Nagai’s comedy mines the rubble of Japan’s failed “miracle” economy through the lives of a mother and son who eventually reconnect. Mom, one of Tokyo’s fast-growing “silver generation,” lives each day fully. She does volunteer work, takes classes on the classic novel “Tale of Genji” and socializes with a bevy of friends. Meanwhile, Akio, the quintessential corporate warrior, has fallen on hard times. His marriage is failing and his company has begun layoffs. In desperation, he reaches out to the only person he has left: a mother he rarely visits. As their contrasting lives intertwine, they begin to redress the alienation that divided them–and much of Japan–during the boom years, and come to understand one another’s struggles. And they do it with a sense of humor. “A mature comedy is born,” raved the Asahi Shimbun when the drama opened at Tokyo’s New National Theater on March 12. “The play offers both laughter and the heart-rending pain of living.”
Clearly the Japanese are ready to confront their tough times, at least through actors on a stage. “Hello, Mother” has been playing to sellout crowds and has generated lively discussion around Tokyo. Many salarymen identify with Akio, who manages the personnel department at an unnamed Japanese automobile company, and thus is responsible for “restructuring” colleagues out of jobs–a fate, he knows, that will someday be his own. Traumatized by this task and increasingly nostalgic for the Beatles hits of his youth (like “Nowhere Man”), Akio retreats to his mother’s home after his wife demands a divorce. But he finds no comfort there. He’s stalked by a former colleague who, after 20 years at the carmaker, loses his job and is reduced to sleeping in the park. The man alternately grovels for his job back and curses Akio as a “Devil! Devil! Devil!” At one point this uninvited guest collapses into Fukue’s lap sobbing, “Tell me it will be all right.”
Traditionally, Japanese salarymen support their elders. But in this play, it is Fukue and her friends who prop up the younger generation. Although they are aging, lonely and downwardly mobile, they manage to look on life’s bright side. The most flamboyant of the bunch, the thrice-divorced Kotoko, wears muumuus and likes her red wine. Always on the lookout for “stray cats,” she has a brief tryst with Akio’s former colleague. “I’m riding a streetcar named desire,” she says. “Then I’ll transfer to a streetcar to the grave.”
Significantly, the only character with any real direction is not even Japanese. Li Yan, the neon-clad language student who lives next door to Fukue, is a self-described “good girl from Tianjin” who plans to master Japanese, return to China and find a job to support her parents. With limited language skills and a tendency to jump to wrong conclusions, she makes for rich comedy. Yet, as audiences will readily recognize, this girl from China embodies a drive that Japan has lost. “Li possesses the strengths of a person who has a solid purpose in life,” says producer Toshiko Asada, “whereas all those around her are struggling to find a purpose.”
Though “Hello, Mother” may start with a predictable plotline–man tries to overcome midlife crisis by gleaning maternal wisdom–it doesn’t end that way. Despite the Fab Four’s sentimental crooning, Nagai’s script opts for realistic ambiguity over happy resolution. When her lover has a stroke and dies, Fukue hits the sake bottle and descends into a deep funk. Akio is served with divorce papers at the same time his company recommends that he take early retirement. As the curtain falls, it is unclear whether either will rebound. That uncertainty is something millions of Japanese can identify with.
