INTERVIEW: ‘The Nosebleed’ by Aya Ogawa to play Japan Society
Photo: Aya Ogawa’s The Nosebleed will play Japan Society. Photo courtesy of Maria Baranova / Provided by Seven 17 PR with permission.
The Nosebleed, a new show written and directed by Aya Ogawa, explores the relationship that the playwright had with their father. The play is billed as a series of vignettes that are simultaneously humorous and turbulent, showcasing a fractured familial connection in a most intimate way. Important topics, such as parenthood and generational gaps, are examined, while Ogawa also ponders who their father was and how The Nosebleed can serve as a theatrical memorial to the man and their relationship.
Ogawa’s show comes to Japan Society Oct. 1-10, courtesy of both Japan Society and Chocolate Factory Theater. Previous renditions of the play were seen at the Brooklyn Arts Exchange and the Public Theater’s Under the Radar Festival. Ogawa stars, alongside Drae Campbell, Haruna Lee, Peter Lettre, Saori Tsukada and Kaili Turner.
Ogawa, who uses the pronouns she and they, was born in Tokyo and is now based in Brooklyn. They have presented works as a writer, director, performer and translator, often exploring issues of cultural identity and the immigrant experience. Previous plays include Ludic Proxy and Journey to the Ocean, among others. Recently Hollywood Soapbox exchanged emails with Ogawa about The Nosebleed. Questions and answers have been slightly edited for style.
Was it difficult to delve into this personal story while creating the show? Did it bring you joy, pain, comfort, solace?
This play grew out of a six-month process where I created space for my collaborators to share their thoughts and personal anecdotes around the theme of “failure.” While they all brought a wide variety of stories from their lived experiences, what I found common in all of them was that the sharing of these stories created a ripple effect of deep empathy. And I felt that we really needed that sense of healing and compassion at that moment, post-election in 2016.
But two challenges arose while I was working with this more open structure with multiple narratives sourced from different collaborators. The first was that the audience doubted the authenticity of the stories, especially when the original storyteller was not present in the room — and this line of questioning was not helpful in the relationship I was trying to build with the audience. The second was that as the person responsible for creating this incredibly vulnerable space, I, personally, was not positioning myself in that vulnerability — and that felt sort of exploitative.
In order to alleviate these two points, I decided to pivot to autobiography. It was never my intention or desire to write a play based on my life, let alone my failures, but it seemed to be what the piece demanded of me — or at least this was the way I felt I could unravel these two issues, with my particular limitations as an artist. Once I made the decision, the writing of the script was actually quite effortless. The structure and the story of each scene revealed themselves to me quickly.
What type of person was your father? How was your relationship?
My father was in many ways a typical Japanese man of the Showa era. Stolid, silent, concerned with status, benchmarks and achievements considered worthy by society. Although I was born in Japan, most of my upbringing was within American culture, so there was a gulf between us — of culture and generation. If we had never moved to the U.S. I may not have felt that my relationship to him was strained. I may have felt that it was “normal.” But I think that these are the kinds of things that the experience of immigration — and specifically the distance (of time, of space, of culture) reveal.
Has becoming a parent influenced how you look at your own relationship with your father?
It has made me aware of how toxic masculinity and sexism is deeply embedded in both Japanese and American culture, to great extents, and the process of unrooting it, while learning how to be a parent, is a colossal challenge. I observe the way my partner navigates his way through fatherhood with care — and I see how culturally, the path to resorting to anger or closing off to emotional engagement are huge pitfalls. So I’ve come to see my father as very much a product of his environment rather than a product of his individual choices.
Do you feel that audience members will be able to identify with the universal themes of parenthood and childhood in the piece?
I certainly hope so. Like I said in my response to the first question, the deeper theatrical mechanism at work hinges less on the particulars of my story, and more on the invitation to use the embarrassments, shame, absurdities in my story as a point of resonance for the audience to reflect on their own failures, losses, relationships with their parents and children. I do think that those who are immigrants or come from immigrant families may find more commonalities with my story, since it centers that perspective.
Why call the piece The Nosebleed?
For a long time, the working title of the play was Failure Sandwich. While I enjoyed the dark humor and glibness of that title, it started to feel farther from the piece as it took shape. I liked The Nosebleed because it was my son’s violent nosebleed when we were visiting Japan that made me think starkly about my cultural background and baggage, and how his blood is connected to my blood, which is connected to my father’s blood. But also nosebleeds are common, mundane, and kind of funny and embarrassing — and everyone has had one, probably.
When did you realize that theater would be a good outlet for your creativity?
In the eighth grade.
By John Soltes / Publisher / John@HollywoodSoapbox.com
Aya Ogawa’s The Nosebleed plays Oct. 1-10 at Japan Society in New York City. Click here for more information and tickets.
