Being on set was a stressful experience. There weren’t just actors; the director, assistant directors, recording crew, lighting, and so on... Countless professionals all getting on with their work, shooting cut by meticulous cut without a smile to be seen.
The long takes were especially hard to watch, and I wasn’t even part of the crew. They had to start all over every single time an actor messed up a line or broke character, adding at least another ten minutes to the whole process. As an aspiring actress myself, I could imagine perfectly how those actors felt after making a mistake, and it was enough to get my knees shaking.
Mizuki-san’s part came during a musical number. A group of actresses dressed as geisha gave a Broadway-level performance, singing and dancing against Kyoto’s traditional townscape. It must’ve been a nightmare doing all that dancing in geta sandals, but their steps were light and they made it look like a total cakewalk. The way their kimono sleeves fluttered with their movements couldn’t be more perfectly suited to the big screen.
“Wow...” I gaped, completely transfixed by Mizuki-san’s stunning performance. It was hard to believe she was the same woman who spoke like she was born yesterday.
I wanted to be able to express myself like she did. I wanted to be a colorful part of the movie’s world and, there on the stage and in front of the cameras, put everything I had into becoming my character. That one desire was growing bigger and bigger inside my heart. I was so glad I’d come here to be able to see this! There was so much going on here I’d never have picked up on by just going to see the movie when it was complete. For example...
“I never knew they sang the musical parts while they were shooting. I always thought they added the song in post.”
“’Snot like that. They barely ever use the singin’ from the actual shoot.”
“Wait, really?” I turned to Otoi-san in surprise.
The Suckie stick in her mouth bounced up and down as she explained. “Y’get a ton of background noise when you record people singin’ in the open like this. It’s easy enough to get rid of with today’s technology, but yeah, you’ll still get better quality adding the song back in post, like y’said.”
“So they’re singing even though the audio’s not gonna get used?”
“Lip-synching’s hard. Could you lip-synch a whole song perfectly, right to the end?”
“Y’know, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I’d suck at that.”
“Right? It’s tough knowin’ how you’re s’posed to move your mouth without makin’ the sound that goes with it. Could prolly pull it off if you got the practice in, but what’d be the point if you could get the same results just by singin’?”
“Huh. That makes perfect sense.”
Otoi-san never failed to impress me. She could talk for ages when it came to sound-related technique, and that was only the start of what she had hidden up her sleeve.
“I’m also surprised at how they’re not using CGI in the parts I’d expect them to. Like when they’re running up building walls like ninjas or jumping down from two stories high. And, like, I’m watching the actors do that right in front of me, but I still can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
“Yeah, not as much stuff is left to the computers as you might think, even now. I think they still destroy a ton of cars for car chase scenes and make all these explosions with pyrotechnics for war movies, which the actors have then gotta run through.”
“Jeez, that’s rough! They’re literally risking those actors’ lives, huh?! I guess it’s time to start training using live explosives!”
“They usually use stunt doubles to do the stuff that’s actually dangerous, though. I’ve heard it’s pretty easy to get a gig in Hollywood if you can pull off those kinda scenes too. All ’bout havin’ skills no one else does. Not that I’d know.”
Wait, so was there anything Otoi-san didn’t know about movies? I knew about her interest in sound, but I didn’t know she was so knowledgeable about the other aspects of the acting world.
Otoi-san’s lollipop stick came to an abrupt stop when it was pointing up into the air, like she’d noticed I was amazed at her insight. “Well, y’know. When you’re studyin’ up on music in entertainment, y’gotta brush up on your general knowledge about the industry too. Otherwise you’re gonna end up stuck at some point.”
“So that’s how you know all this stuff.”
“Yup.”
Not only did I now understand, I respected her for it. She always walked around like she was laziness incarnate, but when it came to sound, she was as serious as could be.
It didn’t do much for her friendliness, though. She had a list of seemingly random trigger words, and she could be inflexible and scary at times. Stuff that came together to make her seem kind of aloof to the average person. To me, though, she was on the same level as Senpai. She was like an older sister; someone I wanted to stick with my whole life.
“Chick’s impressive.”
“Mizuki-san?”
“Yeah. Don’t like that she’s taken you from your mom, but I gotta respect her actin’ skills.”
“She hasn’t ‘taken me’ from mom. You’re making it sound way worse than it is.” It wasn’t like you couldn’t have more than one mother figure in your life either.
Too bad the same couldn’t be said for lovers! Urgh! I was dying to know what Senpai and Mashiro-senpai were up to right now—but for the moment, I needed to set aside my worldly desires and focus on Mizuki-san’s work going on in front of me.
“She’s normally a Broadway actress, right?” Otoi-san said. “So doin’ movies would be, like, a side gig for her?”
“Yeah, but they’re both acting jobs.”
“Sure, but when you’re on a different stage, you gotta use a different set of actin’ skills. The way you captivate the audience ’n’ how you present yourself changes too.”
“You’re right...”
My hunch had always been that it didn’t really matter where you were; it was enough just to get into character. After hearing Otoi-san put it into words, though, I realized she was right: the stage you were acting on mattered more than I’d thought. When I took part in the National Drama Fair, I’d relied completely on my experience of voice acting in Otoi-san’s studio—but maybe I’d used the wrong approach back then. It had worked well enough for acting at high school level, but if I wanted to go further—go professional—I wasn’t confident it would be enough.
“It’s not just her actin’ skills either. Her radiance is on another level too.”
“What d’you mean by ‘radiance’?” I asked.
“Like her charm; the way she draws the audience’s eyes and keeps them on herself.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, ’cause she’s super pretty.”
“’Snot ’bout bein’ pretty.”
“Huh?”
Wasn’t it?
I mean, sure, there was way more to acting than looks, but when it came to which actors shone the brightest, had the most impact, and seemed the most charismatic, the answer was usually “the better-looking ones.”
“Y’don’t gotta be pretty to be radiant. It’s more like...the depth of your character, or your individuality. Like, the lastin’ impression you leave on the people watchin’.”
“I kinda get what you’re saying. Then again, I kinda don’t...”
“If y’dunno how to appeal to people—in the way only you can—your radiance is gonna fizzle out the second you try out a different kind of actin’ to the one you’re used to. You must’ve seen that happen before, right? Like when a popular TV celebrity starts streamin’ online, ’n’ suddenly they’re as interestin’ as cardboard.”
“Oh my God, I literally can’t stand that kinda thing. It’s way too cringe! Can we talk about something else?”
“Yeah, like there was this one comedian about five years ago who was so bad. Then there’s the way they start every video in that standard beggin’ way, like: ‘Welcome to my channel, please subscribe and hit that like—’”
“Can we talk about something else?! I’m gonna die of cringe over here!”
She seriously needed to stop right now. What if someone heard her bad-mouthing these former TV celebs, saw me with her, and banned me from appearing on TV forever?! What would she do then?
“’Nyway, my point is, Mizuki-san is just as impressive when she’s shootin’ a movie,” Otoi-san continued, ignoring my panic and letting a sigh pass around the lollipop stick in her mouth. “If that wasn’t a natural gift, but somethin’ she’d learned over loadsa time, then maybe it would be a good idea if you became her student.”
“Her student...” Even saying the word out loud didn’t make it sound real. I guess I shouldn’t have expected it to; this was a Broadway actress we were talking about. I still found it hard to believe I even had a connection to her in the first place.
“Voice actin’s your main gig. Followin’ after her might teach ya somethin’ ’bout any side gigs y’might be interested in, like drama or movies. ’N’ I guess if she’s as helpful as y’say, there’s nothin’ wrong with acceptin’ that help. Still doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”
“Yeah... If I’m serious about my dream, I can’t...”
...waste this opportunity.
I had to observe this professional film set up close. Observe how Mizuki-san captivated the audience. I knew full well how valuable and rare this chance was. I knew how big this wide world was. And how complex.
“I’ve made up my mind,” I said.
I didn’t specify what about. Otoi-san already knew.
“Yeah. You’ve made the right choice. I think.”