Tokyo: My Best Actor Gear List

Chapter 43 The Silent Film Set

The sea breeze, carrying the distinctive rusty and salty smell of Yokohama docks, poured unhindered into the somewhat dilapidated warehouse doors.

There was none of the usual bustling noise on a film set, nor the crew shouting their orders through megaphones.

The entire set of "Violent Man" was eerily quiet.

The camera was casually set up in a not-so-stable position, with the lens pointed at a mottled gray wall.

The crew members looked at each other, their faces filled with bewilderment.

They were used to working according to storyboards, lighting boards, and blocking diagrams, but today, none of these things are there.

Because the man sitting behind the monitor doesn't play by the rules at all.

"Card."

A muffled, even somewhat casual, command was given.

Takeshi Kitano, wearing a loose gray cardigan, tilted his head, his constantly twitching face making him look less like a director and more like a drunkard watching a spectacle on the roadside.

He didn't get angry, nor did he roar like Kinji Fukasaku. He simply pointed to Shin Kitahara standing in front of the camera, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather:

"It's noisy."

Kitahara Shin paused for a moment.

The detective he played, "Kikuchi," hadn't said a word just now; he was simply following the script, staring grimly at the drug dealer who was handcuffed to a chair.

"I didn't say anything, Director," Kitahara Shin explained.

"Face."

Takeshi Kitano pointed to his own face, then to Shin Kitahara, "Your face is too noisy. Why are you frowning? Why are you gritting your teeth? Why are you looking so fierce? Are you trying to eat him?"

A few suppressed chuckles came from the surrounding area.

Kitahara Shin took a deep breath.

This was his first day on set, and also the most frustrating moment of his career.

In Kinji Fukasaku's "Yakuza Blood," he learned how to unleash malice and how to kill with his eyes.

His "mad dog" acting style won him a standing ovation and also instilled in him an instinct called "scene-stealing"—as long as the camera was pointed at him, he would convey emotions even with just a twitch of his eyebrow.

But this approach doesn't work here.

Listen up, kid.

Takeshi Kitano lit a cigarette and slowly walked up to him. "Violence isn't a performance. Violence is work. It's like brushing your teeth and taking out the trash every morning. Do you look fierce when you take out the trash? Do you think you're cool?"

"Won't."

"That's right."

Takeshi Kitano exhaled a smoke ring, the smoke blurring his unfathomable eyes. "Delete all the acting from your face. I want you to stand like a dead man. You're only alive when you're actually fighting."

Like a dead person...

Kitahara Shin closed his eyes and regulated his breathing.

This is not just an adjustment in acting skills, but also a reconstruction of the way of thinking.

He had to transform from that "star" who indulged his desires at the peak of the bubble era back into that numb "corporate slave detective" in the police station.

His hand reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat and touched the rough, hard-covered notebook.

[Equipment: A retired detective's worn-out journal (activated)]

[Passive effect "Crossing Boundaries" activated: The line between good and evil begins to blur.]

In an instant, a chilling, weary, and blood-tinged feeling flowed from my fingertips throughout my body.

The distracting thoughts in my mind about "how to intimidate criminals in a cool way" and "how to find the right camera angle" receded like the tide.

It has transformed into a kind of physiological weariness after seeing too many corpses and too much evil.

The world lost its color in his eyes, turning into a grayish-blue hue, much like the tone of this film.

"Again."

Kitahara Shin opened his eyes.

This time, there was no light in his eyes.

"Action".

The camera pans.

In the dimly lit warehouse, the actor playing a drug dealer was arrogantly shouting, "So what if you're a cop? Go ahead and hit me! My lawyer will be here soon..."

Kitahara Shin—or rather, "Kikuchi"—simply stood there quietly.

He had his hands in his trench coat pockets, his body slightly off-center, as if he was feeling a backache from standing for too long.

He looked at the shouting drug dealer with the same gaze he would give a broken, noisy television.

There was no anger, no deterrence, not even focus.

He stared blankly at a point in the void, as if in a daze.

The drug dealer became uneasy about this strange disregard, and his voice gradually faded: "Hey...did you hear me...?"

The moment the drug dealer's voice faded.

There was no warning whatsoever.

There was no running start or any preparation.

"Snapped!"

A resounding slap that made your teeth ache landed heavily on the drug dealer's face.

The drug dealer was knocked to the ground, chair and all, blood instantly seeping from the corner of his mouth. He was stunned, completely unprepared to be attacked, much less so by the suddenness of the attack.

Kitahara Shin, who had assaulted the man, remained expressionless.

He merely frowned, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hand as if it had been dusted.

His movements were slow and deliberate, elegant and aloof.

Then, he raised his foot and, with the tip of his leather shoe, gently, repeatedly kicked the ribs of the drug dealer lying on the ground.

"Bang, bang, bang."

The rhythm was steady, like kicking a leaky soda can.

That kind of "indifference to the suffering of others" that emanated from the very core of their being made the air at the scene freeze instantly.

This is not violence from a movie.

This is real, irrational, and despairing violence.

"...Cut."

Takeshi Kitano's voice broke the deathly silence.

This time, he didn't say "it's too noisy".

He sat behind the monitor, his usually twitching right side of his face unusually calm. He stared at the replay of Kitahara Shin wiping his hands for a long time.

"Who taught you that hand-wiping design?" Takeshi Kitano suddenly asked.

Kitahara Shin snapped out of his deathly silence and let out a slight breath: "It was subconscious. I felt my hands were dirty."

"My hands are dirty...hey."

Takeshi Kitano let out a short, strange laugh. He scratched his messy hair and turned to the photographer, saying:

"Keep this shot."

He stood up, and as he passed Kitahara Shin, he muttered something in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"Kid, there's a devil living inside you. Hide it well, or it'll eat you up."

As Kitahara Shin watched Kitano Takeshi's unsteady figure stagger away, he subconsciously touched the notebook in his arms.

Is it the devil?

maybe.

But in this crazy era where nothing but money and violence exists, only the devil can leave the deepest shadow on that gray-blue negative.

The sea breeze blew across the dock once again.

Kitahara Shin tightened the collar of his trench coat.

He knew that he had obtained the key to unlock the world of "Kitano Blue".

The next challenge is how to survive in this cruel world without a script until the day filming wraps up.