David Lazarus

The Yomiuri guy writes this down. In a matter of days, I know, my trite perspective will be shared with 10 million readers of Japan’s largest daily newspaper, and it no doubt will be cast along the lines of: “Japan losing ground on Internet, U.S. expert warns.” My little contribution to bilateral relations.

So what do I think about the Internet in Japan? As a five-week visit draws to a close, and after numerous meetings with local tech and business people, I think I can safely say that the Japanese don’t have much of a clue about the Net. Nothing personal. I just don’t think they get it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, fine. I’m a racist, insensitive, culturally imperialistic, Japan-bashing son of a bitch. Now that we’ve gotten the usual response to “foreigner in Japan says something critical about the country” out of the way, let’s move on.

Internet use in Japan is growing, and it will keep growing, make no mistake. There are approximately 15 million Internet users in the country, according to most private-sector estimates (the government optimistically places this figure closer to 17 million). In a nation of more than 125 million people, it’s not much of a stretch to predict that use of the Net will double or triple over the next few years.

But does this mean that the Japanese “get” the Net? No. In fact, you could say that the country’s all-powerful bureaucrats and corporate overlords have gone out of their way to prevent online networks from taking root.

Chatting with members of the local tech community, I’ve heard all sorts of horror stories about the reams of regulations for how domain names are parceled out and how a handful of backbone providers fleece Internet service providers. Japan’s telecom industry may be in the midst of deregulation, but that hasn’t stopped authorities from tangling the Net in mounds of red tape, or from maintaining onerous per-minute access charges.

Meanwhile, e-commerce in Japan is virtually nonexistent, with most Japanese wary of online security in general and use of credit cards in particular. To get around these obstacles, Softbank, Yahoo Japan and other partners have come up with “Japanese-style” e-commerce whereby a consumer shops for and orders goods online, and then picks up and pays for them in cash at the local 7-Eleven convenience store. Miraculously, the Japanese government claims that e-commerce involving individual consumers totaled about $1.4 billion in the last fiscal year. I have yet to meet a single person here who’s ever bought anything online.

And yet, the Japanese media features stories about the Net almost every day, and just as in other parts of the world, ads for even the dopiest products sport the requisite URL. In practice, however, the Net is treated as little more than an exotic plaything, not much different from a box of Furbys — which arrived here a few weeks ago; unlike much of the Net, they speak Japanese.

The other day, Sharp, the electronics maker, unveiled an $800 microwave oven capable of downloading more than 400 recipes from the company’s Web site. Users would pick a dish, and then the oven would tell you what ingredients are needed and how they should be prepared, and then it would automatically cook the dish just so as per its online instructions. Local newspapers hailed this as an important innovation in the field of Internet technology.

“When a flag is raised in this country, everyone wants to jump on board because it’s a fad,” says Pete Perkins, director of a Tokyo ISP called the Asia Network. “That’s the way it is right now for the Internet in Japan. It’s a fad.”

I would argue that part of the reason for this is that Internet use here isn’t geek-driven, as it was in the United States during early adoption. By that I mean Japan doesn’t really have techno-nerds as we understand the breed in the West. Instead, the country has “otaku,” which translates roughly as “obsessives,” with a decidedly negative connotation. Generally speaking, otaku are viewed by other Japanese as having an unhealthy passion for some very narrow interest — animated films, say, or cars, or schoolgirls in sailor suits.

Or the Internet.

“The otaku guys are the ones with fetishes about women’s panties and things like that,” offers Richard Lindsay, general manager of the system division at interQ, a local online service. “These are the guys who sit alone in their little apartments, and go onto the Net because they want to see adult pictures.”

A geek-driven Internet culture is constantly exploring new opportunities and applications. An otaku-driven culture is concerned almost exclusively with self-gratification. It’s an important difference, and goes quite a ways toward explaining the relative lack of Net-related technical developments and entrepreneurship from this side of the Pacific — not to overlook the almost complete absence of venture capital, of course. It also helps explain the decided lack of gloriously goofy sites for a Japanese-speaking Web surfer to visit, thus making the online experience less adventuresome, and less compelling, than elsewhere.

So if Japan’s bureaucrats see the Net as simply another industry in need of rigorous oversight, and if the corporate world sees it as hardly more than an add-on appliance feature, and if many of the early adopters see the Web as the world’s greatest circle jerk, what does everybody else make of this technology?

Not much, I’d say. Among high school and college kids — who make up the majority of Net users here — the killer app isn’t e-mail, or even Web surfing. It’s chat. People generally log on late at night when costs are cheaper to see if anyone they know is online, and if so, to shoot the breeze for a little while. Not that they couldn’t accomplish this just as easily, and probably for less money, with the ubiquitous mobile phones that no trendy Japanese teen would be without. But, hey, it’s fun to go online every now and then.

Most chat groups in Japan aren’t the text-based gab-fests we think of in the West. Rather, they’re VRML-powered virtual environments where one’s cartoon-like avatar can rub shoulders with those of others. “People tend to just clink into someone else and say hi, and then go on and see what the wall looks like around the next corner,” says Asia Network’s Perkins, who at least gives high marks to the Japanese designers who create these snappy online worlds. “Nobody makes better-looking walls,” he notes.

In a society where everyone reads comic books, the Net thus enables anyone to be a manga character. It’s like a dream come true.

Along related lines, I’m starting to wonder if Japan’s emphasis on group dynamics is conducive to widespread use of a technology that’s scientifically designed to empower the individual. Aside from the country’s financial and technological barriers to Internet use, might the cultural element be the biggest obstacle of all?

For me, this helps explain Japan’s unflinching love of paper, and why e-mail is nowhere close to replacing faxes as the primary form of official communication. Visit almost any company or government office here, and the first thing you’re struck by is the stacks of paper. Everywhere you look — big, precarious, yellowing stacks of paper. A pack rat’s paradise.

While part of the blame goes to an instinctive reluctance to throw things out — that would be disrespectful — there’s a deeper force at work. In a society where consensus is prized above all other things, paper is frequently used as the medium for cementing the group to a given purpose.

Many Japanese have what’s called a “hanko.” This is a small, lipstick-size cylinder, usually made of ivory, embossed with one’s personal seal. This seal is registered with the government, and it carries the same legal weight as does a signature in the West. When a key decision is called for, it is written on a piece of paper and passed around to all related members of the organization. Each recipient affixes his hanko, and thus signs off on the idea. The group has spoken.

“Paper is a way of enforcing the structure,” says Chris Bryden, chief technical advisor at Sunnynet, an Okinawa ISP. “When you put your mark on paper, you make a commitment and indicate your place in the hierarchy.” (You’ll notice that I give plenty of credence to the views of non-Japanese techies. I find that they tend to speak more freely than their native-born colleagues, who tend to adhere to the official line in interviews and are uncomfortable speculating as to why things are the way they are. So sue me.)

While some Japanese companies are introducing groupware applications, the vast majority remain married to the hanko system. And as long as this is how decisions are made, online networks will remain little more than office message boards — if that. Most companies still rely on PA systems for office-wide announcements, and play little snippets of music at different times of the day to remind workers when they should eat their lunches or return to their desks.

Handing pieces of paper to one another offers brief moments of human interaction. This is how “wa,” or group harmony, is promoted. E-mail may be infinitely more efficient and a good deal less wasteful, but it doesn’t do much for one’s sense of wa.

A couple of days after my encounter with the Yomiuri reporter, I find myself at the offices of mighty Nippon Telegraph and Telephone, where I’ve been asked to meet with some of the people handling the company’s online activities. It doesn’t take long for one of the NTT guys to lean close and ask, “What is your opinion of the Internet situation in Japan?”

I do my usual riff about high prices and mid-level managers, and the NTT guy nods his head in agreement. He translates my answer for the others in the room, and then asks if I have any questions for NTT.

Turns out I do. I note that the Nihon Keizai Shimbun, Japan’s leading business daily, has quoted anonymous sources as saying that the government plans to “urge” NTT to introduce flat-rate pricing for Net access within the next couple of years. The plan reportedly would entail Net users shelling out 5,000 yen, or about $42, to NTT each month on top of the approximately 3,000 yen, or $25, paid to one’s ISP.

“That would mean,” I point out, “that unlimited Net access would cost users 8,000 yen, which is more than three times what people pay in the U.S.”

A brief discussion breaks out in Japanese. Finally, one of the NTT guys says, “You must understand that we are trying to bring down prices as much as we can.” Another chimes in: “Right now, the average Internet user pays between 9,000 and 10,000 yen a month. So 8,000 is an improvement.”

Like I say, they just don’t get it.

You already know the story: Beleaguered 16th century Japanese villagers seek to thwart local bandits by hiring the services of seven out-of-work samurai warriors. The samurai, led by Takashi Shimura but with Toshiro Mifune serving as their clown prince, meticulously plan out the village’s defenses, stage a preemptive raid on the bandits’ lair and then pull the villagers together for the climactic battle that leads to the film’s bittersweet close. This is the movie that spawned numerous Hollywood knockoffs, from “The Magnificent Seven” to Roger Corman’s “Battle Beyond the Stars,” though none has come anywhere close to the original’s epic grandeur and subtle undercurrents.

Jeck’s commentary is the real revelation — and, because the film is subtitled, a rare occasion in which the voice-over does not prevent viewers from keeping up with the dialogue. He approaches his task as if giving a three-hour lecture for a film class, and no detail is small enough to escape his notice. Kurosawa fans will gain a whole new appreciation for one of cinema’s greatest directors as Jeck describes how nearly every shot was created and how the film’s intensity was consistently magnified. Even the wind and rain became characters in Kurosawa’s hands, underlining a scene’s emotional impact.

Typical of Jeck’s insights is his spotlighting of a single samurai walking down the street as the villagers seek out their saviors. This samurai is not to their liking and his appearance in the film is limited to no more than a couple of seconds. But Jeck is able to note that this was none other than Tatsuya Nakadai, who would go on to become one of Japan’s biggest stars. Kurosawa himself must have seen something in the actor’s brief walk-through. He would go on to cast Nakadai as one of the leads in “Yojimbo.”

Aside from a present-day framing device, the story is set during the Great Depression. Hanks heads up a generally good-hearted band of prison guards who are determined to bring a sense of peace to their charges’ last days (the green mile is their name for death row). Then giant John Coffey (Michael Clarke Duncan) arrives — convicted for the murder of two little girls — and “The Green Mile” heads off into Rod Serling territory. Coffey, like a certain biblical figure also with the initials J.C., has a gift for healing, and soon relieves Hanks of a decidedly painful urinary infection. Hanks seeks to return the favor by attempting to learn whether Coffey is truly guilty. “The Green Mile” strives for a happy ending, but at best can muster only a strange note of cheerful melancholy.

Director Frank Darabont, who did well by King with his version of “The Shawshank Redemption,” offers no commentary on the DVD, so the viewer can only guess about his technical achievements this time around. Darabont notes in a brief behind-the-scenes documentary on the disc that “The Green Mile” “didn’t have the fur, and the fangs, and the haunted cars, but it had this rich world that it presented.” Unfortunately, he takes such a leisurely approach to the material that the second half of the film crawls slower than a life sentence. The focus shifts so frequently between Coffey, Hanks, the other inmates and the warden’s ailing wife that it’s hard to recall the main strand of the plot.

And this, undoubtedly, was just fine with King, who has made no secret of his dissatisfaction with Hollywood’s past treatment of his work. The novel version of “The Green Mile” also covered a lot of ground, but it had the luxury of a much larger canvas. King is a skillful yet sloppy storyteller, and Darabont should have known better than to try to remain absolutely faithful to the original material. On the other hand, when an author of King’s stature tells you that your script is “the best film adaptation that I have read, hands down,” what are you going to do?

Hello?

This is not a film that was crying out for a remake; the 1974 original directed by H.B. Halicki wasn’t exactly a milestone in cinema history (although it did have the distinction of totaling about 90 vehicles). In the new version, Memphis Raines (Cage) comes out of car-theft retirement when a not-very-menacing gangster threatens to do in his inept younger brother (Giovanni Ribisi). To get Little Bro off the hook, Raines must deliver 50 stolen cars to the Long Beach port in a single night. With the help of a lovable crew of felons, he does.

“A great car movie, a great chase movie, hasn’t been around,” producer Jerry Bruckheimer says on the DVD. “So it’s time to do one.” The clock’s still ticking on that score. “Gone in 60 Seconds” has all the Bruckheimer hallmarks — it’s loud, it doesn’t dwell on characterization and never lets plot get in the way of action sequences — but this one is utterly lacking in the popcorn appeal of such other offerings as “Armageddon” and “Con Air.” That “Gone” features only a single chase scene is an astounding misstep. What, did the filmmakers think too many car chases would distract from the metaphorical exploration of spiritual redemption through grand theft auto?

The DVD includes no fewer than three behind-the-scenes featurettes about “The Big Chase,” plus lots of stuff about how the stars took special driving classes to appear convincing on the road. In an interview segment, Bruckheimer waxes lyrical about his producing skills: “It’s been said my pictures have grossed about $11 billion, which means what I’m doing people like, and that’s what I do it for. I do it to entertain people.” The interview includes scenes from most of Bruckheimer’s movies, including the yet-to-be-released “Pearl Harbor,” but not a single glimpse of “Gone in 60 Seconds.”

Maybe they didn’t want to steal any thunder from the DVD’s “Action Overload” extra — a music-video-style mish-mash of random scenes from “Gone” set to a thumping heavy-metal score. There’s no story, no characters. Just noisy, in-your-face pyrotechnics. It’s the perfect Bruckheimer film, in other words.

Luckily, the bulk of the Wayans brood — Damon must have been busy — didn’t have to bother themselves with matters of plot and characterization in concocting this film; the objects of their mirth didn’t have much going on in these departments either. It helps if viewers have seen the originals to fully appreciate the layers of ridicule in “Scary Movie,” but it’s not necessary. Most of the gags are self-explanatory and are about as challenging as a Three Stooges short (though not nearly as funny).

The DVD lacks a commentary from one or all of the Wayans, but this isn’t much of a loss. What could they do — explain the pains they took to craft a fart noise worthy of Carmen Electra’s posterior? Instead, the disc, like many recent DVDs, features “additional scenes” that are in reality “some stuff swept up from the cutting-room floor that wasn’t good enough for the original release.” In this case, the scenes include an unfunny sex bit involving Marlon Wayans, a willing partner and a pair of guns, and some slapstick with Cheri Oteri that may constitute the most offensive treatment of a disabled person in a mainstream film. Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk.

A making-of featurette for the most part consists of director Keenen Ivory Wayans and his two siblings enthusing about the need to mock the teen-slasher genre — something the “Scream” films already did fairly effectively — and why their offering is different. “Scream” was an “unfunny spoof,” Marlon explains, while Keenen notes that “Scary Movie” is “a spoof of a satire.” Oh. Put it like that, it almost sounds clever.

Ed Harris heads the mining team down about 2,000 feet below the surface. A U.S. sub crashes nearby, and Harris’ crew is dispatched on a rescue mission, accompanied by his estranged wife (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio) and a handful of badass Navy SEALs. So far so good. But when Harris goes over the side of a seemingly endless undersea chasm in search of the sub’s lost nuke, “The Abyss” turns, weirdly, into “Close Encounters.” Suddenly we’re meeting friendly underwater aliens and receiving preachy lessons about loving one another. You pretty much expect everyone to break out in a chorus of “Kumbaya” before the credits finally put a stop to the silliness. What could Cameron have been thinking?

We find out on the two-disc DVD. Along with the slimmed-down theatrical version of the film, there is a “special edition” version containing 28 extra minutes of footage that tell the story the way the director originally envisioned. It’s not exactly an improvement; someone should have told Cameron to can the cuddly ETs before filming ever began.

Most of the extra scenes simply bring more depth to the characters. The two main additions are a computer-graphic tidal wave that the aliens use to send a little message to mankind (no one gets wet) and an extended scene in which the benevolent space critters communicate with Harris. Mankind gets the point. We all live happily ever after.

It would have been nice if Cameron had provided audio commentary for one of his most important films. Instead, “The Abyss: Special Edition” offers text commentary in the form of subtitles — like “Pop-Up Video” but more distracting. Much better is the one-hour documentary, “Under Pressure: Making the Abyss,” that follows the production from its start to soggy finish. “We realized from the beginning it was going to be difficult,” says producer Gale Anne Hurd. “What we didn’t realize is that it was going to be impossible in the sense that we never really got things under control.”

Shot in an abandoned nuclear power plant, the movie required the cast and crew to remain submerged for as long as 12 hours at a stretch, exposing everyone to chlorine burns and all manner of stress. The chasm sequence — it was actually shot sideways — was so difficult for Harris that he broke down in tears. “I really thought I was going to die,” he says. Mastrantonio actually stormed off the set one day when the camera ran out of film in the middle of a difficult scene. And then the makeshift tank holding millions of gallons of water started falling apart.

“Welcome to my nightmare,” Cameron told the cast on the first day of production. He was right — “The Abyss” was a genuinely horrific experience. But the result, warts and all, is unlike any other film ever made. The DVD, with its sharp picture and excellent sound, brings the movie’s many elements into focus and provides a much-needed guide to Cameron’s original concept. The special-edition set is almost too much of good thing — the behind-the-scenes features are so plentiful they’re nearly impossible to navigate — but what else would you expect for a movie with this title?