*/5

I believe it was Isaac Asimov who wrote, “It pays to be obvious, especially if you have a reputation for subtlety.” Getting his commercial feet wet in the 2002 bloodbath Suicide Club (自殺サークル Jisatsu sākuru lit. “Suicide circle”), Sono Shion 園子温 (b. 1961) does not evoke subtlety. Would it surprise anyone, then, that his latest creation, Cold Fish (冷たい熱帯魚 Tsumetai nettaigyo  lit. “Cold tropical fish”), retains that—Sono—luster? No, and it shouldn’t. But could I be blamed for holding out hope? I hope not.

Caveat lector: I am note opposed to violence, sex, nudity, etc., in film. That said, I am aesthetically remote from splatter flicks in general; gore does not stimulate my cinematic taste buds, neither does graphic absurdity for its own sake. In short, I do not enjoy porn of this order. If you do, feel free to ignore the rest, because you may well enjoy it; if you do not, read on.

One is tempted to recall words like poshlost’ пошлость, a Russian word that has an expansive meaning that the English “vulgar” or “crass” doesn’t quite capture. Nabokov, once jokingly transliterating it as “posh-lust,” applied the term to all manner of philistinism, but I often get the sense that he particularly disliked what is echoed by its Italian analogue banalità. Few things are as banal as gore porn, which overwhelm not so much with their graphic (sex-)violence—this element borders on comedy at any rate—as with their vapidity. Banalità, indeed.

This is saying something because the entire Cold Fish circus is (loosely) based on real events (pace the “A True Story” text that inexplicably flashes in English at the beginning). I had read Jake Adelstein’s Tokyo Vice a couple of years back, a book I would recommend to anyone interested in Japan. It featured two chapters titled “The Saitama Dog Lover Serial Disappearances” that told the story of Sekine Gen 関根元 (or as he is called “Husband X” 夫X) and his “wife” Kazama Hiroko’s 風間博子(“Wife Y” 妻Y) (another man, Yamazaki Nagayuki 山崎永幸, was also involved, and the film’s protagonist is possibly based on him) killing spree in the early 1990s; body count of at least 4, probably 6, victims, that became known as the “Saitama Dog-Lovers Serial Murders” (埼玉愛犬家連続殺人事件). A brief overview of the case can be found here, but you would just as well read Adelstein’s book. At any rate, Sekine and Kazama—owners of a pet shop Africa Kennel—had poisoned, dismembered, and disposed of a handful of individuals in the 1990s. They would take their bodies to Sekine’s dog-training grounds, dismember them, and dispose of the remains in Gunma prefecture. It was one of those stranger than fiction stories that would surely be made into a film, and I was looking forward to this one.

Kazama (L) and Sekine. Note that Kurosawa bears not the slightest resemblance to Kazama (this would have made the sex scenes unwatchable). Denden, on the other hand, could pass for Sekine.

The movie picks up on many details. Sekine becomes Murata (Denden); Kazama is the wife Aiko (Kurosawa Asuka 黒沢あすか ); Yamazaki, a bulldog breeder, inspires the film’s protagonist, the fish-store owner Shamoto (Fukikoshi Mitsuru 吹越 満); Yasunobu Endo, a local yakuza boss, becomes Tsutsui (Watanabe Tetsu 渡辺哲); his driver Susumu Wakui gives us a performance by Pe Jyonmyon; and African Kennel transforms into Amazon Gold Tropical Fish Store.

Now the film, I think, is very much a disjointed affair, in the sense that there is a stark change in tenor in the latter half of the movie. I have said this many times in regards to Full Metal Jacket, and I think it applies as well to Cold Fish. The only difference is that the latter half of FMJ is not bad, only that R. Lee Ermey’s performance steals the movie, while the rest of Cold Fish is atrocious in subject matter and quality. I don’t wish to spoil the film for those that will see it, so I will restrain myself to repeating that Sono does not do “subdued,” but marches ahead to his favorite tunes of “shocking,” “controversial,” and so forth. It would be rather gauche for me to say that Sono butchers this one, so I will not.

The film is not exclusively execrable. According to Adelstein, Denden’s noteworthy performance reminded him of Sekine himself. Thus Adelstein:

“I had the pleasure of meeting Sekine twice before his arrest and watching him interact with customers several times and the performance is dead-on.”

Again:

“The actor playing the serial killer in the film was so reminiscent of Sekine Gen that it was unsettling. The same charisma, presence, voice. […] While he was still just a suspect, I met him at a dog show and we had a short little chat […] I said to Sekine, ‘They say you’ve killed over 10 people. Is it true?’ His response, ‘I’ve never killed anyone. But I might start with you.’”

Truistic as it is, most films—most narratives actually—reach that fork in the road at which point the buildup concludes and the author/director must decide how to propel the narrative to a satisfying conclusion. Those works that successfully bridge the intro and outro, that make the end as rewarding as the beginning, I consider good, or at least structurally sound. Others are mediocre at best. This crisis point is pivotal problem in the narrative process. When Sono finds himself at this crossroads he unfailingly opts for the path to the absurd, a choice that invariably feels like—and is—a cop out.

To be fair, had this been solely a sick fantasy of Sono’s like Suicide Club, I’d remain silent. But the actual criminal case intrigues more than Sono’s grotesquerie, and requires no embellishment. As Adestein observes:

“I was awed by the movie until the point on the bridge where the plot bridged off from the real events.”

Again,

“I saw the film at a theatre and was really impressed at the attention to detail until it veered off into pure fantasy in the last quarter […] Real life is often more bizarre than fiction and the Saitama Dog Lover Serial Killings is weird enough not to need embellishment. A shame.”

No argument from me. ¡Qué pena!

The latter half also piles on nonsensical sexual violence—actually the entire film treats the trope of woman-as-blow-up-doll rather offhandedly. Judging by his track record I suspect that the director thinks—or fantasizes—that rape qua rape is an old wives’ tale. The film abuses a host of other banalities: the ineffectual Japanese working man (see J. Christley’s review of this film in Slant, one of the few people that got it, I think), the limiting of sexual prowess to thugs, the sadomasochistic tenor of the whole thing, we’ve seen it all before. And above all, a rush of viscera, deluge of blood, and salvo of violence.

All this brings to mind another of Asimov’s apothegms: “Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”

The above is hardly advertising at its best. But the value of this particular example lies in what it reveals about Japanese workforce’s mastery of the English language, as well as foreign staff–both are missing. Yet a blind infatuation with the exotic, foreign–read English–cool persists. The combination of the above lack of English and grasping attempts to harness its cachet precipitate the very definition of SNAFU, and the above harlequinade provides just a single example from a multitude. Rest assured this is the normal situation in Japan.

Also note that the store in question was in Osaka, the second-largest metropolis in Japan after the Tokyo-Yokohama megasprawl (Gibson fans may include Chiba). A similar display may be forgiven in Boonie-mura, Inakaville (pop. 1 man). Granted this Galerie store appears to be in Shinsaibashi, on Osaka’s southside, which has a bit of an edge. But this is s till a howler.

This is, of course, not a rare instance of inadvertent use of offensive English. The article might have mentioned a certain chain restaurant called First Kitchen, or fa-suto kicchin, which, contracted, went the way of Brad Pitt (Burapi) and the non-Osaka McDonald’s (makudo). Nothing like walking down the street and overhearing:

A: “Hey what you want to do?”

B: “Let’s go fakkin!“

Though the kitchen affair is at least an honest mistake. Not that the sale sign is really outrageous; Japanese people by and large have trouble comprehending expletives fully on a conceptual level, so even for that I could lift some of the blame. But this bit of news does tell us about foreign staff in Japanese companies the same thing the iPad told us about female staff at Apple. If there was an English speaker on staff (or German, Swedish, hell, French would do), the Daily Mail would have been a story short. Unless of course that English speaker was chef Ron Silver.

Maybe they could have picked on the Colbert Report (Jan. 11, 2012), when its editors chose to illustrate the discussion of the risk posed to New York, London, and Tokyo by earthbound debris of a Russian satellite with photos of the Empire State Building (New York), Big Ben (London), and Kinkakuji (Kyoto). Oh, that there were only anyone on staff with some knowledge of Japan, or a Wikipedia connection.

Japanese crossroads sign

辻 (つじ) tsuji   “crossroads”

Another wonderful kanji that looks exactly like what it means.

The image at right is the Japanese traffic signal for a crossroads. If we simply append to it the radical for “walk/road” (shinnyū/shinnyō 辶) [found in "way" 道, "advance" 進, etc.], we get: “the roads in 十-shape.”

How great is that?

ありふれた草に置たる白露で

arifureta kusa ni okitaru shiratsuyu de

As much as I hate to dissect this, perhaps some explanation is required. There is a number of meanings here.

One: “On the glistening (white) dew atop the ordinary grass.”

This reads arifureta to mean “ordinary/common place” (有りふれた).

Two: “In the glistening (white) dew atop the grass, an ant swayed.”

This reads arifureta as a combination of the noun ari (蟻) “ant” and the past of fureru (振れる) “to shake.”

白露 shiratsuyu means literally “white dew,” but since “white” has the connotation of being clear and transparent, “glistening dew” is often preferred. 白露 also happens to be an Autumnal seasonal word (kigo 季語, especially for sometime around Sept. 8th) .

It may also be fruitful to note that arifureta can mean “hackneyed,” kusa can be used to refer to writing, and tsuyu is often used in a bit of poetic confusion to mean “tears.” So perhaps we can read this as crying over a piece of hackneyed writing, most likely one’s own.

But this all probably makes very little sense unless you are somewhat familiar with the Akutagawa section of the Isemonogatari 伊勢物語 (The Takes of Ise), and specifically its 6th section.

It relates the tale of “a man” who stole away with a woman one night, and came to the banks of the Akutagawa. There the woman (inexplicably) noticed some dew on the grass, and asked him what it was (くさのうへにをきたりけるつゆを、かれはなにぞとなむおとこにとひける). The night grows dark and a storm moves in, so the man shuts the woman up in a dilapidated warehouse, and sits guard outside the door with his bow and arrows. What he didn’t know was that there were demons in the warehouse, and one gobbles up the woman in a single bite (her scream goes unnoticed on the account of the thunder). The next morning, realizing what had happened the man writes a poem:

しらたまかなにぞと人のとひし時つゆとこたへてきえなましものを

“When she asked me whether it was pearls (shiratama 白玉, literally “white spheres,” but I’m translating it this way for its implications)

Oh that I had answered ‘dew’ (tsuyu つゆ) and disappeared!”

Here is the original:

昔おとこありけり。女のえうまじかりけるを、としをへてよばひわたりけるを、からうじてぬすみいでゝ、いとくらきにきけり。あくた河といふかはをゐ ていきければ、くさのうへにをきたりけるつゆを、かれはなにぞとなむおとこにとひける。ゆくさきおほく、夜もふけにければ、おにある所ともしらで、神さへ いといみじうなり、あめもいたうふりければ、あばらなるくらに、女をばおくにをしいれて、おとこ、ゆみ、やなぐひをおひて、とぐちにをり。はや夜もあけな むと思つゝゐたりけるに、おにはやひとくちにくひてけり。あなやといひけれど、神なるさはぎにえきかざりけり。やうやう夜もあけゆくに、見ればゐてこし女 もなし。あしずりをしてなけどもかひなし。

しらたまかなにぞと人のとひし時つゆとこたへてきえなましものを

Have you ever seen anything this adorable?

That’s right.

If you are in Japan donations to help relief efforts are easy enough to make through the Post Office ATMs, or the many convenience stores. But for those who don’t have to time to figure out how to make a donation from abroad, need a little incentive, or all of the above, but still want to contribute, here is a nice way of doing so. And it is incomparably more aesthetically appealing than those silly-looking colorful rubber things

For the next week or two, Corter Leather (handmade in New England) will be offering a special “For Japan” edition bracelet. Each one is $20, and 100% of the proceeds will go to the Red Cross towards relief efforts in Japan. The bracelet comes in three sizes, is a natural 9 oz bracelet, with a hand painted red button to show support. Each comes in a nice cloth bag. Out of respect, there is no branding, no fancy packaging- just a reminder to help and remember.

Others have already mentioned this opportunity: http://neaststyle.com/2011/03/14/japan-by-corter-leather/, http://dreamsofperfection.wordpress.com/2011/03/14/corter-leather-for-japan-bracelet/, just to mention a few.

おだやかなれよ

彼岸潮（ひがんしお）

逃げ水ならば

胸痛むまじ

–M.I.

行く河のながれは絶えずして、しかももとの水にあらず。よどみに浮ぶうたかたは、かつ消えかつ結びて、久しくとゞまりたるためしなし。世の中にある人と栖と、ま たかくのごとし。たましきの都のうちに棟を並べ、甍を争へる高き賤しき人のすまひは、世々を經て盡きせぬものなれど、これをまことかと尋ぬれ ば、昔ありし家は稀なり。或は去年焼けて、今年作れり。或いは大家ほろびて小家となる。住む人もこれに同じ。所も変らず、人も多かれど、 いにしへ見し人は、二三十人が中にわづかにひとりふたりなり。朝に死し、夕に 生るゝならひ、たゞ水の泡にぞ似たりける。知らず、生れ死ぬる人いづかたより來りて、いづかたへか去る。又知らず、仮の宿り、誰が爲にか心を惱まし、 何によりてか目を喜ばしむる。その主と栖と無常を争ふさま、いはゞ朝顏の露に異ならず。或は露落ちて、花残れり。残るといへど も、朝日に枯れぬ。或は花しぼみて、露なほ消えず。消えずといへども、夕を待つ事なし。

The flow of the (moving) river is unceasing[1], what’s more,[2] it is not the original water. The bubbles (floating) on the surface of stagnant ponds vanish here and reappear there, never remaining for long.[3] The same holds true for people and their dwellings in this world.[4]

In the resplendent[5] capital, the houses of both noble and base, having lined up the ridges of their roofs, competing with their roof tiles,[6] pass through generations [seemingly] without wearing out, however when I inquire if this is really so, [it appears] houses that stood here from long ago are a rarity.[7] Either[8] they burned down last year and were rebuilt this year. Or else, a large house[9] fell and became a small house. It is the same with the people that make abode in them. Places, too, don’t change, and although people are many, of the 20 or 30 people that I saw in the past, merely one or two now remain.[10] How this wont[11] to die in the morning and be born in the evening [truly] resembles bubbles on the water![12] I know not whence this born and dying man comes nor whither he goes. Nor again do I know for whose benefit these temporary dwellings cause the heart to ache, or by what the eyes to be made glad.[13] The way of those dwellings and their proprietors of vying for transience is no different, you could say, from the dew and[14] the morning glory. Either the dew falls and the blossoms remain[15]. But even what remains[16] withers away[17] with the morning sun. Or else, the flowers wilt and yet[18] the dew does not vanish. But even if the dew does not vanish, it never remains until evening.[19]

==> 閂

See the resemblance?

I don’t know if the accompanying hand-motions are part of some international sign-language, but if they are not, perhaps they should be. Originally produced by Fuji TV, if you can believe that.

PS. For the more adult audience, more useful English expressions for your daily use. Though why you’d address Toshi-san in English is beyond me. Jouzu ni tsukaemashou!

From “Vermilion Pleasure Night” variety program; think MADtv on crack.