novelraw Chapter 28: Film Critic Kato
Chapter 28: Film Critic Kato
Inside the massive and intricate city machine of Tokyo, when a gear begins to turn in a completely new, illogical manner, there will always be some sharper nerve endings that are the first to perceive that subtle vibration.
Kato Shin was precisely such a nerve ending.
His office was on the seventh floor of the "Nitto Shimbun" newspaper building, in a spot by the window.
Outside the window was a corner of Shinjuku Gyoen. The four seasons cycled, each with different sceneries, making it count as a rare luxury in this steel forest.
However, Kato's gaze was rarely cast toward that patch of green.
His world was confined to a small office desk, constructed from text, ink, and paper.
He was a film critic.
His job was to use the blade of text to dissect movies and television dramas one by one, brightly presenting their flesh, blood, bones, light, shadow, and audio-visuals clearly before the readers.
He could depict a mediocre work beautifully, making it captivating; he could also criticize a meticulously crafted work so completely that it became worthless. The measure of discretion within this was his craft, his fundamental means of settling down and making a living in this city.
This afternoon, people from TV Tokyo delivered quite a hefty document bag, along with an equally hefty envelope printed with a bank logo.The mission was very clear.
Write a sufficiently weighty film review capable of guiding public opinion for their major project scheduled to be broadcast in the 10:00 PM slot next Monday—the animation "Onibo Samurai".
Kato brewed a cup of Darjeeling black tea. The amber tea liquor rippled with a warm light inside the bone china cup.
He slowly and methodically tore open the document bag. That sort of occupational numbness left him completely unable to muster any true interest in the beautifully printed promotional brochures and cast introductions inside.
"Onibo Samurai".
He just swept a glance over the story outline and gave his evaluation in his heart: Cliché.
A wrongfully killed samurai transforms into a vengeful ghost; a powerful Onmyoji joins forces with a compassionate monk to subjugate monsters and eliminate demons, ultimately discovering a tragic and moving love-hate entanglement behind it all. This kind of story was like canned food produced on an assembly line. No matter how gorgeous the packaging, once opened, the taste was all the same.
But he didn't care. Cliché sometimes conversely meant safety, meaning it was more easily accepted by the general public.
What's more, the "writing fee" offered by TV Tokyo was sufficiently generous, enough for him to drape a magnificent coat named "profundity" and "sentiment" over this cliché.
He had even already thought of the beginning of his mental draft: "...In this cold urban jungle, have we long since forgotten that sorrowful long song belonging to the classical era, regarding loyalty, injustice, and salvation..."
Kato picked up his teacup, preparing to moisten his throat, and then finish this routine work in one breath.
But right at this moment, the conversation between two newly arrived interns in the outer office drifted into his somewhat sluggish train of thought like two untimely fallen leaves.
"Hey, Takahashi, have you heard? That 'Yamishibai', its viewership rating last night actually almost broke 3%!"
"I've heard! It's too exaggerated! My girlfriend was so scared she didn't sleep well all night. Just this morning, she told me she didn't dare use the copy machine while working overtime alone anymore. She said that animation is toxic!"
"Isn't that the truth! I also went to watch it last night. That 'Family Precept', it made my scalp go numb watching it. Do you know, the planning and original concept of this animation is by that Sensei Nohara Hiroshi who draws 'YuYu Hakusho'! Truly a genius!"
"Really? The author of 'YuYu Hakusho'? No wonder! I'm also following that manga, the fights are drawn super handsomely! To think he's so formidable at making horror stories too!"
'Yamishibai'?
Nohara Hiroshi?
A TV Tokyo program?
Kato's brows furrowed imperceptibly.
Regarding those manga filled with fighting and killing in "Shonen Jump", he had always respectfully kept his distance.
To his point of view, those things were too straightforward, lacking the lingering charm worth pondering over, and couldn't be considered true "works".
As for that whatever "Yamishibai", he had also heard a little about it. It seemed to be a small production placed in TV Tokyo's early morning slot—rough, cheap, a realm that a "cultured person" boasting good taste like him would never touch.
The two interns were still chattering and discussing, their words filled with the unique, unsophisticated excitement of young people. Kato shook his head and swallowed this little bit of noise down along with the black tea in his cup.
This world never lacked cheap carnivals.
He turned his nose up in disdain at the praise of these two young men.
...
The night grew deep. Kato finished a dull social engagement and returned to his home in Suginami Ward reeking of alcohol.
His wife and son were already asleep. In the living room, only a dim, yellowish wall lamp was left on, stretching his shadow thin and long, revealing a fatigue and loneliness unique to middle-aged men.
He changed out of that suit that was like armor, poured himself a glass of ice water, sat on the sofa, and prepared to enjoy a rare moment of peace in the day that completely belonged to him.
Inadvertently, his gaze fell onto the coffee table.
Placed there was an open weekly issue of "Shonen Jump". It was precisely his middle-school son's favorite reading material.
He picked up that magazine. Printed on the rough paper were sharp fight scenes: a boy wearing a white martial arts uniform was pushing a mass of blue energy waves towards a grimly featured monster.
"YuYu Hakusho".
In Kato's mind, the conversation of those two interns from the afternoon suddenly flashed by.
He thought of that animation called "Yamishibai", and he thought of that young man named Nohara Hiroshi whom they called a "genius".
And he also thought of that thick envelope delivered by TV Tokyo.
A wondrous emotion, mixed with professional ethics and a little bit of curiosity, quietly bred in his heart.
Perhaps... he should watch this early-morning slot program?
His interest was piqued.
After all, taking such a large sum of money from TV Tokyo to only write a flattering article for "Onibo Samurai" seemed somewhat unjustifiable.
If, while at it, he could also write a few good words for their other program, even if just mentioning it, it could be considered giving a conveniently granted favor.
In the future, it would be easier to see each other within this circle.
Furthermore, a program capable of causing viewership ratings to soar overnight must inevitably have something outstanding about it. As a professional critic, verifying exactly what this "outstanding thing" was intrinsically part of the job.
And so, Kato walked to the television and turned it on.
The hands of the clock were quietly slipping towards midnight.
He didn't hold any expectations.
In his view, this was more like an after-dinner pastime, a condescending scrutiny of self-righteous young people and the blindly trend-following public.
Of course, the most crucial part was still... showing goodwill to his biggest financial backer, TV Tokyo!
...
12:20 AM.
When that eerie children's rhyme and drumbeats sounded out, Kato was leaning against the sofa, his posture relaxed.
When that masked man appeared on the screen, he even snickered softly.
"Playing ghost and acting god."
He gave his first evaluation.
Then, the story of the fourth episode began.
[Yamishibai · Paper]
A female teacher working overtime late at night, an old printer.
Kato's expression didn't change at all. This kind of scene setting was too ordinary, too plain, utterly incapable of hooking any interest from an old gourmand like him.
When the bizarre black lines appeared on the printed paper, he merely thought calmly: A printer malfunction, this is a tired old trope in horror movies.
When the female teacher lifted the cover for the first time and saw that ghastly pale face, he didn't even twitch an eyebrow.
"Hallucination, another hallucination. Next will definitely be lifting it a second time, finding nothing, then the teacher breathes a sigh of relief, and the true horror finally appears."
Like a chess player who had seen through all the routines, he coldly observed his opponent's clumsy layout from the sidelines, even giving birth to a trace of boredom in his heart.
Sure enough, everything was exactly as he expected.
The female teacher lifted the cover for the second time, and the glass panel was completely empty.
She let out a breath of relief and smiled self-deprecatingly.
Kato was also preparing to shift to a more comfortable posture. He felt this story was already over; what followed would be nothing more than the exhausted teacher returning home, or some other harmless follow-up.
However, it was precisely in this instant.
Right in the instant the female teacher raised her hand to rub her eyes, as if absolutely nothing had happened, when everyone was lowering their guard, that instant the screen sank into darkness.
A ghostly face.
A rotting, twisting ghostly face with black pus oozing from its eyes suddenly appeared entirely without warning on the screen with a violent posture that tore through the field of vision! It appeared directly and abruptly right before his very eyes!
"Sizzle—"
That face was so close, so clear, as if carrying a massive terror, penetrating the screen, and fiercely smashing onto Kato's retinas!
"Ugh!"
Kato's body violently leaned backward, his whole person crashing heavily against the back of the sofa. The water glass in his hand slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the carpet with a muffled thud.
His heart was like it being fiercely squeezed by an icy hand, then violently released, thumping wildly, practically about to jump out of his throat.
His brain went completely blank.
A full dozen seconds passed before he panted heavily, recovering his wits from that extreme, physiological scare.
He looked at the screen that had gone black, and those cold two characters "The End" upon it. His eyes were filled with unprecedented shock and... bewilderment.
What is this?
This wasn't any kind of horror he was familiar with.
It didn't speak of logic, it didn't speak of build-up. It was like a madman who, at the moment you were most relaxed and defenseless, brandished a sharp knife stained with blood and dirt, viciously stabbing it into your eye.
Simple, rough, unreasonable.
Yet... frightfully effective.
Kato slowly sat up straight. He felt his back was already a swath of icy coldness.
He began to reminisce.
He was no longer a passive audience member, but instead, from the perspective of a professional reviewer, replayed those brief three minutes in his mind just now.
And then, he discovered something that made him feel even more terrified.
It wasn't that sudden ghostly face at the end.
But the entire conception of the story.
An office, working overtime, a printer...
How incredibly precise a capture of the living conditions of modern urbanites this was!
Wasn't that female teacher precisely the microcosm of millions of corporate drones running about late at night to make a living? Wasn't that printer that was sometimes good, sometimes bad, and always dropping the ball at crucial moments precisely the greatest nightmare in their work?
This young man named Nohara Hiroshi, what he had done was fundamentally not telling a traditional ghost story.
Within the most familiar, most everyday scenes of every urban white-collar worker, he had buried a time bomb named "fear."
From tonight onward, every night working overtime, when people walked towards that cold printer, they would subconsciously recall the episode 'Paper'. They would feel a trace of hesitation when lifting the cover; they would feel a burst of palpitations when seeing unknown marks appear on the printed paper.
This kind of fear wouldn't disappear with the end of the animation. It would seep into people's daily lives like a virus, becoming an inescapable psychological shadow.
"...Genius."
Kato Shin, this man whose heart had long been like an ancient well and who used the blade of text to dissect countless works, at this moment from the bottom of his heart, spat out this single word.
He looked at that profound night sky outside the window, feeling for the first time that an unprecedented storm was quietly brewing on the cultural map of this city.
And he was fortunate enough to become one of the first batch of people to personally witness the eye of the storm.
He stood up, walked to his study, and opened up that recently updated word processor.
He deleted that flowery yet hollow beginning he had previously written down for "Onibo Samurai."
Then, he typed out an entirely new title.
—"Yamishibai: A Gentle Ritual of Horror Dedicated to the Modern City".