Tokyo Nonsense is an 11 person show hitting the Scion Installation L.A. Gallery on Oct. 4th.
The title, TOKYO NONSENSE, not only refers to the city itself but also references the word “nonsense” in the context of Japanese popular culture, connoting so-called “modern decadence”and the rebellious, anti-establishment spirit of the 1960s student protest movement. The work of these 11 young artists reflects both Tokyo’s frenetic energy and the banal realities of everyday city life. The exhibition will consist of more radical forms of expression such as performance,video, and installation art in addition to more traditional mediums such as drawing, painting, and woodblock printing.
Within the Japanese vernacular the word “nonsense” has assumed various meanings throughout modern history, often associated with radical expression that challenged the dominant discourse of the moment. In the early 1930s, “nonsense” was included in the phrase ero-guro-nansensu,which the Japanese mass media used to label decadent and salacious popular culture (literature,film, theatre) that was viewed as a threat to traditional family values. Then in the late 1960s,“nonsense” became the rally cry for the disaffected Japanese students who protested to express their frustration with the current political and social situation at home and abroad. The rebellious spirit evoked by the word “nonsense” in Japan continues today, reincarnated and rearticulated by this group of young artists working in Tokyo. Their work simultaneously reflects the precedent setby the “nonsense” of the 1930s—labeled as absurd and meaningless by the dominant discourse—while dismissing the dominant discourse itself as pure “nonsense,” reminiscent of the protest tactics employed in the 1960s.
Featuring the real-life electric rats of the six-member artist group, Chim|Pom and the surreal woodblock prints of Sachiko Kazama. Scion’s site does not, unfortunately, have any real info on the show. Luckily, there is a preview up on Flickr.
An apology in advance to those readers who appreciate more of a mix in their Saturday Morning Cartoons, more of a grab-bag of treats with which to satisfy their dilettantish sweet tooth. Today we present a meal, a robust, full flavored dish chock full of aromatic spices and out of control insanity. Today Ectomo is proud to present Satoshi Kon’s Paprika.
Paprika is set in the near future and focuses on a new type of psychotherapy treatment called dream therapy. Using a device known as a “DC Mini”, therapists are able to enter the dreams of their patients. The story begins with Doctor Atsuko Chiba, who uses the alter-ego known as Paprika during therapy sessions, counseling one Detective Konakawa Toshimi. The nature of the sessions is a closely guarded secret as the use of the DC Mini is unsanctioned, and its existence is being kept from the press. Things quickly go wrong, however, when three of the machines are stolen, and so begins the story proper.
The themes present in Paprika are well-trodden by Kon. He has almost a singular obsession with the human subconscious — especially in terms of a larger, societal subconscious — and pop culture. Paprika does not stray too far from this territory but the torrent of imagery that Kon throws at the viewer makes the experience feel fresh nevertheless. It also strikes me upon each subsequent viewing how much Kon is seemingly aping Hayao Miyazaki —probably the most successful current animator coming out of Japan by western standards. Whether this is intentional or not I cannot be sure, but he does it well enough, and sparingly enough, that the film is not bogged down by a feeling that one is watching, say, Spirited Away II: The Revenge
Paprika really is a fantastic film, and for those of you who are not as enthusiastic about anime, or who downright loathe it, I would still urge you to give it a try. Kon’s work is unlike most of Japanese animation that makes it to our shores and I feel that, given the chance, it may surprise you.
These are the words currently capturing the Japanese attention, spoken by Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda during an exchange with a reporter following his resignation announcement. Their meaning? I am different from you.
Apparently Fukuda’s utterance was a response to accusations of detachment regarding the problems facing Japan, and while it’s definitely not the smartest move to further alienate yourself from your constituents when being accused of alienation I can’t help but admire the man for showing unprecedented testicular fortitude in the face of a crisis. What’s strange here, however, is that the phrase itself was picked up in the first place. Granted, it’s difficult to tell just why anything becomes a meme; why Rick Astley and not Haddaway, etc, etc. But the words “I am different from you” hold a stronger connotation in the land of the otaku than they do in North America.
Is it perhaps that the net savvy denizens of Japan feel a closeness to Prime Minister Fukuda? Now that he’s gone and spoken the words inscribed on the heart of each and every myopically focused fanboy of the strange and obscure, has he become elevated in their eyes? Perhaps not. But regardless of the place Prime Minister Fukuda holds in the hearts and minds of otaku everywhere, they’ve seen to it that his phrase will take on a life of it’s own in the form of ascii renditions of himself and his now famous phrase.
It’s almost certainly not the way Prime Minister Fukuda meant to be taken, as a champion to otaku, but the longcat’s out of bag and there’s simply no turning back.
This is the episode that will have the furries who read Ectomo (against our wishes, you varmints) peeing their adult diapers with glee: statuesque Sumire is sent on a hands-on assignment by her newspaper to the local amusement park, where she is forced to don the costume of some sort of bear-bee hybrid. Adventures with pet Momo continue apace, and further scenes of embarrassment and desperation in elevators will be laid out whether you want them to or not.
A late-night tip by Kristianus Ligara reminded me that I’ve been intent on an NdJ homage to tea for a few weeks. While this video is less about tea than it is about, oh, JAPAN!!!, it will serve as a suitable warmup.
I just received a voicemail from Qais, who was appointed this week’s Toontwink via lottery, pleading, and feats of strength. The message was mostly garbled screaming, which I take to mean he’s still busy with his Flynn DeMarco sleepover or whatever.
Seeing as I am currently at my day job, dreaming about my real job, propped by a tripod fashioned of human femurs over a sweltering keyboard, this is really all we can afford: a casually perverse Japanese TV drama about a scorned woman who finds a beautiful young man half-dead in a cardboard box, and then, wait for it, drags him into her apartment.
Originally intended as a Japanese remake of the Seattle documentary film about my quest for Ectomo’s new writers (”Bughunter Q: Eliza Gauger and the Search for the New Scum)”, something is lost in the translation, here. But the essence, the geist of the tale is the same.
Please enjoy, with our compliments, the first episode of Kimi Wa Petto.
If all goes according to plan, I’ll be making my first sojourn to Tokyo later this year to spend time amidst my people; androgynous psuedo-adolescents in ridiculously large shoes and intricate makeup that my clumsy gaijin fingers could never hope to achieve. That is, of course, unless the post-apocalyptic vision of Tokyo Genso is realized and the already frantic pace at which the denizens of this planet are determinedly ruining it increases to an exponential rate.
While a Tokyo crumbling and covered in vines does sound like a gas, it would be nice to see the prancing lady-boys of which I’ve heard so much at least once before the Earth reclaims this beautifully androgynous Metropolis.
For three days in August, Japanese spirits of the dearly departed return to Earth to visit their ancestors during the Obon festival. There are dances and obeisances paid to lost loved ones, graves are visited and paper-lanterns are lit, the dead are made live again through the last bits of their essence in the waking world: our memories.
But what of those with no one left to remember? The beggars. The urchins. The isolated that left the world alone, and drift through the afterlife unfettered by the memory of their corporeal counterparts. Do they drift the streets as they did in life, searching for a glint of recognition in the eyes of passers-by? Do they long for an earthly anchor during this trifid necrolatry? I like to imagine the lost spirits of Japan, flowing through the bustling streets for three nights, finding solace in the remembrance of each other, and perhaps finally gaining a measure of peace.
Keeping with the fine Japanese, cinematic tradition of unconstrained insanity and over-the-top violence, comes Tokyo Gore Police by the same people who brought the world Machine Girl. The “plot” of Tokyo Gore Police is as follows: in the future, Tokyo is in the grip of a plague which allows infected individuals to turn their wounds into weapons. These individuals are called Engineers and in order to keep them under control a private, heavily armed police force — whose members are imaginatively named “Engineer Hunters” — is created.
All of this takes place in a world where the denizens of Tokyo are so tumid with fluids that one would expect to hear it sloshing in their bulbous, distended limbs as they waddled about. The aforementioned ability to use one’s wounds as weapons also leads to some inventive situations, such as a gentleman using his severed penis as a cannon, a woman who sprays acid from her chest after being separated from her breasts, and a woman whose torso terminates in a toothsome toothy, alligator vulva. The level of gore in this trailer reaches such a hysterical pitch that at times it appears that the filmmakers have stooped to just throwing rubber organs in the air and spraying fake blood on the camera lens. In one scene I cannot even be sure if what is being depicted is a truck driving through a pile of mannequin parts or if said parts are supposed to be human bodies.
Needless to say this clip is NSFW and brilliant in a way only something so completely ridiculous can be.
Feeling lethargic on this fine Friday morning I had the good fortune to come across this new video for “Omstart” by Keigo Oyamada a.k.a. Cornelius. Calling this mellow would be an understatement and in many ways the song is almost a backdrop for the simplistic, yet highly effective visuals. All in all, it fit my mood perfectly.
Some photos from the opening of Kago’s exhibition at K-Space in Amsterdam on the 24th of April, where they not only displayed the man’s amazing work but said work was also for sale. Yes, that includes originals. The exhibition was presented in conjunction with Vice magazine, who recently featured Kago in their fine publication.
As much as we enjoy conjecture and extravagant speculation regarding the future and the treasures it holds it’s a shock when something from the pages of the professional speculators, aka sci-fi authors, worms its way into our disappointingly nonfictional reality. Though in all fairness, less so when it comes from Japan.
Yet the newest way in which the metropolitan Japanese surprise and confound we less progressive western dullards is a bit surprising even with the knowledge of its origins. Frenetic salarymen dissatisfied with the pink-cheeked rush the pharmaceutical melange of energy drinks has to offer can now pop in to Tenteki10 for a vein full of “vitamins and other nutritional supplements”.
Yes that’s right; if you’ve got $20 (2,000 Yen) and 10 minutes you can have a doctor stuff your veins with the mysterious “vitamins and nutritional supplements” for what they describe as a “pick-me-up”. While I’m intimately familiar with the potentially less than pleasant effects of a botched intravening (to say nothing of potential “supplement” overdoses) I can’t help but wonder when we’ll have similar set ups in the States.
Even now you can swing by your local plastic surgeon’s office for a speedy syringe full of botulism for all your muscle paralysis needs. How long until Starbucks trades baristas for nurses? And further, how long until our “supplements” are supplemented with the wares of illicit chemists and old-fashioned coffeehouse snobbery is supplanted by a caste system of stat-boost aficionados?
My hope is not long; my daily ritual of chasing down a handful of No-Doze with three or four Viente Quad-Americanos has long since stopped clearing away the borderline somnambulance of the morning.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
