Yume kara sameta yume
Dream after dream Feb 4 2009
Much as I usually find too much to dislike about the ubiquitous Shiki Theatre Company—the canned music, hammy acting, conservative choreography, too-perfect smiles, cutesy girls and macho-elegant boys—they are at their best when creating their own works. Beauty & the Beast and Evita, while thrillingly live in NYC or London, appear energetic re-treads here, lacking stars or the rough magic that seeps through the professional polish. Shiki’s (re)productions of Disney or Rice always gleam with slick staging and sound and light, but at least to my mind they leave little after-taste. The Two Lottes, Yuta and the Funny Wind, and Ann of Green Gables were, however, inventive, original, musicals taking full advantage of the child-like wonderland that is Shiki’s special corner of the musical market.
So my anticipation was happily rewarded with Yume kara sameta yume (From dream to waking dream), less Lorca than Lerner & Lowe. The story of a pre-adolescent coming to terms with death, parting, and friendship was told with large-scale set-pieces that were somewhat peripheral to the story but added a vibrancy and elegance to a rather dark tale. Surprisingly babies on their mother’s knees, little children and their grandparents, all seemed to find something to enjoy in this “big tent” original Shiki production. You’d have to be a real grouch to deny its charm, and yes, bittersweet after-taste.
* * *
Piko is a normal pre-teen. Visited by the Dream Deliverer, she is invited to experience Death: the corridor to that world is open at a leisureland at night, when the fun and wonder of the children echoes into heaven. If she is curious, she may enter that other world there.She goes, and we see the gorgeous set-piece (on poster): the nighttime wonder of the park, with stilts, puppets, fancy-dressed women, (Venetian!) masked death-figures, and rotating white hoops (!) which all made for a thrilling spectacle. (We’d been prepared for this world by lobby artists, an hour before the show, who staked up and down the escalators and outdoor area, scaring and posing for children).
Then entering a quiet piano room, she meets a strangely blue-white girl, Mako. Mako, her voice amplified and movements slowed like an anime spirit, died in a car accident, unable to even say goodbye to her mother. Piko agrees to change with her for a day, taking the White Passport that will allow her to go to Heaven.
In act two, Piko gamely enters the Terminal, where three toughs—a biker, a yakuza, and a business executive—clean the floors, while an Angel—“wouldn’t it be nice if everyone was happy?” and Devil check passports of children. Here the instructional fable takes a decidedly simplistic if pacifist turn: An African killed in famine, an Asian girl killed in War, and a Palestinian girl killed by a bomb all sing their sad tales. The viewing monitor shows a pastiche of real photos of their suffering. The judgement, delivered via computer taps and binary screenshots: a white passport delivered, so the ragged bunch awaits the next rocket transport.
Meanwhile, an old man sits patiently on the lookout for his wife: even though he died years ago, he waits for her to see if she has grown to look like him. She arrives, apologizing for keeping him waiting, bringing rice-balls as an omiyage present. They go off with Piko to view the rocket flash; she carelessly leaves her bag with passport with Meso, a young suicide awaiting his fate with the three toughs with a gray passport. Since they are grouped in four, if even one of them isn’t ready, none of them can succeed to go to heaven…
When the rocket is boarded for Heaven, Meso is bullied by the three toughs, pretending to have been issued a white passport—he goes to heaven, leaving Piko stranded. The Dream Deliverer closes the first act and opens the 2nd like a pantomime host.
In act 2, Piko discovers her passport is Black—Meso’s bad deed was punished—and convinces the others to help her. First, the trio of toughs sing of their demise—the businessman a jazzy number showing he overworked, the biker a rock-and-roll bike accident, the yakuza, an enka stabbing victim. They convince the Devil to bring Meso back. Meso admits he stole, the passport is considered “lost” so reissued to Piko. Even though she wants to stay, “to help everyone,” Piko returns to earth to resume her living self.
But Piko still has to change with Mako, whose 24 hours with her mother (on a bench next to a streetlamp in the park next to where her accident occurred) is up. Mako’s mother doesn’t want her to leave, but Mako convinces her that Piko’s mother would be as upset. Mako and Piko part, and Piko is left surrounded by the lights of all the souls she has met, now in Heaven.
The story, with Buddhist and perhaps Christian overtones, is sentimental and simple. But the moving sets, lighting, and costumes gave a fabulous and sparkling elegance to it. The space-age terminal, a white modernist lobby, had a “portal” screen for projecting images of the children, and later the stars and a waving farewell of those bound for Heaven, that turned into a CG speck in the distance. By melding the low technology of song-and-dance with the high (?) technology of cg projections and special effects, Shiki had created a magic corridor for us to their fantasy world. If the songs and dances were as forgettably transient as always, isn’t this the flimsy film of dreams (or life) itself?
Dream after dream Feb 4 2009
Much as I usually find too much to dislike about the ubiquitous Shiki Theatre Company—the canned music, hammy acting, conservative choreography, too-perfect smiles, cutesy girls and macho-elegant boys—they are at their best when creating their own works. Beauty & the Beast and Evita, while thrillingly live in NYC or London, appear energetic re-treads here, lacking stars or the rough magic that seeps through the professional polish. Shiki’s (re)productions of Disney or Rice always gleam with slick staging and sound and light, but at least to my mind they leave little after-taste. The Two Lottes, Yuta and the Funny Wind, and Ann of Green Gables were, however, inventive, original, musicals taking full advantage of the child-like wonderland that is Shiki’s special corner of the musical market.
So my anticipation was happily rewarded with Yume kara sameta yume (From dream to waking dream), less Lorca than Lerner & Lowe. The story of a pre-adolescent coming to terms with death, parting, and friendship was told with large-scale set-pieces that were somewhat peripheral to the story but added a vibrancy and elegance to a rather dark tale. Surprisingly babies on their mother’s knees, little children and their grandparents, all seemed to find something to enjoy in this “big tent” original Shiki production. You’d have to be a real grouch to deny its charm, and yes, bittersweet after-taste.
* * *
Piko is a normal pre-teen. Visited by the Dream Deliverer, she is invited to experience Death: the corridor to that world is open at a leisureland at night, when the fun and wonder of the children echoes into heaven. If she is curious, she may enter that other world there.She goes, and we see the gorgeous set-piece (on poster): the nighttime wonder of the park, with stilts, puppets, fancy-dressed women, (Venetian!) masked death-figures, and rotating white hoops (!) which all made for a thrilling spectacle. (We’d been prepared for this world by lobby artists, an hour before the show, who staked up and down the escalators and outdoor area, scaring and posing for children).
Then entering a quiet piano room, she meets a strangely blue-white girl, Mako. Mako, her voice amplified and movements slowed like an anime spirit, died in a car accident, unable to even say goodbye to her mother. Piko agrees to change with her for a day, taking the White Passport that will allow her to go to Heaven.
In act two, Piko gamely enters the Terminal, where three toughs—a biker, a yakuza, and a business executive—clean the floors, while an Angel—“wouldn’t it be nice if everyone was happy?” and Devil check passports of children. Here the instructional fable takes a decidedly simplistic if pacifist turn: An African killed in famine, an Asian girl killed in War, and a Palestinian girl killed by a bomb all sing their sad tales. The viewing monitor shows a pastiche of real photos of their suffering. The judgement, delivered via computer taps and binary screenshots: a white passport delivered, so the ragged bunch awaits the next rocket transport.
Meanwhile, an old man sits patiently on the lookout for his wife: even though he died years ago, he waits for her to see if she has grown to look like him. She arrives, apologizing for keeping him waiting, bringing rice-balls as an omiyage present. They go off with Piko to view the rocket flash; she carelessly leaves her bag with passport with Meso, a young suicide awaiting his fate with the three toughs with a gray passport. Since they are grouped in four, if even one of them isn’t ready, none of them can succeed to go to heaven…
When the rocket is boarded for Heaven, Meso is bullied by the three toughs, pretending to have been issued a white passport—he goes to heaven, leaving Piko stranded. The Dream Deliverer closes the first act and opens the 2nd like a pantomime host.
In act 2, Piko discovers her passport is Black—Meso’s bad deed was punished—and convinces the others to help her. First, the trio of toughs sing of their demise—the businessman a jazzy number showing he overworked, the biker a rock-and-roll bike accident, the yakuza, an enka stabbing victim. They convince the Devil to bring Meso back. Meso admits he stole, the passport is considered “lost” so reissued to Piko. Even though she wants to stay, “to help everyone,” Piko returns to earth to resume her living self.
But Piko still has to change with Mako, whose 24 hours with her mother (on a bench next to a streetlamp in the park next to where her accident occurred) is up. Mako’s mother doesn’t want her to leave, but Mako convinces her that Piko’s mother would be as upset. Mako and Piko part, and Piko is left surrounded by the lights of all the souls she has met, now in Heaven.
The story, with Buddhist and perhaps Christian overtones, is sentimental and simple. But the moving sets, lighting, and costumes gave a fabulous and sparkling elegance to it. The space-age terminal, a white modernist lobby, had a “portal” screen for projecting images of the children, and later the stars and a waving farewell of those bound for Heaven, that turned into a CG speck in the distance. By melding the low technology of song-and-dance with the high (?) technology of cg projections and special effects, Shiki had created a magic corridor for us to their fantasy world. If the songs and dances were as forgettably transient as always, isn’t this the flimsy film of dreams (or life) itself?
Comments