mijobooks Chapter 82 Itami 3's Prank
Chapter 82 Itami 3's Prank
Chapter 82 Itami Juzo's Prank
The sea breeze from Odaiba carried a salty, damp smell, sweeping unhindered across the rooftop cafe of Fuji Television.
The metal tables and chairs rustled softly in the wind, and the napkins on the table had to be weighed down by the heavy ashtray.
Juzo Itami, pressing his fisherman's hat which seemed ready to be blown away at any moment, looked around with disdain.
"This location was chosen terribly."
The famous director complained, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and forcefully stubbing it out in the ashtray because the wind was too strong to light it. "Only people like you who are still making a living at the TV station think the scenery here is nice, but you're just drinking the wind."
Kitahara Shin sat opposite him, holding a cup of hot coffee in his hand, his expression indifferent.
"Because it's quiet here, and no one will bother us."
Over the past few months, the two had met several times at the fishing pond and had also drunk together at that family dinner.
Although Juzo Itami always had a sarcastic tone and looked down on the current television industry, the relationship between the two was built up through their back-and-forth banter and mutual insults.
The relationship wasn't like that of a director and an actor; it was more like that of two friends of different ages who both disliked the ways of the world.
Juzo Itami snorted, seemingly accepting the explanation.
He pulled a thick brown paper bag from his canvas bag and casually pushed it in front of Kitahara Shin, as if handing over a bag of bait.
"Take it."
"This is?"
"Take a look for yourself."
Kitahara Shin put down his coffee cup and picked up the bag.
Upon opening the seal, a stack of neatly printed manuscript paper was pulled out.
The cover has no fancy design, not even the production company Iogo, only a line of large bold text:
The Lies of the Grand Hotel
"This is the first draft I just finished writing. I haven't even shown it to those investors who only care about box office revenue."
Juzo Itami finally gave up on lighting a cigarette, tossing the lighter on the table. "Last time we ate at your house, you said you wanted to act out something 'real.' After I got back, I thought about it and realized that even though you're an idol, you've got quite the nerve. Since you want to see what's underneath, then I'll show you."
Kitahara Shin opened the script.
The story takes place in a famous, long-established luxury hotel.
Within this seemingly opulent and orderly enclosed space, the aftermath of a bubble bursting unfolds:
A company president who's drowning in debt but still insists on staying in a presidential suite to maintain appearances;
A politician who brings his mistress to a hotel room and then encounters his wife in the elevator;
A homeless man who meticulously disguised himself as a guest in order to get a free buffet meal;
And then there are those purchasing managers in the kitchen who fight tooth and nail over a few kickbacks.
This is a microcosm of absurd Japanese society.
On this enormous stage, everyone is acting, and everyone is lying.
Where is the main character?
Kitahara Shin flipped through a few pages and found the script's narrative perspective to be very unique.
It's like a detached, observant camera, recording every farce that unfolds in the lobby, yet always maintaining a sense of detachment.
"You are that camera."
Juzo Itami pointed to the cast list on the script.
The character listed first has a name with only three characters:
Concierge
There is no full name, and no background information.
It's as if this character was born to stand here and become a part of this grand hotel.
"You have very few lines."
Juzo Itami looked at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Or rather, all your lines are nonsense. 'Welcome,' 'Excuse me,' 'This way,' 'I understand.' For the entire 120 minutes of the movie, you can only utter these standard polite phrases."
Kitahara Shin's finger stopped on that page.
He quickly scanned the character's behavioral tags.
Bow to unreasonable customers; smile at arrogant politicians; nod when colleagues try to shirk responsibility.
No matter what happens, this "concierge" always has that impeccable professional smile on his face.
"this----"
Kitahara Shin raised his head and looked at Itami Juzo.
This is not just a problem of having few lines; it's a complete deprivation of actors of the right to express emotions through language.
"Think it's easy?"
Juzo Itami grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Kid, don't think I'm trying to promote you. This might be the most difficult role of your career, a real ordeal for an actor like you who relies on his looks."
He held up one finger and pointed to the corner of his mouth.
I want you to keep smiling the whole time.
"That kind of fake smile that has been trained thousands of times and has become muscle memory. Even if the customer vomits all over the place in front of you, even if you know that the seemingly respectable president is actually a rapist, even if you want to stab the person in front of you to death, you can't let a single millimeter of your smile fall."
"but."
Juzo Itami's voice suddenly turned cold and serious. "I want the audience to see the disgust in your heart through your smiling face."
"You should insult people with your eyes."
"You should use that stiff smile to laugh at these monkeys dressed in designer clothes."
"If the audience only sees a well-mannered employee, then you've messed up. I need a mask," a mask that's smiling, yet sends chills down your spine.
This is a silent film.
Or rather, it's a solo dance performed in shackles.
In this world of sound, the protagonist is forced to lose his voice.
He stripped Kitahara Shin of his most natural and heartfelt lines, and even deprived him of the freedom to express his facial expressions, leaving him only with control over his eyes and micro-expressions.
Extreme irony needs to be released through extreme restraint.
Everyone else in the movie was hysterical, but he was still.
But this stillness must be more powerful than hysteria.
Kitahara Shin looked at the script in his hand.
The sea breeze made the paper rustle.
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the scene in his mind:
A magnificent, gilded lobby, filled with impeccably dressed people.
He stood in the center, dressed in a crisp uniform, with a perfect smile on his face, like an exquisite wax figure.
But what was reflected in those eyes was a hellish absurdity and ugliness.
This is hardly a comedy.
This is clearly a horror film disguised as a comedy.
But he felt a long-lost excitement.
That burning sensation, like blood rushing through my veins, traveled from my fingertips all the way to my heart.
Having played the deeply affectionate "Kanji" and characters with overtly expressed emotions, this kind of extremely repressed and restrained performance is exactly the whetstone he needs now.
This is the flesh and blood after the skin has been "torn open".
"How is it?"
Juzo Itami leaned forward, his eyes, which had seen countless storms, fixed on Shin Kitahara, and said with a wicked grin, "Didn't you always say you wanted to break out of your shell and act? Try this role and see how it goes. If you're worried about messing it up, you can give me back the script now. I'll find a veteran actor from a theater troupe to play the role; it'll be a piece of cake."
This is a provocation tactic.
This was also a unique way of inviting him, as was the case with this eccentric director.
He placed a sugar-coated bomb in front of Kitahara Shin, waiting to see if the young man would dare to light it.
Kitahara Shin closed the script and rubbed his fingers lightly on the rough cover.
He raised his head and met Itami Juzo's provocative gaze. Instead of showing fear, a faint smile appeared on his face.
That smile held a hint of composure, but also a hint of ambition.
"Are these the only requirements?"
Kitahara Shin put the script into his briefcase, buttoned it up with a crisp "click," and said, "I thought it would be even harder."
Juzo Itami paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
The laughter sounded especially hearty in the wind.
"You little rascal, you're even more arrogant than me."
He stood up, patted Kitahara Shin on the shoulder, and said, "Don't get too excited yet, this is just the beginning. Playing this role requires more than just reading the script. Before that, I have a little gift for you."
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