TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects”

At first there is silence. A slowly revolving set, plain white but daubed with an insect caught in a web of vivid brush strokes. The characters will gradually get lured into the web too over the next hour and a half. Many metaphors too; enough of them to feed the hungriest black widow. Lanterns hover above, vibrating like moths around a flame, or like the early tremors of an impending earthquake. Another metaphor? Who really knows? Takuya Kaneshima’s play, “Tattooer”, is inscrutable enough to withhold the answers, but open enough to leave us hanging on in the vain hope that we might find them.

Based on, or rather inspired by, the short story – ‘Shisei’ – by renowned Japanese author Jun’ichirō Tanizaki, it centres on Seikichi (Leo Ashizawa), a tattoo artist of high repute whose longtime wish is to ‘carve his soul’ into the skin of a beautiful woman. We never really understand his motives; whether it is merely to create a masterpiece or whether there is something more ominous going on. Seikichi relishes the pain of the tattoo too much. There are explicit undertones of sado-masochism, and there is something sinister and lecherous about him. Coercive even. Far from erotic, it renders Seikichi a wholeheartedly unlikeable character.

Before we meet him, we are introduced to the tattooer’s muse (is ‘tattooee’ a word?). She is Kazuyo, initially frightened but her compliance roots her to her fate. We are plunged into further obscurity by the fact that Kazuyo is split into two characters. Mao Aono is ‘Kazuyo A’ while Aki Nakagawa is ‘Kazuyo B’. The pair give wonderfully restrained and haunting performances. Their movements are sculptured, like ivory netsukes that slot into each other’s bodies and personalities. But like the play itself, our minds are filled with questions that never find their answers. Linda Hoaglund’s translation is as sparse as the original text’s intention, leaving us to rely on the almost mime-like spectacle – at times beautiful, at other times grotesque. Are they two sides of the same woman, are they sisters? Are they body and soul separated? Does Aono represent the pre-tattoo Kazuyo while Nakagawa depicts the aftermath? Are they representations of death and life?

Seikichi drugs Kazuyo A into submission. Kazuyo B wakes up transformed. Nakagawa deftly demonstrates a triumphant cruelty as the roles are reversed and the tattooer seems now to be the victim. But this is where our understanding becomes buried under the weight of allegory. Seikichi blinds himself. A twisted moment but gripping, courtesy of Rob Halliday’s lighting and Hogara Kawai’s direction. Black blood splatters through a crimson haze.

It is a short piece, and we are invited to stay in the auditorium at interval to watch the ink-brush painter Gaku Azuma paint the back of a newly arrived male model. By the second act he has created a work of art that covers the entire playing space (at the end of the run these should be put up for auction). The newcomer is Nozomi de Lencquesaing, an Englishman who has crossed the oceans to find the ‘legend’ that is Seikichi. A touch superfluous, it nevertheless brings the differing cultures closer together. But even without it, the evening is an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects. It may be an acquired taste for many, but it is sharp and refreshing. And mystifying. Kazuyo asks of the now blind tattooer; “Am I in the world I see, or the world you see?” We, too, are never entirely sure whose world we are seeing here. Yet it is an intriguing one. Picturesque and alluring, but too much of an enigma that never really gets under the skin.

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

Reviewed on 17th October 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Mark Senior

Previously reviewed at this venue:

ONE SMALL STEP | ★★ | October 2024

MARIE CURIE | ★★★ | June 2024

BRONCO BILLY – THE MUSICAL | ★★★ | January 2024

SLEEPING BEAUTY TAKES A PRICK! | ★★★★ | November 2023

REBECCA | ★★★★ | September 2023

GEORGE TAKEI’S ALLEGIANCE | ★★★★ | January 2023

FROM HERE TO ETERNITY | ★★★★ | November 2022

THE MILK TRAIN DOESN’T STOP HERE ANYMORE | ★★★ | October 2022

RIDE | ★★★★★ | August 2022

VANYA AND SONIA AND MASHA AND SPIKE | ★★★ | November 2021

TATTOOER

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★★

“Milla Clarke’s slowly revolving set reflects a narrative going round in circles”

Set in the not-too-distant future, Takuya Kato’s “One Small Step” depicts a society where colonising the moon has become a practical reality. The scenario throws up many questions, some of which are touched upon in this short two-hander from Japan, but the focus of the story is very much rooted in present day, down-to-earth problems within the confines of a conventional marriage. The premise is a fascinating one, but ultimately it doesn’t really go anywhere. It’s all very well setting your sights on the moon, but you need to figure out the launchpad first.

Takashi (Mark Takeshi Ota) and Narumi (Susan Momoko Hingley) are a married couple working for a major company that is establishing a city on the moon. They share, with a touching yet naïve idealism, a wide-eyed enthusiasm at being part of humanity’s ‘fresh start’. Perhaps it’s because their own relationship needs a fresh start, as they spend the next hour bickering inconclusively. The mundane swiftly progresses to the central dilemma of the narrative. Narumi is pregnant, which puts her involvement in the forthcoming moon-shot in jeopardy. Cue the tried-and-tested, quasi-intellectual debates about abortion, the rights of women (and men), the right to life, corporate attitudes to maternity, careerism.

Narumi cannot seem to make up her mind about anything as Hingley plays tug-of-war with her character. We never really know whether she intends to keep her baby or not, but unfortunately, we cease to care. Little wonder then that Ota’s Takashi ends up in a whirl of schoolyard frustration. The discussions they repeat are pretty puerile given the subject matter. As the couple orbit around each other we expect them to gradually get closer, but there is little chemistry between the two and the inward spiralling of the script is claustrophobic. Milla Clarke’s slowly revolving set reflects a narrative going round in circles. At one point a robotic floor cleaner is seen surreptitiously scuttling around; presumably to sweep up dialogue that has fallen flat.

Somewhere in there is a gem of a story. It is the stuff of dreams, quite literally. Some may argue that the dream is closer than we think, but whatever way you look at it the textural landscape is a goldmine. “One Small Step” even has a cow on the moon (I wonder if it jumped over it first), which bizarrely mirrors the elephant in the room for the play’s protagonists. There are moments of humour in Kato’s script, which the actors do successfully seize upon. We want more of this – the lightness of touch lends more weight to the message, and we pay more attention.

A live camera feed projects the actors in close-up onto overhead screens. There is perhaps a reason for this beyond the bandwagon that Kato (who also directs) has jumped on. But, like the other choices made, it is lost in translation. We should be getting lost in the story but, as much as the pair’s fine performance draws us in, we are kept outside of their inner circle. Which is a shame as the issues are universal.

The moon belongs to nobody (despite the American flag up there). For now, at least, it belongs to anybody. The dreams, stories, ambitions and desires it has inspired belong to everybody. “One Small Step” has the potential to latch onto those visions, embracing the human problems inherent in mankind’s grand objectives. Yet it remains a small step, and needs more thrust to achieve lift off.

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre

★★★

“an authentic taste of Japanese theatre and art that Hoaglund’s translation respects”

TATTOOER at the Charing Cross Theatre