mijobooks Chapter 130 A Lament for the Men of the Heisei Era
Chapter 130 A Lament for the Men of the Heisei Era
Chapter 130 A Lament for the Men of the Heisei Era
A week later.
"The Wife of a Gangster: The End of Hell" has been officially released.
A long-established movie theater in Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo.
The air was filled with the caramelized smell of stale popcorn, and the warmth of the people sitting in the room.
The screening room was packed, and even the aisles were fitted with folding stools.
This is a very strange movie-watching combination.
In the front row sat a group of young 0Ls holding handkerchiefs and looking nervous; they were the pure love fans who had once threatened to "write letters of protest." In the middle sat many middle-aged office workers wearing old jackets and with gloomy faces; they were straight male fans who wanted to see violence. In the corner of the back row, there were also a few old men wearing reading glasses.
The lights went out.
The "shush" sound of the film reel turning filled the air.
There were no lengthy opening credits or sentimental background music.
The moment the screen lit up, a suffocating downpour began.
The camera was shaky, as if the photographer was carrying the equipment and running through the mud.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud.
Shin Kitahara plays Kyoji Sanada, who is knocked to the ground like a dead dog by the opposing team.
This was followed by a series of sharp, teeth-grinding sounds of beatings with sticks.
There was no slow motion, no beautiful lighting, and no camera tricks to protect the idol's image.
With each blow, the dull thud of flesh being crushed by a blunt object could be heard.
Mud and blood splattered all over the camera lens.
In accordance with the usual tropes of yakuza films, the protagonist at this point would either scream in agony or grit his teeth and utter harsh words.
But Sanada Kyoji didn't.
The camera gave an extremely close-up shot.
In the pitch-black mud, Sanada Kyoji's leg was clearly broken, bent at an eerie angle.
But he didn't call out.
He slowly climbed out of the mud.
Like a mad dog whose spine has been broken but is still trying to bite.
As he spat out blood and foam from his mouth, he nervously straightened his filthy tie with his mud-covered hand.
Even in the mud, he had to maintain this morbid "decency".
"Feed".
The voice came from the Dolby sound system in the theater, hoarse and calm, yet carrying a chilling undertone: "Not dead yet."
He grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth: "As long as I'm not dead—I'll stay standing."
Mr. Sato sat in the middle seat, having long forgotten to eat the popcorn in his bucket.
He is the typical "hardcore straight male fan".
Just a week ago, he was arguing with his wife at the dinner table, slamming his fist on the table and saying, "Men should watch fistfights."
He came here to see how Sanada Kyoji would wreak havoc and turn his enemies into mincemeat.
But now, looking at the swaying figure on the screen, who refused to fall even in death, his eyes suddenly stung.
This isn't some kind of action-packed, high-octane movie at all.
This is clearly reality.
In present-day Japan, the colorful soap bubble of the bubble economy has just burst.
Just yesterday, Sato's company announced a list of layoffs.
Although his name hasn't been called yet, the feeling of a guillotine hanging over his head has been keeping him up at night lately.
Squeezing into a crowded tram every morning, being scolded by your boss, and being harassed by clients—what's the difference between that feeling and having someone snatch your stick from you in the mud?
"I want to stand."
This line was like a bullet, precisely piercing through Mr. Sato's hard shell called "head of the family".
He wanted to stand.
Even with a 35-year mortgage to pay, even with his legs broken in this quagmire called "society," he still wants to stand tall and live like a human being.
The woman sitting next to him was Mrs. Sato, also known as Etsuko.
She came with a critical mindset.
As a member of the "pure love party," she had previously screamed at home, saying that the dirty tattoo had ruined her dream lover.
But now, I've peeled half an orange and forgotten to eat it.
She looked at the man whose face was covered in blood, and at his fingers as he straightened his tie to maintain the last shred of dignity.
This is no longer the gentle Kanji who waited for Rika in the rain.
This is a man who sold his soul to the devil in order to survive.
Yuezi never knew that a man could unleash such amazing beauty when he was at his most disheveled and filthy.
The urge to rush into the screen, wipe the blood from his face, and hold his broken body made her clench the orange peel in her hand.
The movie continues.
The plot has reached its climax.
That classic "kissing the hem of the skirt" scene.
Shima Iwashita, playing the leader, stands on the steps. She wears a pure white kimono, holds a red umbrella, and looks down on the carnage below with a cold, godlike air.
Sanada Kyoji knelt at the bottom of the steps.
He was blinded by rage. To clear the way for her, he turned himself into a heartless killing machine.
Now, he reeks of nauseating blood, and even approaching her seems like a desecration.
Kitahara Shin's acting reached its peak here.
He was like a wild beast offering its prey as a sacrifice to its master.
His eyes held a mixture of frantic possessiveness and a humbleness that seemed to sink into the dust.
He reached out his hand, trembling.
His fingertips were still dirty, but he tried his best to avoid her skin, only carefully grasping the white hem of her dress.
Then, he lowered his head.
He pressed his lips, which were covered in blood and dirt, heavily onto the lips.
There are no lines.
There was only one heavy breathing sound.
The screening room was deathly silent.
Only the suppressed sobs coming from the front row could be heard.
That's Yumi Yamada, the 0L representative who once threatened to "unfollow and turn against her".
At that moment, she covered her mouth tightly, her makeup completely ruined by tears.
A week ago, she was cursing in the lounge, saying "How disgusting!" and "Incestuous relationship!" But now, when that kiss landed on her, she felt as if her heart had been squeezed tightly.
That's so tragic.
That yearning for heaven from hell, that despair of doing what is impossible, that piety of "I'm dirty but I still love you" is more deafening than a hundred "I love you"s.
This is simply the pinnacle of sexual tension!
At the end of the movie.
Sanada Kyoji sat on the tatami mat.
Noisy footsteps and roars came from outside; those were the people who had come to take his life.
But he didn't care anymore.
He raised the Browning pistol in his hand, which had emptied its magazine and had only one bullet left, and slowly pressed the cold muzzle against his temple.
He did not wait for a miracle, nor did he bother to wait for judgment.
Facing the tightly closed shoji doors, he suddenly smiled.
There was no resentment or regret in that smile.
There is only a kind of arrogant relief of "I'll go first" and a trace of extreme mockery of this messed-up world.
"Bang."
A muffled gunshot instantly drowned out all the noise outside.
Her body collapsed heavily onto the tatami mat like a puppet with its strings cut.
He let go.
The pistol slid to the edge of the pool of blood beside his face, making a soft "click".
That mad dog, who always dreamed of "overthrowing his superiors" and taking a bite out of this cannibalistic world, finally fell silent amidst his own gunshot.
The screen gradually goes black.
Only one line of white text appeared, which was added by director Yasuo Furuhata:
Dedicated to all those struggling in the mud.
The lights came on.
The screening room was silent for a full ten seconds.
No one spoke, no one left. Everyone seemed still immersed in the immense grief and shock, unable to recover.
until-
"Slap, slap, slap."
In the back corner, the old man clapped his hands first.
Immediately afterwards, there was a "whoosh" sound.
The applause erupted like a tidal wave.
That wasn't the kind of polite applause you get at a premiere; it was applause filled with choked sobs, catharsis, and pure, overwhelming emotion.
Sato took off his glasses and hastily wiped the tears from his face.
"That's wonderful!"
He took a deep breath and felt that the heavy weight on his chest had eased somewhat with Sanada Kyoji's death.
That spirit of "standing tall even in death" seemed to flow into his veins through the screen.
"yes."
Etsuko, standing next to her, was already sobbing uncontrollably, frantically searching for tissues. "That Kitahara Shin—how could he act so heartbreakingly? I was so blind before."
Outside the movie theater.
As the first group of viewers left, the three opposing fan groups, who had been arguing fiercely, experienced a strange chemical reaction after watching the movie.
On the streets of Shibuya, Yumi Yamada and her colleagues were gathered together, their eyes red like rabbits'.
The poster that they once regarded as a "monster" has now become a rare treasure in their eyes.
"Waaaaah—Poor Sanada!"
Yumi Yamada sniffed as she hugged the newly bought soundtrack CD to her chest. "I was wrong! What gentle prince? That kind of persona is too shallow! This is a real man!"
"Exactly!" The colleague next to her exclaimed excitedly, "When he kissed the hem of my skirt just now, oh my god, I could hardly breathe! It was dirty, but so exciting!"
The image of that broken, crazy, yet affectionate mad dog directly broke through the maternal defenses of female viewers.
"If anyone ever says Kitahara-kun can only act in idol dramas again, I'll fight them!"
However, the atmosphere in the izakayas in Sugamo is quite different.
Several elderly men who had just finished watching an early morning movie were gathered together, with a pot of sake warming on the table.
"That was a dignified way to die."
The white-haired old man took a sip of his drink and gave it high praise: "No crying, no fussing, no begging for mercy. The final gesture of failing to light the cigarette was brilliantly designed. That's impermanence."
"
"really."
The old man next to him nodded. "There aren't many young people these days who can act with such depth." This kid has the air of a Showa-era actor, like Ken Takakura, and also a bit of Shintaro Katsu's madness.
In their eyes, Kitahara Shin was no longer a "pretty boy who could do a decent job in Taiga dramas," but a "real actor" who had truly mastered the craft.
As for the salarymen in Shinjuku's Kabukicho district, their reaction was the most intense.
Several men who had just finished watching a movie were walking down the street, arm in arm, looking excited, as if they were the ones who had just gone to kill the people.
"That punch! Did you see that? That punch was so fucking satisfying!"
A man was waving his fist, mimicking a move from a movie. "Sanada Kyoji's line, 'I'm standing still,' just really hit the nail on the head!"
"Yeah, he's fucking handsome."
Another companion lit a cigarette, his eyes filled with complex emotions. "We're always bowing and scraping to our bosses at the company, living like slaves. Watching his crazy antics in the movie, I really want to live like that for once."
"That kid Kitahara Shin, he's on our side from now on!"
The leader exhaled a smoke ring and concluded definitively, "As long as he's in this kind of tough-guy movie, I'll buy a ticket for every single one!"
For these men who are overwhelmed by life, Kyoji Sanada is not just a character, but a spiritual totem that allows them to vent their anger and fight against fate.
the next day.
The film review sections of major Japanese newspapers have completely unified their opinions.
The renowned film critic Nagaharu Yodogawa devoted half a page in his column for the Mainichi Shimbun to writing a film review that would later be regarded as a classic by countless film fans—"Elegy for the Heisei Men."
I initially thought I was going to see a violent movie made solely to grab attention.
But I was wrong. I saw a dirge.
[The character of Sanada Kyoji, played by Kitahara Shin, is not just a simple yakuza member. He is an epitome of this era after the bursting of the bubble economy. His madness, his ambition, and his ultimately meaningless death all metaphorically represent the fanatical and illusory 80s that we have just experienced.]
When he smiled on screen and said, "I want to live standing up," I heard the cries of the entire Japanese society.
This is not only another milestone for Shima Iwashita, but also a coronation for actor Shin Kitahara. With an almost self-destructive performance, he pierced through the sugar-coated facade of "idol," showing us the power that actors of the Heisei era should possess.
In the van on the filming location in Kyoto.
Kitahara Shin held the Mainichi Shimbun in his hand, looking at the circled film review, his face expressionless.
Outside the car window, there were several times more fans on set than before.
Not only were there girls holding up signs that read "Sanada Kyoji," but there was also a middle-aged man in a leather jacket with a serious expression, who was holding a camera and waiting there.
"Teacher, you're a real superstar now."
While driving, Nanako said enviously, "Even my old-fashioned dad called yesterday to ask if I could get your autograph for him."
"yes."
Kitahara Shin closed the newspaper and tossed it aside.
He didn't really feel the weight of these praises.
In his view, Sanada Kyoji was just the beginning.
The road ahead of him is much longer and wilder than this.
Just then.
The black pager that he had been keeping in his pocket suddenly beeped twice.
Kitahara Shin took it out and looked at it.
A new string of numerical codes is flashing on the screen, originating from a certain bumbling songstress far away in Tokyo.
【8—8—8】
(Note: Pa-chi-pa-chi-pa-chi is the sound of clapping hands in Japanese.)
Then, a new line popped up:
【7—2—4—1—0—6】
(Note: Na—ni—shi—te—ru? What are you doing?)
Kitahara Shin looked at the string of numbers, and finally couldn't help but smile.
Compared to the lengthy critiques of film critics, this kind of clumsy applause is much more pleasant.
He picked up the phone, dialed the paging service, and then answered the call expertly.
【4—5—1—0】
(Note: Shi-go-to. At work.)
【0—8—4】
(Note: 0—ha—yo. Good morning.)
After hanging up the phone, he turned his gaze to the scenery outside the car window.
The winter sun shines brightly, and the streets of Kyoto remain old and quiet.
"Let's go, Nanako."
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