One day our company’s famously sinister and highly organised Planning Department, which from my humble view point existed only to generate meaningless bits of paper which we used to file in the bin as soon as they arrived on our desks, contacted me and asked if I could assist a government agency in making a video. Images of Emmanuelle 27 flashed through my mind and I readily agreed.
The agency in question was responsible for bringing visiting scientists to Japan and needed some new promotional material. Quite why they picked me, apart from my boyish good looks and the fact that Bruce Willis wasn’t available, was a bit of a mystery to everyone in the building. I think it was possibly due to the latest round of government agency interviews which I had recently endured. I seem to remember that I had been my normal helpful self on these occasions.
Over the years in Japan I had tried all the possible responses to these interviews, but it didn’t really matter what I said or did as generally the interviewer did not speak English and was merely a government gopher sent to placate a few token foreigners and appease the shadowy world of Japanese bureaucracy. They had become a bit of an institution and no one took them seriously.
I had a vague recollection at one interview giving the poor interviewer a grilling, asking him how one small pathetic man could hope to change Japan and improve the situation of a rapidly sinking ship (in all fairness I was feeling extremely ill this day with suspected TB, so I am sure I could be excused) and told him that instead of travelling the country on a series of pointless jollies talking to foreigners he should do something positive to promote science in Japan. When pressed further on this I remembered sarcastically saying that he should make a promotional film. He was obviously more keyed up than the average government Yes-Man that I had met. A month later, which for a country that moves in geological time scales was quite impressive, the invitation for me to star in this promotional video arrived.
Letters and emails began to fly backward and forwards. I refused to commit myself to anything until I had some concrete ideas on what they wanted to achieve. I was not concerned with being shown in a bad light myself, in fact I found it deeply amusing and ironic that I had been chosen to be the face of this new recruitment drive for foreigners. However, I had found that unless you got things in writing even small jobs could turn into an epic three ring circus and before you knew what was happening you not only had wasted a week but the Planning Department had somehow deducted the costs from your meagre wages as well.
Eventually after some head banging and frustration I managed to squeeze a plan from the production company which seemed reasonable. However, one point we just could not agree on was a working title for the film. My original idea was “From real to reel”, but they didn’t get the joke. I suggested “From real to reel to surreal” but this turned them on even less. The title we eventually ended up with was “From Gijin to Shogun” which everyone seemed to find acceptable.
On Friday the film crew arrived to record our epic. Two huge buses turned up and they began to unload boxes and boxes of cameras, microphones, cables and a whole plethora of equipment. The crew consisted of eight sweaty Japanese (it was a boiling hot day) none of whom looked old enough to shave let alone run a TV production company. The director could not have been more camp if he had tried. He breezed into the lab, minced around a bit in an ineffectual effeminate way, complained about the bad lighting and then minced out again leaving me gasping for breath between hysterics. My boss, Black Paddy, who obviously fancied himself as a bit of a stud, had taken refuge in the cupboard and seemed to be in no hurry to come out.
Next came the guy whose job seemed to be to follow the director around with some sticky tape. He never actually used the tape, which he had fastened to a Batman-like utility belt around his waist, but was always two steps behind the director. He too agreed that the light was terrible and called out to the guy with the furry thing who seemed to follow the tape man who followed the director. He wasn’t too sure about what was going on either so he called the cable guy who waddled in swathed in cables (none of which were actually used) and began to make alarming sucking noises. This was obviously ok as the director began to smile and prance around even more, waving a light meter about for good measure. Whilst this was occurring the remainder of the crew sat in the vans drinking cans of tea. I guess the Japanese maxim of having twice as many people on a job as necessary was also applicable in the movie business.
Read Part 2
