One of my favourite TV shows at the moment is a quiz show called Q.I.. A recent episode has apparently sparked a bit of controversy but in case it gets out of hand I want to give my own view on the incident. I encourage others to comment below if you want, whether you’re from the UK or Japanese side. Heck, I’d be overjoyed if Stephen Fry himself had time to read this.

I watched the episode in question and I *think* I can see where both sides are coming from. To summarise: Q.I. (or Quite Interesting) is a quiz show comprised of witty dialogue between well-known guest panellists that deals with common misconceptions, fallacies and little-known facts about a variety of topics. It’s an intelligent and entertaining programme about everything from science and nature to history and the arts; the emphasis on ‘intelligence’ gives it an air of tongue-in-cheek and self-depreciating cleverness and that unusual combination makes it one of my favourite shows.

One particular episode referenced the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and as a result some people in Japan were offended by what they saw as an excessively comedic tone on the events. The BBC, and the programme’s maker, Talkback Thames, have since issued an apology.

Personally I think the whole thing is largely a misunderstanding and I hope any ill-feeling will soon be forgotten. It IS a sensitive topic, and as such should be given the respect and careful thought it deserves. For this reason I can understand why people in Japan are uncomfortable about it being raised in a way that is not entirely serious.

That said, the context of the references and the general approach of the Q.I. programme needs to be made clear. Although its tone is generally light and humorous, it is also keen to be factually accurate and does not rely on pushing the boundaries of good taste (I’m not saying edgy comedy is a bad thing per se, but that’s a separate issue). In my experience, the whole approach of the Q.I. programme and the people who appear on it is not mocking or malicious in any way, this incident included.

In recent years there’s a widely-publicised view that UK TV, particularly comedy, is too often ignorant and disrespectful. Q.I. is none of these things. Whether or not the Japanese view of British TV overall is more favourable than this view, the truth is that there was no malicious intent in that particular programme.

Unfortunately, some people on the Japanese side DID feel that the way the show handled the topic was inappropriate, and their sentiments must be taken into account. I’ve been lucky enough to find an excellent article from a Japanese person’s point of view on the incident, which was very helpful. I wonder if Mr Fry will say something about it, what with him being the presenter of the show; for what it’s worth, his Twitter feed has expressed his regret for any upset caused.

My reaction goes a little further. I suspect that the BBC have had so many problems with British TV personalities causing controversy lately, Frankie Boyle, Russel Brand and Ricky Gervais for example, that they felt apologising immediately was the best course. What I think would be more constructive though is to inform both parties – namely the people involved in the Q.I. episode and the people in Japan who were upset about it – about one another’s impression of it.

Merely apologising solves part of the problem (acknowledging that offence was caused, albeit accidentally) but what I’d like to see is the folks at the BBC clarify the point that the root cause of the upset was largely a simple misunderstanding. I’m getting the feeling that the Japanese think the show’s stars were being uncharacteristically offensive on that occasion; unfortunately, our (the UK public’s) view of the BBC is less flattering these days so I suspect the BBC, and the UK media reporting it, were inclined less defensive about them than they ought to have been.

I’m not saying that the topic shouldn’t be handled delicately, nor am I saying that Japanese viewers have no right to be upset about UK TV making light of tragic historical events. What I would like to see is an explanation in addition to just saying “we’re sorry for any offence caused.” That way, we Brits will learn a bit more about how Japan views its own past, and Japanese people will learn a bit about British humour…and we’d all be better for it.

As a UK resident who is an admirer of intelligent comedy and Japanese culture who wants to see this end happily, I’d like to thank Yuko Kato for her insight.

If there’s one thing I find fascinating about contemporary Japan it’s the presence of contrasts that are baffling to an outside first-time visitor. This has been heightened in the past decade or two by fundamental changes that are inexorably altering the society’s status quo, so the ramifications for its defining features of harmony, tradition and smooth routine are quite striking.

Given the current international economic uncertainty, the knock-on effects on industry and everyday life are as noteworthy now as they’ve ever been. What makes this a significant film is that this ultra-modern yet tradition-based Japan is rarely portrayed at the grassroots level: it’s a refreshing change to see a filmmaker point his camera away from the familiar high-rise cityscape and focus it on the ordinary working people who ultimately make the country what it is.

The people in this case are the Sasakis, a family comprised of office manager Ryuhei, his wife Megumi and their two sons Takashi and Kenji. From the outset their lifestyle is shown as typical: functioning day to day with a strict formality. As soon as this premise is established we see Ryuhei lose his supposedly safe job to cheaper foreign labour and it becomes immediately apparent how fragile the neatly-ordered domestic arrangement can be.

Anime and manga fans are familiar with how ‘outsourcing’ is making waves in that industry, but job security is a hot topic in the economy in general. The Sasakis’ predicament is a case study and I suppose a metaphor for the problems that the Japan of today as a whole is facing: people set themselves on a course in life but they are, understandably really, ill-prepared for unforeseen uncertainties such as outside influences. When the unexpected occurs they are lost.

Because Ryuhei’s change in status is so sudden he cannot adapt quickly enough – he conceals the shock and shame of redundancy from his wife and children, pretending to go to work then spending the day at job centres and soup kitchens. His attempts at finding alternative employment are almost as laughable as they are genuinely tragic, but in fairness he’s had the way of life he was competent in snatched rudely away and replaced with limited, unfamilar options. Interestingly, he’s not alone. During the course of the film, other respectable-looking men in business suits fall in and queue up with the jobless and homeless, which suggests that the problem is widespread, but never overtly acknowledged.

I appreciated the setting in that it’s the quiet suburban environment of narrow streets filled with small, cosy family homes; the colour palette is full of muted browns, beiges and greys rather than the bright neon and gleaming glass of Shinjuku and Shibuya (it reminded me a lot of Asakusa and Machida actually). I can’t comment on Kurosawa’s credentials as a horror film director since this is the first movie of his I’ve seen but this humdrum environment breeding a palpable sense of unease and impending disaster, coupled with the predicament of individuals at the mercy of unseen forces outside their control, are as effective here as they would be in a psychological or supernatural thriller.

The downward spiral of this film is more pedestrian and everyday than that a horror movie but in some ways is equally alarming. Ryuhei carries on his charade while his domestic authority crumbles; Takashi makes a career decision but hesitates in telling his parents for fear of their disapproval; Kenji seeks escape from being a class misfit by taking piano lessons in secret using his lunch money; Megumi carries on her role with quiet dignity in the face of painful loneliness and isolation, yet it’s clear she has has mounting doubts about her husband’s credentials as the traditional authoritative patriarch.

With the exception of a couple of scenes involving physical violence and raised voices – all the more shocking because of their infrequency – the entire affair is extremely subtle and restrained. The performances are superb, and background music is used sparingly. My only criticism is a sudden divergence in tone late on in the second half which carries a brilliant kind of tragic comedy that made me unsure whether to laugh or cry at its poignant absurdity, but goes against the grain with what precedes it.

Things get back on track for the final arc though, which returns to being stoic and understated. The simultaneous declarations from Ryuhei and Megumi of “Can I start over again?” are followed by moments of almost God-given redemption then a symbolic return home: battered, dirty and exhausted, they and Kenji walk in separately and sit at the dining table in a heart-wrenching echo of the harmonious opening scenes. The only verbal acknowledgement of the strangeness in this return to normality is Kenji’s nonchalant comment on his father’s dishevelled appearance.

The poetic finale speaks volumes with no dialogue at all, holding back from drawing conclusions but leaving things open-ended with an appropriate balance of cautious optimism and the inescapable fact that things are bound to change, whether we’re prepared for them or not.

Above all, the combination of quietly effective cinematography and an unflinching study in the characters and their motivations is what makes this feel so genuine and relevant. It avoids excessive sentimentality over their misfortunes or criticism of their flaws, resulting in a portrait of contemporary Japanese family life that never pulls its punches but stays true to telling a recognisable human story. The intimate view of their lives makes them living, breathing characters rather than the cut-out archetypes the film’s premise may suggest: I was mindful of the mistakes they made, but I couldn’t bring myself to pass judgement on them when their situation has no easy answers.

Arakawa Under The Bridge is very much in Shinbo’s comfort zone: it reminds me a lot of Sayonara Zetsubou-sensei with its pun-riddled wordplay, sketch-based storyline, zany characters and of course that artistic obsession with colours, composition and geometry. The source material of the two shows doesn’t share the same writer so I wonder whether the production team are being selective with the projects they take on. The similarities go even further, and mostly in a good way too.

The staff list unsurprisingly features Studio SHAFT’s usual suspects, right down to Hiroshi Kamiya and his Ararararagi-esque yelps of incredulity (which, by the way, he performs with great regularity) from the hapless Kou. How other viewers have taken this decision I don’t know, but I reckon it was quite a coup in landing Maaya Sakamoto in the other lead role as his would-be love interest Nino.

Thanks to Chaostangent’s recent reminder I’ve realised how I’ve been a subconscious fan of hers for ages; it wasn’t until her turn in Kara no Kyoukai however that I noticed that other dimension to her voice-acting skills. Before then I had her down as the sprightly girl-next-door figure what with her clear and bright singing voice but she also pulls of this fantastic husky deadpan delivery that’s so damned sexy it’s positively lethal with the right calibre of script in front of her. I melted.

Ouch. But yeah, this. <3

To my delight, more the same thing is going on here. Bakemonogatari had some delicious verbal sparring thanks to Chiwa Saito’s turn as Senjougahara but Nino’s peculiarities also give many moments where I’m grinning inwardly every time our hero is verbally knocked off balance. I’m finding this aspect of the show most enjoyable actually since Kou’s culture-shock is fascinating and Nino’s background is a mystery; it wouldn’t surprise me if the writers do the dirty by completely holding back on explaining her but this whole affair is so far too unpredictable for me to say for sure.

Unpredictability is one thing this show has in spades but that doesn’t always work in its favour. There’s a certain brand of Japanese comedy that must lose its impact in translation or something because it often leaves me bemused and bored rather than creased up or in admiration of its cleverness. SZS usually avoided this pitfall somehow, perhaps because the weird bits felt in context, but here it feels like oddness for oddness’ own sake. Perhaps there’s particular meaning in dressing one character up as a kappa and giving another bloke a star-shaped head but I can’t help feeling it’s the art department just messing around.

That gratuitous quirkiness and the gags that fall flat hold the show back at times, even more so than the frangmented sketch-based plotline (again, something that didn’t hinder SZS). Sometimes, they do work – Sister (who reminds me of the nuns of the Rip-Off Church from Black Lagoon) and Maria, the world’s most insulting farm girl, crack me up with every minute of screen time they occupy. I suspect all this could be an attempt at storytelling sleight of hand because, like SZS before it, Arakawa Under The Bridge carries a lot of dry satire and social commentary too.

This remedies some of the apathy I feel towards the supporting cast because they’re placing a strong emphasis on the differences between their community and the outside world, behind a façade of strangeness in an apparent act of self-deception. Certainly, being amongst this bunch of oddballs is bound to make you question your stance on a lot of things: they place little value on status or material wealth so are in stark contrast to the ‘normal’ conformist, consumer-driven Japanese society.

Much of the entertainment value I get out of this show is moving someone from the mainstream corporate world – is it a coincidence this series is being broadcast during a financial recession? – and seeing everything he stands by being mercilessly discarded. Interestingly, the flashbacks in which he recalls his own life, such as his childhood and dating ideas, are shown as being equally ridiculous as aspects of his life by the river. The clear message I’m getting is that, if the river folk are peculiar then normal society is just as absurd.

I’m also appreciating how the lead characters are somewhat older than the norm for romantic comedy anime shows: this means that many of Kou’s dilemmas are easy for me to relate to. His determination to be independent and never owe anyone got me thinking – in my time of life (in my 20s, out of education and on the lower rungs of the career ladder as Kou is) I’m also averse to relying on other people; it’s like some macho show of being grown-up, despite the fact that life would be a bit easier if I allowed myself to, say, borrow money now and then or accept people’s help when I’m in a jam.

Kou’s surprise at Nino washing his hair with – shock, horror! – no intention of asking for anything in return said a lot about his values but also a lot about the society that drummed them into him. Sometimes, people want to do things for their own personal reasons that have nothing to do with material exchange or personal gain. I doubt Nino is a real Venusian in the literal sense but perhaps it’s her roundabout way of highlighting how difficult men and women find it to communicate; many of us feel that members of the opposite sex might as well be from another planet at times…

Arakawa Under The Bridge is proving to be thought-provoking but more importantly one hell of a refreshing change, both in terms of having Shinbo-isms aplenty and in kicking sharp, dry satire out between the cartoonish eccentricities. If nothing else, I can quite happily sit back and listen to Maaya all damn day.

Her graphic novel is not an historical document. The whimsical slice-of-life angle doesn’t prevent it being meaningful though: fundamentally, history is about people and the relevance today of the events that occured then. This story is therefore very relevant even though the individual stories of this event are fictional; it also manages to convey hard-hitting subject matter with subtlety and restraint.

I’m neither American nor Japanese, and the bombings happened over thirty years before I was born so I feel a little uncomfortable with forming an opinion on it. My feelings on the events are strong, if mixed: my gut reaction is that the bombings should never have happened at all. On a detached analytical level, a weapon that destroys so much indescriminately has very limited practical use; on a more straightforward, human level I simply can’t accept the killing of other human beings on such a scale.

In reality, the background is more complicated: wartime atrocities of varying magnitudes were carried out by both Japan and USA so it’s naïve and over-simplifying to say that the attacks were morally right or wrong. They certainly brought a quicker end to the war, saving lives on both sides, but even though Hiroshima was a military target many of the bomb’s victims were civilians so it still doesn’t sit right with me. But then, I’d be judging people from another time and place by my own standards; I can’t imagine what went through the minds of those who made the decision.

The moral and ethical questions will probably never be answered so the best solution I can come up with is for us to learn from it and ensure it never happens again. It cannot be undone so, if nothing else, this way the suffering of those involved will mean something. Kouno doesn’t explore the US point of view, nor does she give the bigger picture regarding who started the war and how. It’s about one town – Hiroshima – and its inhabitants who were affected.

The first chapter follows one of the hibakusha trying to get on with her life ten years after the bombing: survivors of the attack were troubled over being unable to explain how they survived, and some felt guilt for escaping what claimed the lives of people they knew. One scene is a flashback of the aftermath drawn in shocking detail but until the last few pages of the chapter it returns to a relative feeling of normality. The closing dialogue is particularly moving and leans strongly towards highlighting the victims’ plight but I view it as merely conveying the point of view of one character, as opposed to voicing whatever opinion Kouno herself had.

The other two pick up the tale later on with associated friends and family in the years that follow. It effectively sets up a sense of continuity in bringing the course of events nearer to the present and shows that the events of 1945 continue to resonate after all this time, whether or not it’s outwardly evident. The fact that it’s already forgotten by the younger generation was I think a principal message of the novel, although the idea that life goes on is another significant point made here.

I initially found the art to be rough, sketchy and almost childlike. This simplicity brings the characters and their environment to life and, as some critics pointed out, adds an appropriate sense of fragility to them. The resulting innocent and harmless atmosphere also makes the really sad and shocking moments all the more powerful; the fact that the storytelling avoids heavy-handed sentimentality or biased moralising is an important part of why it’s such a readable piece.

Apart from those disturbing depictions of the bomb’s after-effects in the opening chapter the story does not show the incident itself. It’s instead concerned with the everyday: relationships, growing up, deciding what to do with your life…ordinary things of course but made somewhat extraordinary given the looming shadow in the background. The fact that this looming shadow is merely alluded to allows the narrative and the significance of its events room to breathe.

It goes without saying that this is, in parts, a sad story. Tragic things happen but what makes it more interesting and therefore more effective is that it’s not altogether sad. I recently outlined how a completely downbeat tone is counter-productive and this is a case in point: there’s no longer much value in reiterating how devastating the Hiroshima bombing was. Showing how lives were affected, on the other hand, is very valuable in understanding why it should be remembered.

Kouno explains in her afterword that although Hiroshima is her home town she’s not a hibakusha; she wrote the story because people outside of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, even those elsewhere in Japan, didn’t know the details about what the bombings meant for those who lived there. I admit that I don’t know anything outside of what history lessons and TV documentaries taught me so getting a feel for this, even from a fictionalised second-hand source, is helpful in this understanding.

The success, for me, of Kouno’s story is that Hiroshima is not portrayed as a mere dot on a map or a dead monument to history that needs to be mourned. It’s depicted as a living, vibrant town and although there are moments of tragedy and loss, it never descends into melodrama. It reminds us that the town and its people are alive and very much a part of this world – a world that should not dwell on the past or forget it either.

The story follows Kenji, a young freelance Tokyo tour guide who takes an American businessman called Frank around town on a ‘sex tour’ of the city’s nightlife during the lead-up to New Year’s Eve. There are one or two things that seem amiss with Kenji’s new customer from the start but Kenji rejects the alternative of a quiet time with his girlfriend in favour of some much-needed work. He soon begins to regret his decision to accept this lucrative offer when a darker and more dangerous side to Frank begins to emerge.

The impersonal labyrinth of crowded streets and shady establishments provides a great backdrop to the events of the novel, and needless to say provide an excellent atmosphere of unease and foreboding. Murakami’s prose is excellent at whipping up the tension with a clear and no-nonsense style that gets straight to the point and makes it a real page-turner during its relatively short length; the concise, clear language fits the youth and cynicism of the narrator and the first-person viewpoint draws you into the vibrant yet seedy world he lives in.

The reason why I don’t think it likely that In the Miso Soup will make the transition to film very easily, for all its David Fincher-esque overtones, is that the most visceral and shocking moment occurs partway through and the narrative proceeds to fall back into simmering tension and introspection afterwards. The Hitchcock-style climatic scene that marked the end of Audition is instead replaced by its return to focus on cultural and personal issues, which makes the initial impression of it being a gory nailbiter a bit misleading.

This is a psychological thriller in some respects but it feels more like a social commentary piece trying to pass itself off as a psycho-thriller: it tosses in an episode of graphic violence that fits in with the course of the events but that event feels excessive in its brutality to the point of being gratuitous. I don’t feel like I’m giving a massive spoiler in pointing out to you that the guy who calls himself Frank is indeed very weird and potentially very dangerous; it’s highlighted very early on so doesn’t give as much of a twist as, say, Audition‘s Asami Yamazaki.

As a purely suspenseful piece In the Miso Soup is a bit of an anticlimax because its real intentions aren’t so much shock and tension; rather, it gives frequent insights into both Kenji’s and Frank’s heads during their journeys through the city and makes some pot shots at contemporary Japanese culture along the way. Kenji is in an unsavoury job, as many people he knows are, in order to escape: in his case he wants to move to the US. And yet, it’s also easy to argue that these people drifted into the situations they’re in; the big question is of course how voluntarily their decisions were.

I’m not convinced that modern Japan is a culture coming apart at the seams but I’m noticing a higher profile of the outspoken writers such as the two Murakamis in recent years, which suggests to me that the issues they address are more universal and far-reaching than just modern Japan and the problems it faces. Many of the people and situations seen in this novel – overworked salarymen, bored teenagers, seedy nightclubs, enjo kousai and so on – are more associated with Japan than anywhere else but the significance of the pervading themes of isolation and loneliness in today’s world goes without saying.

The sense of isolation shared by many of the characters is the cause and driving force of many events in the novel, so it’s appropriate that the story unfolds at the most lonely time of year: it’s when In The Miso Soup goes into introspection mode that it comes into its own. After the hair-raising middle portion I gave up on mentally preparing myself for more terrors and turned my attention to this instead, which turned out to be the correct course I think. After the unsettling feelings subsided I was left musing over a lot of things that I never expected a novel such as this to concentrate so keenly on.

Kenji and Frank, or more specifically the peculiar friendship that develops says a lot about how Japanese and Americans perceive one another; the culture gap exploration yields some interesting questions that are more rewarding when interpreted your own way rather than have me give my own, probably inaccurate, conclusions.

When the novel is as realistically gritty and as analytical as this, a considerable suspension of disbelief is unfortunately required because there’s a lot about Frank’s character that is at odds with this realism: basically a lot of him simply doesn’t add up. Even after discarding the façade of lies and make-believe it’s still hard to believe that someone like Frank can continue to live in the real world, let alone get by undetected and wander around in a foreign country. Given how true-to-life everything else around him seems, the fact that he’s a caricature rather than a character is a little jarring.

It’s common to leave antagonists’ backgrounds partially in the shadows to maintain their mystique and there are some lengthy explanations given for the way Frank is. Even so, it’s unsatisfying to be presented with someone so larger-than-life and unnatural with only their own childhood reminiscences to go on. Maybe I’m missing the point there in that Frank is supposed to be seen as a metaphor as many of the issues and situations examined here are, but he still feels out-of-place in the wrong ways as well as the right ones. I’d be interested to hear your take on it.

Culture shock is a funny thing; in this case it was doubly shocking in that, for all the things that took me off-balance, there was quite a lot that I found to be pretty intuitive and easy to adjust to. If you’re too lazy to read what follows after the jump, I found that the society is very different from the one I grew up in but in terms of individual people there aren’t many differences at all. I also didn’t want to come home…as in, apart from seeing my family and friends again, I really didn’t look forward to coming back.

I can’t wait for my as-yet unplanned second trip because I want to see how representative Tokyo is of the country as a whole. I wasn’t surprised that certain things were more expensive and the population density is insane because, well, it’s a capital city. London seems to be a law unto itself when I’ve visited there too.

The Common Asakusa Cyclist is the most deadly entity known to humankind. Ignore them at your own risk

Tokyo is a notoriously hectic and built-up place but strangely it’s organised chaos – everyone apart from the tourists knows where there’re going and are perfectly comfortable with the bustle that surrounds them. The thing is, everything is so clean, efficient and organised; the only way I can describe it is the precision overdrive of an overclocked computer. Things move at a pace and accuracy that doesn’t seem sustainable…and yet the streets are clean, businesses run and people live with what I assume is relative comfort and it shows no sign of running itself into the ground, at least not yet.

As in London, I find this energy inspiring and infectious but I suspect it could wear me down in the long term. A fortnight isn’t a long time, and I was after all on holiday. Could I live there? I honestly don’t know. The conformism, where everyone and everything has their place, sounds like an environment I’d be comfortable in, although I daresay many people would find such a life constrictive and would feel the same way about the hierarchical corporate structures and so on.

Included for the benefit of those who have also seen the Read or Die OAV

I didn’t see that side of things, but I do have a vague awareness of how pressured people are in terms of careers and social expectations. There’s certainly an emphasis on presentation: shopkeepers and office workers dress smartly and they even add little touches such as bus drivers wearing hats. It’s funny how the little details stay with you. There’s a sense of going that extra mile and showing pride in your work that isn’t nearly as pronounced back home – the advertising and retail industry could learn a lot from this place because the BUY NAO mentality is quite something.

As an outsider who is just visiting rather than someone wanting to integrate and work there, I felt very welcome. The stereotypical Japanese politeness which contributed to this is, again, something you may or may not take to but personally I didn’t mind it. Even if it’s a forced courtesy – insincerity? – the mere idea of someone making a show of politeness is better than nothing. The locals were eager to offer directions and so on, despite the language barrier.

AUTO SHOESER shoeses you

On a related note most areas we visited, whatever time of day, felt safe too. The police presence is high (and invariably courteous too of course) so I very rarely felt the fear of becoming a crime statistic. The only time I felt even vaguely uncomfortable was when we strayed out of Shinjuki and into Roppongi, but I’d already been warned about the nightclubs and red-light district areas. I think I stand a higher chance of getting mugged on my way home from work than I ever did when walking around Tokyo, honestly.

After spending time with a couple of guys from Machida I quickly realised that as puzzling as the culture can be at times, relating to people as individuals isn’t hard at all. They still go to work, have drinks and trade jokes with their friends, even though the society they live in works very differently from the one I grew up in. The pressures are different but people are people and all that. Many of the things that stand out as different are probably adaptations to things like scarce living space, a slightly warmer climate and the threat of earthquakes.

Incidentally I was really looking forward to seeing one of those Japanese level crossings in action

Refuse recycling is more popular, probably because you can’t chuck stuff onto landfillbecause in terms of land, there isn’t any; there are vending machines for drinks and snacks every-bloody-where, which is convenient but necessary since the weather’s hot and the pace of life means you can’t stop for long; there are a lot of affordable eateries, which I’m told is due to the fact that Tokyo-dwellers don’t have the time to cook for themselves…and I suspect their kitchens are probably cramped anyway (cooking in my pokey kitchen is bad enough, but Tokyo apartments are probably smaller still).

What about the notorious Gaijin Smash? Well, a clueless European oaf stands out like a sore thumb but whatever mistakes you make, chances are people probably are too polite to make a fuss about it. I honestly don’t know if or when I insulted someone because the gomen nasais and sumima-sens are so frequent they sound like a reflex. Actually, they probably are: you’ll find yourself nodding and apologising to people for days after you leave. I know I did. A more personal reason for feeling at ease there was the fact that, while in the UK I’m a short-arse, I’m average height over there. No kidding.

What can I say, I love Shinjuku

I certainly miss the novelty of walking into a clothes shop and finding stuff in my size. I miss being able to get a can of coffee, Mountain Dew, CC Lemon or Asahi Super Dry out of a vending machine in the street. I miss people being polite to me when I’m being a clueless idiot. I miss tonkatsu, cheap ramen and Freshness Burger. I miss the reliable public transport. I miss that wonderful contrast between high-tech convenience and quaint tradition that sit side by side. I miss wandering around Shinjuku, even when getting lost in the station drove me nuts. I’m not naïve enough to think it’s some flawless utopia where everything’s perfect but I think it’s a great place to go if you get the chance. If you have been already, what are your favourite (and least favourite!) memories?

The best thing of the past couple of days is the fact that it’s the Sanja Matsuri festival, one of the annual events that are held in the local area. I mentioned previously that Taito City, and Asakusa in particular, are pretty quiet and laid-back but in the last couple of days it’s become much, much livelier.

The portable shrines are carried around town and even in rainy weather, as is here (see above and below) it doesn’t seem to lessen the locals’ enthusiasm to dress up and have a good time. I found their adherance to the old traditions and the atmosphere in general to be really heartening…the partying spirit is infectious and it’s quite something to see the local communities join together; something that doesn’t really happen back in the UK, for any reason.

The rain was a minor nuisance but Harajuku was still worth the trip. Beyond the bridge is the old temple in Shibuya dedicated to the old emperor Meiji and his wife Shouken. It’s built in a wonderful wooded area (allegedly founded with 100,000 trees!) and is reputedly one of the most spectacular in the country. I see no reason to disagree.

There were several weddings going on at the time but thanks to my excessive sentimentality I felt a bit uncomfortable taking pics of the processions themselves as they passed through the main courtyard. To be honest it felt like I was looking in on a very private event and mere pictures wouldn’t really do the whole spectacle justice. Suffice to say they were quite simply exquisite.

I’m not sure if it was anything to do with the festival going on in Asakusa and the surrounding districts but an entire street of Shibuya was closed off for a traditional style dance featuring people in local attire; considering that we were just passing through on our way home (via one or two shops) this was a nice surprise. Not as much of a surprise as this though…

Hatsune Miku crossplay? Believe it. Gives me one or two ideas for Ayacon actually. >_>

I’ve also discovered that certain things are cheaper in their country of manufacture – I’ll be picking up a PSP with a bit of luck, and have already splurged out a considerable sum of money on a Boss Blues Driver guitar pedal on the grounds that it’s cheaper than in the UK. Needless to say I’d pick up one of the Fender Japan Jazzmaster guitars if I could find a way to fly it back with me…seriously.

Away from Shinjuku is the even trendier district of Ginza, which is where you’ll find high-rise office blocks and high-price department stores. This time around we decided to walk from Ginza through Ueno to get to Asakusa, just in time to see the Taito city festival processions. As I type this the usual sleepy, small-town feel of Asakusa has turned into a crowded festival atmosphere with (so I’m told) three million locals and tourists descending on the area.

Shibuya’s central crossing is indeed utterly nuts. There are loads of shops and eateries around (including an underground food court that puts the best bits of London to shame) but the sheer number of people moving around has resulted in what I can only call the most interesting piece of street planning I’ve ever seen. The multi-way pedestrian crossing is part of the road network that criss-crosses through the city but every couple of minutes the whole junction becomes one enormous crossing for shoppers, businesspeople and tourists. Now you see see it…

…and now you don’t.

This was from the point of view of the overlooking Starbucks but it’s pretty intimidating at ground level too.

I quite liked Shibuya for its cosmopolitan atmosphere – it’s a lot like London in many ways (Ginza reminds me a lot of Knightsbridge and Kensington too) but I really like Shinjuku. Firstly there’s the enormous station and nearby shopping mall but right in the middle of the built-up area is an enormous and utterly beautiful park. For only ¥200 each you can wander around from early morning until 4pm among the lawns, trees and lakes. There are themed areas (English, French and Japanese) and a couple of tea houses but what I loved most of all is the fact that there’s this gorgeous, serene expanse of green serenity in the middle of the most built-up area on the planet.

The fact that there are bloody great skyscrapers just behind the treeline is a reminder of this.

I guess it’s a lot like Hyde Park: for local city-dwellers, having a walk in a garden or stretching out under a tree on the grass is a rare treat. Especially when life is so work-orientated, as is demonstrated by the shiny efficiency of Ginza.

Of course, the city still looks (to me at least) beautiful at night. Shibuya’s youthful trendiness is infectious, and really sums up why Tokyo is thought of as a 24 hour city.

Asakusa is still more laid-back; centuries ago it was the pleasure district with theatres and such but now is pretty spiritual and relaxed. There’s a festival going on this weekend though, so the streets are extremely lively and crowded.

I love the juxtaposition of pop culture and old local traditions in that shot: sums up the general area really. The festival’s still going on so I’ll probably leave more pics of that for later…that and the fact that Tokyo Tower and the Sunday morning charms of Harajuku await me tomorrow…

Asakusa with the temple (hopefully visiting tomorrow) and a peculiar little kids’ theme park.

The route to Akihabara involves plenty of travelling by underground and local train – the Pasmo card is neat for this, working like an Oyster card in London. Charge it up and you’re done. Random adverts are random though…nothing’s more fashionable than being pregnant, apparently. Eat for two in style! The sheer amount of advertising in general in Tokyo is quite something actually – it looks a bit silly to my cynical eyes but I guess that’s what happens when you enter a country that’s even more consumer-driven than your own. The bright, smiley pleas to BUY THINGS NAO hits you on every corner.

Speaking of random, this was something I spotted back in Asakusa. It’s some sort of mythical creature of some sort…I think. There was a wooden carving of one of these opposite, but I think this was someone in an outfit (I pity them in this weather, seriously).

Not quite as wierd, however, as this other piece of advertising. Kim Jong Il lives, it seems.

Most of the buildings are fairly modern but there are the occasional ones that stick out. This peculiar place looks like it’s been nudged aside by those nearby; it’s coated with copper shingles, which I’ve yet to see in Tokyo or anywhere else for that matter. It looks completely out-of-place despite being older than the offices surrounding it but it fascinated me for some reason.

We passed through Akihabara on the way and I couldn’t resist the offer of both the Macross Frontier and Darker than Black OSTs. Not nearly as much as I could’ve spent given what was on offer but ¥10,000 is a lot to splurge in one go on your first day. It won’t be the last, I’ll bet. PSPs are pretty cheap over here.

The train service is, as everyone knows, clean and pretty much 100% punctual. The local trains are often crowded – this is pretty average but I’ve already seen worse. There’s air-con and rudeness isn’t common so it’s a fairly pleasant way to get around. Pasmo FTW!

Compare with the famous bullet trains on the Shinkansen lines…yep, the rear carriage has a back window. Fast and smooth…I actually had a power-nap during this trip. Apparently the seats swivel around to face the other way when the train reaches its destination and sets off in the opposite direction. Neat.

Aaand…the moment you’ve been waiting for: the Guinness of Machida! L-R: Ant, Bob, Yasu and Seb (me behind the camera). This was a small bar above an eaterie of some sort…it had the name Covent Garden or something, and served Newcastle Brown Ale and featured a menu of European-style mixed with Japanese. If you’re a peckish Westerner who misses their cottage pie, look no further! It even has UK-based rock music in the background and a (n electronic) dartboard. Home from home? Judge for yourself…

The irony here is that this particular bar has no fewer than two awards from the Guinness corporation for the quality of their service; I can certainly vouch for that. It’s ironic, really, that I’ve had to go all the way to a Tokyo suburb to sample the best pint of Guinness I’ve ever tasted. Epic bar win.

Eh, that’s all for now. I’m still reeling from the culture shock and travelling but hopefully I’ll have a wander around Asakusa tomorrow because it has a really wonderful looking temple. That and the fact that I’ve caught the DDR bug and have been following my travelling companions around every arcade we’ve passed…

iPlayer sadly doesn’t let me take screenies, which I’m guessing is for copyright reasons. It beats plugging in a TV and having to pay the licence fee though

I’m familiar with his younger brother Louis but Marcel Theroux has a more laid-back and, how shall I say, quintessentially British approach to his work that makes it all come across really well to the viewer; even the Wikipedia entry for wabi-sabi is a bit vague and esoteric to my untrained eyes so it was refreshing to see someone start exploring the idea from scratch. Needless to say there’s plenty of stunning photography on show too but it was also Theroux’s style as a presenter and the context in which he was approaching the subject matter that made it such a winner for me. Sorry if it’s region-locked for you or if the link has already expired but this is the full version.

Theroux takes things back to first principles with a flick through some texts on the subject (which he admits the usefulness of which are a bit limited since none of them are actually written by Japanese people) before jetting over to Toyko. He sheepishly admits that he’s never been there before but bravely sets out to find some locals who 1. speak English and 2. are willing to explain what wabi-sabi is to an inquisitive gaijin who has a camera crew in tow.

My first thought is that Japanese people are unfailingly polite and especially among the younger generation many have a respectable grasp of English (which to me is a blessed relief!). My second thought was that, susprisingly, not many Japanese people can explain wabi-sabi either! Whether this is because it’s difficult to convey in a concise definition or whether it’s a concept vanishing in the rat-race of twenty-first century society was the question that formed the core of Theroux’s journey from that point on.

He visits karaoke bars, maid cafés, tea houses, art galleries and even a Buddhist monastery in search of someone, or something, that points him in the direction of his elusive wabi-sabi. I actually shared Theroux’s discomfort and bemusement at the maid café actually – yeah, I know, I’m a closet otaku so I’m supposed to dig that sort of stuff but, in all honesty, I didn’t really get it either. Theroux suspected it’s part of the diversion from the fast-paced lifestyle and lack of personal space that Tokyo inflicts on its inhabitants, much like the karaoke bar he visited with one of his hosts and their friends; I didn’t see any more wabi-sabi in those two places than he did, but I must admit that the karaoke did look like a lot of fun.

The tour of Tokyo and Kyoto highlighted to me how a society that values tradition and modernity simultanously can appear full of contradictions and come across as, perhaps, a little lost and unsure of its identity. What I found telling was how Theroux highlighted how our (a UK-centric view here guys) society isn’t all that dissimilar: we both value our history, like a good cup of tea and don’t mind a bit of rain but have a heightened sense of identity, or at least try to maintain one. I also detected a culture of courtesy similar to our penchant for orderly queueing in public and that subconscious habit of bloody apologising all the time which I see as odd when I think about it but at the same time is normally accepted behaviour. Could this little island be the same as that one in many ways? Watch this space.

Back on-topic, Theroux continued to interview the people he stayed with, passers-by in the street and those he considered experts, with interesting results. Haiku clubs seem to offer a casual easing into Japanese literature but after speaking to a university lecturer and later a master of the tea ceremony it eventually becomes evident that the concept is so ingrained in everyday life that it cannot be explained with a catchy phrase or neat distionary-style definition at all.

After the segment at the end where Theroux spends an eye-opening if uncomfortable twenty-four hour stint at a Zen Buddhist monastery I came to realise that the message of this documentary wasn’t to directly inform the viewer. Theroux seemed to find his wabi-sabi, or the next best thing; ultimately I guess it comes back to the idea that a hundred travel guides aren’t worth the trip. I didn’t really get a handle on why Japan is so different to here, and I suspect Theroux didn’t either. I did however detect some hints that we’re not as different as I suspected in some areas. Perhaps.

Most importantly this documentary proves that wabi-sabi is alive and well but is something that you have to search for, in the tradition of a good traveller. I found Theroux to be a great ambassador for British tourism: he was respectful, slow to judge but conveyed his impressions, both positive and negative, with honesty and was willing to see and do new things, however uneasy it may have felt for him at the time. I suppose that’s the best way, really. Keep an open mind, don’t be afraid to explore, be courteous to the people you meet and they’ll return the favour. I can see some appeal in a wonky teacup but the appeal of maid cafés still eludes me…at least for now.