mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 105 The Mask at the Premiere
Chapter 105 The Mask at the Premiere
Chapter 105 The Mask at the Premiere
At the Marunouchi Piccadilly Cinema in Yurakucho, the air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume, mixed with a restlessness that even the air conditioning at its highest setting couldn't suppress.
Tonight is the industry premiere of Juzo Itami's new film, "The Lies of the Grand Hotel".
The red carpet was very long, and the flashbulbs were still coming in thick and fast, but the people walking on it seemed to have heavier steps than in previous years.
The guests included not only sharp-tongued film critics and keen-nosed entertainment reporters, but also many "big shots" from Tokyo's high society.
Several well-known real estate developers, a senior director of a bank, and several famous madams in Ginza.
Six months ago, when this group of people got together, the topic was always which land prices had risen again, or which golf course had doubled its membership fees.
But today, the lounge was eerily quiet.
Everyone held champagne glasses and exchanged greetings in hushed tones.
"Have you heard? President Tanaka's company filed for bankruptcy protection yesterday."
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"That guy who does import/export trade? He just bought a yacht last month—"
"Shh, keep your voice down. Look over there, that's the deputy head of the credit department at Sumitomo Bank. He looks so grim; he probably has a lot of bad debts lately."
It was supposed to be a movie premiere, but the current situation is more like a rehearsal for a funeral that everyone knows is coming.
Juzo Itami, wearing his signature multi-pocket vest, stood in front of the poster with a knowing smile on his face.
He seemed to enjoy the low-key atmosphere, even feeling that it was tailor-made for his film.
Kitahara Shin stood beside the director.
He was wearing a pure black suit today, without a tie, and with the collar open, he looked very relaxed.
But whether it was just my imagination or not, the socialites and female reporters who usually screamed and pounced on him looked at him with a hint of fear today.
The "Sato" on the poster has such a perfect smile.
It's so precise that looking at it for too long can send chills down your spine and make you feel uneasy.
"We've entered."
The staff opened the doors to the screening room.
The lights gradually dimmed.
The screen lights up, a huge Toho logo flashes by, and then the scene cuts to the magnificent lobby of the Okura Hotel.
There was no rousing background music, only the crisp "tap-tap" sound of leather shoes on the marble floor.
The camera seemed to have a pair of cold eyes, silently scanning everyone in the lobby.
For the first ten minutes, a few soft laughs could occasionally be heard from the audience.
That's a conditioned reflex when I see some nouveau riche trying to show off in front of waiters and ending up making a fool of themselves.
But as they laughed, the sound in the theater disappeared.
A real estate developer sitting in the third row subconsciously loosened his tie. He looked at the character on the screen who was trying to maintain a respectable appearance...
The guest, who had secretly hidden the worn-out cuffs of his suit under the newspaper, broke out in a cold sweat.
so similar.
The man who was being harassed by the bank to the point of wanting to jump off a building, yet still had to pretend to be nonchalant in front of his lover, was practically acting out his current predicament.
Juzo Itami's cinematic language is as spicy as a bowl of ghost pepper ramen, splashed directly in the faces of this group of "high society people".
He peeled away that layer of glittering gold.
He showed the audience how those men and women dressed in designer clothes, clinking glasses in banquet halls, turned around and awkwardly counted the few remaining bills in their wallets in the restroom; and how those seemingly respectable politicians revealed their ugly and greedy faces in their suites.
All of this was seen by a pair of eyes.
Shin Kitahara plays Sato, the concierge, standing in the corner of the screen, in the shadow of a pillar, and next to the elevator buttons.
He had no lines.
He simply bowed slightly, a professional 15-degree smile on his face.
It's like a meticulously sculpted wax figure.
"That look in his eyes—"
The renowned film critic, Tadao Sato, pushed up his glasses and made a heavy mark on his notebook with his pen.
He saw Kitahara Shin on the screen, who, when faced with a wealthy woman throwing a tantrum because she couldn't afford the room bill, still maintained that perfect smile and even thoughtfully handed her a hot towel.
But there was nothing in those eyes hidden behind the non-prescription glasses.
There was no emotion in his eyes, neither sad nor happy, as if he were looking at an inanimate object.
This "inhuman feeling" made the audience sitting below the stage feel a kind of physical discomfort.
They suddenly realized that when they were bossing others around in the hotel, did the staff look at them with the same kind of amusement?
The plot progresses.
The bankrupt company president, played by Rentaro Mikuni, made his final farewell in the lobby.
When the sound of the coin hitting the silver plate echoed throughout the theater, the champagne glass in the hand of the bank director in the audience almost slipped from his hand.
That's so true.
It's so real it makes you want to escape.
But that's not the most fatal thing.
As the film neared its end, a three-minute-long, unedited take appeared.
Concierge Sato was asked to handle the body.
On the screen, Kitahara Shin took off his glasses.
Those eyes, which were originally devoid of emotion, revealed a human fear for the first time. The nauseating feeling was unbearable, and his conscience was screaming.
He started to tremble.
He began frantically adjusting his cuffs.
The subtle friction sounds, amplified by the Dolby surround sound, sounded like countless insects crawling on the audience's eardrums.
The theater was deathly silent.
Everyone held their breath, staring intently at the young man on the screen who was breaking down.
They saw their own reflection.
In this era of bursting bubbles, who isn't struggling on the verge of collapse? Who isn't simultaneously wanting to scream while having to bow their head for survival and deal with the mess?
then.
On the screen, Kitahara Shin stopped moving.
He took a deep breath and put his glasses back on.
He pushed up his glasses.
That spineless, fearless young man is dead.
What remains is merely the most perfect and efficient cog in a grand hotel, cold and lifeless, utterly devoid of all emotion.
He gave the empty corridor that standard smile.
"Hiss!"
In the audience, someone gasped.
That smile was a million times more terrifying than the corpse from before.
Because it symbolizes the complete alienation of humanity. In order to survive in this absurd society, one must kill off a part of their soul and become a monster that can only smile.
The image freezes on that smile.
The subtitles appeared.
The lights were on.
A full half minute passed, and still no one in the theater spoke or stood up.
Everyone looked like they had just experienced a long period of suffocation, their lungs were completely drained of air, and they didn't even have the strength to clap.
It wasn't until Juzo Itami and his creative team walked onto the stage that the seasoned film critic sitting in the front row seemed to wake up from a dream, and slapped his thigh hard.
"good!"
Immediately afterwards, applause erupted like a tsunami.
None of them were just putting on an act; the applause was genuinely loud, so loud it made people uneasy, and it had a venting quality to it.
Those usually high-ranking figures stared wide-eyed at Kitahara Shin on the stage, their hearts probably filled with mixed emotions, feeling particularly uncomfortable.
They were offended, ridiculed, and humiliated by being stripped naked.
But they had to admit, it was truly an incredibly awesome movie.
It accurately captured the pulse of the times, recording the absurd yet real scenes of life in the cabins of this giant ship called "Japanese Economy" when it collided with an iceberg.
In a corner of the premiere.
Takahashi, a senior writer for Kinema Junpo, was hunched over his knees, quickly scribbling in his notebook under the lights as the movie ended.
His pen tip almost tore through the paper.
-
This is a masterpiece that evokes deep pain. Juzo Itami remains the same madman wielding a scalpel; this time, he's not dissecting the yakuza or the tax bureau, but rather each and every one of us pitiful victims caught in the bubble economy.
He paused here, looked up at Kitahara Shin on the stage who was smiling and being interviewed.
[And Kitahara Shin—this young actor—was crowned tonight. He is no longer just an idol who only acts in sentimental dramas; he has become an "observer" of this absurd era. That gesture of wiping his glasses, that final smile, are enough to be written into the film history of the Heisei era.]
Takahashi wrote with great enthusiasm, but when he closed the notebook, he let out a long sigh.
He turned to look at the solemn-faced audience around him.
Although everyone was clapping, their expressions didn't show much joy after watching the film. Instead, they all looked like they had just returned from a funeral, with their brows furrowed.
"What a pity—"
Takahashi muttered to himself.
This movie is so well made, so ahead of its time, and so cruel.
In a time when everyone desperately needs some comfort and some anesthetic to escape reality, who would be willing to spend money to go to the cinema to watch a film that so thoroughly dissects their current miserable situation?
Life is hard enough for everyone; no one wants to spend another 1800 yen to buy something even heavier and more oppressive.
"It's destined to be critically acclaimed but commercially unsuccessful."
Takahashi shook his head and put the pen back in his pocket.
In this oppressive social atmosphere, such profoundly realistic themes are like a cup of bitter coffee without sugar.
Those with discerning taste will marvel at its rich aroma.
But most people would find it too bitter to swallow.
Looking at Kitahara Shin, who remained composed on the stage, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
This child's acting skills are indeed superb, but this time the box office will probably be cold in this cold winter.
Even after the event ended, the oppressive atmosphere lingered.
While the reporters were surrounding Itami Juzo, Kitahara Shin slipped away to the side passage backstage to get some fresh air.
He loosened his tie and just as he took out his lighter, he saw a tall figure standing in the shadows.
It's Nanako Matsushima.
The girl wasn't dressed up much today, wearing casual clothes, and was still tightly clutching the notebook that had been flipped through a few times and was now a bit frayed.
Her face was a little pale; she looked quite frightened by the movie.
"senior----"
When she saw Kitahara Shin come out, she called out softly, her voice a little weak.
"What's wrong? Were you scared?" Kitahara Shin put away his cigarette and asked her with a smile.
"Hmm—a little."
Nanako nodded honestly, and subconsciously touched her arm, as if the goosebumps there hadn't subsided. "Especially that last gesture of wiping her glasses—senpai, what was Sato thinking at that moment?"
She opened her notebook, pen nib hovering over the paper, her expression a mixture of eager curiosity and lingering apprehension: "When I was watching from the audience, it didn't seem like they were wiping their glasses at all. It felt more like they were wiping away something dirty, even though their glasses were perfectly clean."
Kitahara Shin leaned against the wall and thought for a moment.
"What was he thinking? Actually, he wasn't thinking anything."
"?" Nanako was stunned.
"When a person is in extreme fear or on the verge of collapse, their brain shuts down."
Kitahara Shin reached out and made a slow, mechanical motion, pushing up his glasses. "At that moment," he said, "human logic had already broken down. To avoid going insane, the body takes over the brain, forcing itself to perform the most familiar, most professional actions to regain a sense of security."
"For him, wiping his glasses and straightening his cuffs were his safe haven." As long as his glasses were clean and his uniform was on, he wasn't the accomplice in disposing of the body; he remained the perfect concierge.
"So, that smile wasn't a smile."
Kitahara Shin pointed to the corner of his mouth. "That's a locked door. Once the door is closed, the person inside is dead, and all that's left is a working machine."
Nanako listened, completely bewildered.
She looked at the smiling senior before her, but her mind was filled with the image of that cold, monstrous figure on the big screen. "Turning living people into machines—"
She muttered to herself, her pen flying across the paper in the dim light of the emergency light at the entrance of the passageway: "When emotions become uncontrollable, use professional instincts to override humanity."
After finishing writing, she closed the notebook, let out a long breath, and looked at Kitahara Shin with eyes full of admiration, but also something else.
"Senior, although it's a bit impolite to say that—"
She patted her chest. "But after watching this movie, I'm probably going to have nightmares tonight. The look in your eyes just now—it really—had absolutely no humanity in it."
"That's a good thing."
Kitahara Shin smiled, this time a genuine smile, with a touch of warmth, "It proves that my internship at the hotel wasn't in vain."
He glanced at his watch.
"Alright, go home early. Don't overthink it. Acting is acting, and life is life. Don't let a character in a movie affect you. Besides, this kind of acting is too early for you."
"Yes! I understand, thank you for your hard work, senior!"
Nanako bowed deeply to Kitahara Shinji, then ran off with her precious notebook in her arms.
Watching her energetic figure from behind, Kitahara Shin chuckled and shook his head.
In this bubble-like era where everyone is like a walking corpse, seeing this silly little girl, Kitahara Shinnobu, still striving and getting angry over learning opera, still makes him feel quite gratified.