So when does a film like Being John Malkovich get out-Malkoviched? When Takeshi Kitano makes one, that’s when.

A few words about Kitano San to begin. Many of you will remember that crazy old 80’s TV show Takeshi’s Castle, where contestants participated in a myriad of next-to-impossible obstacle courses with predictably hilarious, injurious, I’ve-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this, results. Well this is that very same Takeshi. The very same Takeshi who then went on to make a name for himself in the 90’s with hauntingly beautiful (and often very violent) Yakuza films, before finding relative international success in the 2000’s with the fascinating Zatoichi, a film about a blind samurai, a pair of revenge-seeking geishas, and tap-dancing. Obviously. And in between? Well, that very same Takeshi made a lot of weird ones too. And when I say weird, I mean crazy, messed up, only-in-Japan weird.

If you haven’t realised by now, I’m a big fan of “Beat” Kitano, a nickname he often likes to call himself. I love his charisma, his takes-no-shit attitude. His facial twitches and odd mannerisms. His involvement in the incredibly psychotic cult classic Battle Royale. I’ve even put up with a lot of the ridiculousness that happens in his movies, acknowledging it instead as a unique artistic vision with the defiance of an over-fervent stalker fan. But this time, with Takeshis’, you’ve gone too far, Takeshi. You have gone too far.

Don’t even try to understand what’s going on here.

Only someone like Takeshi Kitano can make this reviewer, in an attempt to explain the plot of this film with the utmost of his ability, sound like a complete and utter fool. Allow me to demonstrate:

Takeshis’ is a movie about the real life Takeshi, as a director, making a movie, and there are auditions for this movie. Fair enough, so far so good; if Kitano is making a mockumentary-type satire about himself, fine. I won’t even mention how this movie (the movie being watched, not the movie within the movie being watched) actually started with a scene in a WWII setting. Not relevant, not one bit. But it sure doesn’t help when one of the people auditioning for Takeshi’s movie is also played by Takeshi, and that this Takeshi, a character working in a convenience store, is practicing for the role of, seemingly, the real Takeshi in the movie within the movie. Oh shit. And then it turns out that every new scene is totally unrelated from the last, but still contains the same imagery and characters we’ve seen moments earlier in a different context. And some of these scenes are dreams. And that this dreaming Takeshi is now an altogether separate character who drives a pink taxi around, and who is not auditioning for a part but still meeting all the same people these other two Takeshis have already met. And in the end, the convenience store Takeshi kills the real life director Takeshi. And that last bit really isn’t a spoiler because (a) I have no idea as to what the significance of that scene even was, and (b) spoilers tend to ruin plot points and this movie, really, has no point.

See what I mean? I was really trying there, too.

If one were to plot the storyline of this movie as a diagram, it might well look like this picture below. In 3D. Which is also what your head will look like if you attempt to work out a coherent and logical explanation behind it all.

Kitano has said that he wanted audiences to come out of this film not knowing what to say or what to think, so in that respect he has definitely succeeded, albeit in some deranged and sick Yoko Ono unit of measurement (Y/Onos per minute?). Takeshis’ makes Being John Malkovich look like a predictable American sports film where the underdog team with the player who was always teased or came from a broken home scores the winning touchdown or basket or goal in the last second. Actually, I’d go as far as saying that Takeshis’ makes even the most surrealist nonsense you could conjure up in your mind (whilst on elicit drugs) seem as certain as the knowledge that a hammer against a window equals smashed glass. And it is for this very fact; the fact that I understood precisely none of it and am certain that I will never see anything like it ever again in my lifetime, that I give it 4 stars out of 5. And as for you, Takeshi, I still reckon you’re awesome, but I think it’s also time we had a break as I go off to watch something I can comfortably understand.

4/5

The following is a guide for beginners going to Kyoto based on the recent experiences of two young guys from Australia visiting for the first time.  It is, by some distance, not to be taken as a ‘definitive guide’ of any description, but merely serves as a kindred sharing of our adventures and therefore cannot be classified as ‘recommended’, as it were. We did do quite a bit though, so here is an overview of our tales as well as some advice and tips we picked up along the way.

…

Train Station

It’s a bit easy to get lost when exiting your train and making it out into the main lobby of Kyoto Station. One piece of advice about Japan: do not trust the signs; those arrows just lead you to precisely the opposite of where you’re supposed to go. In fact, if you simply ask around chances are you’ll be sorted as, contrary to the popular perception of Japanese people being able to only speak Japanese, we found that many of them do know English – or at least enough to understand English plus rudimentary sign language. It is perhaps a confidence thing; many of them, particularly the younger generation, have studied English at school, and given the adoption of English words into Japanese equivalents as well as the crazy mistranslated usage of it in marketing over there it would be almost impossible for them to be completely ignorant to the language.

The station itself, architecturally, is an insane mesh of cross-hatched steel; the lights of the sky beaming through tiny little gaps in the ceiling about a hundred metres above ground. Lined with department stores and packed with businesspeople and ladies in traditional dress, Kyoto Station is a fair summary of the city itself (and maybe even Japan as a whole): traditions from the past and technology from the future, colliding together in stark contrast. Suited businessmen, schoolgirls on excursion, ladies in traditional dress. All the essentials of Japan are there, as well as, of course, the obvious tourists complete with cameras hanging around their necks.

Speaking of technology, upon leaving one of the main exits … there he was! Astro Boy! Sitting (or rather, flying) above a sign board, body horizontal and zooming away with his trademark rocket boots. Strangely, though, it was the only sighting of the character from our entire trip to Japan. Ridiculous, eh? Or, maybe the Japanese are just over it? Darn those silly Gaijin foreigners, that was so 1980’s.

Accomodation

With plenty of Ryokans lining the small backstreets a short walk away from the station, I totally recommend giving them a go. However as far as finding the place goes, a cab might be the best option as we boys spent an inordinate amount of time asking for directions and getting lost with our heavy luggage given the inadequate nondescript print-out map obtained from the internet which rather neglected to outline the myriad of little alleyways that made up the entire residential area as we, time and time again, began losing hope that we would ever find it. What took literally an hour to find at night was only a 10 minute walk during the day from Kyoto Station and, again, never trust the signs or maps in Japan. With no disrespect, they might operate at a mind-bogglingly efficient rate with pretty much everything else, however directions are by far Nihon’s achilles heel.

Anyway. Once located, we stayed at the Kikokuso Ryokan, run like clockwork by an overly-friendly lady and her husband (it was very clear who wore the pants in that relationship) and immediately upon entering, sweat glistening off our foreheads, we were met with a hundred “Dozos” and “Thank yous” and “Arigatos,” hardly getting the chance to even get a word in let alone confirming our reservation. Handy general Ryokan information on etiquette can be found here and remember…remember! Always change your slippers when you’re meant to. Bedroom slippers for inside, outdoor slippers for outside. Oh dear, the look of horror on one of the lady’s faces when she saw that I had worn my outdoor footwear into our room…

Staying at a Ryokan can be pricey, but the presentation and service you will receive will be far beyond what you have ever experienced, even by Japan standards. It should be noted that this particular place, I’m not sure about the others, has an 11pm curfew. Our way of combatting this was to, given that we could apparently request anything we wanted without additional surcharge to the final bill, order as many Asahi longnecks as we could each night, although I didn’t quite go as far as asking for free packs of cigarettes as some of the other guests seemed to be doing; I’d feel a bit guilty about that as, after all, when do you stop? Can you request 100 packs and not feel bad? However in saying that hindsight is not a friend of mine as I am left with pangs of regret in not, at the very least, pushing my luck. Overall the experience is definitely worth it if only just to experience the awkwardness of having to strip down next to your mate and ignoring your peripheral vision when using the shared hot spring ‘Family Bath’. Good, now that that’s out of the way, we can move on. Next:

Buses

A funny arrangement they have here with these Kyoto buses: you get on from the back door and pay at the front when you leave. Buses are equipped with route maps with English translations and, if you’re on one of the newer ones, decked out with recorded notifications in English just like on the Shinkansens ensuring that you will never get lost (streetmaps notwithstanding). Starting centrally from Kyoto Station and generally independent from wherever it is you’d like to go, the prices will tend to always be around the 250 yen mark, and if you don’t have any shrapnel there will be a change-dispensing machine at the front that takes 1000 yen notes which will give you coinage in all varieties, too. ‘Wow’ @ more Japanese efficiency; they have all their bases covered

Shrines: Fushimi Inari and Kokodera

Via train, get off at Fushimi Station and the place is right there in front of the exit, the red top corner of the entrance just visible on top of the roofs of residential houses next to the station: Fushimi Inari Shrine, AKA the Tori gate shrine. The whole place is quite literally entirely made up of Tori gates, decorated with a lot of cat statues angrily biting down on scrolls and other such items in their mouths as well as real cats who are taken care of by the shrine-keepers. Be prepared for a long walk up to the top, about an hour and a half’s worth. Thankfully there are a lot of pit stops along the way and maps that, for once, kind of work. Well worth it, as there is one particular shrine where you can draw a face onto a wooden cat-shaped cutout (complete with angry eyebrow action) and write a wish on the back.

Kokodera Shrine is about an hour-long bus ride from Kyoto Train Station. If you keep your eyes peeled, after about the 5th bus stop there will be a tanning salon named ‘Blacky’, which is just class as far as blissful innocence goes. Along the three-quarter mark on the way there is an amazing place called Nakonoshima/Arashiyama Koen, a town built around a small lake, bearing quite a resemblance to Lorne in Victoria off the Great Ocean Road. Incredibly busy with a carnival-like atmosphere, this bustling little ‘alternative’ area was full of kids holding balloons and families strolling, sitting, and playing along the shore. The Kokodera ‘Moss Temple’ requires written invitation to be able to enter and attend the ritual festivities, a process which had already been taken care of by Eugene, by travel buddy, around a month or two before we left for Japan. They even pencil you in for a specific time – for us, 2pm. We had our special invitations in hand and everything, but my advice is to not get there late, as we did, by an hour and a half, by which time the gates had been locked shut and there was not even a doorbell to be found. Whether we have also been blacklisted for life has not been confirmed.

If you encounter similar shrine rejection in Kokodera, then just around the corner back where the bus stop was is another place completely open to the public. A short walk past a residential block and up the stone steps will take you to a decent alternative complete with a sky-high view of the city.

Also, the bus stop has a public toilet and, judging by the sign inside, lots of free cute snakes to hug and kiss. Be warned though: there is only a urinal and a ground toilet, neither of which are automated, so those of you spoiled by Japanese bathroom technology better lower your standards if ever you succumb to the need ‘to go’ at this place.

Gion, the heart of Kyoto

Getting off at our stop located opposite a very well lit and quite obvious tourist-targeted temple (a bit like Disneyland, really) we made it to the main strip of Gion. Packed with stores and restaurants, you will find plenty of places stocking Geisha-exclusive accessories. If you’ve seen the film Maiko Haaaan!!! you’ll get an idea of how crazily revered they are, even by sightseeing non-local Japanese.

Chasing Geishas

Right, onto the hunt. If this mission were Terminator 2, the Terminator would be revving up his Harley and reloading his lever action shotgun right… about…now. You see them, the Geishas, walking down the street freely, then into alleyways…but as soon as you catch up and steady your camera hand for a quick snap they seem to vanish in front of your eyes. It’s quite an ability they have. And so we followed, down those potential kidney-threatening alleyways, greeted immediately not by white-make-up national icons, but by men in suits and/or yellow jackets, ushering us into their places of business, backed up by glaring street lights and the ever-familiar sound of Pachinko machines off in the distance. Ah yes, the Red Light District.

This isn’t from Kyoto, but the hairstyles might be

Picking up a free publication, “Kyoto Town Search”, a wonderful little 100-or-so page colour booklet jam packed with plenty of “Girls Bars” and “Girls Karaoke” places, but why the sexism? Why aren’t men allowed in such reputable establishments? Seeing more ads with boy bands where all of the members have Final Fantasy haircuts. Passing places with bright lights and wide open doors with girls sitting in front of circular glass tables reading the paper and dressed in fur coats and high heels. Interesting places.

Seeing another Geisha (or was it the same one from before?) and freaking out, cameras whipped out in a frenzy. Running down another alleyway, this one not quite as well lit as the one before. Somehow managing to find our bearings, somehow surviving, and, bizarrely, somehow finding “Love Hotel Part 2″. Wanna go in, just for a look around (I swear!)? Why not. But what ever happened to Part 1?

Love Hotels

What better way to finish off this guide than with those infamous Japanese Love Hotels? The place where boyfriends take their girlfriends on dates, away from humble domestic settings where one may really get to know, spiritually, the essence on their partners. Up for a visit to the Sahara, without all that pesky sand blowing into your eyes? This place is for you. Do you often feel like your royal blood commands quality accomodation but you haven’t yet found the solid gold latrines worthy of your presence? This place is for you. Ever been intrigued by aliens and Area 51, harbouring a passionate desire to know the real X-Files-style Truth? This place is…you get the picture.

Unfortunately for us, all these rooms were already taken, as indicated by the large selection terminal complete with a preview photo of the rooms and button options for, I’m presuming, All Night, Hourly, Half-Hourly Occupancies. Placed opposite the unattended discrete face-obscuring stained glass receptionist counter (with a hand-written sign saying ‘out to lunch,’ or at least it’s Japanese equivalent), we selected our room. An overload of mirrors and the place was complete with space shuttle beanbag seats. Aso…the Nasa room.

Upon pressing the button for half an hour (no, it wasn’t like that), up flashed the location of our room, albeit entirely in Katakana…Hiragana…Kanji…not sure…then suddenly, feedback from the LED screen! And we haven’t even paid anything yet! 2F! We can understand that! Second floor, how difficult could it be?

So up we went on the elevator. The doors opening to deathly silence: the discretion of the place palpable. A flashing red booth light signalling our destination, the colour standing out from an otherwise dull grey and navy hallway where we tried ever so hard but could not hear any other sounds of life. Perhaps everyone else was asleep. It was late, after all.

True to the preview, our room didn’t disappoint. Like that scene in Enter the Dragon when Bruce Lee fights that evil old Asian guy with the claw hand and disoriented by the smoke and the mirrors, similar were our own senses of bewilderment (and face cuts) upon entering. The columns, the walls and the floor, you could very literally see yourself from every possible angle. Ahem.

A king sized bed and a karaoke machine; a Kodak moment if ever there was one. Taking our silly photos and checking to see what was playing on the TV…

Getting ready to leave; nothing much else to do in there really. Getting stuck in the love hotel room. Frantically shoving coins into slots, trying to learn the intricacies of Japanese grammar in record time. Locating a red emergency button, untouched, resting behind it’s plastic protective casing. Pressing said button and breaking the seal, the door unlocking. Thank God. And, with Eugene feeling honest while I was ready to piss bolt, consulting the receptionist who had by now returned to her workstation behind that anonymity-ensuring counter and trying to pay. Rejected. “We’ll give you the full price for the room”. Rejected. “We insist”, the hand motions going out of control by this stage. Rejected… with money in hand, having to ashamedly place the notes back into our wallets. A couple entering, giggling behind us. Feeling confused (and hurt), we left. And promptly piss bolted.

After taking our time escaping through a few more blocks and making sure we weren’t followed, all the while discussing the ethics of placing security cameras in Love Hotel Part 2, there she was! Highlighted for us as if there was a spotlight beaming down from the sky – another sighting! A beautiful Geisha, talking into her mobile phone (and, to be honest, kinda maybe spoiling the whole historic feel of it all in doing so, but maybe I’m just being picky), disappearing again down an alleyway of bright lights and men in suits. Ah so, another common phenomenon in Japan: the older man with the (much) younger partner. You get to see this quite a bit, the whole business suit and grey hair plus short skirt and knee-high boots combination. Clutching their shopping bags, it sure is great to see how Father-Daughter bonding time is so heavily encouraged over there. Stopping to buy a drink from a Tommy Lee Jones-endorsed Suntory vending machine and being greeted by a lovely, hospitable man hanging out the upper level window of one of those Girls Bars and motioning to us with one cylindrically-shaped hand; bringing it back and forth to his mouth. Free Drinks? Ahh soooo…No thank you.

Then finally…finally, we got it: the photo of the Geisha. It may be blurry, it may be of when she turned her head away in disgust, but dammit…we got it. And it was totally worth it even if I did leave my fingerprints all over the NASA room, foolish given that they now take your fingerprints at the airport upon arrival into Japan. We didn’t get arrested, Interpol haven’t called on the home phone, but be wary nonetheless. That sums up our time in Kyoto, actually: “Be wary.” Be wary of the wayward maps; the slippers you’re wearing when going back to your room in a Ryokan; the time when trying to fulfill once in a lifetime appointments with monks; but, most importantly of all…be wary of the powerful, irresistable lure of the Geisha.

That’s not her car

She was the one in white

We were on the bus to the stadium to see Yokohama FC vs Vegalta Sendai in J-League Division 2 on a Saturday afternoon. I was sitting down towards the back, on the right side. Unlike the buses in Kyoto, the Yokohama buses give passengers entry from the front much like the ones back home. I kind of liked the backwards Kyoto buses though.

Eugene offered his aisle seat to an older lady and got up, clutching onto the bus handles as more passengers got on as I stared out from the window side. Having been in Tokyo for three days prior, Yokohama was a nice change of pace. Less busy and less commuters in a rush, although by Sydney standards still bustling. Our morning had consisted of going round the city trying to locate the bus terminal which the officers at the Police Box next to the train station had kindly directed us to in order to get to the stadium. Once we had found it and agreed on a time to come back, we went walkabout. A long underground tunnel connected the train station to a massive department store, “Sogo”.

It took ages for us to be able to just exit Sogo, which was something like 10 floors. And out we came, seeing the tall white apartment and corporate skyscrapers and man-made rivers, the whole place seemingly taken right out of one’s image of 80’s Miami…or something from GTA: Vice City, even: people of all ages clutching their shopping bags, expensive designer clothes and boutique stores lining our vision, the hot sun reflecting off the water and leaving a bright white sheen on the surface. It all looked brand new, only just a few years old even. Yokohama Marinos Football Club training ground across the river (the bigger of the two Yokohama teams; the Man Utd to Yokohama FC’s Man City if you will), filled with a distant crowd parking their cars, unfurling their banners. A “Y Cat” tourist speedboat access next to the McDonald’s we stopped at, looking for a map. We weren’t interested in a generic cruise around this place: too touristy. The map showed us where our destination was…all across the other end of the city. Having had our fill of American-styled architecture/surrealism, it was time to head back to get our bus.

Looking out the window and being amused by an innocently-inappropriate sign for a tanning salon, named “Blacky”, my attention flicked back and forth to the passengers inside the bus and the everyday weekend life going on outside: Eugene still grasping his handle looking out the other side amidst a whole range of different Yokohama folk packing into our ride, me seeing young women walk their miniature dogs down footpaths as cars and cyclists zoomed around. There were plenty of those in Japan, the small dogs and the bicycles.

Then on she came…I noticed her almost immediately as the bus stopped to pick up more passengers. Dressed in a white top, her lengthy straight hair complementing her long face, a short fringe cropped to reveal her forehead and curved eyebrows. She had dark eyeshadow on, my memory telling me it was purple but I can’t be sure now. By now the back of the bus was full with standing commuters and so she stopped near the back door a few metres away from Eugene (albeit with 2 or 3 people between the two of them), placed her bags down, grabbed onto a handle, and looked out the same right side of the bus as me. At this point there could’ve been fireworks outside for all I knew but all my attention was fixed on her and yet I dared not let her catch me looking. It was like being back in high school all over again.

And so I pretended to face outside, my eyes open but not taking in a single thing; not animals, not bikes, nothing. By now my mind had overriden my vision, telling me to turn my head towards her. Just one more look. She would tilt her face over in my direction at intermittent moments, every time increasing my heart rate. It was ridiculous. But I just could not stop staring.

Hers was the perfect face. Perfect nose and face shape, both the profile and front on. Pure beauty, making me re-assess my claim that I am not even attracted by Asian women. She looked maybe 20, possibly a little younger, as I tried to signal to Eugene to turn around. To see what I’d seen.  My head making gestures to look “that way!”,  behind and to the right. Other people’s heads in the way from his position, obscuring his view. Damn it. So I took out my camera.

Aiming it aimlessly outside at insignificance as a front, trying to tilt it to find the right angle while not raising the camera too high to make it that obvious. My seat was too low, the people sitting in front of me getting in the way. It needed to be held at head height. As she looked over towards me again, down went the camera instantly: a reflex reaction. What a missed opportunity! I felt like such a pervert.

Giving it another try, this time raising the Canon Powershot up a little more, still playing the role of country bumpkin tourist who’s never seen the inside of a bus before. There was no way I could get a decent shot in that far-too-fleeting time period in which she would actually be facing me, beginning to fear that this whole bus moment would come to an end soon. So on went the ‘movie’ setting of the camera. Awkward low angle, still. Click. Recording.

She didn’t turn her face at all during this time. And then we reached our stop. Ah yes! The football game, that’s right!

She got off too. I was hoping she was going to the match, but instead she stopped to meet a group of friends just behind the bus stop. Eugene and I walked a little further down. I stopped filming.

“Wow, man. Take a look at that girl over there. She’s gorgeous,” or something to that degree, I told him hurriedly in the manner of an over-excited child. After a fair bit of head repositioning over the swarm of bus exiters, he saw her too, although mainly from the side. Then a quick glance of her face, front on. “Ah okay,” came his reply, approvingly, but with a small smile slowly materialising and with much less enthusiasm than I was displaying – to each his own, I guess. He sat down, and I knew what he meant. A bit more time. Maybe not to talk to her, but maybe for a photo. Because surely, surely, I couldn’t just go up to her to tell her how beautiful she was. That’s far too much phrasebook-page-flicking in such a short space of time, in a different culture, in a different country. So up I went again, camera switched back to default mode, pretending to take shots of our surroundings. Nothing much to see, just a bridge overpassing the stopped bus, some buildings to the right, the stadium behind us. No more white skyscrapers or man-made rivers, it was all grey concrete on this side of Yokohama. Aiming the Canon towards her general direction as she got up to leave with her friends (they weren’t going to the game), I managed to get one shot. Just the one. It’s not even of her face, but it’ll have to do.

So maybe it was perversion, yes I can easily see that, but I’d like to think I was trying to capture an image of beauty at its purist. Ultimately it was unsuccessful, but her face still resonates within me, even now. Probably a good thing: I had just seen the most beautiful Japanese girl I will ever see, and it will always remain that way. On the way to a division 2 soccer match* as well, of all places. A completely unobtainable, once in a lifetime anomaly, forever to be known as The Girl From Yokohama.

*The game finished, rather appropriately, as a draw. 2-2.