Friday, July 11, 2003
If I wrote this missive yesterday, I would have said something like the rainy season is basically over and Iām spending most of the day feeling my sweat pooling in my socks. My sweat may be still pooling in my socks, but itās raining outside something fierce. The backyard, as such, of the Sumiās is flooded and the tram has shut down. It seems that Ruriko and I are stuck in the house for the day. Despite the rain, thereās some sort of awful karaoke contest going on right now in the neighboring zoo. Someone is doing his best to bludgeon ćLet It Be.ä Iām trying to ignore, listening to The Red Hot Chili Peppers of all things. Yesterday, Ruriko and her cousinās daughter and I were rooting around in Sumiās storage room, where I discovered Rurikoās college CD collection. Apparently she listened to exactly the same stuff I did back then. There are lots of Dinosaur Jr., Butthole Surfers, Sonic Youth albums here, and even a Nirvana disc too. Of course, after our respective college careers our musical tastes radically diverged. I started listening to Japanese neo-lounge and she started listening to stuff that sounds like surgery without anesthetic.
Rurikoās mom just brought in a slice of melon. Yesterday, we started an English conversation class with Mrs. Sumi and one of her old friends. Even though the lesson seemed painfully self-conscious at the time, both women seemed to really enjoy learning English. Mrs. Sumi is now waltzing about the house tossing out English phrases to me and to Ruriko, whoās really embarrassed about the whole thing.
Anyway, the week started off slowly. Most of the planned shoots have been done for the immediate short term and most of the staff at BIG was busying themselves for the next spate of shoots next week. On top of that, Ruriko was off for a few days with her aunt and her cousin Chakko to the dubiously named Jigoku Onsen (Hell Hot Spring) over by Mt. Aso.
I had little to do but study Kanji and read Pynchon. I just got up to the part where Tyrone Slothrop pied a racist US army major from a hot air balloon when Rurikoās dad called me up to go hang out. When I arrived at his office, there was a guy with a punch perm and lots of gold jewelry, sucking on a toothpick seated on the couch. I forgot his name but apparently he was the event coordinator for a traveling comedy show that Mr. Sumi was promoting for Kumamoto. When we were introduced he almost immediately asked me where my ancestors were from. When I responded, ćEngland and Scotland mostly,ä he said ćGood. Like Bush.ä When we went out to eat yakitori together, he talked about the wonders of his hometown Osaka, how he would never visit America because there are too many guns, and how the Chinese were always dishonest. He asked me what I thought of Bush, I said that he was an idiot and only interested in helping the rich (which, by the way, is not a particularly controversial opinion in Japan) he seemed vaguely disappointed. When I refused to agree with him that the Hispanics were mucking up America, he seemed more disappointed. Then, as we were all getting chummy, he mentioned that he would never let his daughter marry a foreigner. Later, Mr. Sumi and I parted ways with Mr. Punchperm guy and went to go drink in a bar with only six seats and wall full of expensive bourbon, where we obliquely ridiculed the guy. As I think about that night, I sort of think that Mr. Sumi intentionally invited me along that night to rile up Mr. Punchperm, who he spent three long nights wining and dining and listening to his racist platitudes.
On Wednesday after a fair amount of prodding, Horita-san let me take a crack at editing that Gambaru Zo ad that I shot last week. Aside from Horita, there are two other BIG directors I deal with regularly. One is Miyazaki-san, who is really sharp. When he mentioned that his favorite author was Abe Kobo and that he was looking to read some American books, I recommended Pynchonās The Crying of Lot 49. He immediately bought it and then lent me the first volume from his favorite comic book series ć20th Century Boys.ä Iāve about half of it and in spite of the fact thatās itās peppered with Tokyo slang Iām finding it really addictive. The other is Oshima-san, who I think is still a bit cowed by my foreign presence. She was assigned to help me with the editing. When I banged out a version of the 15-spot that I thought was pretty good, she didnāt say anything but clearly she thought that something was wrong. When Horita saw it, he said that the version was decently edited but wrong for the concept of the campaign and offered a few suggestions. The following day, I re-edited the spot and Oshima was quiet in that somethingās-wrong-but-Iām-too-shy-to-tell-you-what sort of way. After about a half-an-hour, she gets Miyazaki who tells me that thereās supposed to be text in the spot too. OK, thatās the first Iāve heard of that. Together with Miyazaki and Oshima, we eventually hashed together a commercial that not only features most of my editing choices, and a lot of my photography, but also a half-second shot of the back of my head. Anyway, assuming the TV high mucky-mucks like the piece, it should be airing in the next week or so.
Itās a little sobering to think that after all the pain, effort, and money that I spent on my films while in Cal Arts, this 15 second piece that took two and a half days to throw together will be seen by more people than all the others combined.
Rurikoās mom just brought in a slice of melon. Yesterday, we started an English conversation class with Mrs. Sumi and one of her old friends. Even though the lesson seemed painfully self-conscious at the time, both women seemed to really enjoy learning English. Mrs. Sumi is now waltzing about the house tossing out English phrases to me and to Ruriko, whoās really embarrassed about the whole thing.
Anyway, the week started off slowly. Most of the planned shoots have been done for the immediate short term and most of the staff at BIG was busying themselves for the next spate of shoots next week. On top of that, Ruriko was off for a few days with her aunt and her cousin Chakko to the dubiously named Jigoku Onsen (Hell Hot Spring) over by Mt. Aso.
I had little to do but study Kanji and read Pynchon. I just got up to the part where Tyrone Slothrop pied a racist US army major from a hot air balloon when Rurikoās dad called me up to go hang out. When I arrived at his office, there was a guy with a punch perm and lots of gold jewelry, sucking on a toothpick seated on the couch. I forgot his name but apparently he was the event coordinator for a traveling comedy show that Mr. Sumi was promoting for Kumamoto. When we were introduced he almost immediately asked me where my ancestors were from. When I responded, ćEngland and Scotland mostly,ä he said ćGood. Like Bush.ä When we went out to eat yakitori together, he talked about the wonders of his hometown Osaka, how he would never visit America because there are too many guns, and how the Chinese were always dishonest. He asked me what I thought of Bush, I said that he was an idiot and only interested in helping the rich (which, by the way, is not a particularly controversial opinion in Japan) he seemed vaguely disappointed. When I refused to agree with him that the Hispanics were mucking up America, he seemed more disappointed. Then, as we were all getting chummy, he mentioned that he would never let his daughter marry a foreigner. Later, Mr. Sumi and I parted ways with Mr. Punchperm guy and went to go drink in a bar with only six seats and wall full of expensive bourbon, where we obliquely ridiculed the guy. As I think about that night, I sort of think that Mr. Sumi intentionally invited me along that night to rile up Mr. Punchperm, who he spent three long nights wining and dining and listening to his racist platitudes.
On Wednesday after a fair amount of prodding, Horita-san let me take a crack at editing that Gambaru Zo ad that I shot last week. Aside from Horita, there are two other BIG directors I deal with regularly. One is Miyazaki-san, who is really sharp. When he mentioned that his favorite author was Abe Kobo and that he was looking to read some American books, I recommended Pynchonās The Crying of Lot 49. He immediately bought it and then lent me the first volume from his favorite comic book series ć20th Century Boys.ä Iāve about half of it and in spite of the fact thatās itās peppered with Tokyo slang Iām finding it really addictive. The other is Oshima-san, who I think is still a bit cowed by my foreign presence. She was assigned to help me with the editing. When I banged out a version of the 15-spot that I thought was pretty good, she didnāt say anything but clearly she thought that something was wrong. When Horita saw it, he said that the version was decently edited but wrong for the concept of the campaign and offered a few suggestions. The following day, I re-edited the spot and Oshima was quiet in that somethingās-wrong-but-Iām-too-shy-to-tell-you-what sort of way. After about a half-an-hour, she gets Miyazaki who tells me that thereās supposed to be text in the spot too. OK, thatās the first Iāve heard of that. Together with Miyazaki and Oshima, we eventually hashed together a commercial that not only features most of my editing choices, and a lot of my photography, but also a half-second shot of the back of my head. Anyway, assuming the TV high mucky-mucks like the piece, it should be airing in the next week or so.
Itās a little sobering to think that after all the pain, effort, and money that I spent on my films while in Cal Arts, this 15 second piece that took two and a half days to throw together will be seen by more people than all the others combined.
Sunday, July 06, 2003
Boy, itās hot and humid today. I think that the rainy season is beginning to loosen it death-grip on the skies.
Yesterday, Ruriko and I did what we usually do during the weekends ö take the tram into town and hang out. Last week, we bought a book listing all of Kumamotoās numerous coffee shops and have since been exploring. Thereās a few Japanese-themed shops, complete with tatami mats and green tea, several generically hip shops featuring Ikea-esque feature and some tastefully displayed artifacts from the 1970s, numerous really dull shops catering to housewives with sweet-toothes (sweet teeth?), and at least one Chinese coffee shop, not to mention the dozen or so Starbucks and Starbucks-clones dotting the town.
Yesterday, I suppose I was in sort of a pissy mood, largely because it took Ruriko and hour and half to get ready to go out. After I needled Ruriko a bit, her mom burst in with some brown rice muffins and a can of organic apple juice. Whenever men get grumpy, Mrs. Sumi later told Ruriko, give them food. As much as Iād like to dispute her logic, I must admit I did shut up and gobble down the muffins. And I was less grumpy afterwards. Iām somewhat appalled at my own complete lack of guile.
Anyway, we spent much of the time in Shimotori, one of two shopping streets downtown. Ruriko bought a book on Zen, and I bought a compilation CD of old Stax soul tunes. We were hanging out at coffee shop that was old, grungy, and full of character called Hands talking about kanji when the cell phone went off. (Oh yeah, itās like really easy to rent a cell phone here. Of course, my cell is about as basic as you can get, with none of the cool extras like net access, MP3 players or Video players.) Rurikoās parents were in the neighbor and asked us over to her dadās office. Soon afterwards we went to another coffee shop run by a friend of her dad. Did I mention that Rurikoās dad knows everyone in this town? The proprietor who is named Sonomura-san not only owns the shop, which was decorated with various items of film memorabilia, but is also a film history lecturer at Kumamoto University, and apparently is a film critic who shows up on TV now and then. Soon after we ordered, he came right over to us and launched into a discussion about how he recently visited Ozuās and Mizoguchiās graves located in Kamakura and Kyoto respectively. We talked some and I mentioned that I was not only a fan of Ozu and Mizoguchi but also of Naruse Mikio (at least what Iāve seen of his work). I think that Sonomura nearly wept with delight that a foreigner -- and a relatively young one at that -- heard of Naruse. The conversation quickly descended into an all out geek-fest. He knew the names all of the characters in Seven Samurai, the names and years of all the movies Hara Setsuko appeared in, and intimate details of director Keisuke Kinoshitaās life story. The whole time he was unrelentingly staring at me. Ruriko and her family might as well as not have existed. Fortunately, I knew enough about Japanese cinema to sound somewhat intelligent. After an hour or so, we managed to disengage. While I respect and admire his passion for Japanese cinema (Iām sure Iāve bored people with my interest in the same) I did sort of feel like I was on the receiving end of a fire hose for an hour. Later that night, we went to a video store and rented one of the Kinoshita films that Sonomura recommended.
Yesterday, Ruriko and I did what we usually do during the weekends ö take the tram into town and hang out. Last week, we bought a book listing all of Kumamotoās numerous coffee shops and have since been exploring. Thereās a few Japanese-themed shops, complete with tatami mats and green tea, several generically hip shops featuring Ikea-esque feature and some tastefully displayed artifacts from the 1970s, numerous really dull shops catering to housewives with sweet-toothes (sweet teeth?), and at least one Chinese coffee shop, not to mention the dozen or so Starbucks and Starbucks-clones dotting the town.
Yesterday, I suppose I was in sort of a pissy mood, largely because it took Ruriko and hour and half to get ready to go out. After I needled Ruriko a bit, her mom burst in with some brown rice muffins and a can of organic apple juice. Whenever men get grumpy, Mrs. Sumi later told Ruriko, give them food. As much as Iād like to dispute her logic, I must admit I did shut up and gobble down the muffins. And I was less grumpy afterwards. Iām somewhat appalled at my own complete lack of guile.
Anyway, we spent much of the time in Shimotori, one of two shopping streets downtown. Ruriko bought a book on Zen, and I bought a compilation CD of old Stax soul tunes. We were hanging out at coffee shop that was old, grungy, and full of character called Hands talking about kanji when the cell phone went off. (Oh yeah, itās like really easy to rent a cell phone here. Of course, my cell is about as basic as you can get, with none of the cool extras like net access, MP3 players or Video players.) Rurikoās parents were in the neighbor and asked us over to her dadās office. Soon afterwards we went to another coffee shop run by a friend of her dad. Did I mention that Rurikoās dad knows everyone in this town? The proprietor who is named Sonomura-san not only owns the shop, which was decorated with various items of film memorabilia, but is also a film history lecturer at Kumamoto University, and apparently is a film critic who shows up on TV now and then. Soon after we ordered, he came right over to us and launched into a discussion about how he recently visited Ozuās and Mizoguchiās graves located in Kamakura and Kyoto respectively. We talked some and I mentioned that I was not only a fan of Ozu and Mizoguchi but also of Naruse Mikio (at least what Iāve seen of his work). I think that Sonomura nearly wept with delight that a foreigner -- and a relatively young one at that -- heard of Naruse. The conversation quickly descended into an all out geek-fest. He knew the names all of the characters in Seven Samurai, the names and years of all the movies Hara Setsuko appeared in, and intimate details of director Keisuke Kinoshitaās life story. The whole time he was unrelentingly staring at me. Ruriko and her family might as well as not have existed. Fortunately, I knew enough about Japanese cinema to sound somewhat intelligent. After an hour or so, we managed to disengage. While I respect and admire his passion for Japanese cinema (Iām sure Iāve bored people with my interest in the same) I did sort of feel like I was on the receiving end of a fire hose for an hour. Later that night, we went to a video store and rented one of the Kinoshita films that Sonomura recommended.
