The Japan Society Review 97
Book, Stage, Film, Arts and Events Review

Issue 97 Volume 17 Number 1 (February 2022)

This issue of The Japan Society Review marks the openingof an exciting new year of Japan-related books, films andevents. In 2022 this publication will reach a landmark 100
issues, an inspiring moment in our ongoing mission tocelebrate the vibrancy and variety of Japanese culture,
history, politics and much more. As we advance towardthat milestone, this issue also brings together a interesting
selection of reviews focusing on Japanese art, gardens,
literature and cinema.
The first review discusses the catalogue of an
exhibition on Japanese Buddhist art hosted by the Newark
Museum in 2019-2020. Beyond Zen: Japanese Buddhism
Revealed offers a fascinating visual history of this richartistic tradition from the Edo period to the present day.
Following this art review, we feature an overview ofthe publication Of Arcs and Circles: Insights from Japan on
Gardens, Nature, and Art written by landscape architect
and artist Marc Peter Keane. In this collection of personal
essays, Keane explores topics such as modern Japan’s

approach to architecture, the history of torii gates and the
traditional methods of making charcoal.
This issue also includes reviews of two fiction books
recently published in English, The Woman in the Purple
Skirt by Imamura Natsuko and Fish Swimming In Dappled
Sunlight by Onda Riku. The first one offers an original takeon working-women, social alienation, and sexual violencein contemporary Japan. The latter is a psychological thriller/
murder mystery novel, in the style of Onda’s previouslytranslated work The Aosawa Murders.
The last review of this issue is dedicated to the film
37 Seconds written and directed by Hikari and currently
available to watch in Netflix UK. A sensitive exploration of
the reality of being disabled, the film presents a comingof-age story focusing on Yuma, a woman with cerebral
palsy and her quest to become more independent.

Alejandra Armendáriz-Hernández

Contents
1)

Beyond Zen: Japanese Buddhism Revealed edited byKatherine Anne Paul2)

Of Arcs and Circles: Insights from Japan on Gardens,
Nature, and Art by Marc Peter Keane

3)

The Woman in the Purple Skirt by Imamura Natsuko

4)

Fish Swimming In Dappled Sunlight by Onda Riku

5)

37 Seconds written and directed by Hikari

EditorAlejandra Armendáriz-Hernández
Reviewers
Cameron Bassindale, Katie Croft, Laurence Green, Jenni Schofield
and Timon Screech
Cover image from 37 Seconds

Beyond Zen: Japanese
Buddhism Revealed
edited by Katherine Anne PaulD Giles Limited and the Newark
Museum of Art (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-1911282556
Review by Timon Screech
The Newark Museum’s collection of Japanese art isinsufficiently recognised, and certainly those of us
living outside the USA are not well aware of it. Newark
naturally suffers from proximity to New York City,
with its wealth of artistic options. Nevertheless, theMuseum has put itself on the map with a series ofimportant exhibitions, notably begun under the longstanding curator of Asian Collections, Valrae Reynolds,
who served for almost four decades (1970-2007).
Under her the permanent gallery of Japanese art was
created, in 1989. Reynolds’ successor, Dr Katherine
Anne Paul, now titled Curator of the Arts of Asia, hasadmirably carried on the tradition, and organised theexhibition Beyond Zen: Japanese Buddhism Revealed(18 September 2019 - 5 January 2020). The show wasa wonderful introduction to the topic of Buddhist
art in Japan, being both viewer-friendly for first-time
visitors, and profound. It is greatly to be hoped thatpeople managed to see it, despite the Covid situation.
For those who could not make the trip, or others likemyself who live abroad and could not go anyway, we
have a lavish hardback catalogue, jointly published in
the USA and UK, with full colour plates, introductory
essays and helpful entries.
The Newark Museum (now the Newark Museumof Art) has given priority to Japanese art ever since
its foundation in 1908. It grew out of an exhibitionof George T. Rockwell’s Japanese items, which had
been shown at the Newark Library the year before.
3000 pieces from Rockwell entered the new Museum.
As expected from things put together at that time, it
contains a wealth of prints, ceramics and inro (hanging
pill box). The Museum’s founder, John Cotton Dana,also director of the library, donated more pieces,and since then, Japanese art of one sort or anotherhad been added to the collection almost every year,
without exception.
This exhibition reveals how rich the Rockwellcollection was in Buddhist art too, with some half theitems coming from him.
The catalogue opens with a striking pair ofpaintings, one a Shaka (Shakyamuni, the historical
Buddha), probably from the 15th century, and the2other an Amida (Amitābha, Buddha of the Western
Paradise) [Figs 4 & 5]. They are not only fine works, butdemonstrate the longevity of Buddhist iconicity. The
former piece shows a golden Buddha enthroned ona lotus flower, with the ‘sixteen good gods’ (juroku
zenshin), protectors of the dharma clustered to eitherside; below is the great continental monk, Xuanzang(602-666), seen introducing a Mongolian divinity that
he had met on a pilgrimage to India, to Buddhism
truth, on which the divinity embraced the dharmaand vowed to project it. It is a key story in the East Asia
tradition, incorporating India, the new Buddhist landsof modern-day People’s Republic, and the pre-existinggods of region. Specialists in Japanese art will know
the magnificent statue of this divinity, Jinsha Taisho inJapanese, carved by Kaikei, c. 1200. The icon is a focal
Buddha with attendants, and a hagiography of a mid7th century monk, as encoded in late-7th century text,transmitted to Japan, and prosed in a metaphysicalstatement, painted some 800 years after the purported
events – and now, to continue, shown to us some 600
years on again, somewhat darkened by the passage oftime, but still with the same inclusive message.

Fig. 4

Fig. 5Paired with this is the Amida. It depicts not an
old myth, but an old mythic statue. In Buddhism (asin Catholic Christianity indeed) it is not just the gods
and Buddhas who serve as examples, or offer succour,but particular images of them. The one depicted in thisIssue 97 Volume 17 Number 1 (February 2022)

probably-mid 19th century painting, is not just Amida,
but the celebrated Amida icon at the Zenko-ji. It is said
to be the first image ever seen in Japan, having been
donated to the Japanese court in 552, by a Korean who
hoped to convert the islands to the dharma, which,after some vicissitudes, is what happened. Initially thedharma was not accepted, and the icon was hurled
into a ditch, from where it was retrieved and taken toa remote place for safekeeping by an adherent who
gave his name to the temple built to house it, Zenko-ji.
The icon is so holy that it has never, ever, been seen,or rather, not since a mediaeval warrior forced thedoors open to view it – twice in fact; he noticed thatthe icon had moved in the interim, thus confirming
it was actually alive. This is one of two living icons inJapan. The painting does not show the Zenko-ji Amida
itself, the appearance of which no one knows, but a
subordinate icon that stands in front, asserted to look
the same. This subordinate also grew too holy to be
freely seeing, so it was (and is) mostly sequesteredfrom view. Hence the need for such paintings among
devotees. Art historians in Japan and Korea, would liketo see the King’s gift piece, but the truth of the matteris that the shrine is probably empty.
The next two items [Figs 6 & 7] take us in theother direction. Both are two sculpted images of
Shaka, dating to the Edo Period (1603-1868). They are
not a pair, though they are similar, about 35cm tall,about the right size for personal icons, which werewidespread, for use in domestic spaces. Inevitably,most of Rockwell’s purchases were of Edo art, though
his exhibition includes some impressive earlier piecetoo. Several icons are exhibited in their original shrine,with the doors open, which allows us to conceptualise
how they were used. Sometimes the shrines haveinscriptions, which assists in dating.

Fig. 6

Fig. 7

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Edo is to the fore, but important to the exhibition
is a set of four probably from after 1890. They show
manifestations of Kannon, that is, the Amida’s
attendant, who will convey us to the Western Paradise.
The Meiji regime (1868-1912) launched a cultural
revolution against Buddhism, which is now so many
icons left Japan. The Rockwell collection is not alone inhaving pieces stolen from temples, or salvaged fromthem, when the government burned the precincts
down, in the name of modernisation. In these four
works, however, we see Buddhism fighting back, andeven, as the style suggests, modernising itself.
The exhibition is titled Beyond Zen, and it iscertainly worth recalling that although tourists andschool children flock to Kyoto’s Zen temples, Zen had
never the predominant school in Japan. It did havepowerful sponsors, notably in the Ashikaga Shogunate,
but numerically it was small. The Tokugawa shoguns,
moreover, were not Zen, but Pure Land adherents.
Modern taste has unbalanced history, and it is right andproper for this exhibition to take us ‘beyond’ Zen. The
school is not banned, and lovers of the spontaneous
link line will find work to their taste included. There are
two excellent work by Unkoku Togan, a lineal successor
to the great Zen master Sesshu. Unfortunately, in the
catalogue they are hung the wrong way around (Fig
63 should come before Fig. 62). As a diptych, they
likely were originally displayed with a Buddha image
in the centre.
The exhibition has over 100 exhibits, and is too
impossible here to mention them all, but one final item
deserves attention. This is perhaps Newark’s special
treasure, for although far from a masterpiece in terms ofexecution, it is almost unique. The recognises is special
enough to have its own catalogue chapter, by Kaminishi
Ikumi. It is another Meiji work, once a long handscroll,
now mounted as hour hanging scrolls. It adheres tothe established genre of pictorial hagiographies ofeminent monks, that would be narrative at pilgrimage
temples. He is named Tokuhon, an Amidist (Pure Land)monk, who died in 1818. His biography was composedby a younger follower, Fukuda Gyokai, in 1867, so thepaintings must date to after that. Tokuhon travelled
but came to rest at the Daizu-in in Edo, founded (orin legend refounded) to be the mortuary temple for
Tokugawa Ieyasu’s mother, O-dai-no-kata, who died in
1602. Gyokai serve here and would have met Tokuhon
late in life. Tokuhon ended his days, also in Edo, at the
Ikko-in, and since that temple is recorded as possessing
a handscroll of his life, but no longer had it, the Newark3

Museum presumes their piece is the one. Three similar
illustrated biographies of Tokuhon are still in Japan.
Last of all, with such fine offerings and such acomprehensive exposure of Japanese Buddhist art, it
seems churlish to ask for more. Nevertheless, must be
said that this show is a rather modern interpretation of
Buddhism. Where, I want to ask, is Shinto? It was only
during the Meiji persecutions that the kami (Shintogods) were wrenched out of where they belonged,
as is, in Buddhist temples, where they served asprotectors of the dharma and as their avatars. Any preMeiji person would have been startled to encounteran exhibition of Japanese Buddhist art that left thekami out. They are part of the story. Still, that can be
told on another occasion.§

Of Arcs and Circles: Insightsfrom Japan on Gardens,
Nature, and Art

making charcoal. The quality of his writing makes it
thoroughly enjoyable to follow Keane’s flow of thoughtfrom a woman on a subway platform to the best place
to pitch a tent and onwards to the evolution of huntergatherer society, but I am left wondering what it mustbe like inside his mind, and if he ever just sees a thing
as a thing.
Keane’s writings on culture and nature have thethoughtfulness which is surely only available to an
outsider who can examine their surroundings withfresh eyes, unencumbered by habituation. Of course,
this is an extremely knowledgeable outsider, andas such, his writing weaves deep understanding ofJapan with his personal experiences to give a universal
perspective which would appeal whether one has
an interest in Japan or not. I particularly enjoyed theessay “there is no such thing as art,” which argues
passionately for the need to return to craftsmanship,communication, beauty and emotional experience as
the primary values of art.
Amongst the discerning and delightful of Keane’s
writings, however, there are a few moments where
he falls into the tempting rabbit hole of pseudophilosophy. The scientist in me raised her eyebrowsat a passage arguing for the supremacy of one stateof matter over another: ‘suspended in a dream of
melting into the river... it occurred to me why there
is such a strong connection between water and life...
Solids are too fixed... Gases are too dispersed to be thefoundation of life... Liquids on the other hand, offer thekind of density required for the development of anorganism but also have the fluid nature that supports
the various chemical and physical interactions fromwhich life is born’. Forgive me for being literal but lifeon earth does fundamentally rely on all forms of matter;postulating otherwise detracts from the pleasure of his
precise insights. Luckily, there are only a few momentsthat stretch credulity, which did not undermine myoverall enjoyment of the book.
Although each essay is ostensibly on a separate
subject, they are united by Keane’s desire to help us toby Marc Peter Keane
Stone Bridge Presss (2022)
ISBN-13: 978-16117207239
Review by Katie Croft
The title of this lovely book is somewhat misleading.
Although I assume that it is literally true (i.e. that Keane
was in Japan when he wrote it), it gives a prospective
reader the impression that they are about to encounter
some specifically Japanese socio-cultural-historicalnon-fiction: perhaps it will include a critique of different
periods of Japanese art, or the history of the Japaneseconception of nature? In fact, this is a collection of
personal musings on Keane’s own life, his interactions
with nature and culture and his observations on thewider world.
Keane is a successful landscape architect, artist
and author who has been living and working in Japanfor decades. He has written eight previous books,
including an introduction to Japanese gardens, anexplanation of the tea garden and a translation of the
Sakuteiki with Jiro Takei. Those who have read 2002’s
The Art of Setting Stones will be familiar with the styleof Keane’s gently humorous prose and optimistic
observations.
The essays in this collection range from thespecific and tangible to the metaphysical, often in thesame paragraph. A description of a momentary sightof a heron flying above the surface of a river leads toa discussion about symmetry in the natural world;
seeing a house in the process of demolition leads toa critique of modern Japan’s approach to architecture
alongside theories of transience, value and care.
Keane’s conceptual wanderings are grounded in thereal world so the reader is never left adrift; questionsof existence are balanced by asides on topics such as
the history of torii gates or the traditional methods of
4Issue 97 Volume 17 Number 1 (February 2022)

see and value the connection between humanity andnature. With every phrase, Keane invites us to look at theworld around us, and to look better at it. While admiring
the beauty of a willow tree, he interrogates the failureof names to signify the complete reality of existence.
In a discussion on Japanese poetry, he implores us tobe aware of the deeper experiences available to us:‘the world holds these hidden messages by the bagful.
It’s just a question of knowing how to look. Or, rather,to be willing to look. To be open to their revelations.’
Keane’s light-hearted accounts of the pleasure hegains from the world around him leads the reader
gently towards a desire to look deeper, whilst avoiding

condescension or evangelism. The threads running
through the book come together in the final essay,
where he elucidates his understanding of the Buddhist
concept of emptiness: that ‘all existence is dependent
on a web of interconnections’. Whilst admitting thenear impossibility of it, Keane hopes that humans will
one day learn ‘to truly see the world as it exists with
infinitely layered connections’. His optimistic message
feels like the right one for our times: if we learned tounderstand the relationships that stretch from oursingle self to all other beings, the world would be akinder place. §The Woman in the Purple Skirt

mind this is what makes the ending so satisfying; I
found myself imagining any number of ways the novel
may finish only to be pleasantly surprised Imamura
steered well clear of tropes and cliche.
The descriptions of workplaces, and women’srole within them in modern Japan, is another area
which Imamura manages to provide novel views.
The Woman in the Purple Skirt at times has shades of
Murata Sayaka’s excellent Convenience Store Woman,a novel whose protagonist is obsessed with the din ofher 24/7 convenience store chain. For Imamura, thenarrator’s obsession is with a female colleague. For
both novels, the result is the same; a narrative which
dissects the intersection between femininity and themodern workplace. In fact, ‘the woman in the purple
skirt’ does not begin working at the hotel with the‘woman in the yellow cardigan’ until she finally reads
a subtly placed newspaper advert meant for her tosee. Before she joins the hotel workforce, the narrative
voice is rather harsh on her moving from job to job,
unable to pin down a career. The distance between
the two characters, and the narrator’s irritation at ‘thewoman in the purple skirt’’s work ethic helps build theatmosphere of modern work in Japan, which is often
gruelling and worse for those who don’t conform.
Once she begins work at the hotel, the dangers
of non-conformity become more prescient. Imamura
has some stellar lines of dialogue laced throughout
the scenes at the hotel, between the supervisors andthe regular staff members. For example, at one point
the narrator overhears a supervisor ask the new recruit‘Hino-chan. Is there a reason you don’t use the hotel
shampoo?’. For me this is a masterful line of dialogue,
which represents the pressure to conform within theworkplace, compounded by the pressures modern
Japanese women face with regards to their body. As

by Imamura Natsuko
translated by Lucy North
Faber & Faber (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-0571364671
Review by Cameron Bassindale
Winner of the prestigious Akutagawa Prize, one ofJapan’s highest literary honor, Imamura Natsuko is thelatest in a growing list of contemporary female authors
to be introduced to the British literary scene. She iscertainly in good company. The likes of Kawakami
Hiromi, Banana Yoshimoto and Murata Sayaka are now
readily available in chain bookstores up and down the
UK. What’s more, this wave of Japanese female voices
being translated into English seem to touch on similar
experiences: social alienation, workplace pressuresand the threat of sexual violence. In The Woman in
the Purple Skirt, Imamura adds her own take on these
themes through a narrative with a gripping conceit
and satisfying ending.
At its core, The Woman in the Purple Skirt is astory about a woman who stalks her neighbour, in thehopes of striking up a friendship with her. As the story
progresses however, the reader’s attention naturally
shifts from the eponymous character to the narrator,
who calls herself ‘the woman in the yellow cardigan’.
What starts off innocently enough does take on arather more sinister tone as the novel builds up to its
conclusion. The narrator’s descriptions of waiting forthe ‘woman in the purple skirt’ in dark alleys or by a bus
stop go quickly from eliciting sympathy for a woman
trying to make a friend in the digital age to a sense ofdeep foreboding. However, Imamura stops well shortof making this novel a grizzly psycho-thriller, as perhaps
a lesser author may have been tempted to do. To my
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5the novel goes on, the narrator begins to hear rumours
about ‘Hino’ being given favourable treatment
because of an alleged affair. From then on, the staff
totally turn against her, taking every opportunity tocriticise her work and character. Imamura weaves into
the narrative here a subtle class commentary. At thestart of her employment she was encouraged, off thebooks, to help herself to food and drink when she wascarrying out her duties. As her colleagues begin to takea dislike to her, they out her for doing just that. In sodoing, Imamura perhaps is trying to paint a picture ofa lack of solidarity between working-class Japanese.
So too does Imamura frame in an interesting way
another problem that women face: sexual violence.
Hino’s experience on a bus, in which a stranger
gropes her from behind, is all too common in modern
Japan. What makes Imamura’s description uniqueis the way in which it is framed, from the viewpointof a female stalker. The narrator sees the situation as
an opportunity to touch her, as the fracas on the bus
occurs, she reaches her hand out through the crowd to‘tweak her nose’. This moment is the tipping point in
the novel, where it transitions from strange to outrightbizarre. Given the pacing of the novel, which is lively
and doesn’t rest in one place too long, this makes
for a quick build-up toward a truly well-thought-out
ending.
With her finger clearly on the pulse of Japanese
literary modernity, Imamura Natsuko’s The Woman
in the Purple Skirt manages to touch on issues
surrounding working-class women in Japan while
managing to maintain a unique writing voice within
an even more unique story. The result is a thoroughly
readable book, well deserving of its place in thecontemporary Japanese canon.§Fish Swimming In Dappled
Sunlight

Thus we are pulled, always at the mercy of Onda’s
puppeteer-like hands, through a plot that slowly - everso slowly - reveals itself. We might think of comparisonssuch as Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, or Margaret
Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale - masterworks at nevershowing more than is absolutely necessary at any given
time of the worlds that surround their protagonists.
The intensity of this claustrophobia was one of the
key allures of The Aosawa Murders, and it is done toperfection again here - with Alison Watts’ translation
capturing with deft poise the understanding that it isoften the most simplest of utterances that can convey
the deepest unease.
Bit by bit, we get to know the couple at theheart of this story. Though we know their names, (ordo we...?) the first person narrative that flits between
their respective points of view sees them melding
together into a kind of symbiotic, hydra-like existence.
We can never be entirely sure what each is concealingfrom the other, and yet we know they share a deepbond. Who holds the dominant position, and who isstruggling toward the truth? In the constant back-andforth of their dialogue, we begin to see a sense of how
they are ultimately two sides of the same coin.
Do we ever like them as protagonists? That’s amore difficult question to answer - but through thetime we spend in their company, they neverthelessbecome the only anchor we are afforded in a plot thatis constantly adrift and at angles with itself. The corenarrative is hard work for the reader, to be certain, andis given to us asynchronously - are we in the present,

by Onda Riku
translated by Alison Watts
Bitter Lemon Press (2022)
ISBN-13: 978-1913394592
Review by Laurence Green
A couple meet up one final time, one last night
together in which to dissect the past. Their relationshiphas broken down. Their apartment is now emptied
and void of their possessions. All that is left is to getto the bottom of where it all went wrong; a horrificincident in which during a dreamy holiday trekking in
the mountains, their guide suddenly dies. The couple
each believe the other murdered the guide - but why,
and how? What they desire more than anything is aconfession.
Perhaps even more so than in The Aosawa
Murders - Onda Riku’s previous novel to be translated
into English - there is a clinical sparseness to the prose
here that keeps the reader in a constant sense of
unsettled anxiety. Through a constant drip-feeding of
information, with paragraphs often circling around a
subject for pages by way of tangents and diversions,
we teeter on a precipice of what we think we know,
and what we don’t know. Resolution is hard to comeby in Onda’s uniquely creepy psychological worlds,
the characters almost child-like at times in the wilfulskirting of the usual hard-and-fast truths of adultrationality.
6

Issue 97 Volume 17 Number 1 (February 2022)

or the past? The framing device of the couple sittingin their soon to be vacated apartment, working their
way through wine and shochu as they discuss theirmemories of the trauma that haunts them both, hasa kind of weird comfort to it. It is in their recollections
that we truly lose ourselves, a space divorced of any
solid ground, composed of illusory fragments thatloom out of the mists of forgetfulness.
It’s not until about two-thirds of the way throughthe book that we really begin to get a handle on whatis actually at play here, and the various interlocking
elements begin to make sense. We finally start tounderstand not only the true depths of the bond
between the couple, but also the dark secret thatconnects both them and the dead guide. The answers,
it seems, lie not in some kind of final confession, but
in their childhoods - a mental space that can only bereclaimed through a reconciliation of the difference
between ‘fact’ and ‘truth’.
It is very difficult to talk about the massive
revelations that the book’s latter half delivers without
giving anything away, but suffice to say, when they
finally come, it is like a volley of punches to the gut,

tearing away any remaining semblance of safety
the reader has, and dangling them over an abyss ofvertigo-inducing nausea. Onda toys with primal fears;
insects, being buried, children in peril - and theyterrify all the more because of the repetitive, cyclicalmanner in which they are employed. Like somethingfrom a nightmare by way of a David Lynch movie, theeerieness gets into us like a bad itch.
Although the novel could ostensibly be touted
as ‘crime’ fiction, as with The Aosawa Murders, thetone is often far closer to psychological horror. Fansof the likes of Ogawa Yoko will find plenty to enjoy
here, and the book’s biggest draw can be summed up
in its relentless probing and unpicking of the deepest
recesses of morality. What drives us to act the way
we do? Who are we really? And can we ever - evenwith those closest to us - know the inner thoughts ofanother? Time and again, Onda forces us to confront
the ugly truths behind these questions. In doing so, shecomes very close to conveying in the textual format
what it might mean to be ‘human’, with all the messy,
fallible connotations associated with it.§37 Seconds

not believable. The publisher tells Yuma that if she hassex, she should contact her again, as experience is all
she lacks in writing credible sex scenes. Yuma decides
to hire a sex worker, but the sex worker leaves after she
has an episode of incontinence. As she attempts toleave the hotel, the elevator is broken, and while trying
to get help, Yuma meets Kuma, a fellow wheelchairuser, sex worker Mai, and carer Toshi. The rest of thefilm follows the sexual and spiritual awakening ofYuma, as she opens herself up to new experiences,
drinking in drag bars, going to nightclubs, buying sex
toys, and getting makeovers with Mai.
The way Yuma is treated by her new friends is astark contrast to the way she is treated at home by her
mother. Yuma’s mother is extremely overprotective ofher, and actively infantilises her at every opportunity,from stripping her naked to bathe together, towalking her to the bus stop and waving at the bus
as it pulls away. Once Yuma attempts to escapethe binds of her mother, she is punished by being
physically locked in the house, echoing the all-toofrequent abuse that disabled people face from theirfamilies.[1] Her newfound friends, however, treat her
as an independent adult, capable of making her own
decisions, choosing her own clothes, and working hardto achieve her dreams. They believe in her abilities andwritten and directed by Hikari(2019)
Cast: Kayama Me, Kanno Misuzu,
Daitoh Shunsuke, Watanabe
Makiko, Kumashino Yoshihiko
Available on Netflix
Review by Jenni Schofield

37 Seconds is a 2019 film directed and written by Hikari
which explores the coming-of-age story of Yuma, awoman with cerebral palsy, and her quest to become
more independent from her overbearing mother. The
film examines her search for “freedom”, in her own
words, through love, loss, and internalised ableism.
Takada Yuma, the protagonist, is unfulfilled
and unhappy with her life. Her childhood best friend
Sayaka takes credit for her artwork and shares less thanhalf of the earnings, forcing Yuma to remain a secretghost-writer while Sayaka claims the fame and fortune.
As a result, Yuma decides to look for work elsewhere,
and submits samples of her work to a publisher
which specialises in erotic manga. The contact shemeets with at the publisher tells her that her work is
exceptional, but that the sex scenes she has written are
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7are even willing to support her growth with their own
money.
Nudity is a useful framing device for the evolution
Yuma undergoes in the film, encapsulating her journey
into adulthood. At first, she is an infant, innocent in
her nudity, forced to bathe with her mother and leanagainst her for support, much like how one bathes
with a very young baby. As the story progresses, Yuma
explores her own sexuality and desires by watchingherself in a mirror while masturbating, still fully
clothed, shy, and not entirely comfortable in her own
skin. During her experience with the sex worker, heslowly peels back her clothes, framing her sexual form
for her. Throughout the film, the audience watch as
Yuma becomes more at home in her own skin, coming
to terms with her body as a woman, and as a disabled
person. Yuma wears the clothes she wants to wear,
does her own makeup how she likes, and has gained
bodily autonomy, without being dressed physically, or
framed cinematically, by others.
Ordinarily, cinema featuring sexuality anddisability in tandem play off the very real struggles of
disabled folks as comedy, with the fact that a personwith a disability is trying to have sex being the entire
punchline and source of humour. 37 Seconds takes avastly different approach, choosing to instead take theaudience on Yuma’s journey with her, sharing in her
emotions and experiencing the world through her eyes,
through her embarrassment and her eventual joy. The
grounded and authentic feel of the film are created inpart due to the casting choices that the director made.
Kayama Mei, who plays Yuma, is also a wheelchair user
herself, as well as sharing a diagnosis of cerebral palsy
with the character. The world of cinema internationallyoften casts non-disabled actors as disabled characters,
robbing disabled actors of the chance to tell their own
stories, in most cases reinforcing harmful stereotypes
in the process. By casting real wheelchair users in 37
Seconds, Hikari allows disabled folks to discuss the realissues that affect them, describing and portraying theirown experiences as though re-enacting them for theaudience on screen.
The man Yuma meets in the hotel, Kuma, isalso played by a wheelchair user with cerebral palsy,
Kumashino Yoshihiko. Kumashino is the CEO of anorganisation called NPO Noir, which campaigns forthe sexual rights of disabled people by increasingawareness of the fact that the sexuality of disabled
people is so often overlooked by medical professionals,
carers, and those in the sex industry, not to mention
their friends and family.[2] In part, this is due to theportrayal of disabled people at involuntarily celibate,sterile, and incapable of having or enjoying sex, as
well as an inaccurate depiction of disabled people as
childlike, or infantile. Kumashino’s organisation showthat all of this is far from the case, and that there is agreater need for the sexual needs and desires of people
with disabilities to be understood and acknowledged.
37 Seconds feels like an extension of that idea, tellingthe story of one lady and her struggle to be seen as
an adult capable of both sexual desires, and of being
desired.
In one heart-breaking scene, we see Yuma attempt
online dating, where she is wholly unsuccessful.
During one promising date, Yuma asks the man if hecould see himself dating “someone like her”, and after
he reassures her that he could, in fact, be attracted toher, he then does not show up for their second date
at a cinema and does not answer her calls. By theend of the film, Yuma has acknowledged that she is“worthy” of being loved, and that she will eventuallyfind someone who likes her as she is. Her relationships
with Toshi and Mai are examples of that fact, proving
to Yuma that people can see past her disability to thereal her, whilst acknowledging and supporting her
through any difficulties her disability causes along theway.
37 Seconds is a heartfelt exploration of thereality of being disabled; a reality which is seldom
explored outside of comedy. Most, if not all, disabled
people have had to tackle their own self-image andself-worth, while navigating the world of dating andsex. The difficulty that Yuma has reconciling all of thisby herself displays a clear need for better education
surrounding both sex and disability and demonstrates
the necessity of visible disabled people in popular
media, to provide a hopeful and positive role modelfor younger disabled folks. With films like 37 Seconds
starting the conversation, we can only hope that the
future will see more inclusion and support for disabled
people.
Notes[1] To read more about the abuse disabled people face,see Karen Roy (2021), Domestic Abuse and People
with Disabilities, Numotion, blog post: https://www.
numotion.com/blog/february-2021/domestic-abuseand-people-with-disabilities (accessed 31/03/2022).
[2] For more information on NPO Noir, check out their
Twitter page @nponoir: https://twitter.com/nponoir(accessed 31/03/2022).§