Unquantifiable Mix of Good/Great and Sexist

5. REAR WINDOW

Could there be a more pitiful portrayal of scopophilia than James Stewart distracted from kissing Grace Kelly, remembering something he watched earlier that day?

This may sound backwards, but: REAR WINDOW is a very De Palmaesque Hitchcock film. No plausible deniability exists for L.B. Jeffries, an unapologetic voyeur from the start. He makes no pretense of being drawn into conspiracy by circumstance. Quite simply, the film's plot is driven by his desire to dig up people's secrets. His libidinal impulse not only generates a narrative, but also begets its many breaches of privacy, up to and including the ironic reversal of Thorwald entering Jeffries' apartment.

It's often said that De Palma hyperbolizes the perversity inherent in Hitchcock. But Hitchcock was hardly so coy himself. Jeffries and his companions succumb so quickly to morbid fascination that one wonders how much resistance their superegos ever offered. Distance has removed whatever propriety they exhibit face-to-face, their watchful eyes now ravenous for scandal. Unburdened by social taboo, they commune in Jeffries' apartment to act out panopticon fantasies of omniscience, speculating with abandon about a missing wife's grisly fate. Thorwald the murder suspect is just a pretext for their shared onanistic ritual.

Of course, we as viewers aren't let off the hook. Hitchcock's metaphor for watching movies is weaponized against us too. We are faced with two options: to recoil in disgust at these 'perverts' and shut the movie off, or to watch them watching Thorwald and, thus, to allow our pre-existing voyeurism to become vicarious as well. It's a double-layered trap, and we are implicated in it far more than these fictional characters could ever be.

If REAR WINDOW isn't widely acknowledged as Hitchcock's most devious work, it's probably because many get wrapped up in its mystery long before self-consciousness takes hold. (There's a reason that skeptical detective Thomas Doyle isn't our protagonist!) Hitchcock knows however much they protest to the contrary, most viewers will identify with Jeffries unconsciously, automatically, enthusiastically. And considering this is among his most beloved films, it's safe to say that bet paid off.

6. ROPE

7. SHADOW OF A DOUBT

8. SABOTAGE

Don't look now, but this might be Hitchcock's most unsettling 30s films. One key early shot: secluded in a modest aquarium, Mr. Verloc (Oskar Homolka) convenes with a conspirator, backs turned to the camera while they mutter about the plan in heavy accents. The effect mimics eavesdropping, but as an image it's disarmingly opaque. We can barely see their faces, let alone make out their feelings about the titular sabotage. And indeed the sabotage remains mysterious itself, with Scotland Yard suggesting that all they can do is catch the middlemen of a larger, murkier conspiracy. So SABOTAGE burrows into its sleepy corner of London, wandering somnambulantly amidst the city's various small businesses. There is even a cinema where movies are often seen playing, reinforcing the sense that excitement is being projected elsewhere while we observe Mrs. Verloc (Silvia Sydney) drifting through her domain. For her part, she overlooks her older husband's shifty behavior, preferring to perceive him as just a harmless feature of her sedate existence. But the uneasy dream descends into a nightmare when Mr. Verloc's bomb goes off on a crowded bus, taking the life of his wife's young brother (Desmond Tester) with it. Suddenly all his squirmy dissembling appears to be masking profound evil. Mrs. Verloc stabs him in terror after an especially unpleasant dinner, only to sink into morose abjection when the domineering detective arrives. The murder is less an act of triumph than one of desolation.

The films ends with a second bombing as Mrs. Verloc's pushy companion spirits her out of London, away from reality's awful upheaval. No resolution can comfort Mrs. Verloc while her world goes up in flames, so Hitchcock doesn't even bother. Maybe she'll be caught, or maybe everyone will carry on and leave her to grieve in exile. "The End."

9. THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

Off-balance in engaging ways. Contains: a battle in which thrown wooden chairs are the weapon of choice; a church of sun worshippers, led by blonde-streaked Peter Lorre; and a merciless, bloody shootout that seems to engulf an entire block of townspeople.

10. JAMAICA INN [3.5]

Cloaked in Expressionist shadows beneath an all-seeing moon. Wilder and darker than I expected. The malevolent atmosphere is well-earned.

For my money, Hitchcock's favored template of "man and woman caught up in tumultuous circumstances" gets its best workout here. While his previous British films felt overdetermined to me, there is a jolting unpredictability to JAMAICA INN. Maureen O'Hara and Charles Laughton give off enough energy that the script's spidery structure is hidden behind their performances. For once, Hitchcock is following his leads rather than shepherding them. This is the right film for such a reversal.

11. THE LODGER: A STORY OF THE LONDON FOG

Already, at the very beginning, Hitchcock uses psychosexual tension to raise the narrative stakes. It could've seemed unnecessary in a film like this: a serial killer is enough of a threat without having to be a romantic rival too! But in fact, that masculine competition is key to the meaning of THE LODGER. Because there are two male protagonists, Hitchcock is forcing us to choose. Do we think the cop is right? Or is the suspected serial killer innocent after all?

We can see that the cop's obsession with catching the serial killer is motivated by jealousy. He clearly feels emasculated by the seductive newcomer living upstairs. To put him in jail would assert the cop's professional prowess as well as re-establish his dominance. His sleuthing is anything but impartial.

Hitchcock, by playing coy about whether The Lodger is the serial killer or not, provokes confirmation biases in his audience. Some will see themselves in the resentful cop; others will assume The Lodger is the wrong man.

Spoiler alert, I suppose: The Lodger is innocent. His strangeness is just part of his personality, and his suspicious attire is a coincidence. It fooled me anyway. I was sure Hitchcock would take the jealous cop's side. But then I guess if there's one thing Hitchcock hates more than women, it's cops.

Not that he had much say in the matter, though. It appears that the studio mandated Ivor Novello be proven innocent. But the preceding ambiguity is crucial. If the cop had been right, the film's meaning would have changed entirely. The cop's imperiled ego would've been salvaged, and his female companion would've learned that cops are more trustworthy than dark, handsome strangers. The phallic power of the police would remain uncontested.

Again, this conclusion was out of Hitchcock's hands. But the implication exists regardless. In thrillers, the social order is threatened to generate anxiety in the viewer. The director can then choose whether or not to assuage the viewer's fears of social collapse. They can restore normalcy or further undermine it, depending on their sensibility. Hitchcock's films are not always outright conservative, but several conclude in reactionary fashion nonetheless (THE RING stands out as an particularly egregious example). I never quite know what to expect from him because of the dueling tendencies in his work. But THE LODGER shows me that he's always been well aware of how to manipulate expectations and identifications. It's like a cautionary tale of what might've happened if Hitchcock were fonder of cops. For now, for this film, I'm glad he isn't.

Existentially Terrifying (and Misogynistic)

1. MARNIE [5]

Terrifying.

2. THE BIRDS

Before watching, I remarked of this film that it's unlike any other I've seen. This is still true now, but to an even greater extent than I realized. There's just no describing the singular sense of dread Hitchcock creates, despite all the constituent parts seeming explicable. In his adherence to strict non-diegetic silence, he imports some of Antonioni's radical uncertainty to the Hollywood horror film, an improbable effect that destabilizes every moment of the THE BIRDS from beginning to end. We never have any clue how we're supposed to react, and are thus prompted to pay close attention to the character dynamics as well as Hitchcock's framing. His mise-en-scene gains greater significance in the absence of music.

While visual and narrative patterns do emerge, THE BIRDS is riven with dark crevasses that lead nowhere. It remains unknowable to the extreme, even while being cinematically legible moment-to-moment. Any confusion that results is by design, and Hitchcock leaves so many questions unanswered. Who is Mitch, this recessive man whose gravity has trapped so many people in orbit? What is the root of Melanie's obsession with him, and why is she so comfortable lying to everyone she meets? What else is she hiding?* What really happened to her mother? The strangeness of this story defies any attempts to make sense of it, all these curiosities leading to oblivion when pursued. As with the eternal question of why the birds attack, there are simply no answers. THE BIRDS is like a perfect sculpture, shaped with utmost skill, yet masking a void at its core. A proverbial House of Leaves, terrifyingly larger on the inside than its outside suggests. And, as David Bordwell observed of Preminger's DAISY KENYON, it is an unprecedented use of classical Hollywood continuity to create something absolutely alien. We will probably never see anything like it again.

At the same time, THE BIRDS has to be considered an evil film, one built openly upon the torment of its incredible lead actress. Although I think Tippi Hedren's performance in this film is truly, astoundingly great, there can be no defending Hitchcock or the methods he used to get it from her. At the height of his powers as an industry figure, it seems he finally found the victim he'd been waiting for all these years. The isolation, predation, and humiliation acted out upon Hedren by Hitchcock shows just how crucial the Great Man role was to his abuse. He forbade his *entire crew* from speaking to Hedren without permission, allowing only himself that 'privilege.' Several crew members found this arrangement disagreeable, and just as many objected to Hitchcock's treatment of his star. Yet all those countless objections were swallowed, and a film that should've been halted for criminal acts of harassment was ultimately completed; released nationwide; and appraised as an immense, unsurpassable masterpiece in the half-century or so that followed. Decades of complicity, of which I am not exempt, have contributed to the minimizing of Hedren's mistreatment. Every attempt to acknowledge THE BIRDS' artistic merit launders the ugliness that fueled its creation. I can't deny the effect this film has on me, just as I cannot deny the accounts Tippi Hedren has given of her experience making it. And I don't know what to make of this paradox, how to reconcile these antinomial truths. I really don't know.

*So much of MARNIE is present in this film, and so many hints at Melanie Daniels' inner turmoil seem to predict the expressionistic freakout of that subsequent work. I can only assume Hitchcock's obsession with Hedren gave rise to their next collaboration, and while that film is perhaps even more important to me than THE BIRDS, it too is heavily shadowed with the exploitations enacted by Hitchcock.

3. VERTIGO

Transfixed by images, bewitched into reconstructing them. (So, another watcher’s movie.) Still learning my way through Madeleine’s section, but once Judy’s begins in earnest there’s no looking away.

4. PSYCHO

CW: Alfred Hitchcock

CW: Alfred Hitchcock

Like Griffith, Alfred Hitchcock is one of cinema's biggest problems. He is among our most influential formalists, but also one of the most notoriously abusive misogynists. His elevated place in history will loom large over filmgoing -- let alone filmmaking -- for years to come. Where do we go from here? I myself can't much help, but I have noticed that I respond differently depending on the film. Some (THE 39 STEPS, THE FARMER'S WIFE, THE RING) repel me with their pervasive ugliness. Others are less offensive (SECRET AGENT, YOUNG AND INNOCENT) but marred all the same. Then there are those that, whatever their toxicity, communicate something profound. MARNIE is incredibly unpleasant, but it has a purpose to it that carries private and extraordinary meaning to me.

I've written before about canonical films that deserve greater scrutiny regarding their sexism (RASHOMON, SOME LIKE IT HOT), and Hitchcock is not a hill I'd choose to die on (i.e. I'm much more of a Hawksian). There are however films of his that I quite like; and, even if there weren't, he continues to pose a particularly vexing problem for cinephilia. I'm going to see what I can do to parse out the misogynistic workings of his sophisticated formal control. They're impossible for me to ignore, just as he himself is impossible for me to ignore. Best then to meet the challenge head-on. Accelerate the contradictions.

1 - 4: Existentially Terrifying (and Misogynistic)
5 - 11: Unquantifiable Mix of Good/Great and Sexist
12 - 19: Lesser; and Seemingly Less Toxic?
20 - 24: Sexism Overwhelms Skillful Construction

Good TV

Trying to think of what else should be included...

Sense8
Tom Goes to the Mayor
Twin Peaks
P'tit Quinquin
Peep Show
Big Little Lies
Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!
General Intellects w/ McKenzie Wark
Digimon: Season 3
Silicon Valley
Yu Yu Hakusho (Seasons 1-3)
Courage the Cowardly Dog
Neon Genesis Evangelion
Sex and the City (before Miranda has Steve's baby)
Bedtime Stories
Family Feud (Steve Harvey hosting)
Berlin Alexanderplatz
Top Boy (Season 3 pending)
Out 1

Asakusa, Ikebukuro, Ebisu, Shibuya (6/8)

Early morning breakfast, when we woke up and found ourselves with nothing to do but wander Shinjuku for a few restless hours before sunrise.

A look up at the buildings in my old neighborhood.

A matcha melon pan creme puff!! Thanks Sarah for the pic :))

Appetizing assortments.

Early morning in Asakusa.

I could never really figure out the proportions of Asakusa, to be honest. It's a major tourist attraction, but it doesn't seem to fit into frames well. 

Walking down the central tourist street, with food stalls and souvenirs on the sides.

My stepmom always says this looks like "a golden poo." She's right!

Outside Shinjuku Station.

More.

Back to Chuo Park after lunch in Asakusa. This place does in fact photograph well.

The Cocoon Tower, just visible between buildings.

A memory: reading poetry (Wadsworth?) with a friend here in 2009/2010. There are pictures of us in this exact spot somewhere on Facebook. She'd brought me to Ebisu to hang out, and I'd been here a number of times myself on other occasions, so I wanted to come back in 2017 to see how much I could find and remember from my high school days.

In this area: a tour with one of my dad's co-workers, his daughter, my sister, and of course my dad. It's crushing to look back on this picture knowing how much older we are now, our companion who was little more than infant then, a teenager now. And of course, my dad's passing, on 10/14/2021. This place is loaded with some very strong and distinct memories, and I'm hardly sure why at times. We went so many places in Japan; why this little plaza in Ebisu? But when Sarah and I returned there, it seemed to glow with memory and nostalgia for me as the daylight dimmed, and night lurked around the corner. It was our last full day in Tokyo on this trip. We'd soon be heading on, across the country, to Nara; Osaka; Kobe; and Sendai. I think there was a feeling of taking stock, of old memories and new ones. Four days into our trip, and already so much we'd seen.

A wasp and a caterpillar, caught in their little drama.

Red orb embedded.

I always found this tower unusual in shape and color. The photo jumps out at me whenever I see it again.

Night setting in.

Shibuya now. A little hideaway where we wrapped up our time in Tokyo.

The alleyway nearby.

Our beers.

Tsukiji, Ikebukuro, and...Nothingness (6/7)

By coincidence, our AirBnb was right next to Shinjuku Chuo Park. I'd traversed the edges of this park a few times in 2009, and I remembered it quite well this time too. Yet somehow Sarah and I had neglected to really walk through it in the days since our arrival. June 7th was our first real trek through this peaceful urban oasis.

While the trees shrouded us in comforting shadows, we could never forget the city looming around us. The skyscrapers' immense height made for an omnipresent juxtaposition. Trees and city architecture were commingled into a biomechanical landscape. It was just as I'd remembered from my year in Japan, surreal now as then.

Our plan for the day was to visit Tsukiji for fresh seaside sushi. In 2009-2010, I had been there with my family to watch the world-famous Tsukiji fish market in action. I felt excited to share the spectacle with Sarah before finding a sushi shop where we could eat lunch. However, we had some trouble upon disembarking at the train station. Sarah's phone was directing us away from the harbor, which is where I remembered the fish market being. We obliged the gadget and wandered into the city, thinking we'd be able to loop around by following a nearby river.

But the river only led us back the way we came, and to go any farther right would lead into a park that was closed for the day. Frustrated, Sarah and I checked her map to find where the sushi shops were located. This proved to be a more accessible destination, and as we wove our way through the city, we became more confident in our intuitions. It was neither the first nor last time that we had to take navigation into our own hands. Striking out against the GPS' wishes was a frequent experience during our stay in Japan. In doing so, we gained a certain independence that we hope to use in other trips soon to come. If even Japan's copious English-language signs couldn't direct us properly, how could we expect to be led along frictionlessly in other countries? Our departure from planned routes in Japan helped us learn how to navigate by our own initiative.

Harajuku, Moto-Yawata, Akihabara (6/6)

Somehow, despite only arriving two days ago, Sarah and I seemed to have adjusted to the time difference in Japan immediately. We woke up around 10:00 am on June 6th and got ready to visit one of our most anticipated destinations: Harajuku.

Having visited Harajuku several times in 2009, I had suggested a morning visit to Sarah before our trip. The notorious costumes and local fashion were not something that came more alive at night, and I quite liked the look of Harajuku in daylight. Sarah agreed, so we decided to check out Harajuku in the morning. It was just a short train ride away, one I remembered well from my trips there in 2009. Except this time around, we disembarked at a stop unfamiliar to me. The first thing we saw upon exiting the station was a big sign announcing Yoyogi Park's entrance. That was very strange to me. I'd been to Yoyogi Park in 2009, but never by way of Harajuku. And while Yoyogi and Harajuku are of course right next to each other, I was unsure of how Sarah and I had ended up in this new location.

Not that it mattered much beyond scrambling my sense of direction. We were, after all, most certainly in Harajuku. It would just be a new angle on a familiar sight. The sun was bright and warm yet again, and I felt very happy returning to another special place in my memories. We soon arrived upon a big, broad main street. The buildings on both sides were bedecked with advertisements for all kinds of products. It was almost disorienting to see K-Pop had made such a big impact here. I knew it was beloved in Japan, and I'd listened to plenty of it with my little sisters in the US. But in 2009 K-Pop was only just beginning its global expansion, and I'd not become familiar with it until 2012. Seeing it now was a reminder that times had changed, but not in a bad way. I had changed with the times too.

The first thing Sarah and I wanted to do in Harajuku was get some crepes. I'd raved to Sarah about the crepes, which were honestly my main reason for spending so much time in Harajuku back then. I always loved knowing that I could hop on the train and get myself a crepe in just a few minutes. So we peeked down several alleys as we walked down the main street. An unmistakeable pink kiosk caught our eye, and we ducked down the alley to see what crepes were on display. Unsurprisingly, they all looked irresistible. We began debating which ones would be the best to get before Sarah noticed the place didn't seem to be open yet. She checked her Yelp app and, sure enough, we would have to wait almost an hour before they were ready for business. We were sorely disappointed. However, Sarah and I suspected there might be other places that were already open. So we returned to the long street and kept pushing along. Our hunt for a crepe kiosk led us down another road that soon began curving off in all kinds of directions. We chose an alley that continued straight ahead and squeezed through down its narrow path. I was not accustomed to these claustrophobic spaces in Harajuku, but happening across them was part of the fun of having no set agenda.

To our left, we suddenly spotted a fountain outside what could have been a hotel. Called La Chateau de Fontaine, it was a more conspicuously Europhilic sight than I was used to seeing in Japan. Sarah also found it to be a jarring sight, yet as we considered it further, we concluded that (Western) European culture has a chicness to it which must mesh well with Japanese aesthetic sensibilities. Arriving not long after the 2016 election, we pondered if US American culture might be on the wane in Japan. Maybe Europe would be the object of Japan's exotic fantasies from now on.

A few more turns brought us out onto the famous Takeshita Street. I didn't know it at the time, but this was the street I had been remembering all along. We'd just approached it from more or less the opposite direction. As before, specialty shops fell over each other in a scramble to catch bypassers' eyes. We would soon be ready to look inside, but crepes were our first order of business. Fortunately, Takeshita Street has plenty of food vendors outside its storefronts. Sarah and I found a crepe shop, placed our orders, and took our place in line with groups of excitable children (whose presence was unexpected on a weekday). I'd ordered crepe with bananas, dulce de leche, and whipped cream in memory of all the wonderful crepes I'd eaten in 2009 and 2010. Sarah got one with ice cream and matcha, one of her favorite flavor combinations. She may have liked hers more than I liked mine; the crepe I got was a little too insubstantial, stuffed as it was with whipped cream. I was looking for something I could really sink my teeth into. But of course it was still very good.

We sat down in an alley to eat our crepes. In Japan, people rarely eat while walking, so we didn't want to flout that norm as foreigners. Plus it was fun to be tucked away together, enjoying our snack in relative private. After returning to Takeshita Street, Sarah noticed a store that looked familiar to her. It was Etude, a Korean beauty store whose popularity she'd noticed even back in the US. She suggested we go inside to look around. I agreed, thinking it could be a unique experience to share. The whole store was bathed in pleasing pastel pinks and greens. Even better, the speakers were playing exactly the kind of dance music I love hearing in trendy shopping spots. One song in particular sounded exceedingly pleasant to me in this cozy little space, and I jotted down the lyrics to look it up later. Only months later did I investigate, and to my enormous surprise, it was a song by Tinchy Stryder! Having brought several grime albums with me to enjoy in Japan, I was beyond pleased that I'd heard a grime song there unknowingly.

Of course, Take Me Back can't be called grime by most standards. But it's a product of that strange moment when grime was gaining mainstream exposure, when even Wiley and Dizzee were experimenting with major label studio production. The presence of Taio Cruz on Take Me Back should be a hint as to what kind of sound to expect. And I admit, I have quite a soft spot for that RedOne/Lady Gaga kind of electro style that seemed to get swallowed up by EDM-pop just a year or two later. I'd never listened to Tinchy's song before, but I can't imagine a better context for first hearing it than blissed out in a Harajuku Korean beauty store. The wait was more than worth it.

Exiting Takeshita Street, we emerged onto a main street that I recognized from 2009. This was where I'd walked when I wasn't scouring the area for crepes. It looked beautiful on this sunlit day, and I knew instinctively that coming here in the morning was the right choice. Sarah and I stopped briefly in ToyLand, a place we'd both visited during our separate stays in Japan, before careening down some new alleyways. I very much liked the idea of exploring Harajuku on a gorgeous day like this. We passed by many stylish buildings, leading us to ponder what it must cost to live in Harajuku. I opined that it must be like living in one of New York's trendier neighborhoods, but I felt attracted to the view nonetheless.

It was nearly 2:00 in the afternoon before we decided to pick a spot for lunch. We began surveying the neighborhood, but one location called out to us with gusto. Covered in vibrant paintings amidst the surrounding steel and concrete, this shop was irresistibly eye-catching. Sarah and I took a closer look at a sign out front and found that the place was called 3&W1, and that it specialized in burgers, beer, and fries. We could hardly pass up the chance to eat at such an idiosyncratic restaurant, so we investigated the menu placed out front. Upon selecting our burgers, we placed our orders with the chef and walked up the stairs to a nearly-empty second floor. Only one other couple was having lunch in this small, secluded space. Sarah and I sat by the window and admired the alleyway view spread out before us. I felt almost as if I were inside a pair of binoculars, gazing out upon distant sights.

Sarah had selected an avocado burger, and I got one with tomato curry sauce on it. They were both excellent, as were the thin and crunchy fries that accompanied them. We felt lucky that we'd chosen this place out of all the options available to us in Harajuku. Outside, we drifted back to Takeshita Street. We were very happy with our Harajuku morning and ready to go back to Shinjuku. As we hiked up the inclined street, I suddenly began to suspect where we were heading. Harajuku Station came into view beyond the colorful entrance gate, and at last I understood. Here was where I'd always gotten off the train, and this was the Harajuku I knew. We'd come all this way back to the spot I knew best, and now it was time to double back again, this time to Shinjuku.

Lots of pictures, I know! Harajuku was one of the most visually appealing districts we visited. Surrounded by trees, lit up by the morning sun, this cluster of modest buildings felt very cozy to me. I'm not surprised I entertained the idea of living here for a few minutes. Despite its outsized reputation for fashion, Harajuku feels comfortingly small to me.

Anyhow, I don't have many pictures of the next two places we visited. That's because both of them were somewhat misbegotten trips, albeit for different reasons. After a break at the Shinjuku AirBnb, I suggested to Sarah that we venture out by train to an unfamiliar Station. The night of our arrival, I'd looked out from the Moto-Yawata stop and been entranced by the view. I bookmarked the name in memory in case we had some spare time during our Shinjuku stay.

The sun was beginning to set as we rode out to Moto-Yawata. I was swarmed by fantasies of glowing neon streets, technicolor billboards, and hidden holes in the wall where we might get our dinner. Tokyo's most famous districts suck up a lot of attention, but I was sure there would be other areas that could be just as fun to visit.

We arrived at Moto-Yawata Station and got off the train. Not knowing the area at all, Sarah and I walked along the center road in search of places to visit. It all seemed smaller than I'd imagined from the train window. Needing food, we entered a local mart called Kitchen Origin (apologies for the blurry picture, it's the only one I got). I think we were just hoping for some packaged food, but it turned out that Kitchen Origin sells buffet-style takeout containers. Sarah was especially relieved to discover this option after all the meat we'd been eating in Tokyo. Here we could pick out our portions and food items as we pleased. I assembled a light meal of tofu, vegetables, and fruit covered in cream. Sarah constructed something similar for herself. We sat down on benches outside Moto-Yawata Station and ate our dinner contentedly in this small urban outpost. At this point, Sarah and I both knew there wouldn't be much else to do in Moto-Yawata. We would have to move on not long after we finished our meals. It seemed that I had fallen in love with an image, unaware of the reality obscured behind what I thought was an indexical representation. A very cinephilic mistake to make.

Not that we didn't enjoy our excursion in Moto-Yawata. It was pleasant to walk in such a placid little area of Tokyo for a change. But with only four days to spend in Tokyo, we had to be judicious about our time. Akihabara was our other night-time destination, and it was a substantial ride away from Moto-Yawata. We re-entered the train and let it take us to yet another new area. Somehow, I had never thought to visit Akihabara when I lived in Japan. Even my father, not exactly the adventurous type himself, had encouraged me to go back then. But I didn't feel much attraction to its reputation as a gathering place for the technologically-obsessed. I was mostly content with Shinjuku and its immediate surroundings.

Since then, DEMPAGUMI.inc had elicited some curiosity in me about what Akihabara might be like. I wondered how the district had informed their hyperactive techno-maximal style, and if it might have a similarly exhilarating effect on me. I felt more open to the possibility in 2017 than I had in 2009. It was after sunset by the time we arrived, and by then we were worn out. In attempting to stretch our stamina across an entire day, Sarah and I had over-exerted ourselves. We soon realized that yesterday's nap was what had given us the energy to voyage from Shinjuku to Tokyo Station and back again. It was early in the night of June 6th, but we were already exhausted. Our weary legs carried us reluctantly through Akihabara, weaving in and out of its seedier stores. The electronic exteriors were impressive, and indeed I used a lot of the videos I took for my Japan travel video. Yet we couldn't muster up much enthusiasm to get closer to Akihabara's exuberant core, wherever that might be. If DEMPAGUMI.inc had been affected profoundly by their experiences here, Sarah and I were not going to be so lucky ourselves. It couldn't have been much later than 10:00 pm before we tapped out and returned to Shinjuku. We needed sleep more than we wanted to decipher Akihabara's allure. If/When we return, it'll be because we know better what we want out of the experience next time.