boyutpedia Chapter 15 The Threshold of NHK
Chapter 15 The Threshold of NHK
1989 1 Month 8 Day.
The first day of the first year of Heisei.
There was no celebratory atmosphere of "the arrival of a new era".
On the contrary, the entire city of Tokyo seemed to be frozen in silence by a sudden heavy snowfall.
With the passing of Emperor Showa, a huge shadow called "self-restraint" loomed over the archipelago.
The Shibuya Crossing is no longer bustling; the brightly colored mannequins in the department store windows have been replaced with black and white banners.
Even the pachinko parlors, which are usually the noisiest, had their roller shutters down today.
9:30 a.m., NHK Broadcasting Center.
This gray behemoth located in southern Shibuya, Japan, is currently at the eye of the storm of this solemn atmosphere, serving as Japan's national public broadcaster.
There wasn't even a sound of footsteps in the corridor. Everyone was dressed in dark suits, with solemn expressions and speaking in hushed tones, as if raising their voices even slightly would be a great disrespect to the national mourning.
Kitahara Shin carried a cloth bag and walked into the waiting room on the third floor.
Today is the day for additional auditions for the Taiga drama "Kasuga no Tsubone".
There were already more than a dozen people sitting in the waiting room.
Most of them are young faces, including several idols who have appeared in late-night Japanese dramas.
Most of them wore fashionable padded-shoulder suits, their hair styled meticulously with hair gel, and although they looked nervous, their eyes still revealed the restlessness and frivolity of the bubble era.
Kitahara Shin didn't find a place to sit down, but went straight to the locker room.
Ten minutes later, when he came out again, the air in the entire waiting room seemed to freeze for a second.
He changed out of his modern clothes and put on a dark brown monzuki haori (a formal men's kimono).
He went to the old shop in Asakusa to rent it yesterday.
Although it was a rental item, the fabric was thick and the tailoring was exquisite.
To put on the outfit properly, he spent a full half hour adjusting the collar and belt, making sure every crease was perfectly sealed.
In this room full of modern young men in suits, Kitahara Shin seemed out of place.
He quietly walked to the corner, put his knees together, straightened his back, and knelt (in a proper sitting position) on the cold chair—since there was no tatami mat, he used the chair as the floor.
He closed his eyes and gently placed his hands on his groin.
[Equipment: The Annotated Notes of a Down-on-History Scholar]
[Equipment: The Silver Zippo Discarded by the Songstress]
Dual equipment activated.
The oppressive and heavy atmosphere of the early Edo period instantly silenced the hushed conversations around them.
"Who is that guy? Why did he even change into a costume?"
"Is he here to audition for Inaba Masasada too? That's ridiculous, is it really necessary?"
"To attract attention and gain popularity."
The whispers around him did not reach Kitahara Shin's ears.
At that moment, all he could think about was the samurai kneeling outside his mother's door.
……
"Next, Kenta Tanaka."
The staff member pushed open the door and called out.
A young idol with brown hair stood up, straightened his tie, and walked in confidently.
Less than two minutes.
The door opened, and the idol walked out looking disheveled, his face flushed red, clearly having been scolded.
"What's going on?" the person behind asked in a low voice.
"...They made me kneel, but I couldn't sit still, my legs went numb and I swayed," the idol complained through gritted teeth. "And that examiner was so fierce, he kept staring at my socks."
"sock?"
Everyone looked down and saw that he was wearing white socks with cartoon patterns underneath his trousers.
During this period of national mourning, in a place like NHK that values tradition, wearing cartoon socks to audition for a period drama is practically a death knell for professionalism.
The next few people also didn't have an easy time.
Some failed because they stepped on the threshold when entering, some because they bowed at the wrong angle, and some, despite their hard work, had a modern, frivolous accent.
The NHK examiners are not like the producers at commercial television stations who judge people based on their looks.
Most of them were old men who had devoted their lives to studying classical drama, and they couldn't tolerate even the slightest flaw.
"Don't young people these days even know how to sit properly?"
A sigh, sounded faint but filled with deep disappointment, came from the audition room.
The atmosphere in the waiting room instantly plummeted to freezing point.
"Next up, Ota Office, Kitahara Shin."
Finally, their names were called.
Kitahara Shin opened his eyes.
In that instant, the light in his eyes completely disappeared, turning them into something like a dry well.
He stood up, but instead of leaving immediately, he straightened the hem of his hakama skirt and, after making sure everything was in order, walked toward the door.
……
The audition room was large and had tatami mats.
Three examiners were sitting directly in front of me.
The elderly man in the middle with gray hair and black-rimmed glasses is none other than Ryutaro Hashimoto, a legendary casting director for Taiga dramas.
At this moment, the faces of the three examiners were filled with fatigue and impatience.
Kitahara Shin remained silent.
He stopped at the door, not walking straight in, but first bowing deeply.
This is a "guest gift".
Then, he used the traditional "foot-folding" method, sliding his feet along the ground to enter the house silently.
He walked with extreme stability, his upper body remaining perfectly still, as if he were floating on the water.
Ryutaro Hashimoto, who was rubbing his temples, stopped.
He looked up and stared sharply at the young man who walked in through his glasses.
Kitahara Shin walked to the designated cushion but didn't plop down on it.
He first stepped back with his left foot, then followed with his right, his body descending like a slowly descending mountain, kneeling steadily.
Keep your back straight, place your hands naturally on your thighs, and slightly clasp your fingertips.
The whole process was smooth and seamless, without any unnecessary shaking, and you couldn't even hear the sound of the fabric rubbing together.
"Nobu Kitahara of the Ota Office, nice to meet you."
His voice was deep and steady, without any of the restless tone often found in modern young people.
Ryutaro Hashimoto put down his pen and sat up straight.
"Kitahara-kun, right?" Hashimoto flipped through the resume, saw the recommendation letter from producer Ishida, and his lips twitched slightly. "The person recommended by that old fox Ishida... Since you're dressed like this, you must know the rules. Today's question is very simple."
Hashimoto took off his glasses, his gaze sharp: "There are no lines. Imagine you are kneeling before Kasuga no Munechika right now, and she has just told you that for the sake of the Tokugawa family's stability, you need to send your only son as a hostage. You, just listen."
Listen, but don't speak.
This is the most difficult.
If an actor doesn't speak, he can easily become wooden; if he overreacts, he will appear fake.
"start."
As the command was given.
Kitahara Shin did not immediately make any expression.
He simply lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze falling on a stripe on the tatami mat.
[Notes Empathy: Fully Open]
At that moment, he heard it.
He heard that voice that didn't exist, the voice of that domineering, cold mother, pronouncing his son's fate.
Just like the verdict that was handed down to him back then.
The room was deathly silent.
One second, two seconds, five seconds.
Kitahara Shin's face was like a mask, completely expressionless.
But gradually, Ryutaro Hashimoto, who was sitting directly opposite him, noticed that the young man's breathing had changed.
My breathing, which was originally steady, became heavy and suppressed, as if something was blocking my lungs.
Immediately afterwards, Kitahara Shin's left hand, which was resting on his knee, began to move.
The hand wasn't clenched into a fist—that would have been a sign of anger, but Inaba Masasada dared not show anger.
His fingers slowly, little by little, tightened their grip on the fabric of the hakama skirt.
The knuckles turned slightly white from the force, and the veins on the back of the hand bulged for a moment.
But it was only for a moment.
The next second, that hand limply let go again.
It was like that tiny spark of resistance that had just been ignited was instantly extinguished by the icy water of "loyalty and filial piety".
Kitahara Shin slowly raised his head.
There were no tears in those eyes, only a chilling emptiness.
It was an emptiness left behind, a "warrior's" shell, stripped of the dignity of being a father and a human being.
Then, he lowered his head again, his forehead touching the ground, performing the most standard bow of a subject.
"Hai." (Yes)
The response was as light as a sigh, yet as heavy as a lead weight falling to the ground.
……
"it is good."
Ryutaro Hashimoto's voice broke the silence.
Kitahara Shin held the bowing posture for three seconds before slowly rising, releasing the oppressive feeling and restoring clarity to his eyes.
The three examiners exchanged glances.
A deputy director on the left whispered, "For a moment just now, I thought I was seeing those old-school actors from the early Showa era."
Ryutaro Hashimoto put his glasses back on, picked up his pen, and drew a heavy circle on Shin Kitahara's resume.
He looked at Kitahara Shin, and the first gentle expression of the day appeared on his usually serious face.
"They can sit still and remain calm, like people from that era."
Hashimoto closed the folder and gave this comment: "Too many young people these days have prickly attitudes, and too few can truly embody the spirit of 'endurance.' You, stay and get your measurements taken. Your wig needs to be custom-made."
This means the roles have been decided.
"Thank you so much!"
Kitahara Shin bowed deeply once again.
When he walked out of the audition room, he did not dance with ecstasy.
He just felt a little pain in his knees—he had knelt down too hard just now. But the pain made it feel real.
In the waiting room, the idols who were still touching up their makeup and practicing their "cool expressions" were still anxiously waiting.
Kitahara Shin, carrying a cloth bag, walked through them and out of the NHK gate.
The snow was still falling outside, but the air seemed a bit fresher.
He touched the Scholar's Notebook in his pocket and silently said to himself:
"Old sir, I've acted out your resentment for you."