May 22, 2012: Meditations on the Book of Tea by Okakura Kakuzo #2

“…when we consider how small, after all, the cup of human enjoyment is, how soon overflowed with tears, how easily drained to the dregs in our quenchless thirst for infinity..meanwhile let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon glow is brightening the bamboos, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness if things.”

“The Book of Tea” by Okakura Kakuzo in the chapter, “The Cup of Humanity”

May 03, 2012: Meditations on the Book of Tea by Okakura Kakuzo #1

“In my young days I praised the master whose pictures I liked, but as my judgement matured I praised myself for liking what the master had chosen to have me to like.”

-from the “Book of Tea” by Okakura Kakuzo quoting a Sung critic in the chapter “Art Appreciation”

April 25, 2012: “Jiro Dreams of Sushi”

Not a review here, as I haven’t seen it yet, just what looks to be a fine recommendation from a friend (thanks, Mark) for all the foodies out there, lovers of perfection, Japanese culture, and sushi.

The documentary by David Gelb, “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” revolves around Jiro Owo, who is master sushi chef and owner of Sukiyabashi Jiro” a 10-seat sushi bar in Toyko. Jiro, 85 years old, has devoted his life to the perfection of sushi preparation and still pursuing that goal!

I don’t have the money, right now for this kind of date, but if I had, I would buzz off to Harvard Sq. to see the film, and then visit a sushi bar! If anyone takes me up on my suggestion, let me know what you think of the film!

October 03, 2011: Japan’s “Schindler”

Photo: Courtesy of the Chiune Sugihara Museum; Kaunas, Lithuania

Last night, I once again pulled out one of the gems of my movie archives: “Schindler’s List” (1993). This is one of those films that I love, but I really have to be in the right mood for, as I spend most of it in tears. Part of the tears are from being so disappointed with the hate that humanity can have towards his fellow-man; part is from the bravery that individuals can have within the clutches of such hate; and part is for the admiration that one person (if they can find the strength to actually go against the “norm”) can have on the world. So, at the end of the film, Oskar Schindler has saved 1.100 Jews and is honored as one of the “Righteous Among the Nations” in Israel. I think it is the power of the story and Mr. Spielberg’s film that after, I asked myself, “OK, so who else is honored?” Usually, questions like these lead to research, and this particular research lead to yet another one of history’s forgotten heroes of this period.

Kaunas, Lithuania, shortly before Chanukah 1939

Solly Ganor is an 11-year-old jewish boy living in Kaunas. His parents had emigrated from Russia years before, from the Russian revolution. His family is fairly well off from their business of textile import/export, but Solly, concerned about Jewish refugees streaming in from Poland, (which has been recently invaded by the Nazis) has given away all his allowance to the refugee boards to help. Solly goes to his aunt’s gourmet food shop to borrow some money for a film. In the shop, talking to his aunt, a stranger overhears his plight and kindly offers the money to Solly. The well-dressed gentleman has been in the shop to pick up a few items for dinner. Solly is struck by three things, the man’s generosity, his kind eyes, and that he is clearly from another place than Kaunas. The man is in fact, Japanese Vice-Counsel Chiune Sugihara. To return the favor, Solly invites the Vice-Counsel and his wife to celebrate Chanukah with his family. Years later, Chiune and his wife Yukiko remember the festival of lights spent with the Ganor family: the songs, the ceremony, the cakes, the stories, the fun. Far from home and their own family, the easy welcome of a sweet boy and the Jewish family makes an impact on the Japanese couple.

Later, after the Nazis invade Lithuania, the Ganor family was sent to Dachau, and sadly only Solly and his father survived. Ironically, it is the Japanese-Americans of the 522nd Field Artillery Battalion, men who have been interred by their own country who free the two Ganors from Dachau. To this day, Solly Ganor cannot look upon a Japanese man without experiencing feelings of affection, friendship, and gratitude.

The Dutch Connection:

A half year after the Chanukah with the Ganor family, on June 15, 1940, the Nazis invade Lithuania and now the combined Polish immigrants plus Lithuania’s own Jews are in danger. Russia orders all foreign ambassadors to leave Lithuania. Only Dutch counsel Jan Zwartendijk and Vice-Counsel Chiune stay as they hatch a plan together to try to save the Jews of both Poland and Lithuania: two Dutch colonies, Curacao and Dutch Guiana (now Suriname) do not need entrance visas. The only way out is to the east, through Russia, via the trans-Siberian railway. The Russians will allow the Jews through their country, but not to stay. The Jews need a destination before they can go to the Dutch islands. Japan is the answer.

An Outright Refusal Followed by an Outright Insubordination:

Vice-Counsel Sugihara asks for and is denied leniency for the Jews three times by his native Japan. Tokyo’s Foreign Ministry states in no uncertain terms that the visas to Japan must not be issued. Risking his career and his future and chancing imprisonment (or worse) for not only himself, his wife, and his family, Sugihara, for the next month, tirelessly issues thousands of visas for Europe’s Jews. Often, he works 18-20 hour days, rarely eating, pausing only to have his wife massage his aching fingers, tired from signing visas. He is even signing visas on the way to the rail station, as he is forced to leave, and passing them out the car window to people. At the end he has signed blank sheets of papers and gives these, with his seal of office, to an assistant. Before he leaves, he bows deeply to the crowd and apologizes for not having done more. In the end, Vice-Counsel Chiune Sugihara has saved in excess of 6000 Jews!

Obscurity and a Final Tribute:

As a valuable diplomat and translator, Japan used Sugihara’s services until the end of the war, but then, summarily dismissed him. Sugihara worked as a part-time translator and even struggled for a while selling light bulbs door-to-door. The final decades of his life he worked as a manager of an export company that had dealing with Moscow. He never mentioned his dealings in Lithuania and his friends and neighbors never knew of him as an extraordinary man. It was not until 1969 when a man that was saved by Sugihara, hunted him down to thank him, and together with hundreds of other Jews that were saved by him, persuaded Israel to give Sugihara (like Schindler)  the honor of “Righteous of the Nations” in 1985. Sugihara passed away the following year. It was only when a huge delegation of Jews, from around the world, showed up at Sugihara’s funeral that his friends and neighbors had any idea of his contribution to mankind.

Before his death, and forty-five years after his actions in Lithuania, he was asked the eternal question, “Why?” To this, he replied his simple devotion, “They were human beings and they needed help.”

September 30, 2011: “Shibumi”

If I didn’t have the honor, benefit, and pleasure of having several good friends that have been brought up in Japan, I think my fascination with Japanese culture would still exist for one source: the book “Shibumi” (1979) by Trevanian. I picked this up just after my move to Boston and that one copy has been reread by me so many times that the cover is gone and the rest of it is held together by rubber bands, when not being read. A hard-bound copy (if I can find one) is one of the first luxuries I intend to buy when I come into some cash. I’ve read just about everything else by Trevanian and have enjoyed his short stories, and his novels: “The Main” and of course “The Eiger Sanction” among others. Outside his writing, part of Trevanian’s appeal was the mystery of the man himself. While he was living, very little was know about Trevanian, including his real name. We now know him as Rodney William Whitaker. “Shibumi” is classified as a “spy-thriller” but could be just as well classified as a spoof of that genre. Trevanian manages to make Ian Fleming’s Bond look like a wimp by comparison to his anti-hero, Nicholai Hel. When “Shibumi” came out in 1979, it was a world-wide success and readers begged for more, but Trevanian in a “been there, did that” attitude went on to more personally enriching endeavors. There’s talk of a movie being made of “Shibumi” and the Trevanian estate has sanctioned a prequel: “Satori” by Don Winslow.

It would take forever to trace Nicholai Hel’s journey throughout “Shibumi,” but if you like extremely intelligent anti-heroes who speak seven languages, become a master in: (among other things) forbidden martial arts, arcane weapons, spelunking, mysticism, culinary arts, the game of Go, and gardening, while becoming the world’s highest paid assassin, “Shibumi” is the book for you. Like I said, Trevanian out-Bonds Fleming’s Bond!

With all his abilities, being vastly influenced by Japanese culture, Nicolai Hel wants only to live a life of “shibumi” which is described in “Shibumi” in rather vague (but later I found to be fairly accurate) terms in the book as a pursuit of the “understated excellence” or “effortless perfection.” For example, Nicolai’s one joy is perfecting his Japanese garden by making it “more simple.”

Outside of the sheer fun of the book, with its rich characters (typical of Trevanian) it is this concept of shibumi that brings me back, time and time again. There’s something very much against the grain of most of American culture in this concept. Most Americans value the “flashy,” the overt. Shibumi is its exact opposite. I once asked Yoshio for a good example of shibumi. He thought for a long while and then said that he observed elder women on the subway in Tokyo dressed in traditional Japanese garb, and for him, that was shibumi. Other have said shibumi exists in the Japanese tea ceremony: where the simplicity of behavior and precision of action of both the person giving and receiving the ceremony define it as shibumi. In art, shibui is defined as a “balance of simplicity and complexity where one continually finds meaning and appreciation.”

Unobtrusive beauty. Understated excellence. Effortless perfection. One could spend a lifetime searching for these. Entertaining spy novels aside, I can think of worse goals than a life striving to attain shibumi!

10.24.11 Update: I just went to the mailbox to find a hardbound version of “Shibumi” from my former student Isaac, as a belated birthday present. Included also was a sweet and funny card from him and Kelly. I have put Isaac’s copy of “Shibumi” on my coffee table and it is very tempting to start it, but I have to first finish “Pendragon” by Catherine Christian, yet another hardbound version of a beloved novel from the very same Isaac. This from many years ago when he actually was my student. Same situation: a loved paperback, ages old, falling to ruin by use. I let slip my concern of its eventual loss in Isaac’s presence. I take out “Pendragon” to read every year, and deliberately space it so that I never tire of it.

I think of books as old friends, and it is a special pleasure to have united a book with a living, breathing, thoughtful, and generous friend. Now, in two instances, I may drink both in, with just a few chapters read. Thank you, my friend. A most wonderful, appreciated, and unexpected gift!

August 19, 2011: Lost in translation…Monty Python Dubbed in Japanese

Click to see youtube of two (abbreviated) scenes from "MP&THG" in Japanese

Most of us tend to group feelings (good or bad) to certain people, places, events, or things that can affect us later in life, just by bringing those things to mind. It takes just one shaky takeoff to make someone afraid of flying forever. Looking back, I can trace more than a few really, really good events/feelings with the comedy troop Monty Python.

It all started back in high school. My lacrosse buddy, John, who knew me very well in those days, took me aside at practice “OK, Steve” he said, “Sunday night, 11pm, turn on PBS and see this show, ‘Monty Python’. You won’t regret it.” In those days, every high school student assumed there was nothing good on PBS, especially on a Sunday night, so I expressed some skepticism. “Just watch it.” John said,  ”If you don’t like it, I’ll eat my helmet.” So I did watch, just as he suggested. At first it was “What the…???” but then…there was THE joke. I’m not going to tell what the joke was, because as I learned shortly after, it was an old chestnut, but as I never had heard it before, and that joke being given that pitch-perfect Python-ish bent, it struck a nerve. A major nerve! I consider myself lucky that I have been blessed with many moments of really extreme laughter since that Sunday night in high school, but I seriously don’t remember laughing uncontrollably for five straight minutes, before that night. My parents were somewhat concerned. I recovered, was forever hooked on Python and John didn’t eat his helmet.

So, I saw every show. Every single show! Luckily, late Sunday night is not exactly prime-time, so I had relatively few battles over the one set with my other seven brothers and sisters. I eventually saw all the Python movies in the theater. Another Python highlight was seeing the 2001 re-release of “Monty Python & the Holy Grail” with my former student, Isaac. Of course, the shows are all out on DVD now and I have revisited them and all the movies. So, I was thrilled to find the special-edition DVD of “Monty Python & the Holy Grail” in my library. It is full of extras and if you’re a Python fan, I can highly recommend it. Especially rewarding is the commentary by the Pythons. It’s been 35+ years since they made “MP&THG” it and it still cracks them up!

Among other extra features are clips of scenes from the Japanese version of the movie. The two scenes are “The French Castle” and “The Knight Who Say “Ni.” I was amazed to find the Japanese translation to be quite accurate grammatically, but with very different dialog! Another Python “Huh?” moment! Beforehand, I was thinking perhaps that the “Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries” line might be hard to translate but, I mean, this was really different! I took the translation to my friend Teja, who understands comedy very well (he has been a stand-up comedian and uses humor in his shows on diversity) and was brought up in Japan (so he knows the language and the culture) to explain why the dialog was changed soooo much from English to the Japanese. Both scenes are interesting and even funny in a different kind of way, but I chose “The French Castle” scene to focus on. The setup is King Arthur, his knights and their “horses” are approaching a castle. Here’s a PDF of the scene as English vs. Japanese:

Monty Python

Teja explained that for the most part the Monty Python humor “just doesn’t scan” in Japanese. He said that most Japanese wouldn’t get the subtleties of the English-French rivalry that so much of the scene’s humor depends upon. “The context of humor is everything.” he pointed out, and “if you have to explain the humor, it doesn’t work.” He also said, “Humor must be absorbed through the culture it is presented through.” He pointed out that he, himself didn’t find “MP&THG” particularly funny when he first saw it, but he was still living within Japanese culture. Yet, Teja’s older brother Miguel (also brought up in Japan) loved the film, but Miguel had been in the states for a couple of years before he saw it.

In the commentary of the film, the Pythons address the humor of the “Witch Scene” when Sir Bedivere asks the villagers (besides wood) “What also floats in water?” the villagers respond (in true Python-ish silliness) with things that obviously DO NOT float, like “stones” and “churches.” According to the Pythons, that humor was lost on the French who, in their translation, substituted things like “feathers” and “crickets,” things that actually DO float.

Oh, well…I guess whatever the culture, it isn’t so important what you’re laughing at, as long as laughter is happening…and happening often. To quote my good friend Teja: “Humor is not universal, laughter is!”

May 12, 2011: Movie Review “Grave of the Fireflies”

I’ve never been a huge anime fan, but I try to stay open to film styles in general. I remember seeing “Spirited Away” (2001) in theaters and enjoyed it, so when I found consistent high ratings for “Grave of the Fireflies” (1988) I was intrigued.

The story is set place  in Japan, 1945, at the end of WWII. The main characters are Seita, a boy of about 12 years old and his sister, Setsuko who is about 3-4 years old. I’m not giving anything away by saying that the whole film is a series of events before the two children’s death, as Seita’s first words recount that this is the night he died and with Setsuko’s absence, her death is implied as well. So, I want to be upfront and say that “Grave of the Fireflies” is not the most “cheery” film out there, but rather, is a poignant study of effects of war on innocents and the nobility of humans struggling under hard conditions.

The city of Kobe, where Seita and Setsuko live, is firebombed and they lose their mother. Their father is absent serving in the military, so they are sent to their aunt’s house in Nishinomiya. The unsympathetic aunt plays a kind of subtle wicked stepmother who resents the added burden of the extra kids in a time of shortages of war. Seita picks up on this, and has the idea of moving he and his sister to a nearby shelter in the woods. At first, this is a kind of an adventure which gives the children freedom to explore  life in kind of Tom Sawyer way. They have time to establish themselves, experience nature and reminisce about the better times of their life. They find  a nearby field full of  fireflies that they capture to fill their shelter with their light. The next day, as Setsuko is burying the dead fireflies, Seita finds out that the aunt has told Setsuko that their mother is dead (something Seita desperately wanted to spare Setsuko.) Eventually, conditions decay. Despite Seita’s best efforts, Setsuko is wasting away from malnutrition and soon she dies.

Despite this rather morose setup, “Grave of the Fireflies” is, surprisingly, a film about the beauty of those simple moments of life that we all take for granted: playing on the beach, the sour taste of  pickled plum, chasing butterflies, the playfulness of our children, the sweet taste of fruit drops, the memories that fill our life…and if you’ve ever spent a night in a field of fireflies you understand the magic of nature. All this, and more, is packed into “Grave of the Fireflies” while not ignoring the sadness inherent in life.

“Grave of the Fireflies” is not quite a perfect film. Viewers will find at least one major logic flaw that momentarily  detracts from the story line, but what the film lacks in logic, it makes up for in heart. One comment that I have read over and over is that “Grave of the Fireflies” is one of those films that sits with the viewer for some time after. It is based on the novel by Akiyuki Nosaka who, during the war, lost his younger sister to malnutrition in a similar way that Seita loses Setsuko. The novel was Nosaka’s way to come to terms with this.

I’ve always considered that fireflies were (at least partial)  inspiration to the plethora of Edwardian faery stories. Certainly, any creature that manufactures its own light to shine as a beacon, as it flies through the night air, is envocative of many things to the human imagination: magical spirits, ghosts, the soul, etc. As she is burying the fireflies, Setsuko asks Seita “Why do all the fireflies die so soon?” A very human question indeed…but, of course, we are all fireflies.

March 08, 2011: Kurosawa’s “Seven Samurai”

When I found my library stocked Akira Kurosawa’s “Seven Samurai” I was psyched! When I found that this Criterion Collection had 3 DVDs stocked with extras including a tag-team of different commentators, and several documentaries about Kurosawa, I was even more excited! Imagine having everything I could possibly want to know about one of the greatest films, by one of the world’s greatest directors (“SS” was one of Kurosawa’s personal favorites.) Before you see “SS,” try to get the Criterion version which has the full 3+1/2 hours of Kurosawa’s vision. I know, 3+1/2 hours of a foreign film seems like a lot, but honestly, when it was over, I could have easily watched more. Most of the reason it has to be this long is “SS” has many good characters (in addition to the main seven samurai, there are many villagers) who play important roles and are worth every bit of Kurosawa’s rich exploration and development.

“Seven Samurai (1954)” is considered by many to be the greatest Japanese film ever made. It revolutionized Kurosawa’s career and allowed him to make the “Jidai Geki” or “Period-style Film” truly his own. “SS” went on to inspire many films, (the first being its American remake “The Magnificent Seven” 1960.)

The story takes place in 1467, feudal Japan, during a time of civil war. “Ronin” or masterless samurai, threaten to sack a village of farmers as soon as the harvest is in. The farmers, incapable of defending themselves, attempt to bribe other starving “ronin” with their meager supplies of food too help defend their village, when the time comes to do so. The villagers are impressed with the heroic actions of Kanbê (played by Takashi Shimura) a samurai who rescues a woman and her child from a kidnapper, by posing as a Buddhist monk. Kanbê proves to be everything right with the code of Bushido (warrior code of ethics of a samurai) he lives by. He is wise, strong, even-tempered, kind, patient, funny, a brilliant strategist, and a perfect leader. He puts other ronin through trials to test their spirit and ability and soon comes up with a team of seven to help the villagers. Each of these has a distinct personality and ability that adds to the group. These skills will all come into play as the bandits raiding the village outnumber the samurai about 6:1!

This film has been criticized as being anti-democratic, but I think that falls a little flat considering the time period Kurosawa made this. Certainly, a anti-democratic film would do nothing for Japan, at this time, and would have been a flop in foreign markets, if this were true. I think “Seven Samurai” is a film about people at their best: individuals who come together with stoicism under hard times. The seven become a group to protect the defenseless with strength, honor and integrity. The film actually shows the flaws of a feudal caste system and the ultimate downfall of the samurai because of them.

A suggestion: watch it through and then watch it again with the commentary, which is full of insights of Japanese culture and history and tons of film facts! While doing research for this article, I found another remake is in production this year, set in modern day Thailand. No, PLEASE! Not necessary! I guess Hollywood is running outta good stories!

…and if the term “Jidai Geki” seems a little familiar to you, so did it to me, as well. A little checking on the “Star Wars” fanboy sites confirmed that this is where Lucas came up with the term: “Jedi!”

December 27, 2010: Snow Viewing Lantern

Here’s a view of a corner of my Japanese garden. With today’s blizzard, it’s easy to see why they call this kind of lantern “yukimo-doro” or “snow-viewing” lantern. It’s squat shape with its broad roof make the viewing of snow spectacular (and I enjoyed it as much as I could stand with today’s cold and wind.)

It also looks great in the summertime at night with an oil lamp inside and the waterfall running in the small pool at its base.

October 17, 2010: Kobayashi’s “Hara Kiri”

Although, Masaki Kobayashi’s “Hara Kiri” is a dramatic and telling film, let’s get two problems with it out of the way: the first is the title. I recognize that “Hara Kiri” (literally “slit-belley”) was probably a more known term, by Westerners, as the name for the Japanese ceremony of “seppuku” or ritual self-disembowelment of a samurai warrior for some disgrace or failure. “Hara kiri” is the more rude form of the word and although Westerners may not be able to understand the reasoning of such an act, you can’t deny the strength and fortitude of someone committed to such an act, so let’s give it the respect of at least the proper name. Also, in my ongoing struggle with the translators, I don’t know what the characters are actually saying, but I’m pretty sure that terms like “lily-livered” and “upsy-daisy” were not spoken in 17thC. feudal Japan (in fact…I don’t think they are so common phrases today in Western vernacular)!

So, vernacular aside, “Hara Kiri” is a good film about the struggle of individual man against the power of the state. In this sense, “Hara Kiri” is a kind of anti-samurai movie, showing how a totalitarian state disregards the struggles of individuals under its government. When you see the empty samurai uniform on display in the governor’s mansion, it represents everything the state can be at its worst: big, scary, threatening…but totally empty and devoid of any feeling or soul.

The film starts with a “ronin” (masterless samurai) by the name of Hanshiro Tsugumo visiting the household of Lord Seito, who is the leader of the ruling Iyi family. As a ronin, Hanshiro is down on his luck and asks to perform seppuku in the courtyard of the household, due to the shame of his position. Lord Seito is counseled by his retainers that this is a gambit by Hanshiro to either gain a position in the government, or else be given a handout and suggests that he be allowed to continue with his self-execution or else word will spread and other ronin will be drawn as “ants to a mound of sugar.”

To scare Hanshiro off, Lord Seito tells a story of an earlier visit by another ronin, by the name of Motome who tried the very same gambit, and whose bluff was called with the most dire consequences. It turns out that Motome had pawned his swords and had replaced his swords with bamboo ones. As  a samurai’s sword is his “soul” in this culture, Motome reeks disdain from the Iyi family and is ordered to proceed seppuku with a blade that “couldn’t cut tofu!”

Hanshiro is not put off by the story and is committed to proceed, with the only request that he only be able to tell a story. In that story, Hanshiro reveals his own agenda, and his history with the  ronin, Motome.

One caution with this film: Motome’s self-execution, while very essential to the storyline…it is very hard to watch! There’s something about that scene that made me squirm more than any of the  ”Saw” or “Hostel” type films ever could!