Japan: Gotta Love Tokyo....

I've previously mentioned my love of Tokyo and it's weird serenity, cleanliness and near-clockwork perfection. What I'd not mentioned on the weirdness front however is three other things that many people strongly associate with Tokyo - and Japan in general.

In no particular order: the Japanese near obsession with the futuristic technology, their infantile love of youth culture and all things childlike, and just how many people actually live here. 

Or in layman's terms: they love their tech, they act like kids and the place is packed. 

Luckily enough we have been able to experience these three weird Tokyo wonders first hand in the past few days. 

Firstly we went to the touristic trap Robot Restaurant to be screamed at, dazzled by, and to marvel at a robot show that frankly wouldn't have looked out of place in the mind of a hyperactive, overly aggressive child on an acid trip. It was colourful, earsplittingly loud and a technological triumph. If robots are our future I want no part of It. It was exhausting to watch but a thing of bonkers beauty. 

The second weird thing we did was to dress up as children's video game characters and drive around the streets of Tokyo in go-karts like we were in Nintendo's MarkoKart driving game. I was Mario the plumber. Tim was Luigi the plumber brother. Stu was Yoshi the dinosaur. And Andy and Kevin were a turtle and a chipmunk. (You had to be there.) It was probably the most fun I've had with my clothes on for many a year. We sped about Tokyo tooting our horns, reliving the video game and posing for photos at every junction. Almost universally Japanese people smiled at us, waved to us and laughed with us. Young and old alike seemed to be transported in their minds back to their youth when the only thing in life was playing video games. And treated us like rock stars accordingly. The Japanese all love Mario. They perhaps love the memories of their youth even more. He's just a kids' video character but a national hero of Japan. Youth Culture Rocks!

And the final weirdness we experienced was on the streets again but this time on a night time trip to video-game-in-real-life neighbourhood Shibuya. Calling it "crowded" doesn't begin to describe it. Packed to the gills at street level  with swarming youths - yes, youth culture again - the area is road after road filled with illuminated billboards, flashing advertisements (to put Piccadilly Circus to shame) and skyscraper-high buildings overpopulated with bars, restaurants and crazy happy shiny madness on every floor. The place was loud, throbbing and filled with a million people. 

When the traffic lights change at the famous Shibuya crossing and the cars vanish it's like a flood of humanity surge to cross the roads from from every direction. It's like a riotous stampede from the four corners of Hell. Joyous and scary. And within 60 countdown seconds the little man turned red, the people are gone and the crossing is empty again. From throng to gone. Free for the cars to venture across once again. It's mad and hypnotic to watch. 

So three bits of Japanese wonderful weirdness there; in a show, behind a wheel and on the streets. Robots, Mario and the crowds. Gotta love Tokyo and her wonderful weird ways. 

 

 

 

 

Japan: Mario Kart...

It had to be done. Driving around the streets of Tokyo dressed as Nintendo Mario Kart characters. Best. Thing. Ever.

 

 

 

Japan: Robot Love...

 

Japan: Life in Tokyo...

If Japan is weird, Tokyo is weirder. But not in a bad way. It's just different. Different from what I'm used to. The weirdness comes not from the food, the language nor the clothes. Not from the crowds, the white face masks nor the unusual character writing. No, the weirdness for me comes from the fact that Tokyo is almost, but not quite everything, I don't expect from a capital city. 

A capital city like London where I live is a normal capital city to my eyes - it's dirty, it's noisy and it's a mess of chaotic design. There is litter on the streets, the cars honk at pedestrians and cyclists, the people walk and talk on their phones loudly and nothing seems to work properly. A normal capital city, right?

Tokyo however is a capital city with none of these faults. Ok, let's not call them faults. Let's call then features. Tokyo is a capital city with none of these features. Tokyo is clean, Tokyo is quiet and Tokyo is stylishly functional. 

Tokyo city as with any modern metropolis initially seems all too familiar with it's row upon row of tall glass and concrete buildings, it's endless expanse of public transport infrastructure, it's raised monorails, it's gaudy illuminated billboards and it's crowds of people waiting to sprint diagonally across its zebra-painted intersections.

The hustle and bustle of all these people as they are rushing to work, or home, or to the shops - deftly avoiding each other as they dart in and out of the crowds - is a comforting one to these old Londoners eyes. The hum of the city as it moves about about is almost pleasing in its familiarity. 

The whosh of the underground trains as they rush through the tunnels, the screech of the brakes on the tracks as they arrive at stations. The crowds of people who pour like ants out onto the platforms, the endless underground passways leading them to the surface, the click of the futuristic ticket machines as they eat their diet of cards and notes, the clunk of the automatic barriers permitting access for the intrepid to their journeys and warm rush of air blasting up the staircases full of the scent of a thousand hopes and dreams of those passengers on a night out on the town, a trudge home from the office, or the promise of a first date is joyfully familiar.

No, these things are not what makes Tokyo weird. 

Tokyo is clean. Very clean. Spotless. Not a piece of rubbish on the street to be seen. Not a rubbish bin even. We didn't see anyone drop any litter - anywhere at any point. The roads are pristine, the pavements are swept and green spaces manicured to within an inch of their lives. The trees are swadled in bandages, the grass cut short with nailclippers, and shrubs pruned to grow in an exactly perfect manner. No mess, no litter. Which in a city of a zillion people that seems astonishing. Where do they put their yeah? Do they take it all home? They must do. It's weird. 

And Tokyo is a surprisingly quite city too. Under the base noise of a massive city turning like clockwork to get the crowds to where they want to be the Japanese are a very quiet lot. Even in packed train carriages, or busy bars they are quiet, they are respectful. They don't talk loudly and no one ever bumps into you. Bowing and nodding they mutter their hellos and thanks. And off they shuffle keeping their thoughts to themselves and their inner voices unexpressed. It's nice really but you can't help wondering that they really think of us noisy Londoners chatting away like monkeys with verbal diarrhea.

Even in crowded Harajuku with its endless Carnaby Street-type corporate fashion chains and it's Camden Lock-like painfully cool fancy-dressers the throngs of people avoided each other as if some invisible force field held them all apart and it was all so eerily quiet. It turns out even the weirdos have an off switch. It's weird. 

And the final thing that confirms Tokyo's  weirdness to me is it's simple functioning style. Which might send an odd thing to remark upon. But everything here is designed to work and work it does. The buttons, the knobs, the handles, the circles, the lines, the surfaces, the textures. Every machine, every table, every lift, every building, every light, every menu, every piece of packaging, is cleanly designed, simply designed and just works. It's perfect functional, elegant design. You don't really notice at first. Everything just working the way it's supposed to. Doing what it should do. What it was designed to do. But weirdly we put up with a lots of things back home that are really badly designed and you don't know which button to press and then it just breaks and we just live with it. Here it all works. And it's weird that it works. So well. So very, very well. But it does.

So there you are. The weirdness of Tokyo as I see it. A Tokyo with all this weird cleaniness. A Tokyo with all this weird quietness. And a Tokyo with all this weird functional design that does exactly what it is supposed to do. 

But I do like it. This weirdness. This weird life in Tokyo. 

 

 

 

 

 

Japan: Here We Come!...

So the journey has started. More than a dozen of us are heading to Japan to help little Mark celebrate his 50th birthday. It's a long trip but every journey starts with a first step. Or in our case a first class step. 

I hate flying. I really do. But the stress of it all can have its up sides it turns out. If you do it right.

When booking this trip Stuart and I were lucky enough to be able cash in a ton of airmiles and so early Thursday morning we found ourselves in the First Class Lounge at Heathrow Terminal 5 sipping fizz and waiting for a complimentary facial and back massage. Lucky us, huh?

Flying is a funny old business. All the stress of booking the flights in the first place... Who do you fly with? Budget? Posh? What class should you fly? Have you got a big deal? Why do you have to pay all that landing and take off tax? But then we realise we have airmiles. Lots of them. So the lovely man at British Airways booked us a first class ticket. All the way to Tokyo. Lovely man. 

Then there's the palava of packing. Oh the stress! Are we taking enough clothes? We'll need three weeks worth of stuff. At least. T-shirts, long sleeved shirts, pants, socks, trousers smart, trousers causal, coats, sweatshirts, shorts, hats, gloves, chargers, batteries, guide books... We might not be able to wash anything. And what if we rains? Let's pack for hot weather and cold. Oh better be safe than sorry and throw in an extra couple of pairs of trouser thens. And extra shirts too. And an extra coat in case it rains. And can you buy the toiletries at the other end? Oh put them in anyway. Good. That's everything.

Ah... Now... Look... Will that case actually close!

Then the next stress is what time to actually leave for the airport. Have we checked in? Three hours before take off? Four? What's the traffic like? Are the tubes running ok? Where's our passports? The visas? Oh we've forgotten the tickets! Who's going to water the plants? Oh let's just get out the door!

And then we arrive at the airport. Where do we check in? This place is huge. It's all so confusing. Oh look at the queue! Will we make it through on time? Is that queue bigger than that one? Should we swap queues? Oh cripes I hope the bags don't weigh too much. 

And then we're through check-in. And lining up for security. With a guilty expression on your face. About something you haven't done. Because it's security. And you just feel guilty anyway...  about something you haven't got in your case. But there are lots and lots of security people looking at you. Everywhere. With x-ray machines. And guns. So guilt becomes your modus operandi. 

But we make it though. Unarrested. And lovely British Airways lady checks our ticket and says "you gentlemen can go into The Concorde Lounge." And we do. And it's lovely. And posh. And we get offered hot towels. And champagne. And breakfast. And a facial. And a back massage. And it's lovely. And all the stress of the booking and packing and getting to the airport melts away. 

In fact I quite like this flying lark now. If we can go first class. Everytime. From now on. Please. 

And now we are on the plane. Sipping more champagne. And wondering if Joan Collins will be on our flight. Because she always goes first class. Like us. 

 

 

 

David Hockney...

Last Friday night my brother Simon and I went to see the David Hockney exhibition at Tate Britain in London's well-heeled Pimlico.

Hockney is one of the most popular and influential British artists of the twentieth century and Tate Britain has brought together his most comprehensive exhibition yet covering 60 years of his work.

Hockney continues to change his style and ways of working into the twenty-first century, embracing new technologies as he goes.

From his portraits and images of Los Angeles swimming pools, through to his drawings and photography, Yorkshire landscapes and most recent paintings – some of which have never been seen before in public  –  this exhibition shows how the roots of each new direction lay in the work that came before.

It's all good but I especially loved his huge colourful landscapes, his immersive videos of the four seasons and his most recent iPad paintings. Fascinatingly the iPad paintings were created using a record feature on. The exhibition has screenings of the playback so you can actually see how Hockney painted them in sped-up 'real-time'. Amazing.

Recommended. If you like Hockney, it's a must. If you don't know him, it's a revelation.

Luca's 50th...

Last Saturday night we celebrated Luca's 50th at the Tommyfield in London's less than glitzy Kennington.

His soon to be husband Stuart put on a "Deal Or No Deal" game to award him the electric piano we had all clipped in for. Very funny.

 

 
 

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?...

Last night Stuart and I went to see acerbic masterpiece Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? at the Harold Pinter Theatre in London's glitzy West End.

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is a 1962 play by Edward Albee that examines the breakdown of the marriage of a middle-aged couple, history professor George (Conleth Hill) and his wife Martha (Imelda Staunton).

In the early hours of the morning on the campus of an American college, Martha, much to her husband George’s displeasure, has invited the new professor Nick (Luke Treadaway) and his wife Honey (Imogen Poots) to their home for some after-party drinks. As the alcohol flows and dawn approaches, the young couple are drawn into George and Martha’s toxic games until the evening reaches its climax in a moment of devastating truth telling.

Martha and George's tempestuous and volatile relationship is unsettling but fascinating to watch. Their truth is cruel and vicious. It's about as far away from the American happy nuclear family as you could imagine.

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton famously bought the play to the big screen in 1966. And although Taylor's Oscar winning performance initially loomed large in our thoughts last night the evening belonged to Imelda Staunton. Her Martha was almost feline as she spat out her lines. Her Martha was a cat trapped. A cat with its fur up. A cat on a hot tin Woolf.

The ghost of Taylor after all.

Recommended.

My Dog...

I taught my dog how to play the trumpet on the Underground last night.
He went from Barking to Tooting in under an hour.
Here all week. Try the fish.

Oi!...

This arrived from Bryn today. Bless.

A Clockwork Orange...

Last Friday night Stuart and I went to see ultraviolent thriller A Clockwork Orange at the Park Theatre in London's down-at-heel Finsbury Park.

Synopsis: Very violent, homoerotic, visceral and balletic. What's not to like?

This stage adaptation of Anthony Burgess’s novel is set in a near future English society featuring a subculture of extreme youth violence, the teenage protagonist, anti-hero Alex, narrates his violent exploits and his experiences with state authorities intent on reforming him using an extreme form of aversion therapy.

Alex is played by Jonno Davies and he is a tall, ginger-haired, musclebound hunk. The other eight male members of the cast are similarly buff playing numerous parts from Alex's gang members to police to housewives. For this is an all-male production with everyone sporting skin-tight black jeans, tight white t-shirts, skimpy underwear, black eyeliner and malevolent grins. There is homoeroticism aplenty (they are frequently t-shirtless) and there is much homosexual violence to boot. 'Boot' being the operative word.

Female director Alexandra Spencer-Jones has created a wonderful non-stop 90-minutes of fighting, dancing, and thuggery to a soundtrack of Freddie Mercury, David Bowie and The Eurhythmics who like Alex (love to listen to) (Ludwig van) Beethoven.

Recommended - if you like aesthetic violence, hot men and are not easily shocked.

Moving In...

After almost 11 years together we have taken that first big step. Living together.  Crumbs. I hope he doesn't leave the top off the toothpaste.

 

Twelfth Night...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Simon Godwin's bat-shit crazy production of Twelfth Night at the Olivier Theatre on London's glitzy South Bank.

Bat-shit crazy? Yup. Sports cars, motor-scooters, club music, swimming pools, fountains, neon lights, 1960s cool vibe, a drag queen rendition of Hamlet's To Be Or Not To Be speech, songs (lots and lots of songs) and 4th wall breaking that would put Les Dawson to shame. At one point, I swore I saw a kitchen sink exit pursued by a bear. "It's not too gimmicky is it? The tandem."

So was it any good? You betcha! We loved it. A laugh-a-minute riot. From the gender role switching inherent to the play itself to the gender reversal of Malvolio becoming Malvolia this was as confident and sure-footed as a drag queen in a 6-inch red stiletto.

As for the plot, it's the one with the shipwreck, near identical brother and sister get split up, she becomes a Duke's 'man' servant, falls in love with him, then gets asked to woe the Duke's true love but the true love then falls in love with the sister thinking she's a man. Then the Duke falls in love with his 'man' servant. And then the brother turns up. You get the picture... It's Shakespeare. It's mistaken identity, unrequited love and music being the food of love.

In addition, the cast was stellar. Tamara Lawrance's pivotal role as Viola was amazing. We had seen her in numerous all-female Shakespearean productions recently but in this she was a cut above what had gone before. Doon Mackichan's Feste/Fool was hysterical (She sings! She dances! She acts! She tells jokes!). Tamsin Greig's Malvolia was a revelation too. We knew the gal could sing and play it goofy but her Malvolia was a down right riot. She got a show-stopping standing ovation with her yellow cross garters and spinning wheel bra. Oliver Chris ignited even the usually dull character of Orsino with the stage being poorer whenever he was absent.

But for me the standout performance of the night went to Daniel Rigby's Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Pompous, fey, chicken-livered and proud this particular peacock in a pink-checked lounge suit was the perfect foil to Tim McMullan's Sir Toby Belch. From Aguecheek's sublime delivery, to his silly walks, and his ginger man-bun it was a portrayal of scene-stealing perfection.

Highly Recommended. Over the top, modern and very silly. The perfect antidote to these uncertain times

Design Museum (the iconic and the ironic)...

Last Sunday Bryn, Andrew, Stuart and I went to the new Design Museum in London's well-healed Holland Park.

Nice things on display and the Love and Fear exhibition is good too but... what a badly laid out building! Cramped where is should be spacious and acres of wasted space. Long queues of people on staircases waiting to see some things and empty rooms where no one seemed to be interested in going. All rather ironic considering one of the exhibits people were queuing to see was about 'bad' design and managing crowds in popular venues.

Nice place though, some great iconic designs and well worth a visit if you have not been. Pick a less crowded day than a Sunday though!

The London Walker's Tube Map...

Got a free weekend coming up? Plan a stroll around London. http://londonist.com/2015/08/the-london-walker-s-tube-map-5

Gay Homophobe...

A little out of date but as its Valentine's Day here's a site that tells you the number of days since the last prominent homophobe was caught in a gay sex scandal. Self-hating hypocrites exposed!

http://gayhomophobe.com/

Robots...

Last Friday I went to the new Robots exhibition at the Science Museum in London's well-heeled South Kensington.

It was well laid out, informative but most of all great fun. The exhibit pricked lots of distant memories of robots from kids' TV shows from my youth, robots from films old and new and life-sized replicas of shiny, silvery androids. There were displays about artificial intelligence, visual processing and human-robot interaction. There were many real robots to interact with and some so creepy we were deep in the uncanny valley. The uncanny valley is the phenomenon whereby a computer-generated figure or humanoid robot bearing a near-identical resemblance to a human being arouses a sense of unease or revulsion in the person viewing it. And some of the robots on display would put Westworld or Stepford Wives to shame on the creepiness front.

If you get a chance to go. Do! It runs until Sept 2017.

Highlight #1: The rarely seen Silver Swan picking up silver fish.
Highlight #2: Everything else

After wandering around the Robots exhibition, I then spend another 4 hours seeing all the other exhibitions at the Science Museum. Blimey, they have a lot of good stuff there!

The Glass Menagerie...

Last night Stuart and I went to see The Glass Menagerie at The Duke of York's theatre in London's glitzy West End.

Synopsis: From the moment Kate O’Flynn appears from down the back of the sofa you know we are on for something special. Great production. Great play. And the gay undertones are there for all to see.

A domineering mother. A daughter lost in a world of her own. A son desperate to leave. Former Southern Belle Amanda Wingfield, played magnificently by Tony Award-winning Broadway star Cherry Jones, enlists the help of shoemaker but aspiring poet son Tom (Michael Esper) to find a husband for her fragile daughter Laura (Kate O’Flynn). But will the long-awaited ‘gentleman caller’ Jim O'Connor (Brian J. Smith) fulfil or shatter the family’s delicate dreams?

Olivier and Tony Award-winning director John Tiffany (Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Parts One and Two, Let the Right One In, Black Watch) has a hit on his hands with this revival of his visionary staging of Tennessee Williams’ heart-rending masterpiece about a family struggling to survive on hopes and dreams.

The Glass Menagerie is a five-character memory play by Tennessee Williams that premiered in 1944 and catapulted Williams from obscurity to fame. The play has strong autobiographical elements, featuring characters based on Williams himself, his histrionic mother, and his mentally fragile sister Rose. In writing the play, Williams drew on an earlier short story, as well as a screenplay he had written under the title of The Gentleman Caller.

Little known fact #1:  One of Amand'a ex-suitors is known as "The Wolf of Wall Street"
Little known fact #2:  Poet Tom's nickname is Shakespeare so they call Laura "Shakespeare's Sister"

Recommended (although not quite as good as his later work Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.)

Throw Back Thursday...

Me, Sparky and Stu from way back when - thanks Jeff Slutzky.

Rollerblading in Regents Park c1995...

Blast from the past. Tony Pithers and I rollerblading in Regents Park c1995.