There were a dreadful couple of hours this morning where I couldn’t find my copy of the ‘Route 99’ script. Quite aside from the fact that it contained a good couple of week’s worth of translations, the prospect of having to ask for another copy didn’t exactly fill me with glee, nor did the thought of having to write that summary with absolutely no guidance. After a frantic search of my house I concluded that I must have left it on the train, and so swiftly formed a plan of action: I would go to the lost and found office at Shinjuku station, and ask if a dog-eared and partially translated copy of a play about the consequences of a steamed bun inspired traffic accident had been handed in. Thankfully I just as swiftly rejected this plan for the possible route to a sectioning that it was, and instead found my script exactly where I had left it: on my seat in the blooming theatre!
There are definitely scenes that I now struggle to watch without loosing the will to live. This is not so much because of the contempt that has been bred by familiarity, but rather the fact that even after nine or ten viewings of the same scene I’m not entirely sure what it is that is going on; as a pick-me-up for confidence in my Japanese it’s the equivalent of a couple of shots of horse tranquilliser. And as for those scenes which have still only been rehearsed a handful of times, well the less said about those the better. I’m fairly convinced that the play ends with a Dallas-esque ‘it was all a dream’, but having only seen this scene played out the once, it is just as likely that everyone’s dead and we’re now in purgatory, or alternatively that we are watching the delusional thoughts of an incarcerated madwoman. The only thing I know for sure about the ending is that I’ll never know for sure.