One of the major joys of writing about Japanese movies is that whenever you begin to get that tired, jaded feeling that you think you’ve seen it all and that there’s nothing left that’s ever going to set your pulse racing, you stumble across a whole previously hidden seam of movies that completely revolutionises any ideas of what Japanese cinema is. I remember getting this feeling watching the works of Hiroshi Shimizu at the 2003 Tokyo FILMeX, and I got it again at the same festival exactly one year later, during a 13-film retrospective of Tomu Uchida, which travelled to the Rotterdam Film Festival in a slimmed-down version a couple of months later. 　　In English-language film circles, not much is really generally known about Japanese cinema prior to the 1960s. Anderson and Richie’s The Japanese Film: Art and Industry is still the bible for those who want to find out more, but more recent non-academic publications are limited by the films that are available for viewing. It’s a catch-22 situation, which DVD is slowly overcoming. Yet still, outside of the work of a few major directors like Kurosawa and Ozu, recent releases have tended to stick with products from more recent years, more often than not focused around the twin poles of art and exploitation. 　　It is therefore really difficult to get any broader picture of what the industry was doing before the days of yakuza movies and Roman Porno. Yet the 1950s were the decade when the Japanese cinema had reached full maturity and cinema attendances were at a peak, the so-called Golden Age when the major companies were between them turning out around 500 films a year, all made by directors with several decades of experience behind them, at long-established studios with a large highly-trained professional team of technicians. Far from being the bastion of conservativeness that Oshima and the New Wave directors labelled it to be, I am coming to look at the decade as a vast lucky dip with some fabulous treasures still waiting to be found – such as The Outsiders, for example, an epic outdoor adventure in which an embittered Ken Takakura fights for the rights of Hokkaido’s oppressed Ainu population. 　　Tomu Uchida was one of those names I’d heard bandied about a lot, most often in conjunction with the film Earth (Tsuchi) made in 1939. A seminal piece of social-realism made by a director noted for his leftist inclinations, Earth focused on the harsh lives of a community of farmers at a time when rapid urbanisation was bleeding the countryside dry. It was a political film in that it confronted the swelling ranks of the emergent urban middle classes who made up the large bulk of cinema audiences with the plight of the rural poor, paralleling the release of John Ford’s adaptation of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath in America around the same time in 1940. 　　Remember, long before the days of television, cinema was the only way of seeing how the other half lived, and in today’s image-saturated mass-media culture it is easy to overlook the power and immediacy of what people saw on the big screen. Uchida’s film was all the more political because it was made at the time when the lion’s share of agricultural production was being put towards Japan’s wartime expansion. Needless to say, it went bang in the face of the type of films the government was promoting at the time. 　　Earth was filmed over the course of a year with a documentarist’s attention to detail, taking in each of the seasons and focusing very much on man’s relationship with the soil. This approach of drawing out the realism and charting the passage of time through the use of the four seasons much later became a staple of the documentary films made by the collective centred around Shinsuke Ogawa, such as Magino Village – A Tale (Sennen Kizami no Hidokei: Magino-Mura Monogatari, 1987), or more recently in the documentary-styled fictional work of Naomi Kawase, specifically the films Suzaku and Hotaru. 　　Uchida’s film, by the way, is not to be confused with the German-Japanese co-production, The New Earth (Atarashii Tsuchi), directed by Mansaku Itami, the father of Tampopo director Juzo Itami. This film, released in 1941, was a nationalist propaganda work made under the instigation of Dr Arnold Fanck, the German director who sparked off the peculiar genre of the “Mountain Film” as typified by The Holy Mountain (Der Heilige Berg, recently released on DVD in the UK by Eureka). As written by Fanck, its goal was to portray “unity of the Nazi group-spirit and the racial spirit of the Japanese as opposed to the weak spirit of the democracies”, but there was conflict between the Japanese and the German creative elements throughout the production due to the way in which Fanck constantly misrepresented elements of Japanese culture in service of the film’s higher propagandist purpose (The Last Samurai, anyone?). Released overseas at the time as The Daughter of the Samurai, one of the first co-productions Japan ever made with the West thus ended up a classic textbook example of orientalist filmmaking. 　　Much of what has been written about Uchida’s career in the English language – basically in Anderson and Richie’s book – has focused on his pre-war career. But as the FILMeX retrospective clearly demonstrated, this was only half of the story. In 1945, the left-leaning director travelled to the formerly Japanese-occupied area of Manchuria in China to join the Manchuria Film Association, or Man’ei, and was not to come back until 1953. Upon his return he continued for almost two decades to produce a wide range of films that fit into every genre conceivable, from traditional kabuki adaptations to melodrama and yakuza movies. 　　The diversity of his oeuvre therefore means that getting a grip on what elements typify an Uchida picture is a difficult task, but on the evidence of The Outsiders, one of the original program that tellingly did not go over to the Rotterdam festival, perhaps it is fruitful to turn once again to the parallel with John Ford. The film’s mixture of heroic action, making full use of one of the top macho icons of its day, an expansive sense of location, masterful use of colour and composition and a focus on social injustice meted out on large sectors of the nation’s indigenous people had me thinking in terms of The Searchers. In what seems like another unlikely case of synchronicity, Ford’s film was released just two years previously in 1956. 　　The Outsiders is something of a revelation. It certainly looks nothing like what you’d expect from a Japanese movie made around the mid-50s, which is perhaps the reason why it is completely unknown outside of Japan. Opening with a lengthy pan across the barren mountaintops of Hokkaido, Uchida’s third film in colour, after the two parts of the jidai-geki Daibosatsu Pass (Daibosatsutoge, 1957/58) is an undeniably exhilarating visual experience, making full use of the Toeiscope widescreen format to capture Japan’s northernmost territory in all its rugged beauty. It also is of particular interest for drawing attention to the destruction of the culture and the discrimination against the indigenous Ainu people, a dwindling race faced with danger of extinction since the Japanese nation began its concerted push northwards with the government extending administration over all parts of the landmass in 1868. 　　Screen legend Ken Takakura is Ishitaro Kazamori, known as Byakki “the Phoenix” by the local Ainu population, as he whisks from village to village on horseback delivering supplies and educational books to the locals, an outcast Robin Hood character working for the future of his people. But Byakki’s rough methods aren’t to everyone’s tastes. Money has been going missing from the funds raised by the chairman of the Ainu Society, Dr. Ike (Kitazawa), a well-meaning “shamo” (non-Ainu) who has dedicated much of his life to researching the history and culture of Japan’s aboriginal people. 　　When Dr Ike brings a young landscape painter Yoshiko Saeki (Kagawa) from Tokyo with him on his field trips to sketch the local landscapes, there is initially resentment of another outsider treating the local populations as her own pet project. But Yoshiko soon befriends Mitsu (Fujisato), an Ainu girl who was jilted years ago on the eve of the holy Bekanbe Festival by her “shamo” lover who couldn’t go through with the stigma of marrying into this ostracised class. Mitsu may also hold the key to Byakki’s whereabouts. 　　Meanwhile, as the next Bekanbe Festival approaches, tension is growing between the Ainu and the Japanese settlers in the coastal town of Nanbetsu due to Byakki’s increasingly unruly antics. One local who steadfastly refuses to pitch in to Dr. Ike’s project is Oiwa (Mikuni), who runs the local fishery with his old father (Susukida), and runs a strict policy of not hiring any Ainu workers. Oiwa bears Byakki a particular enmity, because Byakki knows that Oiwa is living in denial, masquerading as a “shamo” and keeping his real Ainu ancestry well hidden. But Oiwa also knows a few secrets about Byakki. 　　Hokkaido is in many ways Japan’s northernmost frontier, its own equivalent to the Wild West, and The Outsiders, though based on the novel Mori to Mizuumi no Matsuri by Taijun Takeda, most clearly resembles an American western, a gripping action film letting forth a righteous cry against social injustice against the indigenous population and unfolding against an epic landscape. Such genre appropriations can’t be coincidental. As could be seen as early back as Uchida’s own 1933 silent, The Police Officer (Keisatsukan), which also played at FILMeX, Japanese filmmakers were certainly not above borrowing heavily from typically American staples such as the cops-and-robbers film. I can’t say whether Uchida consciously modelled his film on the western, but the crucial fact about The Outsiders is that the story makes sense and works in its own right, rather than just being noteworthy as a cross-cultural hybrid curio. 　　The main drawing point is of course Hokkaido itself, shot beautifully by cinematographer Shoe Nishikawa, picking out the autumnal russet-tinged hues of the majestic countryside of lakes, plains and woods, as the camera glides and tracks through a series of mainly exterior locations. But aside from this vibrant use of colour, also used to great effect in the matsuri (festival) scenes and the coloured fabrics of the traditional costumes, The Outsiders is also unique for revealing a facet of Japanese culture almost completely disregarded in its cinema. Bold, beautiful, and packing a powerful dramatic punch, there is little else quite like it. We can only hope that some adventurous DVD company will pick it up soon, because this is a film that could change people’s perceptions and prejudices about Japanese film for good. from midnighteye

One of the major joys of writing about Japanese movies is that whenever you begin to get that tired, jaded feeling that you think you’ve seen it all and that there’s nothing left that’s ever going to set your pulse racing, you stumble across a whole previously hidden seam of movies that completely revolutionises any ideas of what Japanese cinema is. I remember getting this feeling watching the works of Hiroshi Shimizu at the 2003 Tokyo FILMeX, and I got it again at the same festival exactly one year later, during a 13-film retrospective of Tomu Uchida, which travelled to the Rotterdam Film Festival in a slimmed-down version a couple of months later. 　　In English-language film circles, not much is really generally known about Japanese cinema prior to the 1960s. Anderson and Richie’s The Japanese Film: Art and Industry is still the bible for those who want to find out more, but more recent non-academic publications are limited by the films that are available for viewing. It’s a catch-22 situation, which DVD is slowly overcoming. Yet still, outside of the work of a few major directors like Kurosawa and Ozu, recent releases have tended to stick with products from more recent years, more often than not focused around the twin poles of art and exploitation. 　　It is therefore really difficult to get any broader picture of what the industry was doing before the days of yakuza movies and Roman Porno. Yet the 1950s were the decade when the Japanese cinema had reached full maturity and cinema attendances were at a peak, the so-called Golden Age when the major companies were between them turning out around 500 films a year, all made by directors with several decades of experience behind them, at long-established studios with a large highly-trained professional team of technicians. Far from being the bastion of conservativeness that Oshima and the New Wave directors labelled it to be, I am coming to look at the decade as a vast lucky dip with some fabulous treasures still waiting to be found – such as The Outsiders, for example, an epic outdoor adventure in which an embittered Ken Takakura fights for the rights of Hokkaido’s oppressed Ainu population. 　　Tomu Uchida was one of those names I’d heard bandied about a lot, most often in conjunction with the film Earth (Tsuchi) made in 1939. A seminal piece of social-realism made by a director noted for his leftist inclinations, Earth focused on the harsh lives of a community of farmers at a time when rapid urbanisation was bleeding the countryside dry. It was a political film in that it confronted the swelling ranks of the emergent urban middle classes who made up the large bulk of cinema audiences with the plight of the rural poor, paralleling the release of John Ford’s adaptation of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath in America around the same time in 1940. 　　Remember, long before the days of television, cinema was the only way of seeing how the other half lived, and in today’s image-saturated mass-media culture it is easy to overlook the power and immediacy of what people saw on the big screen. Uchida’s film was all the more political because it was made at the time when the lion’s share of agricultural production was being put towards Japan’s wartime expansion. Needless to say, it went bang in the face of the type of films the government was promoting at the time. 　　Earth was filmed over the course of a year with a documentarist’s attention to detail, taking in each of the seasons and focusing very much on man’s relationship with the soil. This approach of drawing out the realism and charting the passage of time through the use of the four seasons much later became a staple of the documentary films made by the collective centred around Shinsuke Ogawa, such as Magino Village – A Tale (Sennen Kizami no Hidokei: Magino-Mura Monogatari, 1987), or more recently in the documentary-styled fictional work of Naomi Kawase, specifically the films Suzaku and Hotaru. 　　Uchida’s film, by the way, is not to be confused with the German-Japanese co-production, The New Earth (Atarashii Tsuchi), directed by Mansaku Itami, the father of Tampopo director Juzo Itami. This film, released in 1941, was a nationalist propaganda work made under the instigation of Dr Arnold Fanck, the German director who sparked off the peculiar genre of the “Mountain Film” as typified by The Holy Mountain (Der Heilige Berg, recently released on DVD in the UK by Eureka). As written by Fanck, its goal was to portray “unity of the Nazi group-spirit and the racial spirit of the Japanese as opposed to the weak spirit of the democracies”, but there was conflict between the Japanese and the German creative elements throughout the production due to the way in which Fanck constantly misrepresented elements of Japanese culture in service of the film’s higher propagandist purpose (The Last Samurai, anyone?). Released overseas at the time as The Daughter of the Samurai, one of the first co-productions Japan ever made with the West thus ended up a classic textbook example of orientalist filmmaking. 　　Much of what has been written about Uchida’s career in the English language – basically in Anderson and Richie’s book – has focused on his pre-war career. But as the FILMeX retrospective clearly demonstrated, this was only half of the story. In 1945, the left-leaning director travelled to the formerly Japanese-occupied area of Manchuria in China to join the Manchuria Film Association, or Man’ei, and was not to come back until 1953. Upon his return he continued for almost two decades to produce a wide range of films that fit into every genre conceivable, from traditional kabuki adaptations to melodrama and yakuza movies. 　　The diversity of his oeuvre therefore means that getting a grip on what elements typify an Uchida picture is a difficult task, but on the evidence of The Outsiders, one of the original program that tellingly did not go over to the Rotterdam festival, perhaps it is fruitful to turn once again to the parallel with John Ford. The film’s mixture of heroic action, making full use of one of the top macho icons of its day, an expansive sense of location, masterful use of colour and composition and a focus on social injustice meted out on large sectors of the nation’s indigenous people had me thinking in terms of The Searchers. In what seems like another unlikely case of synchronicity, Ford’s film was released just two years previously in 1956. 　　The Outsiders is something of a revelation. It certainly looks nothing like what you’d expect from a Japanese movie made around the mid-50s, which is perhaps the reason why it is completely unknown outside of Japan. Opening with a lengthy pan across the barren mountaintops of Hokkaido, Uchida’s third film in colour, after the two parts of the jidai-geki Daibosatsu Pass (Daibosatsutoge, 1957/58) is an undeniably exhilarating visual experience, making full use of the Toeiscope widescreen format to capture Japan’s northernmost territory in all its rugged beauty. It also is of particular interest for drawing attention to the destruction of the culture and the discrimination against the indigenous Ainu people, a dwindling race faced with danger of extinction since the Japanese nation began its concerted push northwards with the government extending administration over all parts of the landmass in 1868. 　　Screen legend Ken Takakura is Ishitaro Kazamori, known as Byakki “the Phoenix” by the local Ainu population, as he whisks from village to village on horseback delivering supplies and educational books to the locals, an outcast Robin Hood character working for the future of his people. But Byakki’s rough methods aren’t to everyone’s tastes. Money has been going missing from the funds raised by the chairman of the Ainu Society, Dr. Ike (Kitazawa), a well-meaning “shamo” (non-Ainu) who has dedicated much of his life to researching the history and culture of Japan’s aboriginal people. 　　When Dr Ike brings a young landscape painter Yoshiko Saeki (Kagawa) from Tokyo with him on his field trips to sketch the local landscapes, there is initially resentment of another outsider treating the local populations as her own pet project. But Yoshiko soon befriends Mitsu (Fujisato), an Ainu girl who was jilted years ago on the eve of the holy Bekanbe Festival by her “shamo” lover who couldn’t go through with the stigma of marrying into this ostracised class. Mitsu may also hold the key to Byakki’s whereabouts. 　　Meanwhile, as the next Bekanbe Festival approaches, tension is growing between the Ainu and the Japanese settlers in the coastal town of Nanbetsu due to Byakki’s increasingly unruly antics. One local who steadfastly refuses to pitch in to Dr. Ike’s project is Oiwa (Mikuni), who runs the local fishery with his old father (Susukida), and runs a strict policy of not hiring any Ainu workers. Oiwa bears Byakki a particular enmity, because Byakki knows that Oiwa is living in denial, masquerading as a “shamo” and keeping his real Ainu ancestry well hidden. But Oiwa also knows a few secrets about Byakki. 　　Hokkaido is in many ways Japan’s northernmost frontier, its own equivalent to the Wild West, and The Outsiders, though based on the novel Mori to Mizuumi no Matsuri by Taijun Takeda, most clearly resembles an American western, a gripping action film letting forth a righteous cry against social injustice against the indigenous population and unfolding against an epic landscape. Such genre appropriations can’t be coincidental. As could be seen as early back as Uchida’s own 1933 silent, The Police Officer (Keisatsukan), which also played at FILMeX, Japanese filmmakers were certainly not above borrowing heavily from typically American staples such as the cops-and-robbers film. I can’t say whether Uchida consciously modelled his film on the western, but the crucial fact about The Outsiders is that the story makes sense and works in its own right, rather than just being noteworthy as a cross-cultural hybrid curio. 　　The main drawing point is of course Hokkaido itself, shot beautifully by cinematographer Shoe Nishikawa, picking out the autumnal russet-tinged hues of the majestic countryside of lakes, plains and woods, as the camera glides and tracks through a series of mainly exterior locations. But aside from this vibrant use of colour, also used to great effect in the matsuri (festival) scenes and the coloured fabrics of the traditional costumes, The Outsiders is also unique for revealing a facet of Japanese culture almost completely disregarded in its cinema. Bold, beautiful, and packing a powerful dramatic punch, there is little else quite like it. We can only hope that some adventurous DVD company will pick it up soon, because this is a film that could change people’s perceptions and prejudices about Japanese film for good. from midnighteye

《渔夫与森林》讲述了一个人与自然和谐生存、共同发展的故事。舞根湾的林间住着飞鸟，海边住着游鱼，畠山在这里养着牡蛎，将牡蛎视为自己的恩师。人类社会的发展和自然环境息息相关，如果没有自然相辅相成，人类无法走过社会发展的独木桥。就在众人还意识不到的时候，畠山却开始采取了行动。哪怕他人不解，哪怕自己的行动不被众人接受，他也要在这片土地上继续栽种树苗，养殖牡蛎，待到某日成为滋养他人的腐叶土。

住在北海道的主人公・外村直樹（山崎賢人）和高中钢琴的调音师・板鳥宗一郎（三浦友和）相遇开始。在板鳥调音后的钢琴音色中外村仿佛感受到了森林的气息，为这个工作以及调音师的世界所吸引而开始在板鳥所在的乐器店工作。 因钢琴而联系到一起的人们中，他还遇到了高中生钢琴姐妹和音和由仁 ……。经历了烦恼，迷茫，挫折后成长的青年钢琴调音师的故事。

从海洋到矿石，锂广泛地分布在地球表面。然而，它的沉淀技术是将它从一些高原上的几个湖泊（安第斯山脉的乌尤尼盐湖和青藏高原的扎布耶湖）中提取出来。在被制造成锂电池之后，它被嵌入到了一种高科技产业链中——一种基于硅元素的集成设计和制造模式。从硅谷到东亚的半导体产业，形成于冷战-热战-冷战的全球地缘政治成为了这条产业链的兴起的复杂背景。我们可以将整个链条称为技术锁定。人们普遍认为，专业的复音音乐是由单音音乐演变而来的。 　　Lithium is extensively distributed on the earth's surface, from the ocean to the ore, the way of its precipitation is, however, by separating it out of several lakes on some plateaus—the Salar de Uyuni of the Andes and the Lake Zabuye of the Tibetan Plateau. After being manufactured into lithium batteries, it was embedded into a high-tech chain—an integrated design and manufacture mode based on silicon elements. From Silicon Valley to the semiconductor industry in East Asia, the rise of this industrial chain was given a complicated background—it’s the global geopolitics that’s shaped under the context of Cold War-Hot War-Cold War. One can call the whole chain a technological lock-in. 　　尽管如此，最新研究表明，按照音乐人类学家的推测，单音的形成不是追随进步，而是失去古老的和弦歌唱传统和音乐文化专业化的结果，单音音乐实际上在人类社会中出现得相对较晚。换言之，复音音乐被认为是古代音乐的一种普遍形式，这一结果动摇了音乐历史，其中对单音到和弦的线性演变的深信。当前复音音乐的地理分布极为混乱。在某些地区，主要音乐形式表现为单音音乐，而在一些其他地区，则是复音形式。在某些特定地区，例如单音音乐占主导地位的东亚地区，复音音乐散布在整个领土上，就像散落在世界各地的小岛一样。 　　The professional polyphonic music is being widely expected to have evolved from monophonic music. Nevertheless, the latest research shows that rather than following ascending progress, the formation of monophony is, in accordance with the speculation of musical anthropologists, the result of losing the ancient polyphonic singing tradition and the professionalization of music culture, for monophonic music, in fact, appeared relatively late in human society. In other words, polyphonic music is considered to be a universal form of ancient music, and this result has shaken the history of music that was once convinced by a linear evolution from monophony to polyphony. The current geographical distribution of polyphonic music is extremely confusing. In some regions, the major music form appears as monophonic music, while in others, it is polyphonic. In some specific areas, such as East Asia, where monophonic music dominates the musical form, polyphonic music is scattered around the territory, just like small islands lying sporadically in the isolated places of the world. 　　音乐和技术的起源是相互交织的。将复音音乐想象成古代人开发的一种防御策略，一方面使敌人感到困惑，因为人们总是期望在一个交织的音乐矩阵背后有一个巨大的存在。另一方面，它就像实时通信，节奏的每一个细微的变化或停顿都会吸引每个表演者的注意，从而可以将信号传输到整个网络。在这里，复音音乐可以被理解为一种非本质，无限可复制且非主题的系统。在复音音乐中，演奏者和观众之间是没有区别的，每个人都参与了表演，只有参与其中才能真正理解和掌握表演的节奏。我视这种复音音乐模式为一种技术上的解锁。 　　The origins of music and technology are intertwined with each other. Imaging polyphonic music as a defense strategy developed by ancient people, it confuses the enemy on the one hand—one always expects an enormous existence behind an entwined musical matrix. On the other hand, it acts as real-time communication, every subtle change or pause of the rhythm would attract the attention of each performer so that signals can be transmitted to the entire network. Here, polyphonic music can be understood as a system that is non-essential, infinitely reproducible and non-thematic. In polyphonic music, there’s no differentiation between the performer and the audience, everyone participates in the performance, and only by participating can one essentially understand and grasp the rhythm of it. I see this pattern of polyphonic music as a technological unlock-in.

从海洋到矿石，锂广泛地分布在地球表面。然而，它的沉淀技术是将它从一些高原上的几个湖泊（安第斯山脉的乌尤尼盐湖和青藏高原的扎布耶湖）中提取出来。在被制造成锂电池之后，它被嵌入到了一种高科技产业链中——一种基于硅元素的集成设计和制造模式。从硅谷到东亚的半导体产业，形成于冷战-热战-冷战的全球地缘政治成为了这条产业链的兴起的复杂背景。我们可以将整个链条称为技术锁定。人们普遍认为，专业的复音音乐是由单音音乐演变而来的。 　　Lithium is extensively distributed on the earth's surface, from the ocean to the ore, the way of its precipitation is, however, by separating it out of several lakes on some plateaus—the Salar de Uyuni of the Andes and the Lake Zabuye of the Tibetan Plateau. After being manufactured into lithium batteries, it was embedded into a high-tech chain—an integrated design and manufacture mode based on silicon elements. From Silicon Valley to the semiconductor industry in East Asia, the rise of this industrial chain was given a complicated background—it’s the global geopolitics that’s shaped under the context of Cold War-Hot War-Cold War. One can call the whole chain a technological lock-in. 　　尽管如此，最新研究表明，按照音乐人类学家的推测，单音的形成不是追随进步，而是失去古老的和弦歌唱传统和音乐文化专业化的结果，单音音乐实际上在人类社会中出现得相对较晚。换言之，复音音乐被认为是古代音乐的一种普遍形式，这一结果动摇了音乐历史，其中对单音到和弦的线性演变的深信。当前复音音乐的地理分布极为混乱。在某些地区，主要音乐形式表现为单音音乐，而在一些其他地区，则是复音形式。在某些特定地区，例如单音音乐占主导地位的东亚地区，复音音乐散布在整个领土上，就像散落在世界各地的小岛一样。 　　The professional polyphonic music is being widely expected to have evolved from monophonic music. Nevertheless, the latest research shows that rather than following ascending progress, the formation of monophony is, in accordance with the speculation of musical anthropologists, the result of losing the ancient polyphonic singing tradition and the professionalization of music culture, for monophonic music, in fact, appeared relatively late in human society. In other words, polyphonic music is considered to be a universal form of ancient music, and this result has shaken the history of music that was once convinced by a linear evolution from monophony to polyphony. The current geographical distribution of polyphonic music is extremely confusing. In some regions, the major music form appears as monophonic music, while in others, it is polyphonic. In some specific areas, such as East Asia, where monophonic music dominates the musical form, polyphonic music is scattered around the territory, just like small islands lying sporadically in the isolated places of the world. 　　音乐和技术的起源是相互交织的。将复音音乐想象成古代人开发的一种防御策略，一方面使敌人感到困惑，因为人们总是期望在一个交织的音乐矩阵背后有一个巨大的存在。另一方面，它就像实时通信，节奏的每一个细微的变化或停顿都会吸引每个表演者的注意，从而可以将信号传输到整个网络。在这里，复音音乐可以被理解为一种非本质，无限可复制且非主题的系统。在复音音乐中，演奏者和观众之间是没有区别的，每个人都参与了表演，只有参与其中才能真正理解和掌握表演的节奏。我视这种复音音乐模式为一种技术上的解锁。 　　The origins of music and technology are intertwined with each other. Imaging polyphonic music as a defense strategy developed by ancient people, it confuses the enemy on the one hand—one always expects an enormous existence behind an entwined musical matrix. On the other hand, it acts as real-time communication, every subtle change or pause of the rhythm would attract the attention of each performer so that signals can be transmitted to the entire network. Here, polyphonic music can be understood as a system that is non-essential, infinitely reproducible and non-thematic. In polyphonic music, there’s no differentiation between the performer and the audience, everyone participates in the performance, and only by participating can one essentially understand and grasp the rhythm of it. I see this pattern of polyphonic music as a technological unlock-in.

With everything they've got, a couple throws themselves into a sailing race lasting several days and nights on a large lake.

“我”的小姑带着两岁的表妹回到中国，在湖边待了几天；“我”决定把这些拍下来。

海辺にある木原道彦の別荘に集まった若者たち、その中のひとり下条卓也は何事にもさめていて、仲間のバカ騒ぎに付き合おうとしない。また、桂葉子は急な連絡で家に帰ることに。実は父親が汚職が発覚し、代議士の大瀬戸の圧力から自殺してしまったのだ… 　　60年代安保の雰囲気の中、若者たちの姿を描いた。当時ラジオドラマなどを書いていたほとんど無名の寺山修司が榛葉栄治の原作を脚本化、これが２作目となる篠田正浩が監督した。“松竹ヌーベルバーグ”という波を起こした作品のひとつ。