Women Who Eat Drugs
When watching Japanese films from the 1960s, especially those from Daiei, characters frequently use the word "dry." The young men who strive to be this way sport Shintaro-style haircuts and have the air of the "Sun Tribe" in suits. Having been exposed to the anti-moral worlds of "Season of the Sun" and "Punishment Room" during their impressionable teens, they believe without a doubt that the emotional human relationships unique to Japan are something to be shunned. This dry demeanor is a counter to traditional values, and Hiroshi Kawaguchi's smile, mocking the way the older generation of parents frowns, is a familiar sight at revival theaters. Young people always admire the perpetrator.
Hikaru Ota and Go Yoshida faced backlash when they tried to seek understanding for the cultural background of an era that consumed Keigo Oyamada's arrogant tone regarding his past bullying as entertainment. As for the 90s, when bad-taste culture was popular, I know the general atmosphere somewhat from back issues of Studio Voice and Quick Japan. When I borrowed works by Inuhiko Yomota from that time at the library, it said something about wanting to make every parent with a child read Takashi Nemoto's "Takeo no Sekai" (I think), and regardless of the theme, that art style and tone just wouldn't work, right? There are female readers, I'm sure, but I still think his manga is basically for men. Since Yomota likely knew that when he wrote it, it's all the more irritating. The 90s, when Kazuya Fukuda broke out and Tetsuaki Matsue made a last-minute debut.
It feels inevitable that these two are no longer on the main stage. It was three years ago that the strange slogan "comedy that doesn't hurt anyone" became popular regarding the settings of Tunnels' skits, eventually forcing the program to end. Fukuda wrote that he always wanted to be a perpetrator, and film fans were turned off when Matsue's power harassment on the set of "Dotei. wo Produce" came to light. Matsue criticized "I Just Didn't Do It," arguing that it should have been made from the perspective that the protagonist "did it" (which is just a baseless accusation, as it contradicts Masayuki Suo's original creative motivation), so his stance is clear. However, Matsue's directing style, which follows the lineage of Kazuo Hara, was accepted just like the problematic Oyamada interview. Mori Tatsuya repeatedly spoke about the predatory nature of the documentary medium throughout the 2000s, but I now think that Matsue used it not as a self-admonition, but as a device for expanding his own ego.
Those who see must not prey on those who are seen. The author's stance in "Women Who Eat Drugs" is consistent. First, the obvious fact that the interviewer is also being watched by the interviewee is made clear. Both have various thoughts about the other, but they don't voice them. They don't delve deep enough to probe each other's true intentions, and the Q&A is repeated at random. There is no imbalance of power here backed by the medium of a magazine, and only the daily-level talk of drugs emerges. This is in contrast to Yuichi Akada's new journalism, which unilaterally turns the lives of others into stories. To distinguish between reportage and pornography, which are two sides of the same coin, the women's personal information is stripped away, leaving a semi-transparent mosaic. They are not made into a spectacle, nor is the cream of their experiences exploited by non-participants. I was surprised at how much the anonymity of the subjects increased just by vaguely depicting the sense of time, but not limited to drugs, all intoxicants that invite a state of intoxication are meant to escape from the vast time called life, and Junko Goshodaira's poetry, which has almost no breaks in dates, seems to trace their consciousness.
〈What is tomorrow anyway? Isn't it all just the present, all just a continuation of today?〉
Honda-san, the protagonist of Sumako Kari's "Ashita Shinu ni wa," is chased by daily work and cannot even manage self-care. Although she is capable at work, she has a habit of procrastinating. While saying "someday, someday," she realizes that life does not wait. The boundary between yesterday and today melts within the pitch-black panels. Even when facing life sober, the struggle with time is not easy.
The author does not use the knowledge gained from interviewing drug users to save women as socially vulnerable people, nor is it out of the question to force life improvements by thrusting a happy future as the greatest common divisor in Japanese society before them. The author's attitude of drawing a line with the interviewee and not reaching out might seem dry, but it is free from Daiei-esque (or rather, masculine) posturing, and it is a contemporary manner for observing their lives, which are neither right nor wrong.