A Japanese Response to "Memoirs of a Geisha"

Sort of.

I read Arthur Golden's novel Memoirs of a Geisha and enjoyed it. It's a well-written, captivating but somewhat artificial and fairy tale view of geisha life. I even enjoyed the pretty yet shallow film, which infamously starred three ethnically Chinese actresses in the main roles; but since these three actresses are no less than Zhang Ziyi, Michelle Yeoh and Gong Li, I'm not about to complain about getting the chance to see them move about gracefully in gorgeous kimono to the accompaniment of a hauntingly beautiful John Williams theme. Like the novel on which it's based, the film Memoirs is an overly romantic version (and the film is an even more reductive take) of a world that's at once familiar and stereotypical to Westerners, and yet mysterious and aloof, so little known and almost universally misunderstood.

Including by none other than Roger Ebert.

It does seem strange to have so forceful an actress as Zhang Ziyi playing so helpless a character, though. Contrast her fierce Jen Yu from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to Sayuri the geisha. Jen Yu makes willful, rebellious decisions (and even has to be on top during sex) that lead her to soaring, twirling, violent ecstasies and her eventual destruction, while Sayuri has so much water in her character she flows from situation to situation subject to the whims of others as much as that liquid is to gravity before achieving her heart's desire, true love. Kind of old fashioned, and kind of a comedown for someone who once played a girl who could open a can of whup ass on a whole restaurant of outlandishly named kung fu superheroes.

I can't imagine Jen Yu submitting to Dr. Crab's ministrations in the same way Sayuri does, and it's odd to see Zhang Ziyi as the personification of both characters behaving so squeamishly and coquettishly. That contrast serves to illuminate one of the misgivings I have about Memoirs as novel and film. But it's not particularly a major one and not one that prevents my enjoyment of both on other levels. Although I think the movie might work better as simply a photobook with a soundtrack CD.

Anyway, all that analysis aside, there's a new movie about geisha coming out. It's called Hannari - Geisha Modern, directed by Sohara Miyuki. You can read a review of it with a brief comparison to Memoirs at Japan Times Online. Mark Schilling, the Japan Times critic, opens his review by explaining why he bothers to write English reviews of strictly Japanese films. Actually, I don't think any justification is needed. A film critic watches films and writes reviews.

But as for me, I'm glad Schilling writes these reviews because I might otherwise never know about these movies. And while I might not see the film during its initial Japanese language only release, there's a good chance it'll be subtitled in English when it comes out on Region 2 DVD. I'm basing this guess on all the other Region 2 Japanese film DVDs I own, including Swing Girls and Battle Royale. In this case, obviously those of us with only rudimentary skills in Japanese can watch and enjoy the output of one of the most interesting and challenging film industries in the world.

And once again, the preferred term (at least in Kyoto) is geiko instead of geisha.

The Chef Who Can Kick Your Ass...

Last night I met a friend for a bicycle trek to an Italian restaurant. It gets dark early here in Japan, so by 5:30pm we already had a night sky with a big orange full moon rising over the city, where off in the distance an office building displayed blinking Christmas lights along its roof. Stupidly, and thanks to my laundry cycle, I was dressed all in black like a ninja.

Black coat, black pants. My friend led us along busy streets and then along a winding course along narrow streets among small boxy houses and over a river dappled with the moon's reflection and the very few streetlights. I was probably completely invisible from behind, a stealth cyclist. Fortunately, it was warm enough that I was able to take off my jacket and display the long relatively bright color of my gray longsleeved undershirt.

We made it to the restaurant safely just about the time my ass completely fell asleep from my bicycle seat.

It's a small place, unassuming, with seating for probably no more than 24. Obviously, they're not about high volume, but while we were there all 5 of the tables became occupied by dining couples, and one party of 4. Her friends- a woman about my age and a younger guy- greeted us and we sat at the bar where there were already plates, wet naps and forks and chopsticks balanced on wine corks sliced lengthwise ready for the starving gaijin and his Nihonjin companion. And her charming black knit cap.

What really impressed me was the oven, imported from Italy. An open-faced stone oven with a fire blazing inside and shiny blue tile deco on the outside, a pipe through the wall to exhaust the smoke. My friend ordered herself a beer and iced tea for me, and we chatted in both English and Japanese. I took the opportunity to use all I've learned from my class, and she apologized every so often for not having practiced her English more. She thinks she's losing her skills, but she sounded fine to me.

We ate oysters with cheese baked on the half-shell and some other little hors d'oeuvres before the chef brought us a small margarita pizza... tomato sauce, cheese, tomatoes and spinach leaves. The crust was outstanding. Little bits of burned area for smoky taste and crispness, just the way I like it. We also had the 4-cheese pizza which was also delicious but my friend pronounced a bit too salty. It also lacks tomato sauce, which is a must for pizza as far as I'm concerned.

The other pizza choices? Well, from the menu most of them seemed to feature oysters or sardines. Raw ham was also an option I rejected. I'm sure they're all just as delicious as the selections we ate, but I just wasn't in the mood for radical experimentalism.

For dessert, I had homemade marbled cheesecake and she had some sort of green ice cream in coffee. There's a huge difference between the storebought cheesecake I'm used to and something homemade. The consistency was thicker and dryer than the machine-produced crap you buy in convenience stores, and it was very delicious. Oh yeah. I could eat an entire cheesecake, and I think the next time I go I'll see if they'll be willing to sell me one. The woman who made it asked me if my slice was too small, or if I expected American size, which to her mind is probably roughly as wide as both my hands side-to-side. I told her it was just fine.

Afterwards, the subject of one of my current heroes, Anthony Bourdain, came up. Whenever I'm trying a new restaurant, I can't help but think about Anthony Bourdain and his show No Reservations, which is a staple on Discovery Channel Japan these days. I gave a brief biography of him to my friend, and she asked her friends if they knew who he was. For the woman, Anthony Bourdain is a mystery, a chimera. But the chef nodded and said something about him in Japanese. Something nice, I'm sure, something along the lines of, "Oh yeah, I've heard of him. He's a chef, right?"

They asked if I was from New York and thinking the question was about Bourdain, at first I said yes before getting a friendly correction. Oops. No, I'm a Georgia cracker.

And we talked about language. My friend said the chef knows a bit of Italian, and within seconds we were looking at his photo album of his stint in Italy 4 years ago when he apprenticed to a real Italian chef. He joked about looking much younger in the photos, but I told him he looks the same now.

At which he laughed and pointed to his eyes, telling us there are not only wrinkles there but scars. Yes, he has a bit of calcium buildup around his brow ridges. Why? Because he trains in mixed martial arts. At that point I noticed some severe cauliflowering of his left ear, which was probably only 80% the size of his right. This led the conversation away from Italy and celebrity chefs into strictly fight talk, whereupon communication broke down almost completely because our helpful translator had no idea how to render Japanese fight jargon into English and vice versa.

We did toss out some names. Forrest Griffin (of course) and his win over Mauricio "Shogun" Hua was of interest to the chef, because he's a Shogun fan. He also namechecked Wanderlei Silva, and knew of both Chuck Liddell and Randy Couture. In fact, he went on a little spiel about Couture, which my friend relayed to me in fragments before telling me, "He gave up."

Meaning the chef quit because he knew what he was saying wasn't getting across the communication gap. It made me wish my Japanese skills were better, because I'd love talking MMA with this guy. If there's one thing I admire, it's people with diverse interests... especially if they have a certain level of expertise in those fields. For example, an excellent Italian chef who trains so hard in martial arts he has the battle damage to prove it.

What are the chances someone like me, with a bit of an interest in the world of UFC and mixed martial arts, would end up in an Italian restaurant in Japan talking to someone that deeply involved? My friend learned the word "coincidence," the concept of which she was already completely aware, of course. And I learned the Japanese word for it, but only briefly because I promptly forgot.

Thinking back now, though, it's not that big a surprise. MMA fans are everywhere if you keep your ears and eyes open for the telltale signs, so this might be more of an example of confirmation bias the same way most synchronous incidents turn out to be. When you remember that Hamamatsu has one of the largest Brazilian population percentages of any major city in Japan, it becomes less surprising that I'd meet someone who's more up on Brazilian fighters than he is on the Americans.

I forgot to ask him about the Gracies!

Oh well, we'll be returning to this restaurant so there will be plenty of opportunities. And another enjoyable thing about going to places like this are you make friends with the owners and you get to see the more intimate places of this city, rather than just hanging around the train station and the obvious places. My old neighborhood of Sanaru-dai was full of secret restaurants that were mostly sonambulant in terms of customers but wide awake when it comes to delicious food and charm.

Let's Get Drunk for the Holidays!

Beaujolais Nouveau has hit Japan. This was a big enough deal that some of my students actually mentioned it to me a week or so ago in their anticipatory excitement. Now, I know next to nothing about wine and what I do know, I learned from the movie Sideways (which I highly recommend, by the way). But this Beaujolais Nouveau stuff?

The Hakone Yunessun Spa lets you swim in it. Here's a funny Keith Olbermann clip about one of the more enjoyable aspects of living in Nihon:


Grapes of bath

Yes, bath time can be family and friends fun time. Just add alcohol!

Happy Thanksgiving, America!

It's that time of year. Bring on the orgiastic turkey feast and the professional football. Here in Japan, it's just another Thursday (albeit one that's unseasonably cold and windy). Tomorrow is Labor Thanksgiving Day, though, and many people I know have 3- and 4-day weekends. Still others are off tomorrow and Sunday, with Saturday as a regular workday sandwiched in there like either of my brothers' delicious leftover turkey meat between two slices of whole wheat bread, with mustard, mayonaisse and lettuce.

Also barbecue sauce for those who go in for that kind of thing.

Tomorrow, I'll celebrate with a lunchtime feast of KFC and then some Christmas shopping. Hopefully, the Colonel will be wearing his Santa outfit. I've already been serenaded by Christmas music downtown, and the decorations are all aglow.

So tuck in and have a good one.

Aww... Man... the Disneyfication of Kabuki-cho!

Japan's infamous red light district/gangster haunt is practically my second neighborhood. It's my sleazy home away from home away from home; to the horror and delight of my students and Japanese friends, I've stayed there about 14 times or more since I first came to Japan. But according to "Kabukicho Comes Clean," a recent and very interesting article in the Japan Times, it seems like the do-gooders are intent on turning it into a slick, clean corporatized non-entity. The government is cracking down on the shady doings there, and Best Western is moving in.

Good for tourists, not so great for me. My wilder days are mostly behind me now, but I still feel any fully functional society needs scuzzy, dangerous places like the old Times Square and Kabuki-cho as steam release valves. We don't need them thrown in our faces, but a little dirt on the hands and cheek add character and depth. Without them, what would our pastors and Sunday School teachers sermonize about on Sundays, and what would hypocritical politicians demonize in order to impress voters?

Also, there really needs to be a counter to the soul-crushing uniformity of McDonald's and KFC culture. Something sick and degenerate that flouts societal rules and mores in order to make us value them all the more. Someone (a famous person I'm too lazy to look up) once said something along the lines of "They've killed everything good and noble and replaced it with Wal-Mart." Perhaps they're also killing everything evil and lurid as well.

Eventually, we'll live in a Nerf-world, full of Nerf-people. Not that I'm advocating crime or the sex trade, neither of which I participate in. It's just that danger is intoxicating and enriching. Nor am I badmouthing fine Nerf products, which are fun for all. Avoid cheap imitations, though. A true Nerf football is vastly superior to foam knock-offs.

Anyway, enough contradictory pontificating and tongue-in-cheek product endorsements. Check out the article's illustration, a group of "hosts" standing in front of the big Epson building landmark I've so frequently photographed. I don't know much about host bars because I don't swing that way but it's a cool picture and illustration of a side of Japanese nightlife I haven't written much about.

I have been to a couple of hostess clubs. One was pretty tame but the other was a decadent, almost completely nude affair that left me needing a shower. Or three. And possibly a tetanus shot. And I've come to the conclusion that hostess bars don't really need my patronage. They're ridiculously expensive and somewhat demeaning. I'm glad I had the experience, but I wouldn't care to repeat it.

On the other hand, I am interested in sampling what the maid cafes are all about. From a purely sociological standpoint. Yeah. Sociology.

The film festival mentioned in the article is something I'm very much interested in, as are the fashion shows held outside the Koma Theater. To be perfectly honest, if those are indicative of a new direction for Kabuki-cho, I'm actually more likely to go there in the future!

Great Article on Akihabara...

Akihabara is a ward in Tokyo I have barely scratched the surface of, and now it's looking like this surface is simultaneously not worth scratching and also potentially disturbing if scratched. My first (so far) visit came during my New Year's jaunt. For years, I'd heard of Akihabara as "Electronic Town," the place to get all those wonky digital gadgets Japan is famous for.

In fact, the Akihabara Station features signs in English directing the tech-hungry consumotourist towards "Electronic Town." But once there, it's not all that exciting. Prices are nothing special. Maybe back in the 50s when Japanese-made goods were considered shoddy but attractive due to their transistorized size and cheapness, Akihabara was the place to find bargains. These days, it's like a place with 100 Besuto Buyus in a row.

As long as I've been here, students have told me about Akihabara's transformation into a mecca for otaku, or in English... geeks. Toy geeks, comics geeks, animation geeks, video game geeks, maid cafe geeks. While the term otaku has a somewhat negative connotation (having a member involved in a horrific murder can do that for your tribe), recent years have seen the rise of the "akiba-kei," a softer more accessible form. A lovable sort of geek that a woman sick of macho business-oriented ordinary guys might possibly date, if only she could wean him from his maid cafe obsession.

But will this be a short-lived iteration? I have no idea. I was only just reading about it in an article called "Akihabara's Awful Truths." The truths? Apparently, the akiba-kei is being driven from his Akihabara lair by encroaching corporatism. And also that Akihabara is also a center for pornography. Which comes as an unpleasant surprise to me; but then, I didn't really get to explore it all that much and I was in search of funky animation and comics related merchandise, not double-sided dildos and pictures of naked kids.

The article's by Patrick Macias, who knows more about modern Japanese pop culture than I ever will... and it makes me jealous. Well, I'm assuming he does, because not only did he write this very fascinating article, he also co-authored one of my favorite books, the concise, informative and very witty Japanese Schoolgirl Inferno. His blog is also a must-read.

Veteran's Day in Japan...

Of course the American holiday Veteran's Day isn't celebrated here in Japan. I mean, why would it be? Despite my having decided to live abroad, I still love the country of my birth (even if I don't agree with the things it does from time to time), so yesterday I honored our armed forces by watching the 1949 classic Battleground, starring Van Johnson.

Battleground is the story of a 101st Airborne infantry company involved in the defense of Bastogne. They gripe endlessly and bicker amongst themselves. But mostly they endure. They endure the weather, intermittant shellings, infrequent combat, the woundings and deaths of close friends, not knowing what country they're in (they speculate it's Luxembourg) and fear. A remarkably realistic movie considering when it was made; it still holds up quite well compared to things like Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers. It's certainly superior to many of the overly patriotic or sentimental flicks made during the war itself, and not as cynical as the ones made during the 50's and 60's.

Mainly, its point is war is a horrible thing that happens all too often and sucks in decent human beings.

I remember seeing this film for the first time way back in elementary school on one of my sickdays. And I recently bought it here for 500 yen, along with such masterworks as Citizen Kane, The Third Man and To Kill a Mockingbird!

Yesterday, November 11th, was also Pocky Day. Pocky is a snack consisting of thin sticks of something like pretzel-material covered on one end with chocolate or strawberry flavoring. There are many varieties of Pocky, from the standard chocolate version in a bright red box to Men's Pocky (dark, semi-bitter chocolate) to the special winter-only Pocky with fast-melting chocolate.

Pocky-maker Glico declared the holiday because the date can be written 11/11, which looks like four Pocky sticks in a row.

Unfortunately, I forgot to buy some Pocky!