Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 41 The Ferocious Man

In an old office building in Akasaka, the air was so murky it looked like you could wring out tar.

This is the temporary office of "Office Kitano".

The corridor was filled with funny props from variety shows, mascot costumes, and leftover lunch boxes from who-knows-who.

Several uneven schedules were pasted on the wall, densely covered with the schedule of the "Emperor of Japanese Comedy".

When Kitahara Shin pushed open the half-closed door, the room was filled with a strong smell of Seven Stars cigarettes.

There was no formal audition table as I had imagined, nor rows of judges sitting there.

In the center of the room was a dilapidated mahjong table, and a middle-aged man wearing a loose sweater and with messy hair was facing away from the door, fiddling with something.

Hearing the door open, the man turned around.

That was a face that was incredibly familiar to audiences all over Japan.

But at this moment, his face didn't have the silly grin that appears on TV shows; instead, it was filled with an unsettling indifference.

His right cheek would occasionally twitch uncontrollably, a lingering effect of a motorcycle accident a few years ago, which unexpectedly added a touch of neurotic danger to the dimly lit room.

Takeshi Kitano.

Or rather, Peter Takeshi.

"You're here?"

Takeshi Kitano, with a cigarette between his fingers, looked Shin Kitahara up and down.

His gaze was direct, so direct it was offensive, as if he were looking at a commodity waiting to be sold, or a corpse just pulled out of a freezer.

"Mr. Kitano." Kitahara Shin nodded slightly, without any further formalities.

He dressed casually today, as requested over the phone.

He wore a dark blue jacket over a white shirt and no tie, looking like any ordinary office worker, or... one of those plainclothes police officers who collects protection money after work.

"I've seen the stuff that old man Fukasaku filmed."

Takeshi Kitano exhaled a smoke ring, his voice muffled and with a unique rhythmic pause, "You acted well in it, ruthless and crazy enough, but that's Fukasaku's style. It's too noisy, yelling and rolling around on the ground. That's just for the audience to see."

He casually grabbed a lighter from the table and tossed it in his hand.

"The movie I want to make doesn't need 'acting.' What I want is that feeling... walking down the street, and suddenly 'bang,' the person is gone. Do you understand?"

Kitahara Shin looked at him, his eyes flickering slightly.

He knew what Takeshi Kitano was talking about.

That was the violent aesthetic that later became known as "Kitano Blue"—sudden, decisive, and without warning, accompanied by a deathly sense of emptiness.

"clear."

Kitahara Shin did not explain, but simply answered calmly.

He concealed all his sharpness, and the evil aura belonging to "Mad Dog Sawada" vanished instantly.

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name 1110 ...

Standing there now, it looked as if it were just an expressionless sculpture.

Takeshi Kitano narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a few seconds.

Suddenly, without any warning.

Takeshi Kitano suddenly grabbed the ashtray from the table and smashed it towards Shin Kitahara's face!

The movements were extremely fast, accompanied by a realistic sound of wind breaking through the air.

If it were an ordinary person, they would definitely scream and run away at this moment.

If it were "Sawada", he might catch it with a sinister grin or retaliate.

But Kitahara Shin only tilted his head slightly.

The movement was so slight that the ashtray just grazed past his ear and slammed into the door behind him with a loud thud.

From beginning to end, his feet did not move an inch, and he did not even blink.

His expression remained as calm as still water, as if what had just flown past was not a heavy glass vessel, but a fly.

The room fell into dead silence.

A few seconds later, Takeshi Kitano suddenly laughed.

That famous, half-face twitching wicked grin appeared on his face.

"That's interesting."

He lit another cigarette, pointed to the chair next to him, and said, "Sit."

This is an audition.

There were no lines, no script.

What he wanted to test was this "insensitivity to violence".

"The character's name is Kikuchi."

Takeshi Kitano tossed a thin script to Shin Kitahara. "He's the partner of the detective I play. This character doesn't talk much, probably only ten lines in the whole movie. He seems like a good boy, follows the rules, and wears a suit, but when necessary..."

Takeshi Kitano made a throat-slitting gesture.

"He's darker than anyone else. The underworld in Fukasaku is 'hot,' but I want the policeman you play to be 'cold,' the kind of 'cold' that treats breaking a suspect's finger like breaking a chopstick."

This is a completely new challenge.

If "Yakuza Blood" is about "letting go," then "Violent Man" is about the ultimate "restraint."

"Go experience life at the Metropolitan Police Department this week." Takeshi Kitano waved his hand. "Don't go to learn how to salute, go see how those old detectives smoke and how they handle dead bodies."

……

three days later.

The smoking room of the First Investigation Division of Shinjuku Police Station.

Kitahara Shin sat among a group of real front-line criminal police officers.

It wasn't as glamorous as in the movies; there were only cigarette butts scattered everywhere, yellowed walls, and a pervasive sense of fatigue and anxiety in the air.

He didn't speak, but simply observed silently.

Observe how they light cigarettes with trembling hands, observe how they discuss the corpses they just saw in the most indifferent tone, observe the eyes that have gradually become numb from being immersed in sin for a long time.

"Hey, you actor guy."

A retired detective approached him and handed him a cup of instant coffee. The detective's suit collar was worn out, and his fingers were covered in indelible yellow stains from smoking.

"I heard you're going to act in one of Kitano's movies? As a riot police officer?"

"Yes." Kitahara Shin took the coffee.

"Ha, movies these days portray us as too divine."

The old detective chuckled self-deprecatingly, pulled an old black notebook from his pocket, and tossed it onto the table. "Actually, there are no heroes of justice. Those of us in this line of work are rolling around in the garbage every day. After a while, we start to smell like garbage. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I can't tell if I'm a cop or a thug."

Kitahara Shin's gaze fell on the notebook.

It was a standard police notebook, its cover worn and frayed, the corners curled up, and stained with some unidentified brown dirt. It lay there quietly, exuding an old and oppressive aura.

The moment his fingers touched the notebook, the familiar blue light screen flickered on his retina.

[Special Item Found: A Retired Detective's Worn-Out Journal (Blue, Fine Condition)]

[Item Description: A notebook recording thirty years of crime and helplessness, filled with contact information for informants, the names of the deceased, and the gradually crumbling faith of this veteran detective.]

Equipment Effect:

1. Insight +20% (You can more keenly detect lies and murderous intent).

2. Temperament Assimilation: After wearing it, your temperament will become murky and dangerous, making it easier to gain the trust/fear of criminals or marginalized figures.

3. Passive Skill "Crossing Boundaries": When playing the role of a law enforcement officer, your understanding of the "boundary between justice and evil" will deepen significantly, adding an unsettling "unpredictability" to your acting.

turbid.

Unpredictable.

Kitahara Shin picked up the notebook, his fingertips tracing the rough cover.

At that moment, he seemed to hear the wailing of police sirens on countless rainy nights and see countless pairs of desperate eyes in the interrogation room.

He forcefully suppressed that overt murderous intent, transforming it into a dull, stale feeling.

Deep, oppressive, and suffocating.

"Thanks, senior."

Kitahara Shin raised his head, his eyes changing.

The actor's refined demeanor has completely vanished.

He stood there, without even needing makeup, his slick, oily aura, born from the smell of paperwork and cigarettes, blending seamlessly with the veteran detectives around him.

The veteran detective paused for a moment, then smiled wryly: "That's a really convincing performance...it's just like my deceased partner."

Kitahara Shin tucked the notebook into his pocket and walked out of the police station.

Outside, the bustling streets of Shinjuku are still surging with the tide of the bubble economy.

But he knew that on the screen, he was about to tear open the ugliest and most real wound of this glamorous era.

"Kikuchi..."

He muttered the name of his new character to himself and pushed up glasses that weren't actually on his nose.

"Work has started."