In a Grove (Part 2)

The Story of Hasegawa Naoko, the Actress

I never wanted to be in the movies.

I never was the showoff type, and I’m not one now. I’m just an ordinary, average human being.

Whenever my class put on a play in middle and high school, I always volunteered to do scenery and props. I prefer working behind the scenes to standing in the spotlight. I just get absorbed in that kind of thing. I’ve always been good with my hands, too.

I only joined this film circle because some friends from my program invited me to come check it out with them. It’s not like I wanted to be in the movies. But somehow I ended up being cast as a lead actress, and then I ended up staying. I always let other people sweep me along.

I never got used to being an actress. Seeing myself on screen was embarrassing. My face and voice just seem weird. It’s all clearly off. I don’t have any acting talent either, and I don’t really practice, so of course I’m terrible. It’s agonizing having to watch the screenings with all these other people, so I’m always lurking in the corner. I don’t know how people can be okay watching themselves on screen with other people in the room. So I only acted, I guess, because I got swept into it.

Uyama is a very passionate person.

I guess he has talent, but since I don’t know much about movies, I don’t really understand how good he is. But I think it’s great, how he can devote himself to a single thing like that. Not like me, just stumbling along. He seems pretty stressed out when he’s filming, but he also looks equally happy. I like watching him film. Maybe that’s why I’m always in his movies.

I started acting because of Uyama. At first it was just supporting roles, but eventually I started getting cast as the lead. He was so passionate when he first asked me to do a role, he just bulldozed through me. He says that my face is made for the silver screen. I don’t think so though, I think that’s just how he sees me. Ever since then, he always invited me to be in all his movies, and so that’s how we started to get close.

I heard that people don’t like him because he’s a little too passionate. He can be a little inflexible. What makes him hard to work with is how he’ll do anything for a movie. And I got that a lot making On a Rooftop.

On a Rooftop is a two-hander drama. It’s about a man and a woman who, after breaking up with each other, start running into each other on a rooftop, and gradually fall in love again. When I read it I was really shocked, because the couple was obviously based on me and Watanabe.

I used to date Watanabe.

Uyama is the really jealous type, so after we started going out he would ask me all sorts of stuff about our relationship. Like where we went, what we ate, what we talked about. And the weird thing was, he’d recreate those things. He’d take me to the same places that Watanabe took me. And if he was feeling really weird, he’d invite Watanabe and the three of us would go there together. Honestly, I was not into that at all. But Watanabe never looked fazed. Things just went on like that because Watanabe was mature about it, and because Uyama and Watanabe had been good friends since freshman year. But doing that kind of thing on purpose was just so weird. Maybe Uyama was doing it to compete with Watanabe. Or maybe, he was just acting like a friend but didn’t trust Watanabe completely, and wanted to keep an eye on us both.

So why would such a jealous person want to make a movie like that?

I remember reading a short story called Hell Screen.¹ The artist in the story does terrible things without blinking an eye, all for the sake of inspiration. In the end he watches his own daughter burn alive in an oxcart, which allows him to finish his painting of hell. I think Uyama was planning on doing the same thing. I think that was how he wanted to extract reality.

Of course I didn’t want to do it. That’s a given. My acting was already shaky, and with that kind of script… Any sane person would say no. But of course I couldn’t refuse, not when Uyama started sobbing in front of me. In the end I did it because I wanted to help him achieve what he was trying to do.

I was sure that Watanabe would be mad. But Uyama happily told me that he’d given his OK. Knowing how much more mature Watanabe was than Uyama, he’d probably agreed out of respect for Uyama’s passion.

We used the rooftop of an old concrete apartment building for the set. It was moving deeper into autumn, the most comfortable time of the year in Kyoto, so the shoot felt very pleasant.

There was a big ginkgo tree growing beside the apartment, and the branches reached all the way to the rooftop. I remember once after shooting wrapped for the day Uyama and I gathered ginkgo nuts and made hiryūzu that night. Uyama loves ginkgo nuts.

As shooting went on, the leaves of the ginkgo tree turned yellow. The shoot used that as the backdrop. I thought it was symbolic, how the leaves change colour as the couple fall for each other again. Uyama hates that kind of analysis though, so I didn’t tell him that’s what I thought.

It was a very enjoyable time.

Uyama said that this would be the last movie he made, and Watanabe was getting along with Uyama like they were freshmen again. It was all so nostalgic. I remember us eating our lunches together, looking up at the beautifully clear autumn sky.

But there were awkward times, too. Sometimes Uyama would move the camera, or fiddle with some adjustments, and while he was doing that Watanabe and I would talk about all sorts of things. And then eventually we’d realize that Uyama was done with whatever he was doing and was standing there glaring at us. I think Uyama suspected there was something going on between us. Maybe the whole reason he was making this movie was so that he could find us out. But would anyone really go so far as to make a movie to look into something like that? Anyways, the important thing is that I didn’t feel anything for Watanabe.

The last scene?

I really wish it hadn’t turned into a scandal. But I understand why it did.

I didn’t want to do it, right up until the end. Even after Uyama pushed me into being in the film, I was still hoping that there’d be some way to get out of it. I knew that Uyama would be filming the script exactly as it was written, but if there wasn’t a rainbow—

The script specified that there would be a rainbow. Seeing that rainbow, Watanabe and I would rekindle our relationship. Uyama was obsessed with the rainbow. Watanabe had noticed and pointed it out when he’d read through the script. No matter how attached to the idea you were, there was no telling if a rainbow would conveniently show up on cue.

I’ve been afraid of rainbows ever since I was little. Actually, I don’t like big things in general. Mountains, water tanks, giant Buddha statues...I think rainbows are just another part of that. I’ve never thought they were pretty.

We waited on that rooftop for a rainbow to appear.

A chilly autumn rain was pouring down, and from atop the roof we could see the grey, misty outline of the city. Watanabe was patient at first, but gradually he started to get irritated. He paced back and forth, smoking a cigarette. Uyama was waiting to jump into action, while I sat just inside the open doorway to the rooftop looking up at the sky. It really felt like autumn now, and getting even a little bit wet chilled you to the bone.

We tried waiting for another day, but our luck was the same.

The shoot dragged on and on. The cultural festival was drawing near.

On the last day, Watanabe lost his temper and called Uyama out, and they had a big row. Watanabe said he was sick and tired of waiting, while Uyama was intent on waiting it out. I tried to get between them and smooth things over, but neither would budge an inch. “You got two hours, then I’m out of here!” Watanabe declared.

He strode to the edge of the roof alone, while Uyama fiddled with his equipment, and I stood by myself looking at the sky. The drizzle kept falling and falling on the bleak, weed-covered rooftop. The chill, lonely wind carried on it the scent of the rain, and the clouds tumbled through the sky. Finally a gap opened in the clouds and the sun shone through, but as my eyes focused on the sunbeams I realized that a rainbow had appeared. I shouted for Uyama and Watanabe, who looked up at the sky, startled.

Uyama called out a flurry of directions, and started to set up the shot.

“A rainbow,” Watanabe said.

“I hate rainbows,” I said, looking at my feet.

“Why?”

“They’re scary.”

“Really? Rainbows usually make people happy.”

“It’s kind of like, there’s a huge monster striding across the sky.”

Watanabe reached out and took my hand. The rain had let up, and only a little drizzle dampened our hands as we stretched our arms out from beneath our umbrellas.

At that moment, that rainy day in Kenrokuen appeared vividly in my mind.

The film circle had gone to Kanazawa for a retreat.

But we didn’t actually do any filming; the trip was just to do some bonding. And when we were walking around Kenrokuen, I got separated from everyone else. It was drizzling a little, but since I didn’t have an umbrella I just strolled around in the rain. I came to this plateau with a lot of magnificent pine trees, and who came walking towards me but Watanabe, holding out an umbrella for me. When I asked him about it later on, he told me that he’d been walking around the whole time, looking for a chance to give me an umbrella.

“But it looks like the rain’ll let up soon,” I told him.

“Mm,” he said.

Rain sprinkled down as I looked up at the sky, when suddenly the clouds parted in the west, and a beautiful sliver of beautiful blue sky peeked through. Rays of light poked through like stairways to heaven.

“Oh,” Watanabe exclaimed, pointing. “A rainbow.”

This conversation was exactly the same as the one in the movie’s last scene. After that we walked around Kenrokuen and chatted. That was the first time Watanabe and I had ever spoken to each other alone. Watanabe doesn’t talk much, but I didn’t think he was hard to talk to. He still didn’t talk much even after we started going out.

Uyama might have been obsessed with the rainbow because he wanted to recreate that day in Kenrokuen. But what even would be the point? Was he doing it to test me and Watanabe? I’ve turned it over in my mind so many times, but I just don’t understand what would drive him to the point of making a movie to do something like that.

The rainbow had come out. Beside the rooftop the leaves of the ginkgo tree were a glorious yellow, and golden sunlight shone through the clouds. Everything Uyama had wanted was in place. After saying my lines, I hesitated for a moment. Uyama was looking at us through the camera. I felt a wordless pressure. But I didn’t have the slightest idea anymore what that pressure was pushing me to do. I’d always had the impression that Uyama wanted me to stick exactly to the script, but now it felt like he wanted me to stray from what was on the page.

Watanabe abruptly reached out a rain-soaked hand and touched my face, and then kissed me.

And then the movie ended.

The rainbow disappeared, and the clouds covered the sky again.

The sun had shone through for only a moment.

After Watanabe said he had to go to work and left, Uyama shifted the concrete blocks alone. He looked like a lonely little kid. After a while he squatted down like he was tired. The rain started to come down harder, so I stood next to him with an umbrella. I said we should leave, but he didn’t say anything back. He held a leaf that he’d plucked from the ginkgo tree to his mouth, and stared straight at me.

There was a really frightening look in his eyes.

I knew that look well. Whenever I got caught up in talking to someone else, I’d glance back to see Uyama staring at me with that same look. Frightening might not be the most accurate word to describe them. Maybe lonely, or piercing; it’s hard to describe.

It felt to me like Uyama was under a misapprehension. Like he didn’t understand that I was only acting for him.

No matter how I explained how hard I had worked for him, no matter how I insisted that it had only been a performance, he only glowered silently at me with those eyes. A white mist covered the rooftop, from all the rain. I remember trying to shout over the beating of the rain. Finally he put the gingko leaf in his mouth and chewed it up.

I burst into tears.

My mind went blank. And then, I felt a great pity for him. If he kept doing these things he’d go crazy. I didn’t want that for him. I’d done all of this because I loved him.

But it was too late, I knew.

I stood unmoving on the rooftop for a long time.

The Story of Uyama Tōru, the Director

I started filming on the last Saturday in September.

It’s a real minimalist movie, just me doing camera and sound, two actors, one set. I like watching walled garden-type movies like that, and filming them too.

The location which Saitō told me about was also pretty interesting. It’s a concrete apartment building, built about thirty years ago, sort of has the ‘60s student protest atmosphere. I like how dreary it is. The set, the actors, the weather: it all went exactly as I planned it.

Now a lot of people seem to think that I love movies, that I’m extremely passionate, but that’s completely mistaken. I no longer have any interest in making movies. The only thing I’m interested in is filming her. When I first joined the circle I was fairly interested in making movies, but once I got a taste of it I stopped caring about movies. Filming her allure was the only desire I had left.

Deciding to film in autumn, I spent the summer locked away in the library writing the script. On a Rooftop was the working title, but it ended up being the final one. Some people said it was a pretty dull title, but even the title didn’t matter to me.

When I was writing the script I thought that this was going to be the last movie I made. And if that was the case, it had to be the best movie I could make.

That’s why I asked Watanabe to star against her.

Why did I choose those two to be my actors? I got a lot of flak in the circle. They called me all sorts of things: immoral, pervert, lecher, inhuman, sadist, or rather masochist, peeping Tom, even stink bug. All of them are true. That’s why it doesn’t bother me at all.

Here’s what On a Rooftop is about.

The two protagonists are members of a film circle, and former lovers. The woman, the younger of the two, has a lover. Her lover is an independent filmmaker: jealous, cringing, and enamoured of himself. As to why she would go out with such a person: some things are better left unsaid. Anyways he never makes an appearance, so it doesn’t matter.

One day, the woman runs into her ex-lover on the roof of a building on campus. She had dumped him in order to be with her current lover. Following this encounter, the two continue to meet in secret. The woman talks about her troubles with her current man, and the man gives her advice. Before long the two start to talk about the old days when they were still together. The man attempts to win her back, and the woman feels a stir in her heart. But she is torn on how to respond. As they continue to meet, the wind blows, the rain falls, and the days move deeper into autumn.

A quiet, unremarkable film.

But in fact, the memories which the two share in the movie are all real memories. I talked to her, teased out episodes and fragments of conversations between her and Watanabe, and wrote them all down in my notebook. I enjoy reading over them. That became the basis of the script.

In other words, Watanabe is playing Watanabe, and she is playing herself. The couple in the movie who rekindle their relationship are none other than the real actors.

I was so excited when the script was finished that I could hardly wait to start filming. I was sure that I would be able to create something that would captivate me. I don’t create movies to amuse and captivate other people. I only create them to captivate myself.

So I gave Watanabe a call.

I met him at the Shinshindō Café on Imadegawa Street just after he’d come back from visiting home for the Bon Festival.

Of course I was a little nervous. We’d remained friends even after I started going out with her, but I knew I was asking a lot. Taking a sip of coffee in the dim nook where we sat, I asked him to act in the movie and showed him the script. I even remember the exact words I used.

“This is probably going to be the last time we ever make a movie together, so I want to make the ultimate movie!” I had said. That really was how I felt, but there was no guaranteeing that my ultimate movie was going to be his ultimate movie. He didn’t know that. And that was what I liked about him.

Watanabe flipped through the script, and considered for a while.

There was a cutting look in his eyes, which made me think that he really must have gotten angry. Anyone would snap if someone wrote a script based on their past love life and asked them to play themself. I was perfectly ready and willing for him to hit me, though I preferred it if he didn’t. I enjoy emotional torment, but not so much the physical kind.

I am very calculating though, and I was 90% sure that he would say yes. He can’t resist when you tell him it’s purely for the love of the craft. Lone wolves like him, they always roll over easy like that.

Watanabe nodded. He said that the script was good. He knew better than anyone that I was not the type of person to change the script no matter what anyone said to me. We’re the closest of friends.

“There is one thing that concerns me.” He pointed at the last page. “It says a rainbow appears. Is this exactly how you’re going to film it?”

“Of course. There must be a rainbow.”

“Alright. That’s fine with me.”

That’s all he said. He’s a pretty interesting fellow.

We shook hands. His lips were curled up in a small smile. I didn’t know what that smile meant. I of all people probably shouldn’t say things like this, but sometimes I have no idea what goes on inside his head.

I want to make this next point absolutely clear: I didn’t use him in the movie in order to produce a sense of reality. I despise manipulative tricks like that. The question is not reality. Whether or not it is enough to stimulate me: that is what matters.

After that I showed the script to her. “Interesting. Let’s go with it,” she said.

She didn’t seem to realize that it was based on her and Watanabe until much later on in the shoot. Rather scatterbrained of her, I must say.

We decided on a time and assembled on that rooftop that autumn. Hearing that the landlord was a crotchety fellow, I took pains not to be found out, but luckily we were never discovered. No one except us ever came to that rooftop.

We filmed all of the scenes in order.

The man and the woman reunite unexpectedly on the roof. As the ginkgo leaves in the background turn yellow with the passing of autumn, the two meet again and again on the roof. The passage of time in the film corresponds exactly with the passage of time in real life. The man still has lingering feelings for the woman. The two eventually open their hearts to each other, reminiscing over memories that only they share. I am not a part of those memories. I always remain behind the camera.

Each shoot was difficult, yet fun. Some people said that it must have been a bloodbath, but nothing could be further from the truth. Shooting went off without a hitch. She was completely focused on sinking herself into the role.

But Watanabe seemed to have other things in mind.

In the movie you can see a large ginkgo tree next to the building. She told me she wanted to try some ginkgo nuts, so during a pause in shooting I went down by myself to gather some. I made some hiryūzu for her, though she didn’t really eat much.

She and Watanabe stayed on the roof while I went to gather the nuts. During that short time I have no doubt that Watanabe was up to something. As I trudged through the yellow leaves that covered the ground, looking for those smelly nuts, I looked up and saw her and Watanabe leaning on the rusty railing and talking. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it seemed intimate.

But I kept gathering nuts.

Why would I do something so masochistic?

If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t know what it tasted like: that’s just the kind of man I am.

If I don’t experience things that make me feel shame, that make my chest tight with frustration, that make me feel slighted, it doesn’t feel genuine. It doesn’t feel real.

That’s why I film her.

Other people gather to watch her on screen together. They praise her. I watch them from a distance. I don’t feel proud. I feel frustrated. I feel like the audience is surrounding her, leaving me the odd man out.

But that feeling is just so irresistible.

With that in mind, that last scene is the crowning achievement of this movie. I think of it as one of my treasures.

She and he are on the roof, but a chilly autumn rain is falling. They both stand beneath umbrellas, hardly talking, just listening to the sound of the rain. After a while the rain turns into a drizzle. Looking up, the sun is shining through the clouds. A rainbow stretches across the northern sky. She approaches him, and says rainbows are scary. He takes her hand.

Watanabe was worried that there wouldn’t be a rainbow. To be honest I was thinking to myself too that it might not work out. Just because it’s raining doesn’t mean a rainbow will appear. But I had to have a rainbow appear, because this was a recreation of that day in Kenrokuen during freshman year. I was recreating the day I had first seen Watanabe approach her with my own eyes.

We filmed in the rain, then took a break to see how the weather would turn out. She wiped her arm with a towel. Watanabe looked down over the haze of rain that covered the town, smoking a cigarette.

At last a break formed in the clouds, and a rainbow appeared.

Filled with excitement, I restarted the shoot.

“A rainbow,” Watanabe muttered, looking towards Mt. Hiei. The film had already begun.

“I hate rainbows,” she said, ducking her head.

“Why?”

“They’re scary.”

“Really? Rainbows usually make people happy.”

“It’s kind of like, there’s a huge monster striding across the sky.”

Watanabe reached out and took her hand. Raindrops glittered on their outstretched hands.

Watanabe put out his hand and touched her face.

She responded, reaching out and touching his face.

She looked from beneath the umbrella up at Watanabe. Rain dripped from the edge of the umbrella, wetting her hair. She stared motionlessly at Watanabe. I hadn’t seen her look so beautiful since Kenrokuen. Flames of envy burned within me, their light reflected upon her face. That’s what made her even more beautiful.

Their umbrellas rolled to the floor, and the two embraced each other. The leaves of the ginkgo tree blazed behind them. Beyond the branches, in the half of the sky where the clouds had broken, stretched the rainbow. The remaining drizzle gently fell upon them. A golden light shone upon it all.

I screened this cliched masterpiece at the campus festival.

A large crowd watched it.

I stood in the darkness of the screening venue. You could never understand how deeply satisfied I felt as I looked through the bright screen. But I don’t think you need to.

I realized then, that in a way so deep that even I couldn’t fathom it, I was in love with her.