Counter-Kabuki: Sixty-Seven Playlets on the Silly Side of Life in Japan

By Jared Lubarsky

Counter-Kabuki is a collection of improbable conversations, inspired by newspaper accounts of the unimaginably goofy things that have happened (and still happen) in Japan. Half a lifetime of living there persuaded the author that you have to work really hard to have fun in that odd-but-familiar land; this book is a culmination of those labors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Feb 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781619848474

Book preview

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

COUNTER-KABUKI: Sixty-Seven Playlets on

the Silly Side of Life in Japan

Published by Gatekeeper Press

3971 Hoover Rd. Suite 77

Columbus, OH 43123-2839

www.GatekeeperPress.com

Copyright © 2017 by Jared Lubarsky

All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

ISBN: 9781619848481

eISBN: 9781619848474

Printed in the United States of America

To Masumi:

the sanest—and funniest—person I know.

Contents

Preface

I. Life and Death

This Mortal Coil

The Late, Late Show

Telling It Like It Was

Swing Low, Sweet Herriot

II. All For Love

Looking For Mrs. Goodbar

By George, I Think He’s Got It

Amateur Standing

Good Vibes

III. Defense of the Realm

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Let Them Eat Cake

Dogs Of War

We Kidd You Not

And Hold The Mustard

IV. Of The People, For The People

If A Tsunami Answers, Hang Up

It Tolls For Thee

By The Hair Of My Chinny-Chin-Chin

Inflated Opinions

Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho!

Eat Your Heart Out, King Kong

V. . High Tech

Butterflies In Your Stomach

So, What’s Your Sign?

Transfarmers

Therefore I Am

Fold On Dotted Line, And Boldly Go

They Always Spoke Well Of You

VI. Low Tech

Bottom Line

Flushed And Stirred

Let The Sunshine In

Easy Rider

VII. Buying and Selling

Second Fitting

You Can’t Make An Omelet

Yes Sir, Yes Sir, Three Bags Full

Cat Scan

By Their Fruits You Shall Know Them

Who Was That Traffic Cone I Saw You With Last Night?

VIII. Work and Play

Time Flies When You’re Havin’ Fun

Labor Relations

It Wouldn’t Be A Picnic Without ‘Em

Choosing The Chosen Few

Roger That

Conductor, Beam Me Up

IX. International Affairs

This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land

Romance Of The Rails

Deus Ex Machina

Wampum, Stompum

Leasable Kingdom

Badges? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Badges

Standard Fare

X. Law and Order

Objection Overruled

All That Glitters

I Never Saw That Package Before In My Life, Officer

And Her Sister Lives In A Shoe

Tea and Sympathy

XI. Health and Welfare

Sharper Than A Serpent’s Tooth

You Took The Part That Once Was My Heart

Dem Bones, Dem Bones

Baby Steps

XII. Cultural Affairs

Job Description

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

Hauls of Ivy

Watch This Space

Joint Exercises

Just Say No

Not My Best Side

Quick Studies

XIII. An Irreverent Glossary of Terms

Preface

You probably know this already, or you wouldn’t have bought my book: Japan is an odd and interesting place. I’ve delighted in it, wept over it, worked my way into it for more years than I ever thought I would; with a Japanese wife to keep me on the job, I suppose it will be a life-long study. The book was nourished in the rich wet soil of exceptionalism: the unwavering conviction of the Japanese that their country, their culture, the very snow that falls on their hillsides, is uniquely different from everybody else’s. Counter-Kabuki is a response to that conviction, adding to itself in bits and pieces, over the years, with one unifying thought: the Japanese, whether they like it or not, are pretty much like everybody else. They’re capable of sublime achievements, high crimes and misdemeanors, and spasms of goofiness, just like the rest of us. Most of the Japanese I know would have it otherwise: that whatever goes on in their country is uniquely Japanese, and foreigners just don’t get it.* The best way I know to deal with that is to be cheeky about it—to take some of the foibles that have tickled me most, lift them out of their unique Japanese context, and put them into mine. The subjects seemed to unfold themselves better in dialogue, so I wound up being dramaturgically cheeky. That’s what Counter-Kabuki is up to. Hope you like it.

A note on the text. Following the standard Japanese practice, persons are identified here with their family names first, followed by their given names. The long vowels ‘o’ and ‘u’ (except for familiar place-names like Tokyo) are Romanized according to the Hepburn system, with macrons over them. Japanese terms that may be unfamiliar to the reader appear in boldface italic, and are explained in the Glossary.

---

* The eminent philosopher and scholar of Zen Buddhism, Suzuki Daisetsu, returning to Japan from a series of lectures in the United States, was asked by a Japanese university student, "Sensei, can Americans really understand Zen? His reply: And you can, then, can you?"

I.

Life and Death

This Mortal Coil

Of all the marvels of the ancient world, the niches people have contrived for their noble dead seem to fill us most with wonder. (Japan has been less inclined to this sort of construction, but the tomb of the Emperor Nintoku, in Kansai, is bigger pound for pound than the Great Pyramid at Giza. And Tokugawa Ieyasu’s memorial, the Toshogu Shrine in Nikko, is as glitzy, peacockish a last resort as you’ll find anywhere on the planet.) And wonders never cease: Chinese archeologists, excavating a Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368) tomb in Hunan Province, have discovered a box with two handbills in it, advertising art supplies. We have a wide selection of paints and brushes in stock, read the flyers; come in and give us a try. Look for the sign in red characters, over the door.

This merchant of Hunan: surely he didn’t leave his pitch in the tomb for grave robbers to find; audacious as it may sound, he must have been trying to sell The Other Side. There’s a revolutionary business concept here—a primitive attempt, to be sure—and it’s been neglected for 700 years. Do the dead respond to direct mail? Are they drawn to designer goods? Do they pay their bills? These are questions we can now submit to sophisticated consumer research, and if the departed really do constitute a viable market segment, it’s a whole new ball game for the advertising agencies. Where better to begin than here in Japan, home to some of the biggest commercial confectors in the world—and where, as will soon become clear, they wrestle with some of the industry’s thorniest problems . . .

"Gentlemen, we are about to lose the Creap account. They’ve been paying us outrageous sums of money to position them for the next world, and we haven’t delivered; these people are getting a teensy bit cross with us."

"Boss, we’ve been trying everything we know. We did the skit with the hangdog salaryman who puts Creap in his coffee and can suddenly speak English. It flopped. We did the guy in the white lab coat, explaining how Creap insulates your liver and protects you from necrosis. That flopped, too."

Of course it flopped, Miyazaki, you fathead. How much time do you think the dead spend worrying about necrosis? It’s part and parcel of being dead. Did you try the celebrity endorsement?

"First thing, Chief. We did the jolly Sumo wrestler in his pajamas. We did the heart-throb in all the NHK historical dramas, that nobody knows for sure is a boy or a girl. We did the weird game show host with the droopy lip. It’s not moving the product."

What about a famous foreigner? That usually works.

We’re at our wits end with that one, Boss. Usually, they’re only too happy to take the big bucks, as long as we agree never to show the ad anywhere but Japan.

Yeah, I remember how sticky Sylvester Stallone was about that, when we brought him in for Itoh Ham.

Well, this time we can’t seem to sign up anybody recognizable. Apparently, American actors can live with ham, but their agents won’t stand for Creap.

Chief, I’ve been saying it all along: the name is the problem. If you were . . . uh . . . no longer with us, would you buy anything called Creap?

I know, but that’s its name, and there’s got to be a way to romance it.

Let’s talk to the sponsor again. People in this country get posthumous names; why not one for their product?

We did suggest that, but the CEO was adamant. ‘Over my dead body,’ he said.

You know, Boss, I think he might have something there.

What? Where?

Here’s the visual. a big marble mausoleum, very classy. Wrought-iron fence. Doric columns, maybe a little trailing ivy. Paul Newman standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee. He looks into the camera with that crinkly, blue-eyed smile and says: ‘Creap. Over my dead body.’ How can we miss?

Sakazuki, you’re a real communicator. You’re also fired.

The Late, Late Show

Video technology has made its way into the most unlikely of places: the butsudan—the family Buddhist altar used to enshrine deceased relatives. A company in Gumma, it transpires, has come up with a butsudan designed to house a television and a video deck, for the family to replay some of the inspirational footage they might have taken of their relatives when they were living, and refresh their memories of the deceased. Close the upper doors, and it becomes an ordinary TV cabinet, for everyday use.

And what household in all the land, with an ounce of piety in its bosom, would not want a doo-dad like that? Conflating that piety with home entertainment, of course, is unlikely to be entirely friction-free; even in Japan, the TV does tend to inspire small family differences, over what to watch and when. Nothing, however, that can’t be resolved—with due reverence. . . .

Noboru—this is the last time I’m going to tell you: go to bed.

"Aw, gee, Mom—can’t I stay up and watch the butsudan just a little longer?"

Absolutely not, young man. You have school tomorrow, and I'm tired of going in to see your teacher because you fall asleep on the subway and wind up in Chiba.

"C’mon, Mom—it was just getting to my favorite part. When we go to the onsen, and all you guys get drunk, and Grandpa gets up and dances with the fish on his head."

"Noboru, that was not one of Grandpa’s finer moments. We only keep it in the butsudan because he said so in his will. Why don’t you ever watch Grandpa doing something more suitable—like playing chess?

Mom, it takes him a whole 30-minute cassette to make two moves. It’s like watching the Andy Warhol Empire State Building movie. C’mon, let me just flip this one ahead to the part with the fish.

"Anata! Are you going to do something about your son, or do you want him to turn out like you?"

Okay, kid, that’s it: get to bed, and right now. It’s about time we turned Grandpa off, anyway; the lady wrestlers are on Channel 10 tonight. [Exit Noboru, grumbling.]

"Otosan, do you absolutely have to watch the lady wrestlers? They’re so mean and ugly."

Mitsuko, I’ve been watching the lady wrestlers for years, and I’ve never seen one yet that I wouldn’t rather be with than Grandpa.

That’s a nice thing to say about my dear departed father. You’re a fine one to talk, anyhow, the way your mother made life so miserable for everybody. The only thing she ever had a smile and a kind word for was the video camera.

Well, at least she made that much of an effort—which is more than I can say of some people’s fathers. To tell the truth, I’m glad we have that tape of Grandpa with the fish on his head; at least it shows him having a good time. And we wouldn’t even have gotten that, if he hadn’t had such a skin full. Every time we put him in front of the camera, he’d get nastier than buzzard’s breath.

Well, I don’t blame him one single bit. How would you feel, when your relatives suddenly decide it’s time to start taking your picture for posterity? It’s like they’ve already got your room rented.

I’m too tired to fight with you tonight, Mitsuko. Tell you what: I’ll skip the lady wrestlers. We can watch the Orphie Awards instead.

Orphie?

Short for Orpheus. The Orphies are the coveted awards of the posthumous video industry. Mrs. Tomizaka next door is up for Best Background Music, for the tape she made to freshen her recollections of Mr. Tomizaka.

Oh? I would have thought Mrs. Tomizaka was out for the evening a lot, for somebody who’s trying so hard to remember her husband. Meetings with her composer, I suppose.

And what’s so dreadful about hiring a composer?

The whole idea just rubs me the wrong way. Composers and lighting designers and directors: why do we have to make media events out of remembering our loved ones?

To the vast majority of our fellow Japanese, Mitsuko, media events are the only meaningful reality. But that’s not really the point. The way we house our ancestors is a measure of our standing in society. Nobody wants to have a cornier video in the altar than his neighbor; his ancestors lose a lot of face that way.

Well, I think this sort of thing can get completely out of hand. You know how it goes when something becomes a status symbol.

It’s out of hand already, Mitsuko. You remember my classmate Sakakibara, who went into the real estate business? He hired Visconti to do his father. Sets, locations: Visconti shot seventeen takes of the old man pruning a bonsai before he was satisfied—trimmed the bonsai right down to a stub. The whole thing cost Sakakibara a bundle, I can tell you—but he’ll get it back. He charges the neighbors to come in and watch.

Telling It Like It Was

If until now photo albums have been the most common visual record of a family’s history, the time has come to replace them with more modern media. A Tokyo department store has now developed a tie-up with a video production firm to provide the professional know-how of directors, script writers, actors and actresses to re-enact highlights in the family history. For instance, notes a spokesman for the store, if one of the elderly members led a hard life in childhood, a juvenile actor could be used to reconstitute that segment. For the aspiring autobiographer, the store proposes making a 30-minute film, with all the trimmings, for a mere

￥1 million. We believe, the spokesman said, that a number of people would spend that much to leave their descendents a record of their lives even if it should reduce the money that their relatives would inherit.

All right? Everybody ready? Quiet on the set, please.

Excuse me—Mr. Kobayashi.

Yes, Mr. Kubo. What is it now?

Well, not that I want to tell you how to do your job, but the way you were rehearsing this scene: I’m not sure you’ve quite captured, I don’t know—the pathos of the situation.

Mr. Kubo, I had the honor of directing three episodes of O-Shin." The pathos of a situation, you might say, is practically second nature to me."

Yes, but this is the part where I come home from the war, with only hope in my heart and a sack full of Manchurian railway bonds, and there’s my dear old mother, waiting for me in the ashes of our dear old home. Couldn’t we put a little more feeling into that?

Mr. Kubo, if I put any more feeling into this scene, I’m going to be sick in the corner.

Well, it is my story we’re telling, and I’m the one that’s paying for it. I don’t see why it can’t be a little—you know, warm—if I want it that way.

Mr. Kubo, we live in different times. Warm is out; modern video has a different visual vocabulary. Sullen is in. Also strange hair.

"Strange is the very word that springs to mind, about that kid you found to play me in junior high school. That’s casting? I ask you for somebody