‘Tokyo Love Story 2020’…Another iteration on urban love that is as captivating as it is frustrating.
Spoilers Ahead…
We are never going to stop watching love stories (or stories about love, if you will). Watching good looking people make not-so good decisions while navigating the messy, murky terrains of this temperamental plane will continue to bedazzle us as we try to make sense of them from the corners of our rational mind. As a genre too, love stories are constantly being updated and maybe that’s why the makers of Tokyo Love Story 2020 thought it was time to revamp a classic for a new generation.
The original Tokyo Love Story aired back in 1991 (which itself was an adaptation of the manga written by Saimon Fumi) at the heels of the waning bubble economy. Needless to say, I haven’t watched the original, but upon reading its synopsis, the basis for both versions seem to remain the same — three friends, Nagao Kanji (an affable Ito Kentaro), Mikami Kenichi (Kiyohara Sho) and Sekiguchi Satomi (Ishii Anna) are childhood friends from the island of Ehime, who now work and reside in Tokyo. After Kanji shifts to Tokyo, the last one to do so, he meets up with the other two, mainly with the intent of asking Satomi, his high school crush, out. But Satomi is nursing her own hidden crush towards Mikami, while Mikami dates and sleeps around with multiple women without any desire to settle down. In this hotchpotch joins Akana Rika (a fantastic Ishibashi Shizuka), a colleague of Kanji, who starts dating him soon after he is rejected by Satomi. This leads to a myriad of unspoken, unresolved emotions between the four which is brought forth through an incessant loop of heated arguments and quiet reconciliations.
This drama greatly reminded me of both of director An Pan Seok’s works, Something in the Rain and One Spring Night. It is not only the similar style of cinematography — where the camera, a mere observer glides through the scene, panning in and out with bare minimum cuts, and each shot, beautifully composed is inversely proportional to the bareness we witness in these relationships; but also how Tokyo Love Story does the opposite of what those dramas did with their romance. Writer Kitagawa Ayako detaches decisions made in romantic relationships from societal frameworks such as money (except for a small bit with Nagasaki Naoko’s (played by Takada Riho) parents), age, parents, families, careers, marriage and parenthood. It is as though the writers wanted (us) to observe how these characters would decide who they want to spend their life with, if the only obstacle between them and a happy ending is themselves.
It sounds reasonably simple, but the result as we see, is still a mess. All in all, relationships are complicated, whether they naturally are, or made out to be.
That’s why the drama was, in parts, frustrating to sit through. From the observer’s logical point of view, it seemed to me like the characters were denying themselves a nice, happy, romance by either choosing to ignore signs that their relationship is falling apart or repeat the same mistakes (that could have easily been avoided by simple communication) that caused a dent in the relationship previously. Moments like Kanji choosing to go meet Satomi on his birthday, well aware that Rika is at his place preparing a surprise for him, when just recently, he and Rika had an argument over the same thing — when your girlfriend is aware of your crush on your high school friend, maybe don’t fail to turn up (for your date), every time Satomi calls. Or when Satomi chooses to move in with Mikami, despite being aware of his infidelity.
Decoding these choices, even when clearly in the wrong (is there a even something as a wrong decision when dealing with the matters of the heart?) makes great analytical essays and debates but not a really a fulfilling watch. It’s like watching a train wreck.
Something to mull over (and possibly a topic for a dissertation): While I was sadden that Kanji cheated on Rika, I often forgot that Rika was also in a relationship with a married man. If we had watched these same proceedings from that wife’s point of view, we wouldn’t have felt sorry for Rika, rather, we would say that she deserved it. After all, she said so herself that she can’t choose who she falls in love with, whether that person is married or not, so why should we judge Kanji any differently?
Plainly, the arguments show us how unfit these people are for each other, and at the same time, breaks down the notion that opposites attract, when in reality, they seem to combust and burn.
Kanji, who is from the countryside, feels exhausted keeping up with the vivacious Tokyo girl, Rika. Rika, at the same time, is continually disappointed at how Kanji sees her as easy, just because she is straightforward with her feelings. Satomi doesn’t turn out to be the girl who rescues the playboy, Mikami, and when the series end with a paring who could have just gotten together at the start of the series and saved us (and themselves) this long trail of heartache, it just reaffirms how convoluted love stories can be. It’s never as simple as A to B, as it is A to C to E to B.
The glue that holds all this together is Akana Rika. She is the only protagonist we rarely ever see solo. We either see her with Kanji or with another character whom Kanji is acquainted with. It is no surprise that she is the manic pixie dream girl who is there to teach Kanji how to live large. As Kanji himself says, she is the embodiment of Tokyo — wild, confident, loud and full of surprises and whenever we see Rika, we see Tokyo, the bustling streets, restaurants, and the iconic Tokyo Tower, which she is often pictured with. It’s to both Ishibashi Shizuka and the writer, Kitagawa Ayako’s credit that she isn’t just reduced to a metaphor. She even gets a moment, similar to Kate Winslet’s Clementine Kruczynski in The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind — “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.” — where she tells Kanji that while everyone initially finds her special, extraordinary, when its time to see the real her, they just leave.
Kanji too, it feels, subconsciously compares her to the more feminine Satomi, who is calmer, more womanly (she has long, thick hair, dresses more conservatively, cooks delicious meals and has a non-threating job — a kindergarten teacher). The drama doesn’t pit the two against each other, but Mikami and Kanji do often compare them both, often in the context of the Madonna-Whore dichotomy, where Rika being carefree and forward is clubbed as someone you could have a casual relationship with, while Satomi is the one for settling down, for marriage. So, it hurts tremendously to watch her be the big loser out of the four, especially as she has been the most honest one of them all. And if another update of this show is to be made anytime soon, I would want Rika’s version — an outgoing, lovable career woman in Tokyo, looking for some non-judgemental love.
