“Well, uh…you go get ready, and we’ll do a bit of filming out here.”
“Sure.”
Once Tsuzuki turned and walked away, the director drew his lips close to my ear. Dude, get out of my face.
“Seems like he’s in a bad mood today. Normally he’s a lot more friendly… Oh well. I trust you’ll be fine, so just do your best to get him to open up to you.”
Easier said than done, buddy! And another thing—why didn’t you people get footage of the exterior during the last few times you were here?! I growled internally.
“Yes, sir,” I replied with a dutiful nod.
Then the rest of the crew filed outside, and Tsuzuki disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone to look around the workshop at my own discretion. The room was filled with an assortment of miniature film sets, some the size of a potted plant, others closer to a garden trough. I recognized some of them from the videos on that DVD. City streets, beaches, forests—all scattered over the dusty gray floor like Lilliputian islands. Against the walls I could see giant studio lights and what I assumed to be backdrop screens, as well as a bicycle. At the opposite end of the room was a computer with a giant 40-inch monitor.
Right as I set my briefcase on the ancient, barely used, synthetic leather couch, I heard Tsuzuki head back down the stairs.
“Is it all right if I set my things here?” I asked.
“Sure.”
Again with the flippant response. As much as it irritated me, it would take a lot more than that to get me to back down.
“Do you do 100 percent of the work yourself?”
“At the rate I get paid, I can’t afford to hire anyone.”
Yeah, no kidding. This animation crap isn’t exactly a viable career. Hell, you’re lucky you can pay your rent at all… Just goes to show how cushy our country really is.
“Sounds stressful.”
“Nah. I consider myself lucky I can make a living doing what I do. With a job like mine, some people might see it as getting paid to goof off, and they’re not exactly wrong. I’m no different from some 60-year-old retiree building a castle out of toothpicks.”
And here I thought Mr. Artiste was about to preach to me about how his work is “an art form” or something. Glad to see we’re on the same page.
Tsuzuki walked to the computer desk, opened a drawer, and took out several thick stacks of paper bound with string. He brought them over to me. “They told me you’ll need these for the filming.”
“Are those…daily wall calendars?”
You could find them in any store, and often they came with a little proverb on each page. Nothing to write home about.
“Check the back,” he said.
“Huh?”
He handed me a stack, so I took it and turned it over. On the back of each page was a little pencil drawing.
“Oh, I see. Storyboards, right? But why draw them on the back of a calendar?”
“When the local stationery store closed down, they let me have the rest of their stock. See how these calendars are all from two years ago? They were just gonna toss ’em, but I didn’t want ’em to go to waste. Plus, the paper’s nice and thin. Super easy to work with.”
“But won’t the ink from the other side show through?”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re just my personal notes. See, when I make a video, I don’t sit down and plan it all out like it’s some big thing. I prefer to be more…spontaneous. Like random little doodles on the back of a math test, y’know?”
As I flipped through the pages, I realized that the minute differences between each drawing formed a single continuous motion, like a flipbook. Man, what a hassle. “How many would you need to draw to create a single second of animation?”
“Twenty-four frames.”
“Oh, I see. That’s a bit different from our video recordings—we film at thirty frames per second. I suppose a mere fifteen seconds of footage must cost you a whole calendar’s worth of paper.”
“Yep. I’m starting to run out at this point.”
Weird… I was expecting him to be more, you know…snobby? Self-obsessed? But instead, he was actually really humble—perhaps even downright ascetic.
Anyone with enough exposure to the limelight was bound to get cocky, no matter the stage. And as I watched those delusional idiots from a safe distance, I could only thank my lucky stars that I was smart enough to keep it hidden. Maybe the simple fact that I had stumbled into this line of work purely by chance was enough to keep me grounded.
Just then, the rest of the team walked in.
“Got all our exterior footage! Oh, hello, Tsuzuki-san. Are you ready for the camera? To start with, we’d like to get some shots of the studio interior.”
“Sure.”
“Feel free to hide anything you’d rather not have broadcasted on television.”
“Nah, no worries.”
It was then that Tsuzuki finally smiled…and with his steely outer façade lowered, he actually seemed like a friendly, sociable guy for once.
Didn’t realize you had it in you, grumpy. It doesn’t cost anything to act polite, so try a little harder, would you?
At first I was relieved, but then I caught myself—what did I have to worry about? It wasn’t my problem if he wanted to act like a grouch on national TV. If anything, it would probably win me some sympathy points from the viewers.
“Ack!”
Just then, the assistant director’s tripod snagged on the handle of my briefcase, knocking it over and sending its contents scattering everywhere.
“Dude, watch it!” the cameraman shouted after him.
“Sorry!”
I quietly walked over and helped him pick up my stuff. “You okay? It didn’t fall on your foot or anything, did it?”
Naturally, I was calling him all sorts of colorful insults in my mind.
“No, no, I’m fine. Sorry, Kunieda-san.”
“No need to apologize; I’m just glad it didn’t crush your toes. There’s some heavy stuff in there.”
With an unwavering smile, I gathered up all my belongings and straightened up once more. Just then, I noticed Tsuzuki looking at me in shock. Our eyes met. Crap, am I coming off too fake?
“Is something the matter?”
“Not particularly.”
After that, the interview went smoothly. We arranged another visit in three days, then headed back to the station.
“You know, he had me worried for a minute there,” the director remarked on the drive back. “He seemed like he was in a really bad mood.”
Yeah, and it was your job to warm him up! But instead you hid outside like a little coward!
“But when we walked back in, he seemed like he was back to normal. I should’ve known you’d work your magic, Kunieda.”
“No, no,” I demurred.
Granted, this was all part of my usual act, but I sincerely didn’t think it was my doing. I mean, the dude had “kill me now” written all over his face when we first showed up. Maybe he just needed a few minutes to wake up and realize how hot I was? Not that I wanted him to notice!
“Perhaps he has low blood pressure.” It was the safest theory I could offer.