A century ago, the West used to entertain and educate itself with random views of the East. World's Fairs and grand expositions displayed Formosan villages and Ainu tribal rites. Now the East, or at least Japan, is diverting itself with random views of the West.
There are dozens of village-like theme parks devoted to the wonders of Europe. Kyushu has the largest and most profitable, the Huis Ten Bosch, 152 hectares of canals, windmills, tulips and wooden shoes. The permanent guest can buy an on-site Dutch house and live the life of a burgher without ever having left Nagasaki. As Cleo Paskal has written, "Today's Japanese tourists don't want to be bothered by the horror, not to mention the expense and trouble, of the real thing. They want a New York they can visit for a weekend, and a London where everyone speaks Japanese. They want a sanitized Japanese version of the rest of the world -- a virtual vacation."
In the last 10 years or so, using the highly successful Disneyland as a model, a number of virtual vacation spots have opened. Little Ashibetsu in Hokkaido, losing its coal-mining industry, decided upon a complete, Prince Edward Island-like Anne of Green Gables Land, and hired a number of otherwise out-of-work Canadian actors to play Anne and her family.
Tohoku has a Swiss Village, complete with "Heidi's cottage" and a view of a Matterhorn look-alike. In Niigata's Russian Village, one can, or could, without the difficulty and danger of actually visiting Russia, see the Suzdai Cathedral, eat piroshki and borscht, and enjoy a folk-song and dance troupe and the talents of three performing seals direct from Lake Baikal.
Over in Shingomura in Aomori you might visit the last resting place of Jesus Christ. It was actually his brother, Ishkiri, who was crucified, you see. Christ himself escaped to Japan, married a local woman named Yumiko, had three daughters, and lived to be a happy 106. His "descendants" have now opened this Christ's Tomb Tourist Attraction.
There is Nixe Castle in Noboribetsu, a full-scale replica of the castle in the hometown of Hans Christian Andersen. In Kure, there is Portopialand, which includes all of Portugal's Costa del Sol in some form or other. There are a number of New Zealand Valleys in Hiroshima, Yamaguchi and Shikoku that specialize in sheep shows, an exotic entertainment in non-mutton-eating Japan.
And for those in a hurry, there is the Tobu World Square, where you can see 1/25 scale models of over 100 of the world's most famous buildings all at once. The Taj Mahal is next to the Empire State Building, which is next to Saint Peter's, which is next to the Eiffel Tower, and so on. All are complete down to the smallest visible detail: They were made, after all, by the Toho Eizo Bijutsu, the people who made all those models for Godzilla to crunch.
This kind of virtuality is, of course, what Disneyland has so profitably dispensed (both in the United States and Japan) and the theme "It's a Small World" is literally illustrated. The results are varied. As the author of this survey indicates, though the parks are meant to amuse, "their designers may not have anticipated all the sources of the laughter they provoke."
At the same time, however, we are invited to consider the implications of this kind of cultural display. The theme park evolved from the "villages" of the fairs and expositions of the 20th century, which came in part from department stores, with their cultural shows, and the still earlier arcades of Europe, the small worlds so lovingly observed by both Charles Baudelaire and Walter Benjamin. Throughout there is the assumption that foreign countries are just too foreign to be readily comprehensible. These "translated" versions are the best way of understanding them.
The assumptions underlying Virginia's Williamsburg and Shuzenji's Britain Land (a slice of 17th-century British countryside, complete with homes and shops) may seem similar, but, as the author points out, there are a number of differences. The most important of these is how mimesis is understood in the West and in the East.
A paradigm for this manner of understanding is seen in Japan's Ise Shrine, which has been renewing itself every 20 years for centuries -- standing building torn down, perfect replica erected next door. The new one is locally considered just as "authentic" as the old one. It is not considered an imitation; instead it becomes the real thing. This is something that the West cannot countenance, though, as Benjamin has pointed out, making copies was only demeaned with the introduction of European modernity -- something Japan was briefly spared.
Another avatar for the Japanese theme park is the classical formal garden of the 17th century, where "hills, waterfalls and bridges said to recall different parts of Japan" were grouped together in a manner Disney made familiar in his "Small World." This is to be seen as offering an experience analogous to the original. In a culture that traditionally learned by meticulously copying, there are thus still pockets unthreatened by "European modernity" and its ostentatious, individualized ways.
These are not, however, protected from contemporary economics. Anne of Green Gables no longer roams the lavender fields of Ashibetsu. In the continuing recession, the theme parks are folding one by one, done in by the very economic imperative of which they hoped to take advantage. In this land of impossible prices, it is now cheaper to fly cut-rate to Amsterdam than it is to go to Kyushu and stay at Huis Ten Bosch.
Despite the pop-film title of this very interesting book, it is not a light read. It is a scholarly and serious investigation of its subject and comes with all the academic paraphernalia. One may order it from Berg Publishers, 150 Cowley Rd., Oxford OX4 IJI, England. E-mail: [email protected]
With your current subscription plan you can comment on stories. However, before writing your first comment, please create a display name in the Profile section of your subscriber account page.