Mother: Biographical Movie || Chapter 2 Performance [Pt.1]
Day and night no longer feel like they used to. This place. Its atmosphere exceeds in tearing down oneâs spirit. So much so, in fact, that even time itself was starting to feel wobbly, and discontinued. Had it really been weeks? Or is it closer to a month now? Several months, perhaps? Youâre honestly not sure. The tiring routine of extensive training and psychological distress corrupts even the healthiest mind. Youâre not sure how long itâs been: But youâre damn sure youâre not close to getting out. Sekaiâs laughter creeps into your sleep, haunting you with the thought of never again leaving this place. Never seeing your loved ones again. Stuck with the same colors and shapes, and faces, and sounds, for all the remaining breaths within you. However long they may serve you.
Schedule and teamwork are the recipe for sanity, for a good chunk of you. This performance required extensive knowledge and technique of all, about all. Itâs easy to get yourself lost in thought once youâve learned something new. Even more so when your life depends on it. Piles and piles of books, hours of this hell-forsaken fortnight spent on perfecting something you previously knew close to nothing about. These âboostsâ, whatever they may be, make a machine out of you. Technique, specifically: You canât help but take in whatever knowledge you acquire. Youâre like a computer, storing data, ready to use it and expand upon it, whenever you see fit. With each passing day, you feel a slight tint of coldness latch to your chest. A small, faint, breath-like void. Itâs as if Oasis itself, and the buildings that contain it, are ripping the humanity out of you. Bit by bit.
You didnât have time care about it, though. Performance day creeped in faster. Sooner rather than later, you heard Sekaiâs announcement, claiming the âbig dayâ to be no more than twenty-four hours away. However long that is in this place; And so, you gathered with your remaining classmates and you followed the directorâs instruction the best you could. You watched ideas being tossed back and forth, during the filming and editing process. You did your part. You gave your best and expected the bare minimum in return. Itâs a strangely familiar feeling, since last time. The expectancy. The volatile air in every room you were in. Disaster could ensue at any moment, you were made very aware. But alas, so came the time to call it. The director clapped once, only to call everyoneâs attention, and claim, for certain, that âMotherâ was officially done. But there was little celebration. With seven hours left until the screening, and the dawn slowly approaching: Most defaulted to a nightâs sleep.
The presentation was scheduled to midday. The sun was just cresting over the skyline as you managed to close your eyes. And quickly it rose. Hours later, youâd say, you were woken, Sekaiâs voice blasting through the speakers.
âChildren of mine, how are you all this fine morning? This is a special day, after all. The audience is being directed towards the Movie Land Cinema as we speak! As well as a few hand-picked movie critics I happened to have the number of... And no, you cannot go there at this time. We wouldnât want any of you scaring them away, would we now?â
She laughs to herself, fond of her diabolical scheme.
âIn a few short minutes, after they all are comfortably sitting down in their chairs, then I request all of your beautiful faces to be at the Studio, no time to waste: Iâve setup a screening of our own! How nice of me. Weâll watch just as they do! Should be fun, no? So, once you hear the beep, your doors will unlock, and Iâll expect all of you to be at the Studio. Is that clear? Good. Iâll see you later, my children!â
You were numb to those words, almost. You got the memo. You tested your door: And indeed, it wouldnât open. So, you waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes. Thirty-two, exactly, when the speakers boomed a loud, deafening, one-second beep. The doors promptly unlocked, and you began to make your way to the Studio, feet dragging through the pavement, as you began to coalesce into the small crowd of your classmates. Nearly all sharing the same displeased look as you. In fact, a couple try to sprint toward the Cinema, only to find the door sturdily locked. It was worth a try.
Once youâve arrived, you were faced with twenty or so directorâs chairs, each with a name assigned. Naomiâs being at the very center, and the closest to the oversized screen hanging from the ceiling, not a few feet away. Smaller than the movies, but bigger than any ordinary TV youâve ever seen. Displayed on it, only static. Itâs only when the last one of you sat down that the screen turned black. And a faint piano tune began to play.
Amidst the darkness on the screen, a hoarse, breathy female voice spoke up: And so ensued a narration, explaining Naomiâs early beginnings, which depended on little of her own volition. Even before her birth, her mother, Kamiko Ishii, an already world-renowned ballerina, badly injured her knee, tragically terminating her dancing career. Not long after, she promptly married a man whom she didnât love, purely for this wealth and appearance. A man of no substance, a blank slate of personality. Together, over the course of a year, they made the voice narrating the very lines you were hearing. âMeâ, the voice, now familiar to you spoke up, âNaomiâ.
From this point onwards, the narration becomes scarcer and sprinkled throughout the film, instead of acting as its bulk. Naomiâs childhood starts being depicted: A friendless, inhospitable first couple of years. Here it starts to become clearer what the big picture is: Kamikoâs undying thrive to refine and perfect her daughter into what she was never able to be herself. The perfect version of herself, a perfect woman; and the mind, heart, and soul of ballet. Her daughterâs cries mattered not, as her passion for contemporary dancing, any and all signs of rebellion were not only silenced but severely punished. The varied abuses become commonplace, making Naomi frightened of her mother. Her calls for help to her father were promptly ignored, his blind eye was made of steel. Already absent in most moments of her life, even this crucial need of aid clearly wasnât enough. Naomi was alone. And alone she endured this pain for many years to come.
Since a very young age, Naomi was enthralled in one of the most esteemed ballet academies in Japan, where, during years of intensive training and borderline militaristic routine, her talents truly flourished. This can mostly be attributed to a single person, a teacher in the academy by the name of Akari Handa, the one person Naomi claims to compete with her mother in terms of severity. Hand-picked, this teacher played a major in Naomiâs teachings. The movie included several scenes of their training sessions and minute improvements, from day-to-day. And even in her impressive displays of talent, even to the academyâs standards, there was always one face ready to steal the spotlight: Kiyoko Arakida, whose flair easily outshined that of Naomi.
The piling pressure to surpass Kiyoko easily got to her. She attempted to befriend her, but her mother would always disapprove, until eventually forbid the idea altogether. She was to be considered an enemy. When the situation seemed like it couldnât get any direr, Kiyoko received the lead in the academyâs next big production play by Akari Handa herself, a role her mother specifically instructed her to acquire, no matter what. In a scene of heavy atmosphere, proceeded by the role assignments, Naomi is scolded by her mother in a back room. There, in the midst of her anger and blinded judgment, she implied it was up to her, and solely her, to figure out a way to get this role back. Whatever that takes. No matter the consequences.
In a fateful day within the academy, Naomi and Kiyoko met alone, and exchanged pleasantries, until ultimately, as Kiyoko turned to leave, beginning to head down a set of stairs, Naomi hesitantly, having her Kamikoâs works echoing within her mind, pushed her in the back. The girl tumbled forward in an especially well-crafted shot. Naomiâs reaction of terror and realization as the girl finally reaches the end step. The ballerinaâs shadow cast on top of the unmoving body, now whimpering and bruised. She screamed for help, and the scene faded out. The next shot is her receiving the lead role from Handa. Sadness in the air caused by the tragic accident.
The remaining scenes are distant shots of her dancing, dubbed over by her narration. âThis was all for youâ, she said and paused, the applause echoing in the distance. âYou, your name, your voice was the only thing in mind for the all my days and nightsâ, she said and paused, the applause echoed ever-so-slightly quieter, the still shot of the performance begins to fade. âThrough your harshness and cruelty, through all the countless times Iâve wished for something betterâ, she said and paused, the applause now barely audible, the performance barely visible. âThrough it all, I always thought of a way to tell you how much youâve made me into who I amâ, the applause ceases, the shot fades to black. âSo, after all of thisâ, the background stillness continued, âThis isnât a record of my life. This wasnât made with my story in mind. This is but a simple letter to you. And I do honestly hope you someday get to read it-â.
And so the film ends abruptly. Once the credits roll, the first thing to appear on screen is the movieâs title, in big, round calligraphy:
The movieâs theme cues as the credits roll and lights inside the building turn on. Sekaiâs voice immediately booming from nearby speakers.
âWasnât that wonderful? The audience seems pleased! Weâll have to wait a day or two for the critic review, but you shouldnât feel too bad. I must admit⌠This was better than the last trash you did! If we keep going like this, maybe weâll have something decent by the tenth performance or so. How exciting, wouldnât you say, my children?â She laughs. âSo, youâre free to go to your rooms. Rankings will be out tomorrow. As well as rewards for our esteemed Star and punishments for those who were too bothered to practice. That should be fun!â
The speakers turn off, the static echoing off of the room. The door unlocks. That sure was an experience.
