戸塚祥太 の ジョーダンバットが鳴っている No. 19 [ダ・ヴィンチ 2015.07]
Note: This translation was originally done in July 2015, from my own personal copy of the magazine. It was done for my own entertainment and intended for personal use only. I am not a professional translator. DO NOT REPUBLISH.
This essay deals with the playwright Tsuka Kouhei (つか こうへい) who is—unfortunately—almost completely unknown in the Anglosphere. The one version of any of Tsuka-san’s works that I’m aware of that has been translated to English is the movie version of Kamata Koushinkyoku (蒲田行進曲; lit. The Kamata March, as in the type of song), which was given the English title of Fall Guy. This English title has always bothered me because it elevates one of the male characters to the level of main protagonist over the main female character—a hierarchy that isn’t implied in the Japanese title. Almost all English reviews of the film are written as if this male character the “fall guy” is the protagonist, which, if you watch the film without that preconditioning of the title, he is not.
A further note, the title of the Tsuka Kouhei’s 『娘に語る祖国』 (Musume Ni Kataru Sokoku ) is translated in a few different ways but I found “Talking About My Native Country to My Daughter” and “Ancestral Land Narrated to My Daughter” etc. etc. to be quite cumbersome so I went with: “The Homeland, As Told To My Daughter”.
JORDAN’S BAT IS RUMBLING
ジョーダンバットが鳴っている
by
Totsuka Shota
Very personal essays from Totsuka Shota of Johnny’s acrobatic unit A.B.C-Z. While reflecting on events this book-lover searches for “links” in the books he has read.
No. 19: The play,『広島に原爆を落とす日; The Day the A-Bomb Falls on Hiroshima』
In his characteristic fashion, Tsuka Kouhei-san set an epic love story against the historical backdrop of World War II and the dropping of the atomic bomb in The Day the Atomic Bomb Falls on Hiroshima. In a production of the play mounted in 2015, 70 years after this turning point in the war, I took on the lead role of Commander Deep Yamazaki.
Deep has a sharp mind and loves Japan more than anybody else. He’s doing everything he can to secure Japan’s victory while working at the Naval Tactical Staff Headquarters. But he’s a mixed race white Russian and, consequently, his worth is undervalued and his patriotism isn’t rewarded. His orders are to go a solitary island in the southern seas and make natto to deliver to the children of the losing nations when Japan wins. With his thoughts of Natsue, the woman he loves, and the hope that democracy should be coming to Japan to keep him going, Deep is working towards mission accomplished. But even crueler orders are handed down. That is, in order to lead Japan towards defeat, an atomic bomb will be dropped on his hometown of Hiroshima.
I’d come to grips with the work little by little but, as we went into rehearsals, I still wasn’t really able to embody Deep. His bitterness over his misfortunes, why he had so much pride, the way he’d coldly beat his subordinates. I didn’t crack a scene where Deep mercilessly beats the fear of god into his subordinates until just before the run began. Understanding that there’s nothing as boring as a half-baked performance was both a strength and weakness. I’d gone over it many times in rehearsal but I hadn’t been able to make it click.
But, in the final stages of rehearsal, I lightened my hair for the first time in 8 years. When I saw myself in the mirror, hair standing on end like a Super Saiyan, the switch flipped completely to Deep. With such a complete change in appearance, I wasn’t me. I could become somebody else. In December last year, the director, Nishikiori-san, told me “I’ll want you to dye your hair.” Because of work-related reasons, changing my hairstyle came down to the wire. I was shocked at the result. I’d been wondering if it would even be worth doing. The change in my look was instrumental to creating my character.
We set aside the most time in rehearsal for the Yasaka Shrine (in Kyoto) scene with Deep and Natsue. Because there weren’t many scenes with just the two of them, how much could each character give the feeling of the distance between them. That was the climax of the first half. In the script, it’s Deep’s first meeting with Natsue but, personally, I thought Deep must have seen Natsue somewhere before and she’d already stolen his heart. I thought he must have done stalker-type things like tail Natsue and peek at her from a hiding spot. Now, in the scene at Yasaka Shrine, Natsue happened to become entangled with a man and under the pretense of “rescue” Deep was able to get close to her at last. However, Deep had done nothing but study before and now, even though he’s touching her, he can’t properly speak to her. He recklessly shows off, acts domineering, spouts appropriately random nonsense…… I really understood Deep’s feelings here because, after growing up in the all-male society of Johnny’s & Associates, communication with women is also a weak point for me. Deep can’t really meet Natsue’s eyes. And I wouldn’t be able to either.
But, somehow, you want to hear the word “love” from the person you’ve fallen for. Even if that’s all there is, you’re winning the war. “Tell me you love me!” That’s why after I lets these high pressure words fly at Natsue, I’m able to deliver the next line with my whole body and soul: “If you’ll do that, I’ll definitely come home alive!”
Deep is a shy man with a lot of pride, doomed to be a lonely. He’s got too many issues! I thought. But as time went on I ended up finding him endearing. Of course, I’d come to think this way inhabiting the role of Deep on stage but, thinking of myself, personally, if I was going to reveal myself to the person I liked, I’d want to say, “I love you.”
As seventeen days of passionate, intense rehearsal came to end, we were facing the April 1st preview performance. When the last dress rehearsal was over, wondering what the response would be, it weighed unusually strongly on my mind.
We had performers from the Tsuka Theater Troupe and Tsuka-san related Kitaku Theater Group in this show. With that kind of environment in our rehearsals, I was always kept on my toes, with a high level of concentration. Every day I’d go to rehearsal even if killed me. That was the foundation of my confidence for the preview performance but…
In my impatience to get through my lines, I’d repeatedly choke on them and think, “Why the heck did I even rehearse?!” I was alone and in a daze in my dressing room when one of my co-stars from last year’s play Shupatsu (出発) stopped by for a visit. With bleary, red eyes they said, “Somehow your passion really came across, I couldn’t stop crying. But you can do more. Tottsu, you can do more.” Those were the feelings conveyed to me. Just as I’d lost my self confidence, I received words of encouragement. I was happy but one phrase remained on my mind as I left to go home.
“You can take on more, you know.”
That’s right. This work rests on Deep’s shoulders. And I remember that was when Deep’s gear shifted up a notch. Somehow, I needed to hold my head high. That’s what I thought. I definitely needed to take the lead. This is embarrassing but when a show opening draws near—and I’ve reached maximum nervousness—without fail I’m struck by stomach pains. Up until now, I’d gotten some help from meds. Every performance has been like this: the year before last’s Atami Satsujin Jiken, last year’s Shupatsu, and so on. “I’m going to be a leader!” If I can reach the point where that becomes encouraging, it follows that my stomach pain should decrease.
Thus the show began. I continued to play Deep but although I was giving everything I had every time I stepped on stage, in the second half, I remained unsure if I could properly express the extent of his mental instability when he realizes he’s been abandoned by Imperial Headquarters. Deep’s cruelty towards his subordinates goes beyond simple hazing. He inflicts violence, finds fault with everybody. I wasn’t sure if that volatility was coming through. That’s why I screamed with abandon. With the exception of screaming, I hadn’t yet gotten the trick of releasing the flames of frustration and regret that burned at Deep’s center. I believed that all I was able to do was push my voice to the limit every time, screaming continuously. So then my greatest point of reflection was when my voice grew hoarse. Naturally, as a professional, I needed to protect the condition of my throat until the final curtain call. Nevertheless, in order to maintain my momentum, I had to yell. If I didn’t raise my voice, it seemed like I still had energy to spare and I’d found that I’d feel guilty about it. That is to say, perhaps I was irritated with myself at not having found a way to express Deep’s violent emotions, with the exception of screaming. Even though, as a stage performer, it’s quite shameful that my voice growing hoarse during the performance makes my lines difficult to hear.
And then, noticing my burning impatience, television producer Tsuruma Masayuki gave me these mild words.
“The voice is like the weather. Of course a clear day feels nice. But even a rainy day has it’s good points. The voice is the same. Every day brings different conditions and you need to understand how to them all.”
From then on, Tsuruma-san’s words were my duty.
SMAP’s Katori Shingo-san also gave me something to think about after he attended the Tokyo performance.
“Even though you’re cute you’re able to show the insanity. I thought it was really good. It’s a hard role. But it’s fun, isn’t?”
That day Katori-san said, “I still haven’t met Totsuka.” And he waited for me until the curtain call was finished. Just being able to talk to Katori-san there, Katori-san who’d played Deep 18 years earlier, was nourishment for the heart so I was even more happy that he’d been thinking such things about me.
Regarding Deep’s lengthy final monologue, Katori-san also said, “The words are beautiful.” When I received the script, that was the monologue I first threw myself into. At the Yokaren Peace Memorial in Kasumigaura, I saw firsthand the letters written by the men of the Tokkutai Unit [Translator Note: Americans know them as the Kamikaze Unit.] to their relatives. Reading these letters was a huge deal. I kept the letters in mind as I memorized my lines. Deep entrusting his feelings in a letter home, before the flight of the Enola Gay, that was the image I kept in my heart.
I was by myself on stage but every time I could feel the support of the entire company in the background and so I had nothing to be anxious about. Especially in the last performance, while reflecting upon my good fortune at being able to speak those lines into which the beauty of Japanese language had been condensed, while thankful for the support of a wonderful company, while praying that the audience would get it, my lines passed by in the blink of an eye.
Tsuka-san composed an essay titled, “The Homeland, As Told To My Daughter,” about the troubles Koreans living in Japan had resigned themselves to. This book became my guide while playing Deep in Hiroshima~. Tsuka-san presented the beauty of “Homeland” as the beauty of his daughter. Why did Deep love Natsue? He layered the homeland, Japan, upon her, as well. Without a doubt, Natsue’s love for him was equal in value to the love he received from Japan. He was Japanese but he wasn’t Japanese. He couldn’t belong, no matter where he went. He’s living with such unbearable feelings. Can Deep really believe that he’ll be rewarded with Natsue’s love?
Actually, as a guide to knowing Tsuka-san, there is another book you can pick up in addition to this one: Tsukahei’s Wicked Diary. It’s a diary but the contents are a mixture of truth and lies. Tsuka-san superbly mixes both his daily life and his delusions. It was a help to get inside Tsuka-san’s head. I felt that Deep’s attitude toward his subordinates was somehow tied to the arrogance he felt towards the stage people and editors he came in contact with. Then, in the middle of nonsense essays, without thinking, my eyes would stop on a phrase. For me who never met Tsuka-san, that was as close as I can get to feeling his words directly spoken to me.
When the last performance was safely finished, as Nishikiori-san was telling everyone, “Thanks for everything,” he said, “Good,” to me. A small word doesn’t tell much, but for the fast talking Nishikiori-san to have given it to me, easily and warmly, it penetrated my empty body. For a time, it rang.
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This month’s linked book:
Tsukahei’s Wicked Diary PART2 by Tsuka Kouhei
Tsuka Kouhei’s Naoki Award-winning work Kamata Koushinkyoku has been optioned to turn into a movie. All sorts of strange characters (editors, movie people, stage people) intrude on Tsuka-sensei, who is under extreme pressure from managing his royalties, working on his professional writing, lecturing at the university, and taking business meetings about the movie. Tsuka-sensei anger grows more and more intense--. The book is written in the format of a diary. From May 6 to October 21, 1982, to real life anecdotes, the author adds his wishes, a dash of daydreams, and the dramatically malicious result surpasses truth or falsehood, a diary “beyond truth”.
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Drama that analyzes and explains people and so on does nothing for me. I don’t need my actors to be clever, I want them to have passion. (excerpt) Looking out beyond the stage lights, the audience is captivated. Critique should be okay. A piece with no passion becomes a drama calculated to avoid failure, so even picky people should like it. But, that has no beauty. Easy pickings miss out on the thrill of the gamble. If I don’t find my own dramas interesting, they don’t matter. I’m betting on human élan.
(p. 179)
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Totsuka says:
In the production of Hiroshima ~18 years ago, Natsue didn’t go to Hiroshima. In this story, it feels like it should be impossible that she doesn’t go to Hiroshima but even that is still Tsuka Kouhei’s world. There is no one right answer. The story changes depending on where you put the emphasis. Things appear to be moving straight ahead when they’ll be a twist. Violence coexists with gentleness, this is Tsuka-san’s world. Even if I tried to understand, I don’t think I could possibly understand. That’s what makes it so captivating. At this point I’ve been able to take part in three Tsuka works and from the bottom of my heart I wish I could have met him. But unfortunately that wish will never be granted. Be that as it may, all I can do is believe in my own élan.