Individuals in Seclusion

 

Playwright Kisaragi Koharu died unexpectedly at the end of last year at the age of forty-four. Mourning this untimely death, musician Takahashi Yuji gave a heartbreaking farewell speech and sang in trembling voice at her funeral. At the end of the funeral, Kisaragi’s husband, Kajiya Kazuyuki, a theatre producer, wailing in pain declared that he would seek a new theatre, promising his lost wife that he would continue to carry on with her last wish. These two eulogies moved all in attendance to tears. Both of them also quoted lines from 'Ie, Yo no Hateno…' (Home at the End of the World…), written by Kisaragi in 1980-81 at the age of twenty-four and five:

 

City- It is an unbreakable whole.
With its absolute will of expansion, it doesn't allow anybody to grasp.
Breathing, exhausted, and kicking down,
Everything is left behind, without interacting,
And shares flabby existence.
Individuals are in seclusion.
Outcast in the remote realm
Of infantile pleasures, only noise keeps floating around.
On such a night, what’s the good of being righteous?

 

Kisaragi Koharu, known for her works on cities, described her urban views in this short, precise masterpiece.

 

City - It’s an Unbreakable Whole

 

In the middle of eighties, I planned and edited a book entitled 'Toshi no Asobikata' (How to Play in the 'City'). Kisaragi wrote and Bruce Osborn took the photographs for it (published by Shincho Bunko and currently out of print.) Before being published as a book, the project began as a series in the Asahi Journal weekly magazine. We picked specific sites in Tokyo and tried to round out the issues of the time with them. Three of us walked all over Tokyo once a week.

 

Rereading this book recently, I rediscovered her exceptional insight into our time. There is reporting on a university that had moved its campus to a newly developed suburban area. She discussed urban sound- and land-scapes. There was an interview with Tsutsumi Seiji, the chairman of the Seibu Saison Group, who is said to have revolutionized modern department stores. Kisaragi made many predictions of the near-future which have become reality now, such as: 'It would be interesting if ethnic food were served at fast-food and family restaurants', and 'In the age of undifferentiated cultural information represented by 'Pia' magazine, it is necessary to gain the ability to instinctively select information and take the initiative in building networks'. 'The city we now live in is becoming a large playground for humans and machines'. Meant to capture the eighties, the book remains actual even today.

 

Kisaragi’s plays had some insights, as well. In 'Kojo Monogatari' (Factory Story), 'Hikari no Jidai' (Age of Light), and 'Moral', she repeatedly wrote on such themes as 'the conflict and co-existence of technology and people', 'the alienation of individuals in a highly controlled society', and 'ethics in a highly capitalized society'. These themes were quintessentially eighties, but they are so universal as to be 20th century themes as well. In the 21st century, those themes continue to be important, at least for awhile. In other words, in the first years of the new century, we still haven't progressed much from the eighties. There is no guarantee that we will resolve the shortcomings and problems of the last century.

 

Kisaragi’s direction was as technically cutting edge as her plays. Some productions were too ambitious and poorly executed, but they were definitely original and progressive. For both good and bad, her collaborations with Ito Takashi and Tosa Naoko (video), Kondo Tatsuo and Harada Takashi (music), and Kuroo Yoshiaki (lighting) were sophisticated without sappy 'emotion'. White was often used in stage sets and costumes, which highlighted their near-future sensibilities and signs.

 

Kisaragi’s theatre company Noise reminds me of the term 'white noise' that is used to describe the noise made up of all of the audible sounds around us. In an age where everything is moving toward nothingness, the theatrical world of Kisaragi, always resisting yet representing the spirit of the age, kept making white noise. The Noise (of her company’s name) is what she meant in the line of her poem 'noise keeps floating around', and she probably used it humourously to mock herself. At the same time, her pride in the name was in its diffused reflection of the zeitgeist.

 

Noise Keeps Floating Around

 

Before and after Kisaragi’s funeral I saw some new productions. There were some that had themes such as deformities, discrimination and indiscrimination. I found a strength in those works that brings you back to the basics of theatre, but most other works were rather trivial and self-contained. Kisaragi’s ironic yet precise worldview of 'individuals in seclusion' where 'everything is left behind without interacting' has not changed at all. Time hasn't progressed since the eighties.

 

I once heard Kisaragi say, 'I can't think of any theatre that is not committed to society'. This view of art is close to that of Joseph Beuys. I, however, rarely find this true among current artists, including filmmakers, musicians, and visual artists. While self-mocking enough to declare, 'What’s the good of being righteous?' Kisaragi kept searching for what was righteous in her art. Will artists in the 00s continue to be satisfied by 'floating around' in an age of 'infantile pleasure'?