Japanese culture

Hibiki (Resonance from Far Way) (10/20/2010)

alicia — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The dancing performed by the Japanese butoh company Sankai Juku in Hibiki (Resonance from Far Away) at the Harris Theater in Chicago, Illinois, manages to invoke simultaneously everything and nothing. In choosing the word ‘everything,’ I am attempting to describe the fact that the six dancers and their choreographer execute actions that remind the viewer, possibly, of children, stones, priests, frogs, soldiers, streams, women, the wind, and a flower. By saying ‘nothing,’ I am acknowledging that the gestures and poses themselves are so controlled, so elemental, that the observer must concede that some degree of the perceived meaning or symbolism is projected.

In the beginning, lights slowly rise to reveal a sand-covered stage strewn with twelve symmetrically placed shallow glass saucers approximately a meter in diameter. Above, four glass bulbs shaped like art nouveau separating funnels steadily drip, the soundtrack either amplifying or suggesting the drops. The huddled figures of the dancers could be mistaken for driftwood or rocks, but of course unfold from their embryonic curls to entrance so completely that time itself seems somehow altered. The six tableaux directed by choreographer Ushio Amagatsu explore the very rhythms of existence—origin, end, and resurrection.

Sanjai Juku manifests conventions of butoh with the white rice powder coating, shaven heads, and simple robes of the dancers. While some versions of the school appear darkly anarchic, this dance concert is profoundly poetic and minimalistic. The performers move with such precision that their bodies come across as a series of statues with gradually changing poses placed in one location. The movement of a few can entrance so thoroughly that the remainder evaporate from the stage, unnoticed.

Amagatsu appears in a solo sequence, executing gestures like the movements of the most necessary rite of an undiscovered faith. The dancers can march through one another in crossed ranks so dense that they appear a multitude, and in the final sequence, move with such coordination that they could be mistaken for one organism. In the fourth scene—Outer Limits of Red—the dancers gather around a saucer now filled with red liquid, their lower robes augmented with red-laced bodices and dangling ear ornaments.

The laces mimic the stitches that may follow abdominal surgery, but I had to speculate—due to the corsetry and the predominance of blood-color—that this segment acknowledged something specifically feminine, but by no means consoling. At one point their hands move with cutting synchronization, first scissors, then claws. The predominantly electronic score, composed by Takashi Kako and Yoichiro Yoshikawa, mostly complements the austerity of the performance but occasionally swells with an unnecessary exuberance that might be more suited to a movie version of Hibiki.

The closing sequence resonates magnificently, a broadening aperture of light opening to silhouette the circled dancers. The following standing ovation was the longest that I have witnessed in my life, every echoing slap of palm on palm completely earned.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, November 30th 2010

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun: The Autobiography of a Japanese Feminist

admin — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Hiratsuka Raichō, Teruko Craig

Columbia University Press

In the beginning, woman was truly the sun. An authentic person. Now she is the moon, a wan and sickly moon, dependent on another, reflecting another’s brilliance. _ _... The time has come for us to recapture the sun hidden within us.

These lines launched Seitō, a women's literary journal, in 1911 Tokyo. Hiratsuka Raichō was one of the founders, and she poured her emotions into this opening editorial. Her essay gave voice to frustrations felt by women across the nation, and is now considered part of the canon of Japanese feminism.

In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is Raichō’s autobiography. Teruko Craig has translated the first half of a four volume set, with her own summary of the latter half of Raichō’s life. The book can best be described as a memoir, with more focus on experiences than facts.

Raichō did not intend to become a feminist icon. An atypical young girl, she went fishing with her father as a child, and later fought for permission to enroll in one of the few women’s colleges. Throughout her youth, Raichō squirmed under the oppressive dictates of school and family, conventions we would designate now as patriarchal, though she was not thinking in such terms.

Raichō was given a remarkable amount of freedom for a young woman. She walked alone to and from school and pursued her own activities. Passionate about attaining spiritual growth, she studied Zen for years. Her interest in literature came late, but when it did she began poring through the classics of European thought.

It was a male friend who urged her to found Seitō, "Bluestocking," a literary journal dedicated to fostering women writers. Raichō’s original drive was to inspire women to become their authentic selves. She did not think in terms of men and women, but of people who were denying themselves spiritually.

Raichō became a primary manager of the operation, with a team of other young women, and the magazine remained independent during the majority of its run from 1911 to 1916. Those involved were dubbed "New Women" by the newspapers, and their every action was scrutinized. The editorial team constantly walked the line between asserting their rights to act freely and avoiding the condemnation of society and the government, which banned several issues.

Raichō narrates her memoir in the voice of a confident woman, never apologizing nor boasting. I felt as though she was sitting near me, telling the story simply because I had asked to hear it. She explains her motivations, even when they are not quite what one might expect from a feminist icon. It was only later in her life that Raichō began to fight for the special rights and responsibilities women have as women, particularly as mothers. She describes this as a maturation of view.

Much time is spent on Raichō’s relationships with other writers. Though I was interested in the other women participating in Seitō, there were so many of them that they began to run together. I am sure that, to someone more familiar with the movers and shakers of Raichō’s time, the names will have more meaning, and these insights into their characters will be a gift. Craig points out that as an oral narrative, the text “tends to be repetitious and digressive,” but I rarely found this to be an issue except for these tangential stories.

The only thing missing is more of Raichō’s writings. The preeminent “In the beginning…” essay is only excerpted, allowing tantalizing glimpses into Raichō’s mind without allowing the reader to develop a sense of her full meaning. I feel it would have been helpful to have more of what appeared in Seitō as well. As such, In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun is not a one-stop-shop for learning about Japanese feminism. There is a good sense of history and the larger changes in Japanese society at the time, but only in relation to Raichō and her projects. Her motivations and intentions are explained, but her work is not allowed to speak for itself. Nevertheless, the book sheds light on a time and a place that few would think of as progressive in terms of women’s rights.

Written by: Richenda Gould, June 28th 2010

Learning to Behave Naturally

admin — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 00:30:00 +0000

Directed by Tamarah Cohen

Learning to Behave Naturally is a seventy-six-minute documentary based on a series of interviews in a language class at the University of Western Japan. A cross-section of students and faculty of diverse ages, gender, race, and social classes talk freely about childhood experiences regarding their gendered roles, interests, and behaviors. The film re-affirms our stereotypical divisions between boys and girls, and confirms our “accepted truth” that young children in any country and of any social class, race, or gender play happily together without being aware of any differences between them until conscious parents, teachers, or other adults teach them to be view and participate in society though gendered roles.

All participants state that boys in any country wear blue colors while girls wear pink, that this has been the norm for centuries. Japanese elementary school children will be placed in a “boys only class” or a “girls only class,” with boys being the “chosen people.” They have to be strong, are allowed to be “wild”, and can go out at night. They can play football or basketball, and appear controlled and powerful. Boys are not allowed to cry from an early age as it is not a “manly” emotion. Girls, on the other hand, have to be sensitive, graceful, and play with their Barbie dolls. They play while learning to be homemakers.

This gendered identity is decided by parents and society at the children’s early age. The rules and traditions of adults make children aware of their differences and, in fact, curb their freedom to behave naturally. Therefore, the title of the video is very appropriate to the message conveyed in it. We learn to behave in certain ways because of our conscious society, not because we are made up this way. Cohen’s film can serve as a valuable visual source in a sociology or women’s studies class at any university in the world.

Written by: Anna Hamling, June 3rd 2009

White on Rice

admin — Wed, 27 May 2009 09:09:00 +0000

Directed by Dave Boyle

Brainwave Film Group

I have something to admit upfront: comedies really aren’t my bag. I have a strange sense of humor that only seems to come alive with the zaniest of screwball antics and irreverent, satirical banter. Dick and fart jokes, stand-up, and most slices of modern romcom leave me yawning. Unfortunately, while White on Rice has more in common with the first two aspects I mentioned, my viewing experience ended up pointing me in the direction of Yawnsville instead of Giggle City.

In White on Rice, the central protagonist is Jimmy (Hiroshi Watanabe), a naïve man-child who recently immigrated from Japan to the U.S. to live with (and mooch off of) his kind sister (Nae), workaholic brother-in-law (Mio Takada), and their talented son (Justin Kwong). Following a divorce from his wife, Jimmy basically resorts to being a child again and unconsciously tries to situate himself into that place in the familial sphere while simultaneously searching for love. He is incapable of making adult decisions and proceeds to annoy the bejeezus out of everyone around him because of his lack of tact, grace, and maturity. What ensues is basically the “wacky neighbor” syndrome utilized by a lot of television sitcoms—where an eccentric newcomer enters the picture and acts as the comedic relief or simply “the” comedy for the older, less interesting characters surrounding him/her.

While sometimes that form of entertainment can be charming or welcoming (like bulking up on Spike in season four of Buffy the Vampire Slayer), I found the character of Jimmy to be just as insanely annoying and frustrating as his family does in the film. He’s not witty, funny, or charismatic in the least and the climax of his so-called character arc is far too good a fate for someone so slapdash and negligent. Judd Apatow comedies possess more rewarding male characters. Nonetheless, when the film focuses on his family and their own problems, I felt compelled to keep watching because their trio of hardships feel genuine and honest. Their subtle sincerity almost makes up for the lack of growth in Jimmy’s character, though not quite.

Last month, I saw a similarly toned film called Tokyo Sonata by Japanese filmmaker, Kyroshi Kurosawa. Though it pains me to recommend a critically-acclaimed film over an independent endeavor, I must make that suggestion with this review because the Ozu-inspired Tokyo Sonata, while not as intentionally funny as White on Rice, serves as an earnest family drama that also takes a stand on the state of masculinity in Japanese households and focuses on the roles of women and children within that context. The most interesting elements of White on Rice are at the forefront of thought in Tokyo Sonata and I highly recommend checking it out if it comes to a theater near you.

Written by: Sara Freeman, May 27th 2009

Burnt Shadows

admin — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 16:47:00 +0000

By Kamila Shamsie

Bloomsbury Press

Kamila Shamsie’s latest novel, Burnt Shadows, is a well crafted story, centering on the life of a fierce and feisty Japanese woman named Hiroko. The novel spans four historical world events as we witness Hiroko’s navigation through tragedy, love, family, and identity.

Beginning in Nagasaki, Japan on August 9, 1945, we first meet the smart and talented schoolteacher Hiroko and soon learn that she is in love with Konrad, a German man that she is helping to translate texts. As their conversations flow between Japanese, English, and German, Konrad eventually asks Hiroko to marry him. Their giddy love for each other grows within the seconds that Hiroko agrees to marry him, but Konrad has to leave her house to run an errand. Still tingling with excitement, Hiroko puts on her mother’s silk kimono with three black cranes on the back of it and within seconds those birds will remain engraved on her body forever. As the second atomic bomb is dropped on Nagasaki, the world for Hiroko turns deathly white, and the love of her life will never be seen again.

It is from this moment on that the rest of the novel unfolds. With her bird-scarred body and a huge hole in her heart from the death of Konrad and her father, Hiroko travels to India in search of Konrad’s sister, Elizabeth Burton—someone who can help Hiroko keep the memory of Konrad alive. The year is 1947, and as Hiroko seeks to find more of herself in India, while still remembering her home country, India is a shifting landscape on the brink of war. Entering into the second historical event of the novel, Shamsie introduces many deep and emotionally rich characters that reveal the complexities of Partition.

In India, Hiroko meets Sajjad—a man who is paid by the Burtons to assist them with whatever they need, but he is more to them than a lower-class servant. When Sajjad and Hiroko discover they both have a love for languages, they begin to have informal language classes. The energy that flows between them in every language they converse in is overwhelming in the best way, and the unlikely pair of the displaced Japanese woman and Muslim Indian man eventually marries. Shamsie’s development of Hiroko’s character during this time is beautiful. Dealing with issues of grief—both for her lost fiancé and family, as well as for her home country that now feels lost to her—and her unfaltering desire to always be an emotionally strong woman, Hiroko emerges from this section of the novel with a resilience that carries her throughout the rest of the story.

The third part of the novel begins with Hiroko and her husband Sajjad sitting at their kitchen table with their son Raza. The time and place is Pakistan in 1982. Raza is an intelligent young man who enjoys doing multi-lingual crosswords—an outcome of having a Japanese mother who speaks at least four languages and an Indian father who speaks multiple languages himself. Raza is a stunning mixture of his heritage, and both his mind and physical body hold this history. As Raza grows into young adulthood he is increasingly mistaken for an Afghan, which becomes both a blessing and a curse.

The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan is the third political event that Shamsie uses as a backdrop for her story. While the narrative concentration of the novel switches from Hiroko to Raza, the story continues to take on the issues of identity that helped to construct the reader’s relationship with Hiroko. Without giving away too much of the story, it is Raza’s need to find his identity that ultimately results in another huge life change for Hiroko.

Finally, it is 2001, and Hiroko is in New York City post-9/11. Raza finds himself in a dangerous situation in Afghanistan and the climax of the novel results in Raza trying to get to America to see his mother one last time. Interspersed throughout this story are characters that represent different historical times and locations. Like memories, they pop back up in the story to enrich and inform life.

While Burnt Shadows is rich with historical content and events, Shamsie’s thoughtful storytelling humanizes each situation. In the end, the reader is incredibly well taken care of. Shamsie is an expert at crafting a story in which the characters and setting help to create each other. Time, location, identity, and humanness can never be separated as single characteristics of the novel, but instead swell together to create an unforgettable journey.

Written by: Chelsey Clammer, April 6th 2009

Big Dreams Little Tokyo: A Half Japanese Comedy

admin — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 18:30:00 +0000

Directed by David Boyle

Brainwave

Big Dreams Little Tokyo is written by, directed by and stars David Boyle, who plays the character of Boyd, an awkward American who speaks perfect Japanese. Boyd is a well-dressed young man who claims to be a businessman, yet his most successful business only has one client. The relationship that subtly develops between Boyd and Mai, a nurse and his only English student, is the most enjoyable aspect of the movie. Here is where the movie’s delicate pacing shines: the shy glances between the two characters, the dates disguised as English lessons and the quiet slide towards one another as they sit on a rock, and later on a bench at a business meeting. Boyd is an individual who overcompensates for everything, and finally Mai allows him to ease into real conversation as she listens to his stories and gives him time to come into his real identity.

The only negative aspect of the film is that the humor is often too blatant, which doesn’t fit with the understated tone of the movie and takes away from some of the more subtle, comedic moments. Big Dreams Little Tokyo has a strong mix of quick, MTV-esque cuts and edits paired with long, contemplative shots, which show Boyle's knowledge and understanding of contemporary independent filmmaking. This cohesive dichotomy of editing commented on the film’s narrative of displaced cultural identity.

Boyd isn’t who he appears to be, and many of the Japanese people that he meets don’t want him to speak Japanese or bow to them, they want to shake hands and speak English. We discover that Boyd often enters the store Murakami Books to sell his own book, and later the owner chases him out of the store shouting, “No matter how many times you bow when you speak, you will never be Japanese.”

The issues of cultural and personal identity come to a head in the character of Jerome. Jerome is the archetypal, lazy roommate who - to reference the original Odd Couple - is the upbeat Oscar to Boyd’s Felix, and he poetically explains the complications of cultural identity while he deconstructs a piece of sushi that turns out to be a California roll, which was made by a Mexican chef.

This movie centers around cultural identity and the nuances of language, thus the subtitles take on a larger role in this film than they usually do. The filmmaker uses the subtitles not only as a tool to help us understand the language, but also as a comedic device, giving us an insight to the inside jokes that we as viewers share with Boyd. This film makes us aware of language in its many forms: its musicality, its written form, the intonations that exist from one speaker to another and how our self-confidence is often dependent on our grasp of language.

Written by: Kirsha Frye-Matte, July 10th 2007

Geisha: A Photographic History, 1872–1912

admin — Sun, 22 Apr 2007 18:27:00 +0000

By Stanley B. Burns, Elizabeth A. Burns

powerHouse Books

Geisha: A Photographic History, 1872–1912 is a beautiful hardcover coffee table book. I paged through this volume of history and beauty, and learned so much about the culture through this most amazing collection of photos and well-researched history that bullets important landmarks for the unknowing reader. The beauty and mystery behind images I'd seen before smiled knowingly at me through the pages of the solid tome.

Written to share a wide array of photos from his collection, the "preeminent private specialty collection of 19th century historic photography," Dr. Stanley Burns maintains an incredible amount (over 800,000) of photos documenting medical history and procedure, as well as Japanese and Chinese culture. With photography opening up the East, Japan's documented history through these photos demonstrates an elegance and beauty existing nowhere else. Finding his niche, Burns reveals the reverent world of the geisha to readers gently. Although seeming super-feminine and utterly contrived, geisha represent an empowerment of arts. They stand for strength. Despite Western belief that these women continue an occupation representing prostitution, geisha do not act as prostitutes. Instead, their presence demonstrates a fine idea of the artful concepts in the world, as well as support for traditional Japanese arts and culture.

Including an incredibly helpful glossary and historical chronology, this well-written text puts this collection in context and explains images for the reader's understanding of Japanese culture and its opening up to the west with settlement and ensuing tourism. This brilliant collection - made up of black and white, hand-painted and color photos - illustrates changes in the photography world and the evolving culture itself.

Stated as the mission behind the book, the "art and life of 19th century geisha will be better understood and hand colored photos that document their existence will be appreciated by a larger audience" through this volume of words and images. Truly, Geisha: A Photographic History, 1872–1912 stands out exists as a wonderful photo collection elaborating on a specific historical beauty.

Written by: Carolyn Espe, April 22nd 2007

Bento Box in the Heartland

admin — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 19:11:00 +0000

By Linda Furiya

Seal Press

Bento Box in the Heartland is a memoir that uniquely ties in the cultural experiences of protagonist and writer Linda Furiya with the foods of her Japanese heritage. Wedged between each chapter is a recipe of some of her favorite dishes, such as Chinese Home-Style Tofu and Japanese Pot Stickers. Heavily permeated throughout the book are perspicuous references to food and the passion she and her family has for their delicacies, which keep them grounded in their Japanese culture. Thus is the reason that her book is cutely labeled as a food memoir.

As Linda reflects upon the struggles and duality of being raised in a Japanese-American house in a small Indiana community – what she refers to as “Whitebread America” – a number of issues are raised. She challenges the idea of gender roles from an early age as her mother raises her to perform domestic tasks, such as washing dishes after dinner, a chore that her father and brothers are never directed to complete. The inevitable run-ins with racism are also written about, due to belonging to one of the only minority families in her community. Written about are events from people's intolerance and misunderstanding of her parents’ accents a to recounted story about a misogynistic war veteran with no shame in sharing his blatant objectification of Japanese women.

As the pages turn, they alternate from being charmingly sweet to serious with emotion; however, Linda’s voice is carried out fairly casual throughout the book. This memoir is purely to share individual experiences, rather than to tackle and attack systems of oppression and discrimination. The discrimination the author and those close to her encounter are due to subtle, socially permeated racism more so than direct attacks under institutionalized racism and sexism. Written safely and unprovocatively, it is an easy, light read that explores the challenges of being raised in a mélange of two cultures.

Written by: Yujean Park, April 9th 2007