Japanese going to post office for electronic wedding day

Press, 6 May 1983, Page 14

Japanese going to post office for electronic wedding day

From

PETER McGILL

in Tokyo

Thousands of modern Japanese couples are taking the high-tech road to matrimony in electronic ceremonies that combine the worst possible taste of East and West. Every stage of these “performance weddings,” with their plastic cakes and disco lighting, is frozen on film and-recorded on video, and the whole thing is organised by — the Post Office!

In the southern city of Nagoya, the Postal Savings Hall is justly famous as a nuptial emporium. What goes on inside bears no resemblance to a post office and leaves precious little savings afterwards.

I went to the wedding of Masaru Kobayashi and his bride Satusuki Oya, both of the Tokai Rika Auto Parts Company. They had invited 135 guests at the cost to both families of the equivalent of $B5 a head.

The day began on the third floor, where Satsuki and Masaru were ushered into one of the many dressing rooms and beauty parlours for their first costume change. Professional dressers took an hour to fit Satsuki with a formal kimono and,with her bunkin takashimada,' an elaborate bridal wig. She had opted for only two out of three possible costume changes: skipping one of two formal kimonos saved her between $4O and $lOOO in rental charges, although she still had to pay $2OO for the one she wore.

In the kimono rental room, a disc-drive computer kept' tabs on the age of the kimonos being rented and on other relevant data for the final bill..

Next stop was the Shinto shrine across the corridor for the wedding vows, one of the quickest parts of the ceremony, then to the photographic studio next door to capture the moment for posterity. The two cameramen boasted that they took at least 200 shots a day. Meanwhile, the banquet table

had been set with 135 portions of giant prawns, salad, chicken drumsticks, raw fish and appetisers, while technicians crawled under curtains to check a mass of wires, hydraulic piping, and hi-fi equipment.

Hiroshi Asano, the business manager, looked constantly at his watch. The show was to last precisely two hours, followed by a one-hour break, and then a repeat for the next couple. At the head of the hall stood a 2.1 metre polystyrene wedding cake, with plastic bride and groom on the summit. Electric bulbs on every tier would light up at the same time as concealed hoses in the cake spewed forth dry ice.

At the back of the cake was a small slot into which a slab of butter (“so much easier to cut”) would be ritually divided by Masaru and Satsuki.

With the guests seated in uneasy devotion over their prawns, the reception began with a speech by a colleague from the auto parts company. “I am the chief of the section to which the bride belongs,” he began. “She belongs to the drawing office. She is very responsible with her work, as she has to ensure there are no mistakes.

“At lunch time she keeps working, saying, ‘I want to finish this before I go out to lunch.” She will be a good housewife and help support him.” Murmurs of approval. Then the lights went out and a big spotlight picked out the enormous fake cake. Stereophonic heavenly strings accompanied the couple as they were led by the Master of Ceremonies in white gloves to the slicing of the butter. Dry ice billowed forth, engulfing not only the cake but family members in the front row who pretended not to notice. Suddenly the music gave way to a prerecorded love poem, crooned by a professional actress: “You two

exist here full of joy and happiness ... You two are lined up together, your ear-lobes do not even tremble from the joy of this wedding.”

Waiters scurried to give everyone exactly one inch of champagne. Then, to the strains of “Love is a Many Spendoured Thing” beer was administered in quantities large enough to make up for the champagne deficit. To tradition Japanese koto music, Satsuki adjusted her kimono from the sitting position and regally tottered down the aisle for a costume change, followed by Masaru, and both- followed by a professional video cameraman. While bride and groom were away, their friends entertained the guests — acrobatics by the auto part company’s rugby team and Simon and Garfunkel by one of Satsuki’s chums.

All eyes then swivelled to the back wall where a slide show told the Masaru and Satsuki love story, beginning with their birth, cutting their first teeth, and meeting each other at Tokai Rika Auto Parts.

A deafening roll of drums suddenly stopped all conversation and an eerie glow penetrated from behind the stage. The curtains were drawn back to reveal another eruption of dry ice, as a red Fiat

sports car with Masaru at the wheel and Satsuki starry eyed beside him rose from nowhere like a cinema organ. Masaru was dressed in white trousers, frilly shirt, and diamante t evening jacket. Masterfully, he led Satsuki (pink chiffon and spangles) away from their borrowed car to a plastic pedestal. Directed by the M.C. in white gloves, they lit a heart-shaped cluster of candles. The flames flickered round the heart without a hitch, and after the big one in the middle was alight, the music changed to a heavy-breathing disco smoochie and the lights changed to bluey-green. After it was all over, Asano, the hall’s business manager, ruminated about tradition. “I think it’s the character of people here still to attend to tradition and old ways,” he said.

“The parents still worry about which days are auspicious for weddings. Today it is not particularly auspicious, so we only have 12 couples. Usually it’s 24. That’s bad for business but thankfully there is now a machine that tells which days are auspicious until the, year 2000 so we can plan ahead.” Copyright — London Observer Service.