Dale Furutani - The Toyotomi Blades

In Los Angeles I once saw a taping of a TV comedy. It was done in a sound stage big enough to hold three different sets and bleachers for a live audience. By comparison, the News Pop studio was minuscule. The studio was about the size of a large living room. In the high ceiling were a series of metal bars with a large assortment of lights clamped to them. Most of the floor space was taken up by cameras, and even the cameras were tiny. At the U.S. TV taping, the cameras were the size of briefcases, but the cameras used on News Pop were the size of a kid’s lunch box. Three of these cameras were mounted on tubular tripods set on wheels so they could be moved around for different angles in front of the set.

About a half-dozen people were in the room. They seemed to be blocking out shots with a director, with cameramen taking instructions as they moved their cameras around the studio floor. A couple of technicians seemed to be repairing some cable that went from a desk with several monitors and disappeared into the floor. It was crowded.

The set for the program was jammed up against one wall. It was basically a counter with a shōji screen for a background. Several chairs were placed behind the counter. On the surface of the counter were glass panels that seemed to cover computer screens set into the desk. I surmised that notes or the script were flashed on these screens. News Pop had to be a “talking heads” show that relied on videotape for anything that required space or movement.

“I’ve got to tell them you’re here and set up the promo. Then I’ll introduce you to Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan, our stars. In the meantime I’m going to introduce you to Junko Ohara, a researcher on the program. She helps with English-speaking guests.”

Sugimoto called out to a woman who was conferring with the director. She was in her early thirties, dressed in a white long-sleeve blouse and gray skirt. Her hair was worn in a bob with bangs that reminded me of a 1920s flapper. She was about five feet tall and could probably stand to lose ten pounds, the same weighty crime I’ve already admitted to being guilty of.

“Junko-san, this is Mr. Tanaka, the detective from the United States,” Sugimoto said.

“I’m not a detective,” I interjected. “I’m a computer programmer who acted as an amateur sleuth.”

“Amateur or professional, you’re twelve minutes of next week’s show and I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Junko Ohara.” Her English was absolutely perfect. She extended her hand and I shook it.

“Why don’t you two get acquainted while I go get Nagahara-san and Yukiko-chan. We’ll get this promo piece shot and have you in your hotel in just a few minutes.”

Sugimoto left us. Junko looked at me and said, “You look tired, but I wouldn’t count on his promise that everything will be shot in just a few minutes. It’s only a twenty-second promo, but it will take us an hour or more. Why don’t you come to my desk and I’ll get you some tea?”

“That sounds good. The offer of tea, I mean. Spending another hour or so here doesn’t sound too good. My body thinks it’s about three A.M.”

Junko took me out of the studio and down a flight of stairs. There she showed me into a large office space filled with tiny metal desks jammed together. Although it was past seven P.M. local time, there were still a lot of people in the office. Junko seated me at one of the small desks and went to get me a cup of Japanese green tea.

After thanking her for the tea, I said, “Your English is remarkably good. Did you live in the States at some time?”

“I wish,” Junko said. “Actually I’ve never been out of Japan. I went to college at Sophia, which is a school in Tokyo where all lectures and classes are conducted in English. I also speak a good Spanish and a passable German. I guess I just have a good ear.”

“Mr. Sugimoto said your last name was Ohara?”

“Just call him Buzz. He likes that. And yes, my last name is Ohara.”

“In the U.S. that would be an Irish name.”

“It’s actually Korean. We pronounce it slightly differently than the Irish. We Koreans also have Lees, like your famous Civil War general, or maybe Spike Lee. You can’t always tell from last names. Ohara could also be a Japanese name, but I’m still Korean.”

“Now I’m confused,” I admitted. “I thought you said you’ve never been out of Japan.”

“That’s right. I was born here, as were my mother and father.”

“But wouldn’t that make you Japanese?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “There are some things you have to learn about Japan. Just because you’re born in Japan, that doesn’t make you a Japanese citizen. You have to have a Japanese mother and a Japanese father to get automatic Japanese citizenship at birth. My family has been in Japan since the thirties, but we’re still classified as foreigners and not citizens. I’ve actually never been to Korea and Korean isn’t one of the languages I know, but I’m still a resident alien in Japan.”

As an Asian in the United States, I knew what it was to be a minority. Junko’s situation put a whole new light on minority status, however. Living two or three generations in a country and still being considered an alien resident was strange to me. The first generation of Japanese-Americans were prevented from becoming naturalized citizens until 1952, but at least their children, the Nisei, were born citizens.

She looked at me and said, “Look, instead of complaining about things, I should be teaching you your lines.”

“Lines?”

“Yeah. During the promo we want you to say ‘Please take a look,’ in Japanese.”

“But I don’t speak Japanese.”

“It’s really simple. It’s short and I’ll teach it to you phonetically. Repeat after me, goran, kudasai.”

“Goran, kudasai.”

“Pretty good, but let’s try it again. I’ll give you a nice, high-class accent. Listen carefully. Goran, kudasai.”

“Am I going to have to learn more Japanese for the show?”

“Oh, no. Everything will be translated for you. It’s just that our research indicates that our shows with translations are usually less popular than shows where everything is conducted in Japanese. You look Japanese, so if you say something in Japanese in the promo, viewers will assume that the interview will be conducted in Japanese.”

“Isn’t that a little misleading?”

She sighed. “I see you’re not familiar with television.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you object to saying something in Japanese during the promo?”

“No, I guess not,” I said reluctantly.

“Good. Now listen carefully and try to imitate my intonation.”

After we practiced the phrase to Junko’s satisfaction, she asked me, “You said you’re a computer programmer?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I have to do more research on your segment. Would you like to watch me access the English language databases we use?”

“Yes, that would be very interesting to me.”

Junko took me over to a section of the office where there were three computers on little carts. In the U.S., each worker would have his or her own computer, but here computers seemed to be shared. The machines were already turned on, so she sat in front of one and started some kind of communications program.

Junko signed on to an English-language news database and entered a starting date and a few search words. She chose “murder,” “sword,” and “Japanese.” After a few seconds, the message 14 STORIES FOUND appeared on the computer screen.

The stories were printed out on an old-fashioned, noisy, dot matrix printer. My illusions about a technologically advanced society in Japan were being shattered. Most personal computers sold for home use in the States seemed more advanced than the equipment being used by this big Japanese TV network.