Chapter 3 End Roll - part 3

Previous TOC Next

───Take 3

“And… cut!”

The assistant director’s voice echoed through the set, a replica of a traditional tearoom. The director, Tokame, reviewed the actors’ performances on the monitor and called out, "OK." With that, they had wrapped up filming all eight scenes. Though the cast was relatively unknown, their skill and efficiency had kept the shooting on track.

Isono Soukichi, in charge of props, was the first to step onto the set, carefully gathering the tea utensils, scrolls, and vase. The set might be a fake, but the items he handled were genuine—and valuable. Some of these tea bowls alone cost tens of thousands of yen, a fact he couldn’t exactly shout about. If one of these breaks, that's half a year’s salary gone in an instant.

The producer had suggested they could afford to be less meticulous, since this was, after all, just a reenactment in a documentary. But Isono had insisted, saying, “I’ll take full responsibility.” This was a three-part documentary tracing the history of the tea ceremony from Sen no Rikyu's era to the present day. Even for reenactment scenes, he didn’t want to use props that wouldn’t fit the time period. He had gone so far as to tap into his grandfather’s connections—who’d also worked in props—to borrow authentic pieces from the era.

Isono wasn’t the only one who paid attention to the details. The set designers had also gone above and beyond, recreating the rustic earthen walls, a modest tokonoma alcove, and bamboo ceiling beams reminiscent of the Tai-an tea hut. Clearly, they were committed, budget or not.

When his friend, Tokame—now a renowned film director—had first mentioned he was shooting a TV program, Isono had blurted, “Wait, what? Why?” After all, Tokame had just won an award at a prestigious international film festival. With so many choices for his next project, why return to television? It wasn’t that TV was beneath him, but it was rare for a successful film director to pivot to television.

Tokame, ever nonchalant, had only replied, “It’s a documentary.” Suddenly, Isono remembered: Tokame had spent years overseas, all for the sake of capturing documentary footage. When Tokame had asked, “Hey, aren’t you the period-piece props expert?” Isono had taken on the task of assembling props for the reenactment scenes. As he looked around, he noticed familiar faces among the set designers and lighting crew as well. Wherever Tokame went, his crew naturally followed—the so-called “Tokame team.”

A bunch of guys swarming around one man—it’s kind of creepy, he thought, though he knew he was one of them, so there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Even so, it had been both surprising and impressive when Tokame won the Grand Prix at an international film festival for his fourth feature film, The Ants' Procession. Isono had been the prop master for the film. It hadn’t been a historical piece, so he hadn’t been able to truly show his expertise, but he had done everything he could to bring his best to the job.

He thought it was a good film. He especially loved the opening scene: the elderly protagonist, dressed in mourning clothes, walks along a narrow rural path, trailed by her family members. When the camera pulls back, the group in black appears like a trail of ants moving slowly down the path—a striking image. It wasn’t a lighthearted story; in a word, it was plain. But the rural landscape was breathtaking, and in contrast, the sadness of these lonely, forgotten lives cut deeply into the viewer’s heart.

By the middle of filming, I think everyone knew we were working on a masterpiece. Still, a realistic part of him had sensed that it might struggle at the box office. The only well-known name in the cast was Yuko Kamonagi, an actress, while the rest were lesser-known stage actors, skilled but not widely recognized.

As expected, it didn’t do well in theaters. However, audiences who had seen it, as well as critics, held the film in high regard. And then, The Ants' Procession was submitted to a French film festival. Winning an award there completely changed its fortunes. It was featured on TV multiple times, and although the screenings had ended, a few theaters began to host encore showings to celebrate the win. As more people watched it, the praise grew, word spread, and even more theaters brought it back. Against the odds, it eventually ranked fifth in annual box office earnings for Japanese films—a remarkable success for such an understated work.

Shunji Tokame’s name and face were suddenly everywhere. Some even called him handsome, and TV offers poured in, but Tokame turned down everything that wasn’t a film-related interview. Once, as a joke, Isono had said, “Hey, why not act like a big shot for once?” Tokame had just laughed it off.

As soon as filming wrapped, the set was swiftly dismantled. Isono carefully packed away the borrowed, high-end items, cushioning them with packing material before loading them into cardboard boxes, which he secured with seat belts in the back seat of his car. With this setup, they should be safe unless I get in a wreck or roll the car.

He messaged his wife, only to find she was still on another job with no end in sight. The twins, still in elementary school, would be staying over at their grandmother’s tonight. Guess I’ll grab a drink with Tokame—been a while, he thought, but when he got back to the studio, the director was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, hey, Isono! You seen Director Tokame around?”

The voice he least wanted to hear reached his ears. No avoiding it, though; he turned around, exasperated, to see the producer of the documentary, Shimabara, in a loud-colored, flashy suit sauntering over.

“...No, I haven’t,” he replied.

“What? He’s nowhere to be found! I can’t get through to him, either. You’re close with him, aren’t you? Come on, you must know.”

I told you, if I don’t know, I don’t know! he wanted to shout, but instead, he suppressed his feelings and replied, “I really don’t know,” in as neutral a voice as he could muster. Shimabara, whose thinning hair almost begged Isono to tell him, Don’t strain yourself, smugly slicked his long strands back with a practiced hand.

"Man, this is a hassle. The higher-ups want to meet Director Tokame, but whatever. If you see him, tell him to give me a call," Shimabara said, swaying oddly as he left the studio. When Isono first met him, he'd been such a slapdash assistant director that Isono could’ve sworn a curse on him. But somehow, even a guy like Shimabara had managed to survive nearly a decade in the industry. His dream of becoming a film director had fizzled after one failed attempt, but he'd landed in the rather exasperating role of television producer instead.

Though Shimabara was infamously easygoing, he was still well-liked among certain creators because he barely interfered with project concepts. The man had no talent for creating himself, but he did have a knack for spotting creators who did. When shows succeeded, he took the credit; when they flopped, he blamed the creator. It was the usual Shimabara style, but lately, maybe because he was getting on in years, he wasn’t quite as infuriating as he used to be.

Wandering around the studio, Isono was frequently stopped by familiar set designers and lighting crew asking, “Hey, where’s Director Tokame planning to drink later?” Seriously, it’s barely past noon, and they’re already thinking about drinking? It was enough to make him laugh.

After searching around for a while, he couldn’t find Tokame. He tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail. He left a message, though he wasn’t holding his breath for a reply. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the crew, would he? With a puzzled shake of his head, he stepped outside and, just down the hallway, he finally heard Tokame’s voice.

"Look, I don’t mind…," Tokame was saying. Sitting on a long bench, he held his phone, looking displeased. Finally, with a resigned, “Fine, do whatever you want,” he ended the call. Immediately, he dialed another number, but when it didn’t connect, he started typing out a message. Waiting until he seemed calmer, Isono called out, “Hey there. Good work today.” Tokame turned, raising a hand in greeting.

“I tried calling you.”

“…Sorry, I was on the phone for a while.”

“Something urgent come up?”

“Ah, no… it’s not exactly that…,” Tokame replied, hedging his words.

“You sure? You look a little serious,” Isono said, plopping down beside him on the bench.

“Speaking of, aren’t you filming something new this spring?” Isono asked.

“Did Wakibuchi tell you that?”

“Bingo. The other day, we had studios right next to each other. You’re directing, but someone else is writing the script, right? What’s the genre? Could it be a period piece this time?”

Tokame didn’t respond, and Isono felt a pang of disappointment.

“Hey, hey, I’m not saying you have to give away the whole plot! If it’s something you don’t want me talking about, I’ll keep quiet.”

Looking a bit awkward, Tokame fidgeted with his mouth as if searching for the right words. Finally, he muttered, “Thing is…”

“The co-writer is basing the script on me,” he admitted.

“What?! Seriously?”

“Yeah, well…,” Tokame sighed. “Believe me, it’s not my choice.”

“I kind of thought you weren’t into that whole ‘I’m the focus’ thing, honestly.”

“Definitely not,” Tokame said. “But I told him he could write whatever he wanted… I guess I didn’t give enough details, though. Now he wants to interview people who knew me in high school…”

“Whoa—so this is one of those ‘dig up the old dirt’ situations?”

“I don’t think there’s anything illegal… probably.”

"Probably, huh? That sounds oddly realistic. You definitely weren’t the goody-two-shoes type,” Isono said, grinning as Tokame’s expression grew thoughtful again.

"Now that you've agreed, it’s hard to back out, huh? But honestly, you're not too thrilled about doing something autobiographical, right?"

"Honestly, I don’t know," Tokame muttered, ruffling his hair with a sigh. "I mean, what’s the point of turning my life into a movie?"

"Maybe it doesn’t need to mean anything to you. If it means something to the audience, isn’t that enough?"

Tokame fell silent again. Watching his profile, Isono began to think, This might actually be weighing on him more than he lets on.

"If you’re not feeling it, maybe it’s better to back out early. If you’re not on board, it could turn into a mess when you get behind the camera."

"It’s not that I dislike it. Besides, showing people my past won’t change anything."

"Setting aside how you feel, I’d personally like to see a story about you."

Tokame sighed with a troubled expression that was hard to describe.

"Anyway, what’s the plan for tonight? The staff’s antsy about where the afterparty’s happening," Isono asked, changing the subject.

They finally decided on a cheap nearby izakaya that opened early. About sixteen of them gathered, cheering loudly as they raised their glasses. Mid-toast, Isono remembered Shimabara’s request but quickly dismissed it, deciding it was too much of a hassle to bother with.

“Tokame, I heard through the grapevine that you’re gearing up to film something new this spring?” one of the lighting guys asked, leaning in.

“Yeah, something like that,” Tokame replied.

“Wait, Director, you’ve already got the next one lined up?” the set designer jumped in, his eyes lighting up. The conversation picked up as everyone started talking about the upcoming project. Isono couldn’t help but remember Wakibuchi’s words: “I want to shoot every one of Tokame’s films. Letting someone else do it feels like such a waste with how fun his sets are.” I feel the same way, Isono thought. Bet the lighting and set design guys do too.

Guess I’d better keep my calendar open for spring, he mused. Oh, and I should tell my wife, too. She’ll definitely want to join. “Count me in as script supervisor!” she’ll say, already holding up her hand.

Someday, before I die, Tokame’s gotta shoot a period piece. With me, of course, handling the props. That would be the ultimate, Isono thought as he took a deep, satisfying swig of his beer.

Previous TOC Next