Ten years after Hikago Phenomenon... (Hikago, oneshot)
Ten years after Hikago Phenomenon, Shindou Hikaru explores new fantasy world
By: aishuu
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Notes: This was originally my fic for Round Four of Blind Go which I've been toying with for over a year. It's very, very weird... based off one of those touchy-feeling magazine interview articles. Very experimental, kind of meta.
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: Extra Extra! Read all about it! Child star of Hikaru no Go reflects on impact of ground-breaking series.
Ten years after Hikago Phenomenon, Shindou Hikaru explores new fantasy world
By Yamada Aishuu
When I was a teenager, there was a television show that changed my life - and I wasn't the only one.
Once upon a time there was a show that totally changed the image of a thousand year old game. The show, Hikaru no Go, was designed to launch the careers of several up-and-coming singer/actors, but became a cultural phenomenon felt across the globe.
The show was made on a fairly shoestring budget featuring a game that most people had no clue how to play, but managed to catch the imagination of an entire country. Little children dream of being professional Go players - in fact, the current Meijin, Miyake Yuuichiro, credits the show for his initial interest in Go - and some of the more popular Go salons, once only half-filled with aging pensioners, require reservations for peak times.
And it's all thanks to one television show, about a boy and his ghost.
It's been a decade since the show's gone off the air, but it's still broadcast regularly on television, and the merchandise permeates many stores. Hikaru no Go - affectionately called Hikago by its legions of fans - went off the air ten years ago this week, but it still retains its place in our culture, in our society, in our hearts. There's something exceptional about the story which resonates on the human level, about striving for the Hand of God. Some groups have called it a religious voyage of discovery, but most people think of it as a coming of age story.
Many in the entertainment business have tried to replicate the peculiar formula of storytelling and characters that made the series such a success, but all have failed. There's something that can't be copied, some essential spark missing - and some people would say that spark is named "Shindou Hikaru."
When I call him for an interview, his voice rolls over me, friendly and cheerful, although he warns me that he doubts he has much to say that I haven't heard before. Hikago has been covered into the ground by the media, from hidden meanings, behind-the-scenes romances and its effect on the Go-playing world.
"But if you really want to talk, I guess we can. Meet me on set tomorrow," he tells me, and then he hangs up, a man too busy to remember to say goodbye.
Shindou Hikaru stands on the set, where he's spent most of his twenty-six years - but he's no longer in front of the camera, no longer sharing that charisma that made us all love him so much. This time, he's the one directing, having been tapped to direct the much-anticipated Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children by Square Enix.
This is his first major project, the film that can make or break his career as a director.
But there's no sign of that stress on his face. Hikaru - and I can't help but think of him on a first-name basis, despite the fact we met for the first time an hour ago - is a study of motion. He's rarely still, moving all over to find wherever he's needed, wherever he can offer a suggestion to help. His eyes are intense as he discusses a line interpretation with Sakurai Takahiro, who is starring as Cloud Strife.
Many actors resent their peers who have made the jump to directing, often claiming that acting doesn't automatically convey an understanding of filming. But Hikaru isn't just a pretty face. He's earned two degrees, including one in film at the tender age of nineteen, and he's also a member of Mensa International. He has an understanding of the process, and as I watch them as he slowly pieces the puzzle together, discussing lighting with a tech before moving on to cue the filming.
The set stills, and suddenly the actors spring into motion. While almost all eyes are on Sakurai, I can't help by focus my attention on the director. It's the first time I've seen him still, the first chance I have to study the changes that ten years have wrought on the former teen idol.
The famous blond bangs are gone, but the eyes - still bright and sparkling, the subject of so many of my past teenybopper dreams - are unmistakable. "First thing I did after production stopped was throw out the hair dye," Hikaru tells me after I ask, flashing that famous grin that had sold millions of Cup Ramen for Nisson Foods. "My hair always felt like straw, and I really hated how the stuff smelled."
He mouths the lines along with Sakurai, who's currently filming a solo scene. They shoot it eight times, changing the angles, the lights, the tempo... and finally, with some invisible signal I miss, the shoot is pronounced complete, and everyone's dismissed for lunch hour. To my delight, he turns to me and asks me to accompany him.
The canteen used by the movie crew is the same for all comers; there's no preferential treatment for anyone. Hikaru doesn't tolerate separation between the actors and film crew. "We're working together as a team, and if we start assigning prestige to different positions, that's only going to get in our way," he says.
We line up and await our turns to get served from the cafeteria-style buffet, with every food imaginable available for consumption. Despite my expectations, Hikaru does not choose the ramen. Instead, he heaps a bunch of rice onto his tray, advising me that I should try the dim sum. He then puts a stack of bologna slices on rye bread, before reaching for the mustard and drenching it. Another a slice of cheese, and some onions and lettuce, before topping the now-towering sandwich with a final piece of rye.
There's no reserved seating, but we still manage to snag a table under the skylight. He asks what I want to know. I've prepared a list of ten questions for him. I start off with a softball, and ask why he decided to get out of acting and into directing.
"I learned so much while shooting Hikago that I had to continue," Hikaru tells me. "One of the themes was how an entire world could be created on a goban; the lesson I really learned was that a world could be created on a set. And if I want to be the ultimate decider, I need to direct." It's a serious answer, but he surprises me by blushing. "I hope that doesn't come across as being a control freak, because I'm not."
I ask if he has remained in contact with any of his former costars. Of course, there were the rumors on set about Hikaru and several of those costars, although nothing was ever admitted officially. Touya Akira moved onto acting in several successful romantic comedies, before tackling more challenging feature-length films which have received critical acclaim. Fujisaki Akari lives a less fabled life, a firm feature in many doramas,
"We try, but we're so busy. I've promised Akari a part in my next film, though - and maybe someday Akira and I will find a project we can agree on." Hikaru's eyes fasten on the ceiling, and I can tell he is remembering something important. "I'm sure our paths will cross again, just not now.
"It always amazes me how people automatically associate us with each other. Did you know I rarely saw him on set? There were rules limiting how long we could work each day because of how young we were, which is one of the reasons the show had parallel story lines for my character and his. Hotta-san was really smart with her directing - she arranged the schedule so the crew worked full days, even though the cast couldn't. I think, all told, Akira and I only shot a couple of weeks worth of scenes together."
I ask about why he's announced he doesn't plan on attending any of the annual Hikago conventions. Several of the events have tried to land him as the Guest of Honor, but he's been steadfast in his refusal. Some of his fans have been expressing disapproval at his reclusive side.
"I only went to a convention once," Hikaru tells me. "That was enough to convince me that after you hit a critical mass of fans, the crazy becomes epidemic." Then he laughs, shaking his head. "Not that I don't love all the people who supported me, it's just easier to love them one-on-one." He pauses and scratches his chin. "I don't think that came out right."
I assure him that I get what he meant. He rewards me with a brilliant smile, and I feel remnants of the crush I once had threaten to spring back into life. He's gorgeous, still, although much of the boyish charm has been transmuted into something more adult. I can't help but think it's a pity he doesn't plan to continue acting, because the audience has no clue what they're missing.
"Other people like it better, and there's nothing wrong with that. But at heart, I just want to create tales to amuse people, maybe bring a bright spot into their day or distract them from what's wrong with their lives. I really don't want to get into the whole fame scene, with all the politics, but that's not entirely avoidable. I have so little free time nowadays that when I'm not working, all I do is sleep."
And since it has to be asked, I use that as an opening to inquire about his love life. He nearly chokes on his sandwich, and I hurriedly hand him his drink to help him settle down.
"I'm not dating anyone! Definitely not!" he tells me, and he looks embarrassed. "Even if I was, I wouldn't talk about it because no matter who I picked, my fans would hate them."
His concern should be no surprise to anyone. It's been twelve years since his stalker, Nae Muri, was sentenced to a twenty years in prison after attacking Hikaru's then-girlfriend, Akai Ruci. She's due out on parole in another three years. Which naturally led to my next question, if he ever found his fame tiresome.
"Yes and no. Face it, it's very flattering to have people declare they love you, but the thing is, they don't really love me. They love the way I look, or the character I played, but none of them really know me. I think for love to be real it has to come with knowledge. Sometimes I think people are so caught up in 'Shindou Hikaru-shodan' that they never see the real me... and won't let me be who I want to."
His expression had grown glum, and I feel bad for asking that. But as a reporter, it's my job not to shy away when there are difficult questions. And the next question is even more difficult.
I ask him about Chiba Susumu. Chiba, the actor who played Fujiwara no Sai, was removed from the Hikaru no Go cast before the series finished due to a drug problem, which was hushed up by the show's production company. Last year, he died of a suspected drug overdose.
Hikaru is quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if he's going to decline the question. "He was always kind to me," he said finally. "I know he had problems, but we can only judge people by how we're treated by them. Despite what the gossip rags say, he didn't hook me on drugs, and he didn't use in front of any of us. I miss him."
Seeing the need to shuffle the questions to make Hikaru relax, I ask him about his current project, the much-anticipated Final Fantasy live action movie. He brightens visibly, and takes a moment to finish off his sandwich before addressing me.
"It's going to be great. We've got a really solid cast and our special-effects budget is going to let us do some things that will make the viewer's heads spin." He winks. "I'm not going to tell you what the plot is, exactly, but I hope this interpretation will find favor with the fans of the video game, and maybe bring in some new blood."
I promise that I will be one of the first in line to see that film, even though I never was into gaming.
"That's one ticket-sale!" he said. "Several million more to go!"
My next question is about what the future holds for him: would he consider participating in a Hikago reunion film which has been bandied about by fans and the copyright holders? Or was he done with acting entirely.
"I never say never, but right now I have no desire to step in front of the camera. Honestly, I'm not that great an actor - it kind of hurts, actually, to watch the first season. I learned a lot while filming Hikago and became somewhat competent along the way, but there's no way I want to act opposite Akira anytime soon. He'll totally blow me out of the water."
I ask him about if he has any regrets about participating in the Hikago phenomenon. As a child actor, it's no secret he didn't live a usual life.
He thinks on the question before replying.
"I do wish they hadn't decided to allow the younger actors to use their real names. At the time, it made it easier to get into character, but that's a problem now. They can't make the distinction between my character and myself - and while we have a lot in common, I'm not him. But when I see what Hikago's done for so many people..." he paused. "Can I ask you a question?" Hikaru leans forward, eying me intently.
I agree, not all that surprised. It's not uncommon for the interviewee to turn the topic around in my line of work, and I wondered what Shindou Hikaru wanted to know about me - even something as private as my measurements.
"Why are you so interested?"
I tell him it's because I'm a reporter, and this was my assignment. It's the professional answer, the one that won't make him realize just how much he's influenced my life.
"That's awfully pat, isn't it?" he replies, and I can tell I haven't fooled him.
So I tell him the truth. I tell him that for me, the courage of the characters managed to speak to me. And then I had met other people who loved the show, and they had, in turn, given me the confidence to pursue my own dreams, rather than the plans my parents had laid for me. I speak softly, a bit embarrassed to be confessing this, but he rewards me with a soft touch on the hand.
"That's the secret of Hikaru no Go," he tells me. "It's not about the story, or the actors, but the fan base. That's what's raised the show into that special place that becomes part of the fabric of pop culture. The show isn't anything without the support of its fans."
In return, I ask him my closing question, if he ever plays Go now.
"No, I don't. I'm not a Go player, because people would expect me to be a good one. I sometimes wish that I'd been able to pick up the sport, since everyone automatically thinks I'm some kind of Go-genius just because I played one as a child. But again, real life isn't the same as fiction."
The day after the interview, I receive an email in my box. It's from H. Shindou, and my hands shake as I select it. I can't help by laugh as I read it.
"I was thinking about your last question, and I remembered what Hotta-sensei told me. Always start at 17-4. It'll look like you know what you're doing."
By: aishuu
Fandom: Hikaru no Go
Notes: This was originally my fic for Round Four of Blind Go which I've been toying with for over a year. It's very, very weird... based off one of those touchy-feeling magazine interview articles. Very experimental, kind of meta.
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: Extra Extra! Read all about it! Child star of Hikaru no Go reflects on impact of ground-breaking series.
Ten years after Hikago Phenomenon, Shindou Hikaru explores new fantasy world
By Yamada Aishuu
When I was a teenager, there was a television show that changed my life - and I wasn't the only one.
Once upon a time there was a show that totally changed the image of a thousand year old game. The show, Hikaru no Go, was designed to launch the careers of several up-and-coming singer/actors, but became a cultural phenomenon felt across the globe.
The show was made on a fairly shoestring budget featuring a game that most people had no clue how to play, but managed to catch the imagination of an entire country. Little children dream of being professional Go players - in fact, the current Meijin, Miyake Yuuichiro, credits the show for his initial interest in Go - and some of the more popular Go salons, once only half-filled with aging pensioners, require reservations for peak times.
And it's all thanks to one television show, about a boy and his ghost.
It's been a decade since the show's gone off the air, but it's still broadcast regularly on television, and the merchandise permeates many stores. Hikaru no Go - affectionately called Hikago by its legions of fans - went off the air ten years ago this week, but it still retains its place in our culture, in our society, in our hearts. There's something exceptional about the story which resonates on the human level, about striving for the Hand of God. Some groups have called it a religious voyage of discovery, but most people think of it as a coming of age story.
Many in the entertainment business have tried to replicate the peculiar formula of storytelling and characters that made the series such a success, but all have failed. There's something that can't be copied, some essential spark missing - and some people would say that spark is named "Shindou Hikaru."
When I call him for an interview, his voice rolls over me, friendly and cheerful, although he warns me that he doubts he has much to say that I haven't heard before. Hikago has been covered into the ground by the media, from hidden meanings, behind-the-scenes romances and its effect on the Go-playing world.
"But if you really want to talk, I guess we can. Meet me on set tomorrow," he tells me, and then he hangs up, a man too busy to remember to say goodbye.
Shindou Hikaru stands on the set, where he's spent most of his twenty-six years - but he's no longer in front of the camera, no longer sharing that charisma that made us all love him so much. This time, he's the one directing, having been tapped to direct the much-anticipated Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children by Square Enix.
This is his first major project, the film that can make or break his career as a director.
But there's no sign of that stress on his face. Hikaru - and I can't help but think of him on a first-name basis, despite the fact we met for the first time an hour ago - is a study of motion. He's rarely still, moving all over to find wherever he's needed, wherever he can offer a suggestion to help. His eyes are intense as he discusses a line interpretation with Sakurai Takahiro, who is starring as Cloud Strife.
Many actors resent their peers who have made the jump to directing, often claiming that acting doesn't automatically convey an understanding of filming. But Hikaru isn't just a pretty face. He's earned two degrees, including one in film at the tender age of nineteen, and he's also a member of Mensa International. He has an understanding of the process, and as I watch them as he slowly pieces the puzzle together, discussing lighting with a tech before moving on to cue the filming.
The set stills, and suddenly the actors spring into motion. While almost all eyes are on Sakurai, I can't help by focus my attention on the director. It's the first time I've seen him still, the first chance I have to study the changes that ten years have wrought on the former teen idol.
The famous blond bangs are gone, but the eyes - still bright and sparkling, the subject of so many of my past teenybopper dreams - are unmistakable. "First thing I did after production stopped was throw out the hair dye," Hikaru tells me after I ask, flashing that famous grin that had sold millions of Cup Ramen for Nisson Foods. "My hair always felt like straw, and I really hated how the stuff smelled."
He mouths the lines along with Sakurai, who's currently filming a solo scene. They shoot it eight times, changing the angles, the lights, the tempo... and finally, with some invisible signal I miss, the shoot is pronounced complete, and everyone's dismissed for lunch hour. To my delight, he turns to me and asks me to accompany him.
The canteen used by the movie crew is the same for all comers; there's no preferential treatment for anyone. Hikaru doesn't tolerate separation between the actors and film crew. "We're working together as a team, and if we start assigning prestige to different positions, that's only going to get in our way," he says.
We line up and await our turns to get served from the cafeteria-style buffet, with every food imaginable available for consumption. Despite my expectations, Hikaru does not choose the ramen. Instead, he heaps a bunch of rice onto his tray, advising me that I should try the dim sum. He then puts a stack of bologna slices on rye bread, before reaching for the mustard and drenching it. Another a slice of cheese, and some onions and lettuce, before topping the now-towering sandwich with a final piece of rye.
There's no reserved seating, but we still manage to snag a table under the skylight. He asks what I want to know. I've prepared a list of ten questions for him. I start off with a softball, and ask why he decided to get out of acting and into directing.
"I learned so much while shooting Hikago that I had to continue," Hikaru tells me. "One of the themes was how an entire world could be created on a goban; the lesson I really learned was that a world could be created on a set. And if I want to be the ultimate decider, I need to direct." It's a serious answer, but he surprises me by blushing. "I hope that doesn't come across as being a control freak, because I'm not."
I ask if he has remained in contact with any of his former costars. Of course, there were the rumors on set about Hikaru and several of those costars, although nothing was ever admitted officially. Touya Akira moved onto acting in several successful romantic comedies, before tackling more challenging feature-length films which have received critical acclaim. Fujisaki Akari lives a less fabled life, a firm feature in many doramas,
"We try, but we're so busy. I've promised Akari a part in my next film, though - and maybe someday Akira and I will find a project we can agree on." Hikaru's eyes fasten on the ceiling, and I can tell he is remembering something important. "I'm sure our paths will cross again, just not now.
"It always amazes me how people automatically associate us with each other. Did you know I rarely saw him on set? There were rules limiting how long we could work each day because of how young we were, which is one of the reasons the show had parallel story lines for my character and his. Hotta-san was really smart with her directing - she arranged the schedule so the crew worked full days, even though the cast couldn't. I think, all told, Akira and I only shot a couple of weeks worth of scenes together."
I ask about why he's announced he doesn't plan on attending any of the annual Hikago conventions. Several of the events have tried to land him as the Guest of Honor, but he's been steadfast in his refusal. Some of his fans have been expressing disapproval at his reclusive side.
"I only went to a convention once," Hikaru tells me. "That was enough to convince me that after you hit a critical mass of fans, the crazy becomes epidemic." Then he laughs, shaking his head. "Not that I don't love all the people who supported me, it's just easier to love them one-on-one." He pauses and scratches his chin. "I don't think that came out right."
I assure him that I get what he meant. He rewards me with a brilliant smile, and I feel remnants of the crush I once had threaten to spring back into life. He's gorgeous, still, although much of the boyish charm has been transmuted into something more adult. I can't help but think it's a pity he doesn't plan to continue acting, because the audience has no clue what they're missing.
"Other people like it better, and there's nothing wrong with that. But at heart, I just want to create tales to amuse people, maybe bring a bright spot into their day or distract them from what's wrong with their lives. I really don't want to get into the whole fame scene, with all the politics, but that's not entirely avoidable. I have so little free time nowadays that when I'm not working, all I do is sleep."
And since it has to be asked, I use that as an opening to inquire about his love life. He nearly chokes on his sandwich, and I hurriedly hand him his drink to help him settle down.
"I'm not dating anyone! Definitely not!" he tells me, and he looks embarrassed. "Even if I was, I wouldn't talk about it because no matter who I picked, my fans would hate them."
His concern should be no surprise to anyone. It's been twelve years since his stalker, Nae Muri, was sentenced to a twenty years in prison after attacking Hikaru's then-girlfriend, Akai Ruci. She's due out on parole in another three years. Which naturally led to my next question, if he ever found his fame tiresome.
"Yes and no. Face it, it's very flattering to have people declare they love you, but the thing is, they don't really love me. They love the way I look, or the character I played, but none of them really know me. I think for love to be real it has to come with knowledge. Sometimes I think people are so caught up in 'Shindou Hikaru-shodan' that they never see the real me... and won't let me be who I want to."
His expression had grown glum, and I feel bad for asking that. But as a reporter, it's my job not to shy away when there are difficult questions. And the next question is even more difficult.
I ask him about Chiba Susumu. Chiba, the actor who played Fujiwara no Sai, was removed from the Hikaru no Go cast before the series finished due to a drug problem, which was hushed up by the show's production company. Last year, he died of a suspected drug overdose.
Hikaru is quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if he's going to decline the question. "He was always kind to me," he said finally. "I know he had problems, but we can only judge people by how we're treated by them. Despite what the gossip rags say, he didn't hook me on drugs, and he didn't use in front of any of us. I miss him."
Seeing the need to shuffle the questions to make Hikaru relax, I ask him about his current project, the much-anticipated Final Fantasy live action movie. He brightens visibly, and takes a moment to finish off his sandwich before addressing me.
"It's going to be great. We've got a really solid cast and our special-effects budget is going to let us do some things that will make the viewer's heads spin." He winks. "I'm not going to tell you what the plot is, exactly, but I hope this interpretation will find favor with the fans of the video game, and maybe bring in some new blood."
I promise that I will be one of the first in line to see that film, even though I never was into gaming.
"That's one ticket-sale!" he said. "Several million more to go!"
My next question is about what the future holds for him: would he consider participating in a Hikago reunion film which has been bandied about by fans and the copyright holders? Or was he done with acting entirely.
"I never say never, but right now I have no desire to step in front of the camera. Honestly, I'm not that great an actor - it kind of hurts, actually, to watch the first season. I learned a lot while filming Hikago and became somewhat competent along the way, but there's no way I want to act opposite Akira anytime soon. He'll totally blow me out of the water."
I ask him about if he has any regrets about participating in the Hikago phenomenon. As a child actor, it's no secret he didn't live a usual life.
He thinks on the question before replying.
"I do wish they hadn't decided to allow the younger actors to use their real names. At the time, it made it easier to get into character, but that's a problem now. They can't make the distinction between my character and myself - and while we have a lot in common, I'm not him. But when I see what Hikago's done for so many people..." he paused. "Can I ask you a question?" Hikaru leans forward, eying me intently.
I agree, not all that surprised. It's not uncommon for the interviewee to turn the topic around in my line of work, and I wondered what Shindou Hikaru wanted to know about me - even something as private as my measurements.
"Why are you so interested?"
I tell him it's because I'm a reporter, and this was my assignment. It's the professional answer, the one that won't make him realize just how much he's influenced my life.
"That's awfully pat, isn't it?" he replies, and I can tell I haven't fooled him.
So I tell him the truth. I tell him that for me, the courage of the characters managed to speak to me. And then I had met other people who loved the show, and they had, in turn, given me the confidence to pursue my own dreams, rather than the plans my parents had laid for me. I speak softly, a bit embarrassed to be confessing this, but he rewards me with a soft touch on the hand.
"That's the secret of Hikaru no Go," he tells me. "It's not about the story, or the actors, but the fan base. That's what's raised the show into that special place that becomes part of the fabric of pop culture. The show isn't anything without the support of its fans."
In return, I ask him my closing question, if he ever plays Go now.
"No, I don't. I'm not a Go player, because people would expect me to be a good one. I sometimes wish that I'd been able to pick up the sport, since everyone automatically thinks I'm some kind of Go-genius just because I played one as a child. But again, real life isn't the same as fiction."
The day after the interview, I receive an email in my box. It's from H. Shindou, and my hands shake as I select it. I can't help by laugh as I read it.
"I was thinking about your last question, and I remembered what Hotta-sensei told me. Always start at 17-4. It'll look like you know what you're doing."