AltJapan

Outside Looking In

Earlier today, I sat down for an interview with a writer for CanCam magazine. The interview wasn't about me per se. It was about "why foreigners like Mount Takao so much." Coming on the heels of a similar request from a radio show, I had to ask: why Takao? And why now? It isn't like the mountain popped out of Hachioji last Wednesday or something.

It turns out the culprit, so to speak, is none other than the Michelin Guide, which (as was explained to me) "pretty much came out of nowhere, and took us Japanese by total surprise." In addition to the usual restaurant rankings, the guide includes local attractions, and Mount Takao received (drum roll, please) a coveted three star rating. The unexpected press led to an apparent re-evaluation of the otherwise homely peak, resulting in record-breaking numbers of visitors last year.

The episode got me thinking. This isn't exactly the first time a decidedly domestic attraction languished in obscurity until it was recognized abroad. In the late 19th century, woodblock prints by some of Japan's master artists were crumpled and used as packing material until they were discovered as unexpected 'extras' by European artists. Director Akira Kurosawa, now hailed as a genius in Japan, had a hell of a time financing his later works, famously turning to George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola for help getting Kagemusha off the ground. One could call the whole "Japan Cool" phenomenon another example; when I first visited Japan in the late Eighties, openly proclaiming any sort of serious interest in manga or anime or video games was tantamount to admitting you were an outcast from society. It's only recently that the powers that be in Japan have re-evaluated them as a hot commodity, and that is largely due to the waves of vocal foreigners inspired by these artforms. And now we have good old Mount Takao, which has been home to yamabushi, Tengu, and soba noodles for longer than anyone can remember, suddenly thrust into the spotlight thanks to a French guidebook. Call it the Next Big Thing effect.

I asked Hiroko why she thought this sort of cycle occurred again and again in Japan. At first she said she didn't really know. When I asked her to guess, she conjectured that it may have something to do with a cultural ideal centered on viewing even one's strengths with modesty rather than outright pride, and that this in turn -- perhaps -- could lead to a tendency to play down rather than up local strengths. Whatever the case, I am sure about one thing: I suspect we haven't seen Japan's last Next Big Thing.

Mamushi

First, leeches. Now poisonous snakes. Who knew a visit to Tochigi prefecture could be so thrilling? It turns out another new pal Hiroko and I made at Dragon King Gorge last weekend was a mamushi -- a Japanese pit viper. Although they tend to inject less venom, it is by weight far more powerful than that of the infamous Okinawan Habu viper. To run into stuff like this, it helps if you're crashing around through the underbrush like a loon, looking for salamanders, instead of sticking to the trail like a normal human being.

A relatively small guy, about a foot and a half long, this mamushi was gliding across the surface of a marsh when we spotted him. Unlike more commonly encountered garter and rat snakes, he showed absolutely no fear of us. In fact, he held his ground, raised his neck, and watched as we approached. In snake-ese, that means "go ahead: make my day."

After a brief tête-à-tête we politely decided to go our separate ways. 

The Horror of Dragon King Gorge

You know you're in for a good hike when the trailhead features a sign like this. "Do not feed the monkeys. If you feed monkeys, they will attack." While many would be discouraged by this sort of thing, the potential for encountering borderline dangerous animals in the wild is the sort of thing that really gets my blood pumping. For better or worse we didn't encounter any homicidal simians, but I did get the blood pumping I was looking for. Literally.

On the way back from a family trip to a Tochigi prefecture onsen with Hiroko's family, we stopped by Ryuoh-kyo, literally "Dragon King Gorge," through which the Kinugawa river flows. There is a several-kilometer loop trail through the wetlands atop the cliffs of the gorge, a refuge for all sorts of animals and a great way to see the numerous falls that cascade down the canyon walls.

Anyway, it wasn't until we got back to the car that my brother in law pointed out two black "hitchhikers" on my left inner ankle. Lo and behold, they were a pair of yama-biru -- mountain leeches -- now swollen with blood from being clamped onto my skin for who knows how long. I hadn't felt a thing. More curious than afraid, I asked Hiroko to snap a photo. "Are you out of your mind?" she shouted over her shoulder as she jogged over to a nearby souvenir stand to ask for some local advice. "We need to get those things taken off right now!"

The expedient turned out to be a kleenex, which the proprietor used to rip the little bastards off my skin with nary a warning. That didn't hurt, either. (It also turns out to be the wrong way to get them off: you're supposed to flick at the ends to dislodge them. Ah, well.) Whatever the case, the blood, from puncture wounds that looked smaller than pinpricks, simply wouldn't stop flowing. Normally blood from a small cut coagulates in, what, two or three minutes? These leech bites took two and a half hours to stop. The first band-aids I applied to the wounds actually slid off, soaked with blood thinned to the consistency of water, an amazing testament to the creatures' ability to defeat human clotting factors. 

And who can forget the creeping horror as you belatedly realize that since you never felt the first two attach, Christ only knows how many more are attached to other parts of your body? Nervous giggles quickly turned to adrenaline-fueled shucking of clothes in a toilet stall as I began studying my nether regions, ala "Stand By Me." Fortunately I didn't find any other new pals. Oh, those amazing leeches! 

Tea-Time in "The Hole"

Manga fans: the first installment of Q Hayashida's sprawling post-apocalyptic slashfest "Dorohedoro" is up on the Viz Signature Ikki Comics website. Translated by yours truly and the one and only Hiroko Yoda, it's available for free reading online for anyone in North America. This is hands-down one of the most enjoyable manga we've ever been asked to translate -- low on the "moe," high on the "ultra-violence." Oh, yeah, and lizard. Lots and lots of lizard. 

Stay tuned for the second installment next month!

King of Kaiju

Found in a random web search: a scan from a vintage magazine featuring a giant monster of (as Mr. Han from Enter the Dragon would put it) "truly epic proportions." Godzilla (with Ultraman's eyes!), King Ghidora, Rodan, Daimajin, Baltan, Red King... A true "remix" of demented (and probably copyright-infringing) genius. Can you name all the parts?

Rainbow Over Mitaka

The Demons' Night Out

The Haykki Yagyo (百鬼夜行), literally "the night parade of a hundred demons," is one of the most famous tales in Japanese folklore. It first appeared in a Buddhist text in the 13th century, but its roots undoubtedly extend even further back. It is the story of a nightmarish evening during which legions of yokai, oni, and other fearsome creatures erupted from their usual hiding places to openly terrorize the world of the living. According to one version, they paraded down Kyoto's Ichijo-dori avenue in the late 1100s. Above, a trio of oddballs takes on a shmoo-like creature... Or is it an ambulatory potato? We'll never know for sure.

Now, for the first time in many years, the National Museum of Japanese History has successfully collected all of the surviving picture-scrolls depicting this night of terror into one gallery. They are hundreds of years old and represent cultural treasures. Gathered from temples, museums, and universities all over Japan, this is a rare opportunity to see all of the Hyakki Yagyo scrolls together in one place. 

The Hyakki Yagyo inspired countless generations of Japanese artists, including Toriyama Sekien, who penned an influential series of yokai guides in the 1770s; woodblock artists of the 1800s; and manga masters such as Mizuki Shigeru in the 20th century. The scrolls will be on public display from July 18th through August 30th, alongside a big LCD touchpanel allowing you to scroll through digital copies with your fingertips. Located in Chiba, it's a bit off the beaten path for Tokyo residents and visitors, but well worth the trip. We had to go all the way to Kyoto to see just one of these scrolls during the making of Yokai Attack. Trust me, you won't get another chance to see them all together like this anytime soon.

Thoughts From Gundam's Crotch

Spent most of yesterday filming the official public unveiling of the life-sized 18 meter Gundam on display in Odaiba for an American TV show. It's been visible for a while, but now the construction fences have been removed, allowing visitors to walk directly underneath. It also marked the first public performance of its "gimmicks" -- turning its head and releasing jets of steam from its vents, while the Gundam theme song blares from speakers strategically placed throughout the park.

The first thing that struck me was how cramped the cockpit would have to be. ("I mean, the 'core fighter' would be, like, smaller than a kei car," remarked the somewhat crestfallen cameraman, a Gundam fan himself, as we gazed at the behemoth over lunch.)

The second was how this particular Gundam represents more than yet another Gundam. Its existence is a totem of the sheer impact the otaku have had on mainstream Japanese society. Marveling that it is officially linked (however tenuously) to the city's Olympic bid, and surrounded by a totally "normal" crowd -- largely comprised of families out for a picnic, with only one or two cosplay stragglers  among literally thousands of otherwise average citizens of all ages -- I couldn't help but remember subculture critic Shin-Ichi Karasawa's comment that “these days, if you define ‘otaku’ as ’someone who watches anime,’ you’re describing half of the people on the planet.” He's right. We're all otaku now.

Discs of PR0N

This metal bin, which stands near my apartment, has always intrigued me. Placed in front of the local ward office, it is a receptacle for "magazines and other things that wouldn't be good for boys." In other words: a place to toss your porn rather than leaving it out on the curb for wandering schoolkids to stumble upon and "enrich" their learning experience.

I've often wondered what sorts of freaky things slumber within the sealed metal walls of this chamber. I've never seen anyone actually using it. The inherent uncertainty makes it a veritable Schrodinger's box of pornography. Whatever its actual contents, I like to think of it as a silent monument to the collective fantasies of this otherwise quiet suburban neighborhood.

"Reij" Against the Machine

Japanese news services are reporting at least one person who's happy to see the National Media Arts Center (a.k.a. the "Anime Hall of Fame" to its proponents and the "National Maid Cafe" to its detractors) become a reality: Reiji Matsumoto, creator who was instrumental in helping make classics like "Space Cruiser Yamato," "Galaxy Express 999," and "Dangard Ace."

"I think it's wonderful," he said at an Agency of Cultural Affairs hearing on the topic held today. "I would like to see it assume the role of promoting the growth of future talent." He described the state of the industry as being in "imminent danger," explaining that "while Japan is known as a major power [in animation and comic books], foreign talent is catching up."

Director Shinji Higuchi, on the other hand, expressed a somewhat less optimistic opinion. "I truly believe the center is necessary. But it's become a tool of the ruling and opposition parties. The [current] plans need to be scrapped and started over." 

The Center is currently due to open in 2011, with a concrete plan for the facility due later this month.