When the Allies dropped the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima at the end of WWII, the heat of the explosion was so great, it was two times the temperature of the sun’s surface. That potent image – of two suns floating just above the doomed city and its oblivious people – is one of many invoked by Hisashi Inoue’s magical, intensely moving and timeless 1994 play, which is beautifully translated by Roger Pulvers, a friend of the late Inoue.
At last premiering in Australia with Omusubi Productions and Red Line Productions, The Face of Jizo is about a father and daughter – one living with survivor’s guilt, the other who didn’t survive – three years after the explosion, in the occupied and devastated city.
The Face of Jizo will always have a modern relevance, though, for as long as humans lose their humanity to war...
This is a ghost story, but, in a marked contrast to the haunting of profound trauma that casts a long shadow over this story, Takezo’s haunting (Shingo Usami) of his 23-year-old daughter Mitsue (Mayu Iwasaki) comes from love.
In fact, like one of the old folk tales that Mitsue tells the children at the library where she works, her father’s spirit begins showing up in her home just when her heart begins to beat again. Despite herself, she is falling for the scholar Kinoshita, a collector of objects touched by the bomb – things like warped bottles, glass shards, and spiked roof tiles.
“When he started to approach the checkout desk, a soft little sigh slipped from your lips,” Takezo teases. “Isn't that right? My arms and legs grew out of that sigh!”
He proceeds to give Kinoshita’s gift to Mitsue of a “sweet bean jam bun” merciless analysis.
This mirth-filled playfulness defines the initial scenes of The Face of Jizo, endearing us to its characters. Generously, we are given time and space to enjoy the affections between father and daughter, and their equivalent stubbornness. Tobhiyah Stone Feller’s beautiful set evokes a simple, cosy and tastefully arranged Japanese home, suffused with Matt Cox’s soft golden light. They make small fry with miso, go from kitchen to bedroom with wooden clogs, and bicker about Mitsue’s romantic prospects.
Masterfully and almost imperceptibly, directors Shingo Usami (yes, the same who plays Takezo) and David Lynch (no, not that one) then move the story to profound emotional depths. The audience’s chuckles give way to tears streaming down cheeks.
Like Kinoshita’s found debris, the bomb has touched Mitsue’s life in a way which has irrevocably changed it. We are asked to grapple with the questions: how can one be human after living through so much that “was not human”? How do we tell stories of events which are unspeakable? And how do we honour history, and the dead?
Kinoshita’s items become powerful talismans to memory and meaning. The titular ‘face of Jizo’ is perhaps the most significant example of this: a stone carving of the guardian deity of children recovered from the ruins, half of it melted. Confronting this last one, Mitsue comes face to face with everything she has tried to forget.
Usami is fantastic as Takezo – spirited, goofy and gruff, he moves energetically about the stage with a presence that’s ironically larger-than-life. He also seems to have discovered an invisible lever which can make an audience gush tears. After 25 years as a Japanese actor in Australia, on both stage and screen, this is a role he has been waiting for.
Usami writes in his program note: “In the context of the war stories told in Australia and the US, it almost seemed like any hint of humanity was not allowed in the Japanese characters. Breaking this mold has become one of my missions as an actor ever since.”
Iwasaki is equally wonderful as the conflicted and courageous Mitsue, and here she also fulfills a dream role. When she saw Inoue’s play as a young girl in Tokyo, it made her want to become an actor. You can feel what telling this story means to her, in the shine of her face and the glisten of her tears.
Seamed with pathos and humour, tenderness and heart, this production has been a long time coming – and it was worth the wait. The Face of Jizo will always have a modern relevance, though, for as long as humans lose their humanity to war. It is impossible not to watch this play without connecting it with what happened in Israel on October 7, and what is happening right now in Gaza, as tens of thousands of innocents are slaughtered under an insane, inhuman, corrupted wartime logic. How will that story be told, generations on?
Just two days into its season, The Face of Jizo was extended by popular demand. Don’t miss it.
The Face of Jizo plays at the Old Fitz Theatre, Woolloomooloo (downstairs at The Old Fitzroy Hotel – winner of Best Casual Drinking Venue and People's Choice for Favourite Pub in the 2023 Time Out Food & Drink Awards). The play runs until November 18, tickets are $35-$55 and you can get your tix over here.
