Hot Pepper, Air Conditioner, and the Farewell Speech
chelfitsch Theater Company
Japan Society, New York
January 6,2012
by Tom Phillips
The scene is a featureless white room with a table and four chairs in an office building, where temporary workers take their lunch. Three temps in their mid-twenties are literally writhing in discomfort over their assignment: to organize a farewell party for a fourth.
"Does anyone have an opinion? asks the man, trying to determine what kind of restaurant they should go to, and how much they want to pay. But no one is willing to offer a real opinion, and no one seems to care much about the departing worker, Erika. So the conversation devolves into what kind of food each of them would like at their own farewell party, which could come at any time. In the end they decide that instead of their own feelings or desires, they should rely on dining tips from a popular Japanese magazine, "Hot Pepper."
So begins the chelfitsch Theater Company's take on Japan's young adults, the generation that grew up in the period of Japan's economic collapse and its long, continuing aftermath. Unable to start a real career amid the economic uncertainty, they drift from one temporary position to another, resentful of those with established lives but unable or unwilling to demand anything for themselves.
They act this out in a unique choreography devised by director Toshiki Okada – standing off-balance and constantly shifting position, bending and rocking, gesticulating with hands and feet, with or without reference to what they’re saying. One woman talks energetically as she walks balanced back on the heels of her pumps, then sits down to relax with her chair tipped precariously to the rear, feet propped against the table. She uses a fan to flip through the pages of the magazine. “Hot Pepper” is the sort of material you don’t really read, just breeze through.
“Air Conditioner,” the second of the three skits, shows us the life of some of the older, permanent workers. A man and a woman exchange bitter complaints over the arctic temperature in the office, and he suggests the solution is for her to call the police. But his body language – bending over, pulling his tie erect and trying to look up her skirt – indicates a different solution. At one point he blurts “I could help you with this problem, Makiko!” but that’s as far as he gets. She pulls her skirt down over her knees, and they repeat their aimless griping to no effect.
The story ends with “Farewell Speech,” in which Erika appears to tell her colleagues how much they have meant to her. She singles out one for her kindness in allowing her to use a dab of detergent. Then she proceeds to act out the story of her last day on the job, which began with her accidentally stepping on a crying, dying cicada on her doorstep. Fortunately, a stray cat came along to eat the squashed bug, so she wouldn’t have to clean it up with disposable chopsticks when she went home that night. A lucky day for Erika. And thank you all so much for everything.
Okada’s triptych is a dense combination of dialogue and gesture, set off by subtly shifting light patterns, and a background sound score that moves from traditional Japanese music through contemporary pop into a skittering jazz saxophone that wails through Erika’s final monologue. It was first presented in 2009, and the longer it lasts the more of an indictment it delivers to a nation that has stranded its youth in an economic and social limbo.
And what nation is that? In the dying days of 2011, I spent a few days in Zuccotti Park, occupying Wall Street. And many of the young protesters I met were over-prepared, underemployed young people who were unable to start a real career, drifting from one temporary gig to another ….
"Hot Pepper" continues through January 14 at Japan Society
Copyright 2012 by Tom Phillips
Photograph by Julie Lemberger
