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SoraNews24
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- SoraNews24
David Bowie's Lazarus makes its debut in Japan, bringing his love for the country full circle
Experience the unstoppable love for Bowie in this electrifying Japanese production. Back in 2013, David Bowie met with his friend, the renowned theatre, film, and television producer Robert Fox, and revealed his desire to create a musical based on Thomas Newton, the character he played in the 1976 film The Man Who Fell to Earth . Fox suggested they bring Irish playwright Enda Walsh on board, a genius decision as Walsh's raw and free-flowing writing style frequently explores themes of identity and isolation in ways that skirt the absurd and lay bare the fragility of the human condition, creating a frisson of tension that's not unlike the tone of the original film. The collaboration gave birth to Lazarus , a jukebox musical that weaves Bowie's songs into a dreamlike world set in New York, where Newton, a humanoid alien, now lives decades after the events of the film, alone in his apartment… and in his head. Cultural influences from Japan, a country that Bowie long held an affection for, serve to colour the narrative, so it's fitting that now, nearly 10 years after the musical debuted in New York City on 18 November 2015, Japan is able to return the love for the rock legend, with Lazarus opening at the Kanagawa Arts Theatre (KAAT) on 31 May. ▼ The main cast, with director Akira Shirai (left), who has directed all of the Japanese versions of Walsh's plays, including Ballyturk and Medicine . At a press conference held ahead of opening night, Shirai said it was a great honour to present Bowie and Walsh's work for the first time in Japan. In describing what audiences can expect to see from the Japanese production, he said: 'While it is billed as a musical, it is a piece that cannot really be defined within the usual boundaries of a musical — it is outside the standard, or perhaps without any standard at all. It doesn't fit neatly into the categories of drama, musical, or concert'. Fitting neatly into norms is something neither Bowie nor Walsh would ever likely want to do, and this work presents itself as a thrilling theatrical journey that pushes against ordinary restraints, much like the characters on stage. Over the course of roughly two hours, every character is pushed to their limit, teetering on the edge of love, life, grief, death, and insanity in ways that highlight the frailty and strength of the human spirit, inspiring the audience to think beyond ordinary realms of possibility. It's a roller-coaster of a journey you won't want to miss, and it's helmed by Mitsuru Matsuoka, who's been fronting the band SOPHIA for 30 years. Playing the main role of Newton, Matsuoka brings his rock star energy to the stage, pouring out vulnerability and rage in equal measures that make him seem at once like a frail bird with a broken wing and a lion about to break free from a cage. It's a role he feels he was destined to play, saying, 'If I hadn't encountered David Bowie when I was 14, I probably wouldn't have become a band member, SOPHIA wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't be where I am today.' Matsuoka believes he's been guided by Bowie, and has a deep respect for him, seeing himself as 'a messenger tasked with delivering Bowie's last message, his will'. Matsuoka certainly gives his all to the role, belting out songs like 'Lazarus' and 'Where Are We Now?' with an ease that draws from a life lived drinking at Bowie's creative well. His presence on stage is matched, and quite nearly eclipsed, by Rio Uehara, a classically trained vocalist who harnesses both baritone and tenor ranges to bring light and shade to the menacing character of Valentine, making us feel both attracted and repulsed by him. During one memorable moment, Valentine appears in a cloak of black feathers, a clever costuming choice that visually connects the character to Ryuk, the black feather-shouldered shinigami ('god of death') from the hugely popular Japanese manga and anime series Death Note . There are striking parallels between Ryuk and Valentine, who both find pleasure in provoking people for their own entertainment while disrupting the protagonist's journey with a disregard for human life and morality. The power to inflict death fizzes in their fingers like an ever-enticing itch that needs scratching. In stark contrast, Erika Toyohara brings light to the stage in the role of Girl, with an innocence that's strong and unyielding. The brightness of her character is matched by the brightness of her voice, which brings newfound poignancy to the opening lyrics when she sings 'Life on Mars'. 'It's a god-awful small affair / To the girl with the mousy hair / But her mummy is yelling, 'No' / And her daddy has told her to go' Emiko Suzuki, in the role of Elly, does an equally beautiful job with 'Changes', which sees her bounding about the stage and masterfully handling outfit changes, all while hitting her notes flawlessly. Every member of the cast — including the ensemble — delivers strong performances, with Goto Watabe as Zach (above), Yusuke Toyama as Michael (below)… ▼ …and Tsubasa Sakiyama in the role of Ben. Mayuko Kominami draws upon her classical dance and voice training to play the role of both Maemi (above) and Japanese Woman (below) with remarkable poise. The set is like a character all of its own, with a stack of television boxes centre stage acting as a nod to the old sets that Newton watches in The Man Who Fell to Earth . The images that appear on the TVs provide a sense of the wider world outside the confines of the small set, while bursts of white noise serve to connect the audience with the action on stage, tuning us into the same frequency as the characters' distress. Images are also projected onto the scrim, a large background screen that appears opaque when lit from the front but becomes transparent when lit from behind, helping to create dramatic visual effects. Not only does it allow for massive projections to enhance the narrative, it also lets us see the live band on stage at select moments and creates space for the Japanese surtitles to be creatively placed, with words tumbling down the screen at one point to match Newton's frenetic, descent-into-madness energy. Only at the very end, when the ceiling of Newton's room lifts and the set opens up to reveal the full space of the stage, are we able to catch our breath and feel a sense of release from the tension. It's confronting and thrilling in the way you expect from good theatre, and to see it in Japan, a place that inspired Bowie's creativity, is a very special thing indeed. While the actors speak Japanese on stage, all songs are sung in English, as was Bowie's wish for overseas productions, so even if you don't understand Japanese, the show will give you goosebumps. Lazarus will be performed at the Kanagawa Arts Theatre until 14 June, before moving to Festival Hall in Osaka for two matinee shows on 28 and 29 June. Tickets can be purchased at the links below. Tickets for Kanagawa Arts Theatre: Kyodo Tokyo (official ticket site in English), e+, Ticket Pia (P-code: 533418), Lawson Ticket (L-code: 31548), Rakuten Ticket Tickets for Festival Hall in Osaka: Festival Hall, CN Playguide, e+, Ticket Pia (P-code: 533‐620), Lawson Ticket (L-code: 52387), Rakuten Ticket Related: Lazarus Japan Images: Press release ● Want to hear about SoraNews24's latest articles as soon as they're published? 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The Herald Scotland
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Herald Scotland
The Union flag is an object of sexual desire, is it? Don't be absurd
Glasgow often plays home to the absurdist. Former Tron Theatre Artistic Director Andy Arnold delighted in Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe – and then dad dances to a T-Rex song. Why? We never found out. Nor were we supposed to. At the same theatre, Martin McCormick's Ma, Pa and the Little Voices featured Karen Dunbar as a heavily pregnant 80-year-old who lives with Pa, in a hi-rise flat in which ornaments are plastered to the wall. Why? We don't know. Dunbar also appeared in the same theatre in Samuel Beckett's Happy Days, playing a woman trapped in a pile of rising dirt that wasn't a metaphor for the state of sketch comedy in Scotland, but a . . . Enda Walsh's play Ballyturk, in which the opening scene featured a near naked man covered in flour leaping out of a wardrobe (Image: free) Ah, but that's the point of absurdist theatre. We aren't supposed to understand it. Absurdism is 'a philosophy that explores the inherent meaninglessness of existence and the human search for meaning in a meaningless world.' When Beckett's Waiting for Godot tells of two men sitting waiting for something to happen while talking mince, this meaninglessness is supposed to prompt us into thinking about meaning. (Or is it?) Yet, it only prompted the thought; 'Why didn't I pay attention to the Godot crit that said of the structure; 'A play where nothing happens. Twice.' Keen to understand the intent of absurdist theatre I asked a friend, who's a fan. Is Beckett really telling us to get off our a*** and do something? 'That's for the individual to work out,' he grinned, mischievously. Yes, you can see Beckett's roots in existentialism - god will never arrive – but if he is presenting a world where hope and promise are denied should we stand at the bus stop every morning in the full knowing the McGill's No 38 to Paisley will never arrive? Yet, if absurdist theatre is so lacking in meaning and content, why does it continue to fill halls? My absurdist chum suggested its abstract content is wide in its appeal, exemplified by the luring of variety hall star Max Wall to do Krapp, a performer who also appeared in Crossroads. Oh, come on! Crossroads was entirely more thought provoking. And it didn't feature storylines that ran on an endless loop. (Well, not always.) Read more The popularity however could be down to two reasons; theatre critics are reluctant to say it's simply keech for fear of not being considered clever. Indeed, one wrote excitedly of Ballyturk's 'sheer exuberance' and then claimed, 'The great thing is that it's a play you don't have to understand in order to enjoy.' Very often the critics will accentuate the 'fabulous design', or 'the glorious acting' of the likes of Maxine Peake in Happy Days. (Blatantly ignoring Henry Winkler's contribution.) And while audiences may be baffled by the gibberish, they get to meet in the bar afterwards and proclaim in haughty tones. 'I just love the fact that it makes you think.' Perhaps they should think that abstract theatre is, for the most part, lazy. Yes, Rhinoceros, in which the inhabitants of a French village gradually turn into beasts, is an allegory for French capitulation with the Nazis. But when so much of the dialogue is at best obtuse – and kazoos are used to illustrate the rhinos - it's hard to see beyond the bonkers. Of course, modern absurdist playwrights can claim to be following Camus in believing that the universe ultimately undermines any attempt to create meaning or find purpose. But does featuring illogical dialogue, bizarre situations, and a lack of traditional dramatic structure – and covering a naked man in flour and dancing to Get It On - really explore existential questions about life and the human condition? No. What it does is allow writers to come up with a play in double quick time, have it staged and move onto the next one; don't sit for months developing believable characters, giving them relatable characteristics. Don't bother coming up with a strong narrative and a twist at the end. Don't waste your time writing dialogue that's deliciously clever, wicked or funny. And with a simpatico artistic director behind you can pass it off as having real meaning – because you're underscoring the philosophy that life has none. There's a current argument for absurdist work which suggests it's an ideal way to satirise our modern times, that political discourse in particular has become so meaningless we've come to an acceptance of lies, clowns and a blatant refusal to answer a question. But can we really satirise the mangoheid who runs the White House? Do we need theatrical word splattering to confirm world chaos is ensuing? Can we not simply read the Dow Jones? Fawlty Towers with Prunella Scales as Sybil, John Cleese as Basil, Connie Booth as Polly and Andrew Sachs as Manuel (Image: PA) Sure, Ionesco wished to highlight that the human race in general is illogical, filled with loquaciousness and incapable of cogent analysis. But didn't John Cleese manage that wonderfully in Fawlty Towers? Wasn't frantic futility handled beautifully in Galton and Simpson's Steptoe and Son? And if you're keen to explore nihilism or Sartre's argument that god is dead then go see Glengarry Glen Ross next time around. And forget Happy Days; if you want to hear a woman despair for 90 minutes, stand outside the Forge Bingo Hall in Duke Street at closing time. But here's the main reason why I reject absurdist theatre. When we park our collective backsides in an auditorium, we're all too often treated to moments and minutes of joy, of wondrousness, of despair, grief, love and loss – and laughter. Sadly, absurdist theatre takes us nowhere but perhaps deeper into the confusion in our own heads. Meanwhile, as critic Michael Billington writes, 'Audiences are hungry for information and enlightenment.' Yet having said all that, and realising I've come to the end of this column without an idea for a pithy, clever ending I've suddenly realised I actually do love absurdism - and so can abdicate the need to make sense. So just imagine me singing 'Get it on, bang a gong, get it on . . .' Fleg shows from Sat 26 Apr - Sat 17 May 2025 at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow
