Marilyn in Tokyo University, Komaba Campus
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Morimura Yasumasa. Self-Portrait No. 72 (Marilyn in Tokyo University, Komaba Campus) . 1995. © Morimura Yasumasa. Courtesy of the Yoshiko Isshiki Office, Tokyo. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/OCTO_a_00205 by guest on 02 October 2021 Modernity and Its Doubles: Uncanny Spaces of Postwar Japan* IGNACIO ADRIASOLA Screening the Japanese Gothic Actress M stands on a platform placed on the desks in a large auditorium, surrounded by students who stare despondently at her. She turns, seeking the camera over her shoulder; she pushes her white dress down as a fan makes it swell and rise above her knees. Dwarfed by the auditorium’s heavy pointed arches, Actress M’s pale, overexposed figure flickers like a photographic ghost. She has become Marilyn Monroe. While usually presented as a single photograph, Morimura Yasumasa’s Self- Portrait No. 72 (1995) is in fact the record of a performance. The rarely seen video recording reveals a heavy and oppressive gesture lurking beneath the comical veneer of camp. Actress M moves slowly between the desks, clenching her fists and emitting sharp, horrific screams that continue throughout the photo shoot. She appears possessed by something invisible to those around her. Morimura, who appears as Actress M, used the shoot as an opportunity to conjure the past at Tokyo University’s Komaba Campus. Twenty-six years earlier, in the same Auditorium 900, author, perennial Nobel Prize contender, and future neofascist terrorist Mishima Yukio carried out his own performance—a provoca - tive debate with the radicalized students of the left-wing group Zenkyôtô. In a subsequent essay, Morimura recalled the uncanny sensation that overtook him during his performance as Actress M. “I am not someone who has researched [the Mishima and Zenkyôtô debate] much. However, something profound struck me as I was invaded by the feeling of having arrived belatedly somewhere.” 1 In his essay, Morimura weaves an intricate web of allusions to the gothic imagi - nary, self-consciously evoking a foreboding sense of recurrence that frames the * I have benefited from numerous conversations as I developed the ideas in this essay. In par - ticular, I would like to acknowledge Gennifer Weisenfeld, Kristine Stiles, Annabel Wharton, Beatriz Balanta, Madhumita Lahiri, and Chase M. Foster. Ikeda Shinobu, Kumakura Takaaki, and Chiba Kei provided thoughtful comments to an early version of this project. Last but not least, I thank Mignon Nixon for her generous editorial comments. Throughout this essay I observe the traditional naming convention for Japanese names of family name first. All translations are mine, unless noted. 1. Morimura Yasumasa, “Onna? Nihon? Bi? Noto” [Woman? Japan? Beauty? Notes], in Onna? Nihon? Bi?—Aratana jendâ hihyô ni mukete [Woman? Japan? Beauty? Towards a new gender critique](Tokyo: Keiô Gijuku Daigaku Shuppankai, 1996), p. 260. OCTOBER 151, Winter 2015, pp. 108 –127. © 2015 October Magazine, Ltd. and Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/OCTO_a_00205 by guest on 02 October 2021 110 OCTOBER existence of a secret. Morimura, however, has already disclosed his secret: He inter - vened in a site haunted by the memory of Mishima and his debate with the Zenkyôtô, only to claim that he has not “researched this much.” He enacts here what Eve Sedgwick once described as the central figure of the gothic novel: the “live burial” of a secret, always too great and terrible to be mentioned, and already nonetheless com - mon knowledge. 2 In Sedgwick’s view, the gothic story hinges on its building on a secret’s deferral to elicit in the reader a sense of unease and foreboding—in its bury - ing of the secret within the text and evocation of desolate landscapes and ruinous structures whose darkness mirrors the terrible past that is being deferred. In this sense, the literary gothic’s concern with affect and temporality prefigured Sigmund Freud’s notion of the repressed; indeed, the gothic directly informed Freud’s con - cern with the immanence of the past in the present, and its uncanny effects. 3 The gothic elements present in Self-Portrait No. 72 illuminate certain neglected aspects of Morimura’s appropriative practice, in particular the political implications of his incessant return to notions of past and history, which had been evident already in his elaborate art-historical tableaux of the 1980s. 4 Indeed, appropriation is firmly rooted in the history of Japan’s postwar avant-garde, in particular the so-called Anti- Art generation and its problematization of discourses of originality and authenticity. 5 As elsewhere, imitation and appropriation were the means by which they challenged modernism, for example in Shinohara Ushio’s “imitation art” and its implicit under - mining of the teleological and ultimately racist hierarchies operative in portrayals of modern Japanese art as merely derivative of Euro-American modernism. Butoh dance co-founder Hijikata Tatsumi similarly reclaimed imitation as a strategy. The most iconic of his performances in the 1960s made productive use of cross-dressing, which he saw as a subversive appropriation of the entrapments of bourgeois society that he sought to harness in a critique of sexual and economic reproduction. 6 There is, in all this copying, all these imitations, a particular affective quality, 2. Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, The Coherence of Gothic Conventions (New York: Arno Press, 1980). 3. In his essay on the uncanny, Freud acknowledged that gothic literature had anticipated the fun - damental psychoanalytic notion of the repressed. Sigmund Freud, “The Uncanny,” in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud , ed. James Strachey (London: Hogarth Press, 1953–1974), vol. 17. 4. Morimura’s work first came to public attention in the mid-’80s, when he began an increasingly elab - orate series of photographic tableaux that placed him as the protagonist in canonical European paintings. These included a series of self-portraits as Vincent van Gogh ( Portrait—Van Gogh , 1985), an ambitious reproduction of an objet by Marcel Duchamp ( Doublenage B , 1986), and, most famously, a japonisant version of Édouard Manet’s Olympia (Portrait—Futago , 1988). The Japanese critic Sawaragi Noi first theorized these works in relation to Jean Baudrillard’s notion of the simulacra, grouping Morimura in what he called “sim - ulationism” with other artists of his generation. Morimura’s early work is surveyed in Morimura Yasumasa “kûsô bijutsukan” kaiga ni natta watakushi [Morimura Yasumasa: Self-portrait as art history] (Tokyo: Museum of Contemporary Art, Tokyo and Asahi Shimbunsha, 1998 ). 5. A thorough discussion of the problem of originality and imitation in postwar Japanese art can be found in Reiko Tomii, “‘International Contemporaneity’ in the 1960s: Discoursing on Art in Japan and Beyond,” Japan Review 21 (2009), pp. 123–47. 6. Hijikata rehearses this problematic conflation of cross-dressing and male homosexuality and its deployment as socioeconomic critique in his essay “ Keimusho he ” (1968). An English translation has been published as Tatsumi Hijikata, “To Prison,” trans. Nanako Kurihara, TDR/The Drama Review (Spring 2000), pp. 44–45. On Hijikata’s early happenings and the development of butoh , see dance his - torian Kuniyoshi Kazuko, “Hijikata Tatsumi to ankoku butô—midasareta nikutai” [Hijikata Tatsumi Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/OCTO_a_00205 by guest on 02 October 2021 Modernity and Its Doubles 111 one that I would describe as gothic. A sense of malaise seems to adhere to these appropriative projects, and it becomes acutely evident in Morimura’s Actress series, which enacts what we might call the uncanniness of the double. In this series, Morimura invites us to reconsider the defamiliarizing effects of the copy— and how, in eliciting a sense of discontent that transports the viewer to an idea of a past not yet overcome, it casts doubt on the implications of modernism’s teleo - logical narrative of rupture, specifically that in postwar Japan. 7 Freud considered the uncanny to be an aesthetic phenomenon and situated it squarely in the realm of affects—diffuse, indeterminate, and inarticulate sensations, surging from the unconscious, disrupting everyday life. In his discussion of E. T. A. Hoffman’s gothic stories, Freud characterized the uncanny as an instance where an unnameable and unspecified “something” elicits in the subject an intense sensation of dread. 8 The nature of this “something” is difficult for the subject to establish, but its effects are immediately recognizable. Freud recognized in Hoffman’s pre-psycho - analytic articulation of the uncanny the sense of recurrence (Wiederholung ) that was critical to his own theories of the unconscious, and he characterized this sensation as symptomatic of a splitting and alienation of the ego. 9 Ultimately, the analytic signifi - cance of the uncanny resided in how the feelings of dread evoked in the subject signal to a past that is altogether present, because “this uncanny is in reality nothing new or alien, but something which is familiar and old-established in the mind and which has become alienated from it only through the process of repression.” 10 and the dance of utter darkness: recovered flesh], in Hijikata Tatsumi no butô—nikutai no shûrurearizumu, shintai no ontorojî , ed. Kawasaki-shi Okamoto Tarô Bijutsukan and Keiô Gijuku Daigaku Âto Sentâ (Kawasaki: Okamoto Tarô Bijutsukan, 2003). See also Bruce Baird, Hijikata Tatsumi and Butoh: Dancing in a Pool of Gray Grits (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2011). 7. “[T]he trope of modernity may in that sense be considered as self-referential, if not performa - tive, since its appearance signals the emergence of a new kind of figure, a decisive break with previous forms of figurality, and is to that extent a sign of its own existence, a signifier that indicates itself, and whose form is its very content.” Fredric Jameson, A Singular Modernity: Essay on the Ontology of the Present (London: Verso Books, 2002), p.