Remember in The 40 Year Old Virgin where we see Steve Carell’s bedroom for the first time and it’s full of action figures? Well, the Japanese have a name for people like that… They’re called otaku, and the term applies specifically to any adult male who still plays with dollies and knows his favourite animé series inside-out.

In Japan, otaku are both shunned and catered to at the same time. At least one bar in Akihabara features waitresses dressed up as animé characters for their otaku clientele.

I of course knew all about this before my recent Tokyo trip, and wanted to pick up a DVD of the hit Japanese TV soap opera Densha Otoko (“Train Man”), based on a true otaku love story from an online chat group (!)

The only local copies I could find had no English subtitles, but back home I managed to track down an official Hong Kong release. I watched the first episode last night, and from the first power chords of the opening credits’ Mr. Roboto the show had me laughing out loud—a pretty rare occurrence for anyone who knows me!

Of course, to love this show like I do you have to be willing to accept the very broad Japanese definition of comedic acting—big faces, and lots of ‘em—something I’ll allow for this example only. For those who won’t go that far, perhaps, like The Office, a westernized version of this show is in order.

Hmmm… Anybody wanna go in with me on a pitch to get the English rights from Fuji Television?

Here’s a scary Hallowe’en movie treat for you; sure it’s been done before, but not by me!

I had the opportunity this past week to watch both Ringu and The Ring, two film versions of the novel by Koji Suzuki. I should probably state up front that I myself have an extremely low tolerance for terror, and made judicious use of the pause and frame advance buttons on my remote control while watching the films. I should also point out that this comparison will definitely spoil at least some of the fun if you haven’t seen at least one of them. So why not do that, then come back and read the rest?

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Okay, so you’ve either watched one of the films, or you’re not willing to suffer in terror through either, right? Just making sure… As I wrote before, spoilers follow — you’ve been warned!

Here then, are my observations of the two films, in more or less chronological order:

The Victims

Faces of the victims in The Ring are all bent out of shape — literally! — with liberal amounts of prosthetic effects, while their unlucky counterparts in Ringu have their faces frozen in abject terror, plenty scary for me.

The Video

The cursed video in Ringu is short and creepy; The Ring‘s video is bursting with so much symbolism that it really does look like a bad student film. Yes, I know that all the images are justified as the story behind it is uncovered, but about half of them — like the centipede, for example — were completely unnecessary.

I also liked how, in the Japanese version, after the heroine turns off the television she sees a reflection in the screen of Sakada standing behind her, which I’ll bet M. Night Shamalayan ripped off for Signs. The closest we get to that in the American film is a 3D blob of transparent goo flitting across the schoolgirl’s downstairs TV screen. Ooh, scary!

The Music

As a testament to The Ring, only a day after watching it I can’t remember what any of the music sounded like, whereas the ominous slowed-down church bells that counted down the seven days in Ringu still give me the creeps. I thought that their use after the false ending at the well, when the heroine is standing alone on the balcony, was particularly brilliant!

The Ex-Husband

In Ringu the heroine’s husband has ESP; in The Ring it’s the kid who has a sixth sense. Great, another Haley Joel Osment — that’s all we need!

Of particular interest to me was that the American ex-husband had to be convinced of the heroine’s fears, after initially dismissing them, while the Japanese ex took his former mate’s word right off the bat. ESP, or cultural difference?

Sadako vs. Samara

The American script doctors took great lengths to flesh out the character of Samara. As a result, we see her childhood room, her video archives from the mental institution… The heroine even sees her at the bottom of the well, just in case anyone in the audience forgot who the movie was about.

In contrast, Ringu‘s Sadako is stumbled upon pretty late in the film, as that film’s heroine joins her ex-husband in an ESP epiphany. The back story of Sadako is more vague, but deliberately so, I think — at least the filmmakers didn’t add an extra half-hour to the running time trying to explain it!

After Ringu the well scene in The Ring made me laugh out loud… So the heroine gets pushed into the well by a 70′s-vintage television set?!

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Okay, so I’m about to talk about the scariest scene in the film — this is seriously your last chance to stop reading and go out and see it instead!

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The climactic scene in both movies shows the audience how Sadako/Samara makes good on her seventh-day death threat. In Ringu, the effect of Sadako coming out of the television set is just a bit cheap, compared to the flawless visual effects of Hollywood’s Samara. But in The Ring, Samara is still plagued by a poor TV signal as she waltzes across the ex-husband’s studio floor, a dumb effect that for me took her out of the reality of the scene. And while, Ringu shows only Sadako’s eye, for me it’s as lasting an image as the demonic Samara’s full face.

The Message

By now, you’re probably getting the idea that I fancied Ringu substantially more than The Ring, and you’re right. Maybe this will convince you too: What saves both heroines from the video’s curse is that they have made a copy of it and made someone else watch. Both heroines lift the curse from their kids by making them do the same. In the Japanese film the little boy Koichi is told that the cycle of viewing and copying the video must be spread far and wide, until everyone everywhere has seen it. I’m not entirely sure what the message is here — at first I thought the filmmakers were encouraging piracy, but it’s probably more along the lines of “knowledge is power”, or “information wants to be free”.

At any rate, it’s certainly more warm and fuzzy than what we get in The Ring; in that movie the Haley Joel Osment wannabe asks his mom what’ll happen to the person he gives his copy of the cursed video to, and gets silence for an answer. So the message here is “we’ll take care of own, screw y’all”… Nice!

The Winner

Ringu, by a country mile… At least until I get my hands on the Korean version!

Shenmue really is a landmark event in the mostly bullshit world of new media, half game and half epic movie. One of the things I enjoyed most about it was that it was so earnest — no cynicism, post-modernism, parody… Just a well-told (if trite) story that you can interact with. It is precisely what makes me want to get into the videogames industry.

At the same time, the traditional discipline of corporate whoring calls, with bookings for upcoming Second City industrial shows. My first one this year (!) comes in September with a trip to Vancouver. I’m hoping to stay over an extra day and score an interview with Electronic Arts.

I also found out I’m a second-stringer for a tour of Canadian consulates in Asia. If someone on the A-list gets another gig, I could be going to Hong Kong, just like Ryo Hazuki will be doing in the Shenmue sequel! Keep your fingers crossed…

After yesterday’s entry I quickly packed up and checked out of the hotel. I had an hour before I was to meet up for lunch with Kim (see last Saturday), so I made a pilgrimage to the Tokyu Hands "creative life store". It’s also mentioned in this month’s WIRED (see Sunday), and with good reason: Had I an empty suitcase to fill with loot — well, I could have got a suitcase there, even the materials to make one myself! I settled for an inflatable travel pillow, which came in handy during my flight later on.

Kim took me to this sushi place in Shibuya I had passed by a couple of times, noting the line-up that went down the street. On this particular lunch hour it was much shorter, so after taking note of the rules posted outside — "please order at least seven dishes and refrain from lingering" — we went in. Someone had told me that Japanese sushi was far more expensive and not that much better than what you could get in Toronto; they were wrong on both counts. The dishes we snatched from the conveyor belt in front of us all had ingredients that must have been dredged up from the sea that morning. And what better way to cleanse your palette than another visit to Starbucks?

Kim told me of her plans to move to Hawaii, a good strategic point for someone to do business with both Japan and the states. As good as her mastery of the Japanese language is (compared to mine), she confided that no gaijin could ever be completely accepted into Japanese society.

Still, it was with sad eyes that I watched Tokyo slip away from me on the train to the airport. I’m not the type for one-night stands, but that’s how I’m thinking about the city on this, the morning after. She was playing hard to get at first and when all was said and done I never really did understand her, but it sure was a wild ride, and if given the chance I’d go back for seconds at a moments notice!

My first stop on the day’s itinerary was Asakusa, a huge street fair in front of the Sensoji Temple. Every conceivable consumable item was assembled in a promenade under a glass skylight, decorated by orange lanterns. I wisely held out for breakfast until I got here; right in front of the temple was a stand serving some kind of omelette or something; whatever it was, it had egg, bacon, some kind of starchy root filling, and was perfect.

A ferry down the Sumida river dropped me off near Shimbashi station, where I took an automated, elevated train to Odaiba — almost. I decided to get off early and cross the almost 4km bridge across Tokyo Bay on foot. Though there appeared to be a big storm chasing me, it never materialized.

If Tokyo is the city of the 21st century, then Odaiba, or Rainbow Town, is it’s suburb. Huge towers of condos with scenic views in every direction towered above me. Connected to all of them is Decks Tokyo Beach, two parallel malls, both meeting up with Sega Joypolis at the other end. After a snack and my first cup of coffee since I got here (it wasn’t very good — this is important for later) I took a stroll through Sega’s theme park. I’m happy that I ordered my Samba de Amigo maracas over the ‘Net; music games are still all the rage here.

Another, smaller bridge brought me to Palette Town and Mega Web. Palette Town is a rip-off of the mall in Caesar’s Palace, where the fake sky goes from dawn to dusk in about two hours. But without the hordes of American tourists in their tacky shorts it seemed that much classier. Mega Web is basically a year-round showroom for Toyota. They even had their latest electric car available for an automated spin around the complex. This attraction had just closed when I got there. I also wanted to visit the Fuji TV Tower, but by this time I had a bad case of sensory overload, and made my retreat to Shibuya.

This morning I set out early to witness the Tokyo subway at rush hour. My vantage point was a less-travelled platform, across the tracks from what I was promised would be the big show. Perhaps due to the Obon festival (kind of like Japanese Thanksgiving), there wasn’t nearly as much chaos as I expected, but I was impressed for the orderly manner in which passengers lined up in twos behind markers on the floor, where the doors to the arriving trains would open. It was just like the good old days of taking the York University Express bus from Wilson station!

Around 9AM I decided to leave Shinjuku station, by the correct train but in the wrong direction. At the next stop I switched over, and got my come-uppance. I wasn’t pried into an already-full car by subway guards, but I did squeeze into one on my own — barely. Apparently there are signs in subway cars asking patrons not to grab asses. I wouldn’t know, since I can’t read Japanese. But I can appreciate how it might be tempting…

The experience left me needing coffee. So ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to close your bets; I finally surrendered to Starbucks.

After that it was off to Shimokitazawa, to me about as Japanese as Tokyo gets, at least so far. The light rain that started as I left the subway station seemed perfectly appropriate for the series of narrow alleys broken up by train tracks. My favourite store there was Vili3 Vænga:d, a play on the words “Village Vanguard”… I think. In it I found all sorts of manga books and the usual assortment of imported American culture. The logo du jour for the Nipponese seems to be Motorola; maybe they think North American cell phones are rustic and cute?

I then headed back to Harajuku, camera in hand. I was told that Saturday afternoon was the time to see groundbreaking Japanese teen fashion. I saw another gaijin with the same digi-cam as mine and was going to point this out to her, until I deduced from her grave expression that she must be some kind of fashion spy for a big clothing label. Don’t laugh — it apparently happens all the time!

So what’s the new look that’s going to take the fashion world by storm? From what I saw, think Kelly McGillis in Witness. Now you can laugh…

I also got some gifts for my nieces at Kiddy Land. Now I’m not one to drop names, but I must digress to give some fairly big-ups to William Gibson for his article in the current issue of WIRED; Kiddy Land is quite famous, but I wouldn’t have even found the place otherwise!

Before heading back to Shibuya I tooled around Meijijingu Shrine for a spell. The wide tree-covered paths were pierced by the constant sound of crows. They sound different then the few I’ve heard at home, more deep and jungle-y. I’ve heard them greet the rising sun at 5AM every morning since I’ve been here, an instant reminder that I ain’t in Kansas any more.

In the evening I felt obliged to visit Roppongi, where all the gaijin go to party. The subway ride there had the same atmosphere you’d get in the Toronto underground on New Year’s Eve at around 8 or 9PM. When I took my place in front of the Almond Café to “watch the world go by”, I was greeted by lots of friendly, English-speaking people… All of them were passing out flyers for strip joints. Even the non-stripper-looking women had that desperate yet condescending air about them that I’ve observed many a Saturday night on Richmond Street. I turned my nose upward at the whole scene, and patted myself on the back with a return to Shibuya and my favourite fast food meal.

I’ve finally figured out why other caucasian folks seem so snobby wherever you pass them on the streets of Tokyo: When you’re alone you feel like a hero every time you figure out where you’re going on the subway, or make a transaction with a local merchant. Seeing other gaijin reminds you that you’re not Superman, nor some exotic creature that the locals pass by in awed silence. You’re just another damned tourist who doesn’t speak the language and has barely a clue as to how to get around.

Or maybe I’m just goofy-lookin’…

Yesterday started with a visit to the Imperial Palace, which is of course closed on Fridays. My appetite for grand Japanese architecture unsatiated, I opted instead for Tokyo Dome City. I was expecting one of those huge indoor beaches that everyone’s heard about; instead I got a baseball stadium and Power Rangers amusement park.

Then it was time to meet up with Kim Binsted, the mobile phone artificial intelligence expert who came to chat with our nerd school class. We met up at the 45th-floor bar of the fancy Park Hyatt Hotel. A brief tutorial on the features of my cell phone turned to a lengthy conversation about what’s wrong with comedy today, and ended with my first proper Japanese meal in a back-alley local hangout. One of the dishes featured the bright orange yolk of a raw egg swimming in soy sauce; I preferred what Kim said was re-jigged Korean dish, though the Japanese would apparently never admit it.

Kim seemed to think that I could make a good living in Tokyo as a voice actor, doing English translations for film, TV and — this piqued my interest — video games. But I would never be famous, which is pretty much how I’m feeling about Canada at the moment…

My first subway ride was an exhausting, white-knuckled affair. Why, you ask? Well, for starters have a gander at this map. Then realize that no less than three different companies lay claim to some part of the system, so transferring lines ain’t easy, and is in some cases impossible. Then there are the fares. Passengers wishing to buy tickets are presented with a large system map, with a specific fare listed for each station. So just buying tickets is daunting in itself, even for locals!

Luckily, the subway database on my Palm was an accurate source for any subway line and direction that I needed. Also, had I purchased an incorrect fare (I didn’t), I could have paid the difference in the fare adjustment office that every destination station has. Once on the subway itself, the air-conditioning provided some much-needed relief for my cold sweat, and a reassuring voice announced each station through the intercom as we approached it. Whew!

My first of two stops was Akihabara, the electronics mecca. The best way I can describe it (to Canadians) is if you took Toronto’s Active Surplus, knocked the roof off of it and spread it out over several city blocks. I got my copy of the Tokyo Bus Guide video game, but couldn’t find the maracas for Samba de Amigo, though I’m very proud of the pantomime I did to explain to the shopkeepers what I was looking for…

Feeling some hubris, I then proceeded directly to the Ginza area… Shopping for tourists and the well-heeled, big deal. When I passed the Warner Brothers store I knew it was time to leave, but not before a return visit to the Ginza franchise of the Japanese fast food chain I had discovered the day before. Five minutes of frantic pointing and either saying “hai” or shaking my head “no” rewarded me with a combo meal featuring the Japanese version of the Big Mac — two layers of beef, a regular burger patty below and teriyaki on top — now that’s good eatin’!

After a brief return to command central (my hotel room), I set out on foot to explore Harajuku and Shinjuku. I found a site that some designer-guy made for his visiting friends, and planned to use the bigger stores mapped out on it as landmarks to guide me. The sun was just starting to set, so by the time I got to Shinjuku I would be able to see it in all it’s Blade Runner-like glory.

Unfortunately I never made it. Harajuku was easy to find, and I would have been happy staying there if I was interested in overpriced vintage clothes from the States. But I took a right instead of a left at the Diesel store, and ended up near a baseball stadium.

Today I’m meeting up with an acquaintance who visited my nerd school class at the Film Centre; I’m looking forward to having an extended conversation in English!

I spent yesterday morning and afternoon exploring Shibuya. It seems to be more a centre of culture than of gadgets. I did find an official Sega arcade, but half of it was devoted to gambling. i-Mode phones are everywhere; I screwed mine up not knowing if it had voice mail or not, and missed two calls, probably from the people who rented it to me.

At one point I found myself off the beaten path, on an unusually quiet series of side streets. The few who passed me, mostly couples, weren’t too keen on making eye contact. Then I figured it out: I’d found Love Hotel Hill!

When the heat was at it worst, I decided to splurge on a milkshake, not from McDonald’s or Wendy’s (if anyone is still wagering — see yesterday), but from a local chain called — well, the logo had an “L” with an orange sun coming out from behind it. Unfortunately the otherwise helpful young man behind the counter didn’t speak English, and I ended up with another iced coffee, this one with cream!

For lunch I checked out the Food Fair in the basement of the Tokyu department store. Lots of interesting foodstuffs, but apparently nowhere to eat them. I settled for some take out noodles from a variety store, smiling like an idiot to whatever the cashier said until it was time to say “arigato”.

Another Japanese voice followed me throughout the day. Some guy with a sound system so kick-ass that I could hear it in my 22nd-floor hotel room was repeating what sounded like a message of protest. It’s around the anniversary of the Japanese surrender in World War Two, and all of Asian is up in arms about the Japanese Prime Minister’s visit to a war memorial. Of course, for all I know, this guy could have been yelling “Remember, whatever the Canadian asks for, give him iced coffee!” into his megaphone.

Here’s where the jet lag comes in: I came back to my hotel for a quick nap, and the next thing I knew it was 3 in the morning…

Today’s mission is to conquer the subway system, or at least gain some functional experience with it. Joining me will be an invaluable piece of Palm software, Metro. My destination is Akihabara, and I won’t leave until I find a copy of Tokyo Bus Guide for my Dreamcast.

By Toronto time, I would have slept in until 4 in the afternoon, but here in Tokyo it’s only 5AM, and I need coffee!

Remembering my experience with Shenmue, I wandered down the hall to the vending machine. Tokyians (?) love their vending machines; when I went out to find some bottled water last night, the only place I could find it was in the hotel lobby. An entire room there is devoted to vending machines for snacks, drinks and cigarettes. My water was waiting for me in the biggest one; after putting some money into it what looked like the Canada Space Arm retrieved my beverage for me.

So back to this morning: The smaller vending machine at the end of my hallway had an aluminum can with coffee beans on it. No-brainer, right? Wrong. The tinned beverage was indeed coffee, and was thankfully free of any milk products (I take my coffee black, like my heart), but it was chilled.

Of course there’s a Starbucks in the shopping mall adjacent to the hotel. And of course I would consider it a moral failure to visit Starbucks on my first full day in Japan. How long do you think I’ll last before caving in? Start placing your bets…