expensive premium blends; the Japan Sake Brewers Association reports that this drink can be enjoyed anywhere within the range of 5ºC (41ºF) to 55ºC (131ºF), depending on the concoction.
Then there’s the Holy Grail of modern day nihonshu (which is what the Japanese tend to call sake).
Myouka Rangyoku (‘heavenly flower’) has been touted as the world’s best sake at urbansake.com and in the pages of The Japan Times newspaper – and like all chart-topping, divinely-inspired beverages this one comes with a healthy price tag: A 720 ml bottle retails upwards from ¥12,600 (about US$150).
“As a brewery, we do our utmost to create a truly great and perfect sake with Myouka Rangyoku – made according to a totally new concept, both as regards the flavour of the sake and the design of the bottle – and therefore we have been able to have a sizeable impact.”
So last year I was informed by Ad G. Blankestijn, the Director of Overseas Marketing and Sales at Daishichi Sake Brewing Co., Ltd., located in Fukushima, 230 km northeast of Tokyo.
Unfortunately this placed the brewery slap-bang in the middle of the massive March 11 earthquake and subsequent tsunami, and they're located 60 km from the ongoing nuclear reactor debacle at Fukushima Daiichi.
On their website they strive to be reassuring:
"The walls of the brewery consist of 25 cm thick concrete. In addition there are fire-resistant tiles and hollow concrete blocks, making a total of 32 cm of protection from the outside. The sake storage area has even thicker walls in order to keep the products cool. No radiation can penetrate these walls.
"When we heard about the nuclear problems on March 11, we have immediately stopped air conditioners and ventilators and covered the windows and air ducts in plastic sheets to keep the inside of the brewery and storage areas airtight.
"Sake brewing is almost finished and the accident has had no major influence on our activities. Products being shipped now are vintage 2008-2009 sakes, and 2010 for the plum sake. These products are completely free from any influence of the nuclear accident."
I haven't spoken to Blankestijn at the brewery since I interviewed him last year, but the nuclear crisis is in no way going to deter me from my aspiration to (one day) road-test this particular drop.
Even bottles matter to these people and theirs is a classic (see below); the brew itself has been dubbed ambrosial by critics far more canny than myself.
“Most exclusive sakes are made with a modern, simplified process, but ours has been made with the ‘Kimoto’ method, the most traditional, laborious and time-consuming way of brewing a handcrafted sake,” Blankestijn said.
“The result is that it tastes very pure while at the same time possessing much complexity and depth. In contrast to other exclusive sakes which have to be drunk relatively young, Myouka Rangyoku is very slowly matured, so that over the course of many years it ripens into a rich and beautiful sake that we do not sell every year; we only make it in good years when we can attain the highest level. And even then, we only make it in a limited quantity. Of course, we are happy with the very positive judgment of many sake specialists, as well as the fact that it is often selected by the Japanese government for important diplomatic events – such as at the G8 Summit in 2008 in Hokkaido.”
While it's kind of tricky to hope that the nuclear crisis gets nipped in the bud overnight when people like Prime Minister Naoto Kan mutter that it'll take somewhere in the vicinity of two decades to clean up, I have several fingers crossed that essential Japanese sake brewers like Daishichi can get back into the groove of their handicraft as soon as possible.
Only final final word needs to be uttered here. Kampai! 乾杯
I thought it was prime time to get off my self-indulgent corporate head-butting now that I've let off a bit of steam and come to understand these things are little more than storms in teacups in the grand scheme of things. ;)
Anyway, the other day I was in the Kuramae (蔵前) district of downtown Tokyo, conveniently packing my camera, and took some happy-snaps of what is quite an inspiring older area of this city.
It's located on the west bank of the Sumida River, near Asakusa, and apparently used to be the site of the government rice granaries in the Edo period; it's still to this day a warehouse/wholesale area and there're some amazing old buildings to be found.
The area offers up a great view of the almost-finished Tokyo Sky Tree, and it turns out that, up until 1984, this was also the home of post-war sumo - namely the Kuramae Kokugikan (蔵前国技館), a building erected by the Japan Sumo Association in 1950 since the previous, bomb-damaged Kokugikan had been taken over by occupying Allied forces after World War 2.
Tournaments were held in Kuramae until September 1984, and in January 1985 the new Ryōgoku Kokugikan was opened nearby.
Kuramae still has a few interesting toy shops, smaller shrines and temples, some signposted in English, and a number of smaller shops that look unchanged since the Edo era (1603-1867) selling everything from cleaning materials to sumo-related goods.
And then there are the exceptionally old school toy shops and the book shop pictured here (see top of page).
Kuramae Station (蔵前駅) is a subway station on the Toei Asakusa Line and the Toei Ōedo Line, in case you feel like checking it out when/if you come here.
I happen to teach at a kindergarten in Kuramae on Mondays, so on this occasion wandered around a bit post-lessons.
Ace. I loved the snakes-in-a-box (right), and the area is an absolute treat.
Something lighter here, as life appears to be edging back on track and into the realm of normality, at least for those of us in Tokyo and elsewhere - at a distance from the smoldering nuclear smoke-stacks at Fukushima.
Personally, I have a lot of reasons to celebrate.
One of these is my family, and my five-year-old daughter Cocoa, who is a just plain god-send. She's funny, talented, and growing up way too fast!
Another is my first novel Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, which was officially released through Another Sky Press at the beginning of April and is now available on Amazon. Yep, it's on Amazon (the UK, USA and Japan versions) and I keep clicking on one of these everyday to peer at the wayward tome and sigh - silently, of course. I don't want people to concern themselves too much with my mental state.
It just got reviewed by Forces Of Geek today, and the reviewer, Tony Pacitti, seems to completely "get" where I was coming from. I love what he writes, even the negative. You can check it out here. Wow.
Another reason to be cheerful is my new Little Nobody album, Hard Foiled, which is finally being released today. It's a collection of electronic/techno stuff I've cobbled together over the past couple of years and is being released through IF? Records.
There's a digital version via Beatport as well as a limited edition CD (with less tracks, but still clocking in at 70 minutes) via Lulu.
Last reason? I live in Tokyo. And I love Japan. This is my home.
One of my favourite labels in Australia over the past three years has been DJ Hi-Shock's Elektrax imprint, which includes side-labels Gynoid Audio, Android Muziq, Darknet and Hypnotic Room.
The people at Elektrax are doing a series of benefit compilations for the victims of the disasters over here in Japan, and I think they warrant full support. Besides, there're some way cool artists involved including many from Japan itself.
Think Satoshi Fumi, DJ Wada, Cut Bit Motorz, Jin Hiyama, Captain Funk and Takashi Watanabe.
International Artists across the three comps are a who's who of contemporary and veteran electronic and techno producers: Dan Curtin, Thomas P. Heckmann, Bas Mooy, Angel Alanis, Si Begg, DJ T-1000, Donor & Truss, Truncate, Steve Stoll, Damon Wild, Beroshima (Frank Mueller), Mijk van Dijk, Dave Tarrida, Ben Mill, Alkan, Martin Mueller, Claudio Masso, Peder, Mattias Fridell, Paul Mac, Octave and DJ Hi-Shock.
The label released this following press statement:
Our thoughts and prayers go out to all the people affected. The people of Japan need our help, and we hope that we can do our part through what we love most – the music – and we’ve decided to call this benefit compilation ‘Kibou’, the Japanese word for hope.
This is a combined project of many of the Elektrax Music artists and close friends of Elektrax, who have generously provided their tracks gratis, and it has been put together with the inspiring assistance of our label representative in Japan, Takashi Watanabe.
Worthy stuff indeed - with all proceeds going to the Japanese Red Cross to help victims of the earthquakes, tsunami and nuclear reactor disasters - and Number Two in the trilogy came out yesterday.
It features Bas Mooy, Si Begg, Steve Stoll, Justin Robertson, Martin Mueller, Hi-Shock - plus one of my hack Little Nobody tracks.
Anyway, it's online as a digital release exclusive to Beatport, and show your support if you can.
It's funny how you can live in a place for a decade and miss a lot of what's right there nearby.
It's spring, the weather's been glorious here in Tokyo, and the cherry blossoms are starting to bloom.
A couple of days ago I was on tight writing deadlines, but it was superb weather again so I decided to skip out and finally go explore the area in central Tokyo around the Nihonbashi (日本橋), literally Japan Bridge - which was built a century ago this year, but rests on what has been a vital conduit spot for this city since the 17th century.
And I'd never even seen it before now.
Apparently it's also the point from which the Japanese measure distances: highway signs that report the distance to Tokyo actually state the number of kilometres to Nihonbashi.
Just before the 1964 Olympics, an expressway was built over the top of Nihonbashi, obscuring the classic view of Mount Fuji (and just about everything else) from the bridge.
To mark its centenary this month Nihonbashi recently underwent a bit of window-dressing - the removal of decades of soot and grime to showcase the granite sidewalls - and it does look rather spiffy.
There are also some jazzy lion and dragon sculptures perched on its walls.
Incidentally, Japan's first department store, Mitsukoshi, is on one side of the bridge, and there's a monument to the Edo-era fish market which was formerly in Nihonbashi - the predecessor of Tsukiji fish market.
Strange times here in this city, for all too obvious reasons.
Today the weather was beautiful and I went to work in Shinjuku; really weirdly everything felt as it normally should.
But on the way home I dropped by Shibuya. If anyone has ever been there - or just watched Lost in Translation - they'd know about the big video screens outside the Hachiko Exit of the JR Station.
Tonight they were switched off, as one way to save on electricity, and the place was... well, darker than usual; more like a regular city elsewhere. Which may be a good thing, really, when you seriously think about the environment, but Shibuya just isn't the same without 'em.
I also dropped into the local Tokyu supermarket near my place, to find less food (and beer) than has been the norm over the past few days. There were absolutely no eggs as you can see from this happy snap, and I'm not sure whether they'd been commandeered to send up north to help the survivors of the earthquake and tsunami, or because eggs actually usually come from those areas.
No official "get-out-of-Tokyo" warning from the Australian government yet, although they have recommended that people leave "at their own expense" (a nice, penny-pinching way to look at things - thanks, mates!) and I'm trying to do this crazy balancing act of attempting to to keep a close eye on things from various angles both local and international.
Honestly? I do think the foreign press is over-blowing events and occasionally indulging in just plain sensationalism. Some of the stories about the atmosphere and situation here are just miles wide of the mark.
It's nowhere near desperate, at least in Tokyo.
People are going on with their lives and are quick to share a smile, and there's a stunning senses of camaraderie that prevails. My respect for these people has increased ten-fold over the past week.
That said, I also don't quite believe all that the Japanese government and media is announcing to be is the big picture either... As I say, I'm trying to balance it all and draw the line somewhere in the middle.
But I feel a sense of obligation to a place that's been an amazing home over the past 10 years and given me so much, so I don't just want to run out of here without doing my minor bit to help first, whatever it may be.
One way I'm trying to do that is by aiding and abetting a couple of techno labels with benefit compilations they're putting together - one from Elektrax in Australia and the other from Plus Tokyo. These guys are doing grand things, and should be roundly applauded for their efforts.
And the situation does seem to be on the mend at the moment, which is a relief, and a good sense of humour and a touch of optimism helps to clear the shoals.
Then again, this morning when I first woke up I was parched and indulged in a sizable glass of tap water; straight after I switched on the computer and found a big headline that declared that radiation had infiltrated the Tokyo water supply - just before reading the fine-print that the level itself was negligible and within safety standards. Ye gods.
Which brings me to the conflicting face thing mentioned in the header to this waffle.
I also dropped in tonight for a couple of drinks with mates at a bar in Shinjuku, and the vibe there was just plain uplifting - people chatting, sharing yarns, laughing and living. You'd never even know there was a disaster or three on the edge of our doorstep, and this is not to say that they're zoning out on the problems at hand.
It was awesome, in that sublimely effortless Tokyo kind of way. It's experiences like this that remind me of what's so special about this place and why it will overcome the current travails.
But don't worry - I've got somewhat nifty plans to self-extract at the slightest whiff of (more) danger... even if the Australian government niggles about the cost of an airfare.
Unless you’ve had your head buried deep inside some sandbox in a place a million miles from the nearest social network or wireless connection, you’d already know precisely what I’m leading into - or if you'd bothered to read the entry immediately beneath.
So let's get straight into it.
On Friday March 11th, at around 2:45pm local time, the east coast of Japan was hit by an earthquake that tipped the scale at around 8.9 – 9.0 on the Charles Richter magnitude charts.
I’ve since learned that we survived the fourth or fifth biggest earthquake in recorded history, and the worst ever in Japan – which is one of the world's most seismically active places.
But Tokyo was lucky compared with other places in this country just north of our city, like Miyagi Prefecture.
Straight after the earthquake there were tsunami waves of up to ten metres (33 feet) that struck the Pacific coast north of Tokyo, ploughing inland up to a dozen kilometres – sweeping away the towns and cities along the way.
The footage has been so surreal: That tsunami rapidly filling the streets of the city of Kesennuma as people watched (and filmed) from atop hills; cars and air-conditioning units bobbing and floating by, followed by houses that started moving and weaving between overturned boats; the aftermath with ships and trucks on top of highways and houses. It was like looking at The Day After Tomorrow rolled up into Dante's Inferno.
But the sad truth is that it isn’t surreal at all. This is no dream. It’s been neither fiction nor the unrealistic segment of a disaster movie – it's cold, hard reality.
Somewhere around 10,000 people have been killed, though no-one knows the true extent of the fatalities even now – at the time of writing this – seven days after that initial disaster. Our thoughts go out to all the people affected.
But I say “initial” disaster, because we’ve since suffered aftershocks numbering in the hundreds and varying in intensity depending on the area. The other night night in Shizuoka, near Mt. Fuji, there was another earthquake with a magnitude of 6.4.
I got woken up by an aftershock at 5:00am yesterday morning - rattling doors and shaking bed. When we went to the supermarket almost half the shelves were empty as people are stocking up in case of another emergency.
And yesterday my daughter and wife flew down south to join the in-laws in Fukuoka.
It makes me far happier to know they're safe(r) - especially since there are the melting-down nuclear reactors at Fukushima, 170 miles north of Tokyo.
These babies were initially damaged by the earthquake and tsunami, and are currently out-of-control, spewing forth radioactive particles that are being felt as far south as, well, here in Tokyo.
This past week has been a little too close to home, and I say that not just because I currently live in Tokyo. The quakes and shakes this time were real, not cheap FX on celluloid with high-definition surround sound.
It’s eerily like the plot in Sakyo Komatsu’s novel Nihon Chinbotsu (Japan Sinks) – I saw both the spin-off movies made in 1973 and 2006 – but defies the page or the artificial image of a viewfinder.
Real people have died, and thousands of other bona fide human beings have lost loved ones and friends. They’re destitute, lacking basic provisions, and braving up to zero-degree temperatures up north.
This is going to take a long time to clean up and forget.
And while the Japanese people here have been astoundingly resolute – not here the looting and general mayhem on the streets you see in other lesser disasters elsewhere in the world – it's a mind-numbing situation and an emotionally debilitating one to see this country and these people go through all of this.
In the meantime the best thing to do as hang onto the coattails of a sense of humour about it all – and gaze somewhat wistfully at the Japanese kanji "kibou", which means “hope”.
Which brings me full circle to some untimely, self-indulgent navel-gazing... but I guess that's what blogs are all about, especially ones like this which have only a couple of entries anyway.
Amidst all this madness I'm releasing my novel Tobacco-Stained Mountain Goat, which is coming out through Another Sky Press in the U.S. on 31 March.
As previously mentioned here it's a sci-fi/noir tome that's set in Melbourne, Australia, but mostly rewritten here in Tokyo and heavily influenced by my 10 years in Japan.
I'm going to stop with the hype right now. It tastes wrong. If you're interested at all in checking out the novel, fantastic - thank you. If not, that's cool too - but please think in some way about how, in whatever small or seemingly inconsequential way, you can assist Japan. It all helps.
Ever since I turned on the television Friday morning and saw the news I’ve been trying the come to terms with what I saw, and continue to see. It is truly devastating. How does one even try to make sense of what is happening to our brothers and sisters in Japan? Media shows us how small the world is, and we are all collectively holding our breath watching events unfold in real time. Still, it is hard to shake this feeling of powerlessness. That is why I was heartened to see there is an initiative by other Anime and Manga Bloggers to unite and raise money for Japan. I am adding my support to the mix; you can read about the initiative called Anime and Manga Bloggers for Japan here. The goal is to raise $2000 for two worthy charities: Doctors without Borders and Shelter Box.
I would also like to suggest support for World Vision. They have always quickly responded to disaster relief. They have a program to support children traumatized by disaster called “Child Friendly Spaces” that gives children a safe place to play, provide structured activities and receive help dealing with trauma and loss. Looking at the pictures of the evacuation centers and wide areas of total devastation I think this is something that is strongly needed. You can read more about World Vision and its programs here.
OK, so I've seen my fair share of Japanese disaster flicks; in fact I'm a fair bit of a fan.
I loved Godzilla movies when I was a kid - the way in which he walloped little balsa-wood versions of Tokyo and Osaka - and I still DJ out the awesome theme song to Mothra (モスラ, 1961), written by Yuji Koseki and sung by The Peanuts.
But yesterday was a little too close to home, and I say that not just because I currently live in Tokyo. The quakes and shakes this time were real, not cheap FX on celluloid with high-definition surround sound.
Just before 3:00pm yesterday I was with my five-year-old daughter at her music class, in a building several storeys high; that's when the first quake hit - and it was the worst tremor I've felt in the 10 years I've been living in Tokyo.
The place was literally bouncing and rocking like a small boat in a very big storm. Women were sheltering their kids and diving under tables, but the staff handled it all with aplomb, handing out blankets and helmets as we went through another couple of big aftershocks.
Thank god my wife was OK too and we all got home safely.
My mate Devin tells me we just survived the fifth biggest earthquake in recorded history. Zounds. This doesn't make any of the sights and signs on the news easier, however.
From the 24-hour televised images we're seeing of Miyagi, it's like The Day After Tomorrow rolled up in Dante's Inferno.
No, it has nothing to do with calorie control or losing weight, not even in the current global financial straitjacket - but has everything in common with the U.S. Congress and British Parliament, both of which have been adapted, to some degree, into the system of government here.
We’re talking about the Diet of Japan (locally known as Kokkai 国会), which like its British, American and Australian equivalents includes two legislature: the House of Representatives and the House of Councillors.
They meet in the National Diet Building (Kokkai-gijidō 国会議事堂) in Chiyoda-ku, fairly close to the Imperial Palace and right next to Nagatacho and Kokkai-gijidō-mae stations on the Tokyo Metro.
As of August 31, 2009, the place has been rather shaky thanks to the electoral overthrow of the Liberal Democratic Party - which had ruled virtually continuously since its inception in 1955.
The "new" government (formed by the similarly named Democratic Party of Japan) is a thing most Japanese are still trying to get accustomed to as they've already churned through two prime ministers - Yukio Hatoyama, and the current incumbent Naoto Kan.
But the rocky political road has been pretty much continuous since Junichiro Koizumi served five years in office up to September 2006; since then there've been five PMs.
Perhaps it all has to do with the hidden side of the diet building - the fact that this is also the place that Princess Hinoto lives beneath in the CLAMP manga classic, X - which was made into an anime movie by director Rintaro in 1996 and later ran as a Madhouse TV title thanks to Yoshiaki Kawajiri (Ninja Scroll).
There’s more to the National Diet Building, however, than its laid-to-waste fate in a couple of Godzilla movies and in the 2006 disaster flick Japan Sinks.
The structure itself has a far-flung history and international input that began with initial designs by German architects in the 1880s, right up to its completion as a finished structure in 1936 - to a plan by public competition winner, Watanabe Fukuzo, some input from fellow winner Takeuchi Shinshichi, and a nod in the direction of the original Germanicic concepts.
It’s a majestic building, with the lofty architectural ideals supported by stained glass, flowing drapes, and marble throughout.
Suiting the reputed punctuality of both Germany and Japan, who shared a hand in the design, there’s a tour of the building every 60 minutes - right on the dot.
I think there's not really much more I could add here - the tag-line above says it all.
Seems that news of Freddie's death in 1991 was untimely, at least here in Japan where his solo number “I Was Born To Love You” has now been rebooted as the theme song for local brand Nissin's infamous snack-in-a-cup.
Here's the proof:
I just saw this on TV last night. Hilarious, if a bit bizarre.
Okay, while I'm in the process of doing some research and material gathering for my next review, I thought I would take a stab at offering a counterpoint to an interesting debate on honorifics, the usage of honorifics, and their inclusion or redaction from translated manga, and anime; including their correct translation in the speaking dubs of anime for the Western audiences.
The biggest issue when it comes to honorifics today whether they are coming to us through the translation of popular manga or anime, or even foriegn television and film, is not a question of acceptance; as the many debates that have raged on have fueled. It's a matter of whether or not they are 100% necessary in the English speaking world.
Sure there are differing opinions as to the weight a correctly translated honorific can add to a work, but the argument is not the nodding consent that they exist, but if they are essential.
I have heard and read both sides of this debate and argument for a long time now, and as a casual bystander in the fray -- one that just wants to enjoy his entertainment -- it's becoming a nuisance to have to sift and filter through the over use, or incorrect use, or forced use that the little attachments of the Japanese language have evoked.
Here's the rub; I am pretty sure of two things. One, is that I am an American, and I speak and read English. It is my primary language. I am fortunate to know a few select words in a few languages, but not really enough to allow me the luxury of conversing without the use of a massive translation tool, or someone to interpret what I'm saying, and what is being said.
Now, as an English speaking individual, I have learned the correct usage of several of our own native honorifics (whether these have come to us from other countries and have been assimilated is moot), such as properly calling a person either "Sir" or "Madam" "Mr" "Mrs" or "Miss" or even "Ms" depending on the status of the person to whom I am speaking. There are even nick-names and less formal Honorifics that expand the way we address people in society in a less formal manner, such as "Dude" "Kid" "Sport" "Kiddo" "Missy", "Buddy" and so forth.
Then there are the privileged titles or honorifics that we bestow upon judges and professors of higher learning and medical professionals, such as "Honorable" "Your Honor" or "Doctor". We are not a monarchy, and so we will never have a cause to use the honorifics of royalty such as "Lord" or "Master" or "Highness" or even "Excellency", the closest we may come, would be in the addressing of clergy, such as "Reverend" or "Bishop" or "Grace".
The fact is, we as Americans have quite a few of our own honorifics, and we have a hard enough time just getting our language correct, let alone how to use these additions properly.
Now the debate like I mentioned before isn't about whether or not Japanese honorifics are really right, but the argument for me, is whether it's a matter of preference or necessity.
In the past several decades Japan has adopted several of our English words, and these are called "Loan Words" words that during this past century are relatively new, such as "Computer", "Escalator" "Automobile", "Bus" "Christmas" and many others. This isn't a one sided thing. In fact we have also adopted the use of Japanese words into our language with relative ease, such as "Tsunami", "Sensei", "Katana", "Saki", and the list grows with each day as more cultural exchange in the form of media and business abounds.
What seems a tirelessly wheel spinning debate is the use of Japanese honorifics in media. Where some see this as a must, and others see this as a want, there are still those that see it as a pure problem.
Let's tackle the matter of translation.
I'm going to use Manga and Anime as my main points for all of my arguments, since this is the most furious of debating grounds.
It is my opinion that honorifics should be included in manga.
Now before all you pro-honorific fans go radical with applause, I have to stop you and clarify. I think that if a company is going to go through the trouble of including them, according to the original Japanese, and not translate "San" and "Chan" and "Sama" into their English counterparts and equivalents, then they should be used correctly, and every time without fail.
On the other hand, if a company choses to translate "San" into the English counterpart of "Mr" or "Mrs" then they need to pay closer attention to the context of the honorific, and make sure that gender intent is applied.
Now, as for their use at all.
Why are people called "Misaki-Chan" or "Souma-Kun"? What good is any of this to English, and how can this be ported to our understanding?
Well, it's not easy. We are dealing with a language that almost always uses and refers to the person by their name everytime they are mentioned or even addressed. It isn't uncommon for a person to use their own name when speaking of themselves when they are the subject. So the honorifics are a means to classify the importance of the name, as status, and familiarity.
I wouldn't dream of walking up to the Pope and calling him "Bro". It's just rude and disrespectful, in fact given his status it would probably be considered disrespectful to address him as "Mister" or even "Sir". His title has been put in place to reflect the appropriate methods by which he should be addressed, and referenced.
The same as in Japanese. Their language is designed to reflect, on a much broader spectrum the scope of individual addressing, all the way down to family, friends, co-wokers, acquaintances, and professional peers. This is their language, and it has worked well for them for a long time.
Now, it can be argued that abolishing or translating their honorifics is wrong, and bad. And I'm sure for people that really, really love Japan, and Japanese culture it is. But in all sincerity, it's tossing our own language under the rails, when we arrogantly assume that we don't have enough words and expressions to adequately convey exactly what they do.
I'll offer this as an example, if I go to Japan, I'm sure that people addressing me will use my name (David), and attach a "-San" to the end of it. And you know what, that's perfectly fine. I'm sure there might be a few that would offer to call me "Mister" but then, it's a stretch. It's not going to make me think less of their country, or their language because I suddenly have a applied honorific consistent with their own language.
Now let's say that Aya Hirano (VA for Haruhi Suzumiya, Konata Itzumi) was to visit me here in the States, would she be insulted if I addressed her as "Miss" Hirano? Doubtful. I would be showing her all the proper respect and social courtesy I would any one else for a person of her status, on both a level professionalism and acquaintanceship.
I really don't imagine she is going to go back to Japan and accuse us all of being ignorant bumpkins for calling her "Miss" instead of "-San" or "-Sama".
So why the rage?
Why can't we forgo the headache of bending over backwards for a language not our own?
Answer, because as fans, we naturally emulate that which we enjoy. We love Japanese, and so we mix it in. Even if there is a perfectly acceptable counterpoint to calling someone "Sensei" we still feel the need to use it, and hear it. Not because calling someone "Professor" or "Teacher" or "Doctor" is any less acceptable, and applicable, but because we just like their method better.
Admit it, we are just jealous that Japan can give a person the honorific of "-Chan" and we have to resort to just calling people by their shortened names. Personally I don't much care to be called "chan" or "Dave" which when combined is basically the equivalent. Calling someone "chan" is like being comfortable enough and intimate enough that you can get away with calling someone by their silly nick-name.
The gender argument is also pretty weak, by comparison. Again, assuming the company doing the translation is going to go to the trouble of satisfying the stomachs of the fans, then they need to make sure that proper context is used. If they are gonna translate them, then make sure they translate them correctly.
A lot of the argument could really be eliminated, if we just accepted that we ARE NOT IN JAPAN. no matter how much we really want to be, we aren't Japanese. We aren't dealing with a language that has all these pretty sparkly things, and add-ons. And I think until we can actually learn how to handle our own language, we need to stop trying to half-ass someone elses.
Mode Gakuen Cocoon Tower (モード学園コクーンタワ) is a relatively new building in Shinjuku that I've been passing nearby for months on the way to work, but I only got around to taking some happy snaps of the place the other day.
Better known to me as the HAL 9000 building because it houses HAL Tokyo, a special technology and design college (and it just looks so darned "designer modern", like something that'd be right at home in 2001), the Cocoon Tower was actually completed 2 years ago, designed by Tange Associates, the company set up by famous architect Kenzo Tange.
As far as facts and figures go, the 204-metre-tall (669 ft), 50-storey tower is apparently the second-tallest educational building in the world. I think the highest building I set foot in at Melbourne University clocked in at five storeys, which is a wee bit shorter.
Mode Gakuen Cocoon Tower is currently the 17th-tallest building in Tokyo - and it won the Kewpie Doll when it was awarded the 2008 Skyscraper of the Year by Emporis.com.
It certainly gets this wayward blog's nominations as well.
While it does stick out like a sore thumb directly outside the West Exit of Shinjuku JR Station, it's the kind of aching digit you're more than happy to put up with.
I guess we could throw in the old punchline here about suffering for art.
And speaking of HAL 9000, here he is for a bit of nostalgia's sake.
At the moment I'm doing this completely self-indulgent series of articles for Impactmagazine over in the UK - focusing on what I've unoriginally dubbed The Greatest Anime Ever Made.
Most of it's selected by me, much of it is obvious (Ghost in the Shell, Akira), and on the feedback front I've conscripted a lot of local Japanese filmmakers, manga artists, anime crew, and - well, since they're cool and I dig their muzak - DJs and producers.
One of these helpful talking heads has been Shinji Tokida, who runs the record labels Fountain Music and Plaza In Crowd, and he cites Akira as the number one anime experience in his lifetime. "I love Akira - I even had the jacket," he recently told me. "I love the drawing touch and the characters' eyes, as well as the universal future concept which struck my mind when I was still in primary school."
Tokida also cited Mamoru Oshii's early opus Patlabor. "Oh, the Patlabor movie - I watched it when I was in elementary school; also I collected the manga and read it on my futon. I was a heavy fan and I remember that I bought the model kit, but I was too young to figure it out and put it together. Still, it was a good memory."
Then he pulled back to the here and now.
"These days I'm only into music, so I don't watch movies or TV and I don't read comics."
When I pitched the idea at Shinji this week that I'd like to extend beyond the anime references and talk to him more about his labels and himself, the man was thrilled. "One of my dreams has been to be interviewed by someone - thank you for fulfilling that!" he enthused.
Without a second to breathe, it seems, Tokida is off - the guy is a joy to quiz.
"I started DJing at 17, scratching records - I'd just changed instruments from the guitar to turntables and got right into hip hop. Then, in my Tokyo years, I came across more valuable music like house, jazz, soul and funk - and at last I arrived at techno. This was my true start to explore the business of music in my life."
Thanks to Yokohama's oldest surviving place of worship, Gumyo-ji Temple (みょうじ) - which was apparently built a millennium ago - comes one of those joys you stumble across anew even after almost a decade in Japan.
In this case that joy is something that combines two of my favourite interests: beer and sakura (cherry blossoms).
Sakura Beer is a specialty of Gumyo-ji, one I had no idea about until today when my student Toshie - a Yokohama native - presented me with a bottle of the stuff wrapped in Disney character face-cloths (Pluto and Donald, luckily, rather than Mickey).
According to the label, it was brewed using yeast sourced from cherry blossoms grown in the temple's own grounds, and the bottle needs to be gently rolled rather than shaken prior to opening - which I figure is the case with most beers anyway; common sense is international after all.
While this brew is the day's undoubted treasure, the temple itself is also a treat.
It was established by the Shingon sect (supposedly by a priest named Gyoki) somewhere between the 8th century and the 11th and is dedicated to the Goddess of Mercy, the Eleven-Headed Kannon... a fairly formidable 1.8-meter tall carving that also dates back to around 1,000 years.
It's hard to believe it's been 25 years since Hayao Miyazaki founded Studio Ghibli, straight after releasing their landmark epic Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (alias 風の谷のナウシカ, Kaze no Tani no Naushika, 1984).
While Nausicaä was groundbreaking stuff in and of itself, Miyazaki - the animator/director behind it - later set about with Ghibli to change completely the way in which we perceive animation, via the release of Spirited Away (千と千尋の神隠し, Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi) in 2001.
But if you really want to look at the heritage behind the latest Studio Ghibli international offering – Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea (崖の上のポニョ, Gake no Ue no Ponyo), out now in Australia and North America even though it was actually released in Japan almost two years ago – you need to funnel short-attention-spans back beyond Spirited Away.
There were a bevy of equally vital Miyazaki/Ghibli offerings sandwiched between 1984 and 2001, often with a pinch or two of their hallmark moments of freestyle genre-defying, refreshing humour, and an implicit disarming madness.
All these movies are a gem within their own right, each and every one laden with legions of fans pushing this or that as the Holy Grail of Ghibli anime.
For some, My Neighbour Totoro(となりのトトロ, Tonari no Totoro, 1988) stands highest among these and I'd probably pipe up in their favour.
While nowhere near as thematically complex as Spirited Away or Nausicaä – the titular character here indulges in lots of top-flying, snoozing and cat bus travel – the real stars of this Miyazaki flick are four-year-old Mei and her older sister Satsuki, along with the idyllic Japanese rural backdrop that the animator/director seems to believe has been lost.
The other Miyazaki movies are equal treats in completely diverse ways. Think action and adventure in Castle in the Sky (天空の城ラピュタ, Tenku no Shiro Laputa, 1986), witches and adolescence in Kiki's Delivery Service (魔女の宅急便, Majo no Takkyubin, 1989), flying pigs and anti-fascism in Porco Rosso (紅の豚, Kurenai no Buta, 1992), environmentalism in Princess Mononoke(もののけ姫, Mononoke-hime, 1997), and just about everything else in Howl's Moving Castle (ハウルの動く城, Hauru no Ugoku Shiro, 2004).
Despite being now aged 69 (his birthday was in January), and having threatened to retire several times over in the past decade, Miyazaki continues to be the international golden boy of Japanese animation thanks to a belated Oscar in 2004 for Best Animated Feature (for Spirited Away) – and for this "latest" movie, Ponyo, which was an entrant in the Venice Film Festival and was officially submitted for nomination at the next Oscars (but missed out in favour of American fare like Pixar's Up, Coraline and Disney's The Princess and the Frog).
There's also a new Ghibli movie in the works. Called The Borrower Arrietty (借りぐらしのアリエッティ, Karigurashi no Arrietty), it's set for release in July - although this time directed by Hiromasa Yonebayashi rather than Miyazaki. Yonebayashi previously did Key Animation on Spirited Away, Howl's Moving Castle and Ponyo.
With this latest romp Miyazaki has here seen fit to reinvent his vision once again through the wondrous eyes of children. In this case those eyes belong to a changeling young fish-girl, the Ponyo of the title, who goes AWOL from her dad's underwater lair to explore the big wide world but ends up instead stranded in a small fishing village where five-year-old Sosuke lives.
Already the ages should give you the gist of what to expect, with the wealth of imagination owned by a five-year-old allowing Miyazaki open slather to create a freewheeling visual platform for the madcap rush that ensues, during which mistaken vengeance, metamorphosis, manic driving, extinct fish and Noah-type floods all take a role.
It's a far a simpler story-telling technique at play here that owes much more to My Neighbour Totoro than to Spirited Away.
Even so, Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea comes across as a visually stunning interpretation of the archetypal fairy tale ("The Little Mermaid"), recast within a Miyazakian dimension that recalls all the best elements of the director's earlier films (especially, for me, Panda! Go, Panda!), along with a bubbling positivity that's been infectious enough to wear down even movie reviewers with a penchant for the cynical.
Ponyo in her human form also bears an unerring resemblance to my 4-year-old daughter Cocoa, so she won me over in no time.
No wonder that the film was released on more screens than any other domestic movie when it was released in Japan in 2008, nor that it took in excess of $150 million at the Japanese box office.
Ever feel like you've been thrust into a '60s revisionist version of WW2?
Not so much Catch-22. I'm thinking instead of 1965's The Battle of the Bulge, helmed by regular Disney director Ken Annakin, starring journeymen soldier actors Henry Fonda and Robert Shaw.
Far be it for me to tart up the battle itself, but I'd like to draw your attention to a subplot in that movie. It was one that related to the real-life, dueling-scar bearing German Waffen-SS commando, Otto Skorzeny, who assembled a unit of English-speaking German soldiers, dressed them up in American and British uniforms and dog tags snatched from corpses and POWs, and operated behind enemy lines (here read our side) to misdirect traffic and generally cause disruptions aplenty.
Operation Greif was nicknamed the Trojan Horse Brigade, as the Allies mistakenly believed Skorzeny & Co. were planning to kidnap or kill their commander, General Dwight D. Eisenhower.
The general was subsequently assigned a look-alike in Paris, while thousands of American MPs were waylaid from more important chores, and put to work instead trying to hunt down Skorzeny’s men. It's like a real-life inverse version of the script to Inglorious Basterds, minus the scalping.
The American MP bit is vaguely ironic because in February exactly 2 years ago I got tapped on the shoulder to play an extra in a Japanese movie set just after WW2 - as an American MP.
And I'm Australian.
None of the other 12 gaijin roped into the movie to play American MPs were from the USA, either. Russian, sure. French, German, Brazilian, British, another Australian. The closest we got was one Canadian.
Weird as it may have been to see so many people wearing WW2-era American GI and MP uniforms, more surreal was the fact that the majority of these "soldiers" didn't speak English without a heavy accent, and they preferred rattling on in Russian, French and - yes - German between takes.
It was like those phony enemy infiltrators from the Bulge all over again.
Oh yeah, but we each had tags to prove our international flavor.
These read "Gaikokujin", which is basically another reference to gaijin, or foreigners - as if it wasn’t already obvious that we (collectively) stood out on the set like sore thumbs or dismembered left feet, with our white helmets, wooden truncheons, faux M1 Carbines, and menacing scowls.
One of the reasons for these scowls was the cold weather; another the god-awful coffee on offer. A third was the title of the movie itself.
It's one that a lot of people here seem to have trouble translating into English: 私は貝になりたい Watashi wa Kai ni Naritai.
The title has been variously interpreted, but seems to shape up best as I Want to be a Shellfish, and is listed on imdb.com under this moniker; on the Japanese DVD released last year it's subtitled "I Want to Return to the Family".
Released theatrically on November 22nd 2008 here in Japan, the movie starred actress Yukie Nakama (Trick, Shinobi, one of the most celebrated faces in Japanese advertising), alongside Masahiro Nakai - a member of domestically über-famous J-pop bandSMAP.
Unfortunately for me, in those first couple of days on set doing the two-stepping MP marching and handcuffing thing, I didn't get to see, meet, greet or fake arrest either of these stars - though I did later get to meet Nakai-san at Toho and he was surprisingly charming.
Probably the truth was that it was February, a particularly cold winter that year, and the shoot was outdoors.
I had no doubt they were somewhere cushy and warm with their feet up, laughing at the outtakes.
For my sins I got to push and pull these heavy prison gates, then wandered dusty streets with an actress dolled-up as a particularly unattractive prostitute. Going by this movie, all post-war hookers in Japan were hideous creatures, and American MPs six decades ago must've had remarkably open taste.
My only aspiration in this wasteland of extras was to ride about in the white on-set military jeep, which the Brazilian and the Canadian MPs got to do on both days. Lucky bastards.
They were the escorts for the military bus, on which rode Nakai's character, Toyomatsu Shimizu, who's been abruptly arrested as a war criminal following the cessation of hostilities in World War 2, and is now being tried for murder even though he believes he's not guilty of any wrong-doing.
It's based on autobiographical notes by Tetsutaro Kato - during the war years reputed to be one of the more brutal commandants of Niigata 5B POW camp, located 160 miles northwest of Tokyo - under the pen-name Ikuo Shimura.
During the subsequent occupation Kato was tried and found guilty of an array of sordid activities, including beatings which left some POWs permanently disabled, and was sentenced to death by hanging for the bayonet execution of an American prison escapee.
In 1959 Kato's yarn was adapted into a screenplay, dramatized, and directed by Shinobu Hashimoto - a man better known as the co-writer, with Akira Kurosawa, of Seven Samurai(1954) - and the movie starred Frankie Sakai of Ghost Story of Funny Act in Front of Train Station (1964) and one of this hack blog's fave kaiju flicks, Mothra (1961).
The ending was also vamped up to tweak the tragic.
Whereas Kato's sentence was conveniently commuted by Douglas MacArthur, thanks to family connections, and he left Tokyo's Sugamo Prison on good behavior in 1952, the fictional Toyomatsu Shimizu goes all the way to the noose.
Prior to his execution, Shimizu writes a long-winded farewell letter to his wife and son, the gist of which says that if ever he were to be reincarnated, he would hate to come back as a human being, and would prefer instead to be a shellfish living on the bottom of the sea.
Hence the strange title of this affair.
While Kato no doubt had a lot of time on his hands during his initial interment for war crimes, Sugamo Prison was an interesting place for the conjuring up of the original tale.
Built in the '20s to a European blueprint, the prison was located in Ikebukuro in Tokyo, on the site that the 60-storey Sunshine 60 building now stands, erected in the '70s as part of the Sunshine City shopping metropolis.
It's confided that the ghost of wartime Prime Minister, Hideki Tojo - himself an executed Class A war crim - haunts the retailers there, but in amenably Japanese style: after closing time.
So it came as some surprise to find myself dressed in that American MP uniform, standing beneath a huge sign that read "Sugamo Prison", with a big blue back-screen that was used to superimpose the CG ring-in for the prison complex itself.
My VIP job in this all-encompassing human drama?
Ceremonial gatekeeper. Sure, I got the helmet, the gun, and the girl. But I also had to drag two huge prison gates open and closed again, open and closed again, ad infinitum, as the director and his extensive crew shot and re-shot that white jeep (with the Brazilian and the Canadian) and a military bus driving through, for about eight hours all up.
Even more interesting, it seemed, was that the other gate-keeping sentry doing this manual labor was also an Aussie.
60 years on, Americans are - it seems - too busy for such mundane chores in Japan... as are the British, French, Brazilians, Germans and Russians.
Give the job instead to the newer kids on the block. It's a job that may in fact suit our talents, if you take into account that 220 years ago Australia started out as a penal colony.
One of the things I can't help doing over here is seeking out the trace-elements of old Tokyo, hardly an elementary pastime since much of this has been removed by the 1923 Great Kanto earthquake, the carpet bombings of the mid '40s, assorted fires, and the rapid pace of reconstruction and renewal that Tokyo willingly submits itself to every day.
Today I discovered these gems in Shintomi, not more than 100 metres from Ginza - one of the most luxurious shopping districts in the world and the most expensive real estate in Japan.
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