Last Wednesday, July 25, 2018, I became the very first Filipino benshi.
A what? A benshi. A person who comments, narrates and provides the voice or dialogues of the actors of silent films. The benshi is unique to Japanese films. While all silent films at the turn of the 20th century and well into the 1930s used music to accompany the actions on screen, it was only the Japanese who made it a tradition to create the persona who stood at the side of the screen, providing the conversation, articulating on scenes that were not clear as to their meanings, and giving colors to all the possible sounds that could come from the movements on the screen.
It happened that the benshi was so popular, audiences came for him instead of the film.
Now, how did I become a benshi, and not only that, the very first Filipino benshi?
Last year Japan Foundation brought the Japanese film festival for the first time to the city of Naga with Ateneo de Naga as the conduit. On the last day of the festival, Ms. Ami Kurokawa mentioned the possibility of introducing the practice of benshi to the Philippines with a Filipino performing the role. My idea of the benshi was fresh; it was also last year where I was invited by Japan Foundation to interview one of the few existing benshi-masters in Japan. He was Prof. Ichiro Kataoka. The first benshi to perform in the Philippines, Kataoka performed with a Filipino rondalla. While other film industries in other countries had live music to accompany their silent film, the Japanese artist reared in the art of narration perceived the absence of sound as a space to join in and create conversation, comment on the proceedings or make other sounds.
Sometime this year, I got a message from Japan Foundation that indeed we are going to have a benshi performance. There were other details: the very first performance of this Filipino benshi will take place in Naga, during the opening of the second Eigasai or Japanese Film Festival. The event in Naga would be the grand rehearsal before we staged the silent film with a Filipino film sometime in September of 2018 along with other silent films from other countries.
And would I be the benshi? The request was a repeat of what Japan Foundation asked me before.
If I said yes, I would be the first Filipino benshi. The offer was easy to refuse: I do not have any idea how to be a benshi. Except for that short meeting with Kataoka, I only knew the nature of the benshi from the many books on Japanese cinema. But, I was also thinking of history, or my small place in history. My ego surfaced: I would do it. I would be the benshi, the first Filipino to do it.
The film arrived. It was Tokkan Kozo, (A Straightforward Boy), by the master himself, Yasujiro Ozu, the director known to be the most Japanese of all Japanese film directors. Ozu was also known to be a fastidious filmmaker, completing a scene in a day. The works of Ozu are considered part of the golden age of Japanese cinema. It is not common knowledge though that Ozu was a prolific filmmaker during the era of the silent movie.
There is a backstory to Tokkan Kozo. The original reels were lost and when they were found, some parts had been destroyed. This version, which was found in 1988, came in a format meant for home-viewing. The cineastes and Ozu fans were more than happy to see one of the works of the master. Of the many films made during the silent era, only some 8 percent are said to be extant today. In 2015, however, a complete and fully intact 9.5-mm copy was found.
We were to perform Tokkan Kozo.
The script soon arrived. It was written by Kataoka in Japanese and translated by Japan Foundation Manila.
I rushed to contact Noel Volante, the director of the Ateneo de Naga Center for Arts and Culture. I would need a director to run the show. Noel was my student some years back and he was the only director I would trust my life with in Naga. We contacted a band called “Tanikala Tribe.”
The copy of the film also arrived and I watched it first, before Noel and I watched it with the musicians.
While I was getting the scenery in my mind, the words I was practicing did not seem to come to life. The first rehearsal with the musicians came. There was electricity in the air, as Tanikala Tribe produced their own kind of music. Every day, the music changed and my inflections and reading also changed. Noel started conducting the music, where a theme was created to flow in and out of the music.
The night of the performance came. It was a rainy afternoon. When the lights dimmed in the hall, the LED screen shone arrogantly. The music from Tanikala crept slowly first, with the kubing or Jew harp shrill and then soft, then the guitars, and the percussion. We were off to Japanese la la land.
The boy is lured by the kidnapper but the boy proves to be a brat as he asks for toys and more toys. In the park, the kidnapper tries to convince the boy that he is a “nice fella.” The two fight and the boy sulks and cries: I want to go home. The band changed the music and the familiar melody of “Sarung Banggi” wafted in. I also changed gears: Instead of saying, I want to go home, I screamed in a little boy’s voice, “Mauli na ako, mauli na ako.” The audience roared. They were getting the enchantment of silent cinema. One can make any sound, or play any music so long as it makes the film come alive.
Toward the end, the kidnapper is shown running away from the boy and his friends all running after him, asking him to play being kidnapped by him, and being given toys and more toys. The music of the Tanikala Tribe was getting louder and louder, as I ended the narration with: “Dyan nagtatapus an istorya kan parakuang aki! [That was the end of the man who kidnaps children!]”
And there ended also my first night as the first Filipino benshi.
E-mail: titovaliente@yahoo.com.
Image credits: Jimbo Albano