Not "what", but "how" - this seems to be the crucial point

This line was included in an "introductory" text on a leaflet that was handed out prior to the performance of this piece by Miyazawa Akio. What is particularly interesting here is the fact that, somewhat in contrast to this, U-enchi Saisei Jigyodan’s "Total Living 1986-2011" is a stage play that seems to be placing much more importance on the question "what" is being told than all of Miyazawa’s previous works.

Like all of Miyazawa’s recent theatre works, this one is again characterized by a highly complex, multi-layered structure. However compared to the previous "Japanese Sleeping" and "Nyutaun iriguchi (Entrance to New Town) ", I think it is to some extent rather easy to understand. First and foremost, this is due to the reality that the year indications "1986" and "2011" in the title imply. Both years share two types of events - a pop idol’s autocide, and a nuclear accident. The "story" told in this play juxtaposes these two kinds of happenings and the respective two years. While this is of course a complicated affair, the points of the story are hammered out very clearly, which makes it possible for the viewer to continue watching the piece based on the understanding that it is about something that happened 25 years ago and something happening in the present. Even without understanding the tangled and definitely very Miyazawa-esque net of metaphors in its entirety (I surely didn't), one is at no point distracted from the main issue, namely what this piece is communicating, and what it is trying to get across.

"Total Living 1986-2011" / Photo: Nobuhiko Hikiji / Courtesy of Festival/Tokyo

I previously pointed out the commonalities between Miyazawa Akio, Aoyama Shinji and Abe Kazushige in terms of subjects and narration styles. All three of them are telling "fables" in a broad sense. Underneath the surface of the respective main story exist one or more other untold themes that are obviously hidden so to speak. The story is perfectly acceptable without them, and as the creator doesn't tell them openly, it’s just fine to leave them untouched. Nonetheless, one could say that this means that only those who manage to work their way through the layered veils of allegories and metaphors, and get to the very core of the subject, understand the creator’s true intention. Aoyama’s "Tokyo Kouen", for example, is a story about the Imperial Palace, so in other words the piece deals with the Japanese Imperial system. Abe’s "Pistols" is a general survey of the political paradox between America and Japan after the war, but superficially the narrative is different in either case. This style is similar to that of "Nyutaun iriguchi", which only toward end reveals its true nature as a piece about the Palestinian problem. Compared to Aoyama and Abe, however, Miyazawa quite clearly applies a more in-depth narration style. This is perhaps a generational issue (or perhaps it isn't). However in terms of somehow trying to tell a story around the untellable, based on the impossibility of dealing with issues that lie at the very center of a pieces but "refuse being discussed bluntly" as a premise, there is an obvious similarity in the approaches of all three. This is additionally underlined by the fact that there aren't many artists doing such things in Japan today.

Why is this kind of "narration style" required? "Well, 'those things' are covered up in the first place" would be one answer to this question. As we are talking about issues that are for some reason considered to be difficult or even impossible to tackle head-on or discuss publicly, simply laying them bare still doesn't mean that those issues are discussed or discussable. It’s about the impossibility of representation. Back to the case of "Total Living", here Miyazawa Akio appears to be narrating as undisguised and squarely as he never did before, and I would say that this is the point it all comes down to when evaluating this piece.

"Total Living 1986-2011" / Photo: Nobuhiko Hikiji / Courtesy of Festival/Tokyo

The performance of "Total Living" was preceded by two prelude events - a reading performance at the "harushiki" workshop on March 27, and a two-day reading performance on August 14/15. I attended both. Quite naturally there were several versions of the work in-progress leading up to the final performance. That impressive part of the "descriptors" that marks the piece’s climax, for example, was already in there since the "harushiki" version, while a certain other episode didn't appear before the final version. It was a scene near the end, in which Nagai Hideki in the role of a documentary filmmaker and Frederick Wiseman fan is - a bit suddenly - made aware of the fact that he is dead. Not that I asked Miyazawa directly, but to me it seems that he either dropped such parts intentionally at the workshop/reading stage, or still had doubts as to how it would work out in the final version. On "that day", the documentary filmmaker visited a small village in Fukushima as part of his work on a new film, and when the tsunami hit the coast, he was in the Shioyazaki Lighthouse at the northern tip of the prefecture. This crucial fact is finally revealed like the secret behind a magic trick shortly before the closing scene of the 150-minute play that is "Total Living". This, however, is done in a clear and direct manner.

When exchanging opinions with a handful of friends and acquaintances after the performance, this scene eventually turned out to be especially controversial. Some people took it as an element that may be making everything all too easy to understand. The inclusion of this episode added an element to this long and complex piece in which all others converged so to speak. Some will probably judge this favorably, others will say it makes the whole thing uninteresting. However on the other hand, let’s try and imagine how differently the piece would have come across without this episode, or if it was illustrated in a less straight manner. I guess even Miyazawa himself must have been considerably hesitant as to whether he should speak as unequivocally as this. I don't know how it really was, but from my own personal point of view, I think it was definitely a conclusion that Miyazawa struggled a long time to come to, and that was in fact the only solution in the first place. Nevertheless, it must have required a great deal of courage to push this through, and this is how Miyazawa chose to do it.

There is a difference between "being unable" and "being not allowed" to tell something. The latter is a matter of taboo and voluntary restraint (the "Imperial system" quite obviously being a representative example), while the former is about talking on end without ever getting to the point and really telling something. Matters related to "that day and the time when…", and what came "after that" belong to this category. That’s exactly why one can only deal with such topics in a straight and point-blank manner instead of mincing matters by pronouncing the difficulty of talking about it. I am well aware that this does of course still not mean one was able to discuss the topic, but there simply exists no other method for approaching "things one cannot talk about". I am calling this choice a matter of "courage". I can understand that this very point can inspire a perspective that makes people adopt a critical attitude toward the piece, however what’s important is that Miyazawa chose this way even though he could see this happen. This is a significant decision for a playwright, and it even is a bet of sorts. Whether or not Miyazawa Akio won his bet is not the question. The bottom line is how to deal with Miyazawa’s personal necessity that is indicated by the fact that he ultimately had no other choice but to let a "man who was killed by a tsunami" appear in his fiction even though there must have been other options.

"Total Living 1986-2011" / Photo: Nobuhiko Hikiji / Courtesy of Festival/Tokyo

Since that day, without really desiring to do so I have seen quite a few stage plays made "after that". In direct terms I would say that many of them made me feel dissatisfied and disappointed in various ways. That’s because those plays simply included too many elements that made the reality of "narration" seem subconsciously forced by a "society" and "others" that the creators arbitrarily set up in their own minds. Needless to say, that this happened and that no-one knows how long it will last doesn't mean that everyone has to talk about "the time after…". There is no obligation. To me the businesses of those who deliberately talk about it nonetheless seem full of guiltiness of sorts that forces them to connect art to the public, and overshadowed by the deception of mistaking responsibility for privilege. Suffice it to say that this applies to both visual and performing arts (which is undeniably related to the fact that there are countless examples in both genres that are barely kept up and running thanks to the backing of public subsidy and corporate support.) "Total Living" quite certainly is not totally free from this shadow. Nevertheless, I still do feel like using the term "courage" to describe this piece.

Not "how", but "what". This seems to be the crucial point. For Miyazawa Akio, there was one topic he was simply feeling compelled to discuss by any means. That’s why he told that story. In my view, this is what "Total Living 1986-2011" is all about.