Haruki Murakami may not have received this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature, but he will probably win it before too long.

It would be a shame, though, if Haruki Murakami becomes to Japanese literature what sushi is to Japanese cuisine – the single dominant icon that obscures all the other good stuff.

Also worthy of attention, for example, is another Japanese novelist with the same surname, the unrelated Ryu Murakami.

Ryu may be familiar to film buffs for his novel Audition, which was turned into a film directed by Takashi Miike and released in 1999.

Of the two Murakamis, Haruki no doubt has the wider global fame at the moment.

Ryu is hardly unknown, though, being a million-selling writer in his native Japan as well as having a publishing deal with Bloomsbury for the English language translations of his books Almost Transparent Blue, 69, Coin Locker Babies, In The Miso Soup, and Piercing, as well as Audition.

I don’t know if Ryu Murakami will ever be in contention for the Nobel Prize for Literature like his namesake Haruki. But Ryu Murakami is a great writer and as times goes by, he may catch up with the more famous Haruki in terms of global awareness amongst literary audiences.

Takashi Miike’s film version of Ryu Murakami’s novel Audition gained notoriety for the high number of people who walked out of its screenings at the Rotterdam film festival and at other showings.

The walk-outs were apparently precipitated by the vivid gore featured in the film.

However, in the book there is no gore at all until the climactic scene in which the psychopathic character Yamasaki Asami starts dishing out some gruesome amputation. Up to that point, the book only hints at the possibility of darkness and terror without actually showing any; that is what gives the novel its suggestive power.

In fact, the novel would still have been superb even if it did not feature the graphic and disgusting violence of the climactic scene.

Ryu Murakami’s characterization is subtle, the dialogue is understated, and the plot flows smoothly.

The gruesome horror of the denouement is actually superfluous.

The novel would have been just as powerful without the Tarantino-esque splatter at the end.

Out of curiosity, after reading the book, I check out the trailer for Takashi Miike’s film of the book.

The trailer shows someone writhing around in a tied sack on the floor whilst the evil Yamasaki Asami is talking on the phone to the naïve Aoyama.

But in the English language version of the book that I read, I don’t recall reading such a scene. In that English translation of the book, author Murakami conveys the potential threat of Asami much more subtly.

In the book version that I have got, which may of course have lost something in translation, for that telephone scene Aoyama calls Asami and it is the fact that Asami answers in a deeper and quite different voice to the one which she had used during her audition that should have set alarm bells off in Aoyama’s mind. It certainly startles the reader, hinting that there may be some kind of split-personality danger lurking within Asami.

For its shock value and arthouse reknown, Miike’s film ‘Audition’ is often compared to fellow Japanese director Nagisa Oshima’s ‘Realm of the Senses’.

Oshima is of an earlier generation of film makers compared to Miike.

Nagisa Oshima is revered as one of the leading figures, if not the leading figure, in the Japanese ‘New Wave’ cinema movement of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

It’s a Nagisa Oshima triple bill showing at Shin-Bungeiza Cinema that lures me to Ikebukuro in north-west Tokyo today.

The triple bill kicks off at noon.

So I have to leave my apartment in Azabudai in the morning, with the sound of screeching bulbuls ringing in my ears.

“Keep the moral! Don’t throw away a cigarette butt!” shouts a sign posted up by the entrance to an apartment block on the way to Roppongi Itchome metro station.

I arrive at Ikebukuro at 11 a.m.

Already there are a few people eating lunch in Ikebukuro Station’s noodle restaurants.

These early diners probably got up at 6 a.m. or earlier to commute into central Tokyo from the far-flung suburbs; no wonder they are hungry and ready for lunch at such an early hour.

Shin-Bungeiza cinema is tucked away amongst the garish neon sidestreets next to Ikebukuro Station.

As the living-dead customers trudge into a pachinko parlour near the cinema, the gates of hell open and a thunderous din emanates from the parlour and assaults the street outside.

The pachinko parlour doors close after the customers have entered the premises and been swallowed up; once again relative quiet prevails in the street outside.

It’s an early October day, quite warm.

To the relief of everyone in Tokyo, the year’s humidity has mostly disappeared. It is now very pleasant to be out and about after the exhausting extended heatwave of summer.

As I emerge from the east exit of Ikebukuro Station, a couple walk past me going in the opposite direction. The guy has pink hair and the girl is dressed like an anime character.

In other cities such a sight might be startling, but here in Tokyo it’s par for the course.

Having located the cinema I go in and buy my ticket for the Nagisa Oshima triple bill.

The programme consists of two shorts and one full-length feature.

The two shorts are Yunbogi’s Diary (1965) and Tomorrow’s Sun (1959), whilst the full-length feature is Sinner in Paradise (1968).

Shin-Bungeiza is one of many jewels in the crown of Tokyo’s cinema scene. It provides an opportunity to enjoy on the big screen a constant stream of films that includes not only the very best work by specific directors, but also some lesser known works as well.

Whereas Nagisa Oshima’s best known films such as ‘Realm of the Senses’ and ‘Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence’ get widely shown, the films on today’s triple bill are less familiar and thus more intriguing.

Tickets at this cinema are dispensed from a vending machine.

One of the staff helpfully shows me how to use it when he sees that I am baffled by it.

There is a while to go before the showing is due to start so I wander out again into the Ikebukuro backstreets.

Clustered near the cinema are a Nagasaki blowfish restaurant, with several of those deadly creatures swimming around in a tank in the window; an inviting conveyor belt sushi restaurant; a lure and fly fishing tackle shop; and a soapland charging 5000 yen for services unspecified, but which one can easily imagine.

The area is dominated by the amazing needle-like chimney of the prosaically named Toshima Garbage Factory.

This incineration plant burns 300 tons of garbage every day.

The chimney is the tallest in Japan; its dizzying height ensures that the pollution is carried safely away, high above the citizens down below.

For a few minutes I can’t help but stare in admiration at this unlikely urban landmark.

Back at the cinema, the decent-sized audience is almost exclusively male.

The auditorium decor and atmosphere are somewhat dark and gloomy, though that impression is possibly brought on by the contrast between the bright midday conditions outside and the subdued lighting in the cinema.

I manage to get a perfect seat right in the middle of the back row, which is slightly raised and gives a great view of the screen.

First up on today’s Nagisa Oshima triple bill is ‘Yunbogi’s Diary’.

The format of this twenty-four minute film is quite un-cinematic.

It consists of a series of black and white photographs taken by Oshima during a trip to Korea in 1964.

Yet it works very well. The photographs are thoughtfully composed, and startling in their depiction of the abject poverty that was prevalent in Korea at the time.

The series of still images are accompanied by voiceover narration by a young boy.

Now and then the boy’s narration alternates with director Oshima himself, who chimes in by reading some incantatory verse.

This simple structure is strangely compelling.

Before the film started, I thought that it might be a bit dull and austere.

But the lack of movement on the screen allows the viewer to concentrate on each image and to feel their resonance more deeply than is possible in a ‘normal movie’, in which directors use on-screen movement to manipulate the flow of our attention.

Also, having two people delivering the voiceover creates a very different feel and dynamic compared to when there is just a single narrator.

The soundtrack is equally inspired.

Classical guitar and violin accompanies the more melancholy and reflective scenes, whereas a harsher insistent percussion underscores the more dramatic scenes of turmoil depicted in the stills of troubled 1960s Korea.

The second of today’s Nagisa Oshima films, ‘Tomorrow’s Sun’, is a mere seven minutes long.

It can be seen in its entirety on YouTube, unless it has been removed by now.

After the seriousness of ‘Yunbogi’s Diary’, ‘Tomorrow’s Sun’ provides a blast of bright Technicolor and lighthearted fun, but not much else.

Apparently Shochiku studio gave Oshima the opportunity to make this short, which is a trailer for a film that does not exist, as a test to see whether he had the skills necessary to be allowed to make a full-length feature.

‘Tomorrow’s Sun’ is slick and professional, though it looks pretty dated these days.

Diehard fans of Nagisa Oshima will want to see it, but for everyone else this scrap from the great man’s table is fairly forgettable.

Much more satisfying is the main feature, Oshima’s 1968 film ‘Sinner in Paradise’.

There is a blend of comedy and sharp social commentary in this film.

What is being shown today is a scratchy print with static crackle.

It’s like listening to an old vinyl record. This actually adds to the atmospheric quality of the film rather than detracting from it.

The opening scene is great. Watching this scene unfold, I realize that Oshima truly is a masterful director.

To the accompaniment of an irresistibly daft squeaky-voiced song, the three main characters go to the beach, strip down to their underwear and go for a swim.

While the three lads are having a swim, a mysterious hand pokes up out of the beach and grabs the clothes that they have just shed, replacing them with another set of clothes that gets the boys mistaken for Koreans rather than the Japanese that they are.

This sets up the story that follows as an occasionally surreal satire of racist attitudes.

But there is nothing heavy-handed or pontificating about Oshima’s approach; he delivers his anti-racist message with frequent doses of humour.

Whoever put together today’s Nagisa Oshima triple bill did a great job, offering us three completely different films, perfectly sequenced. ‘Yunbogi’s Diary’ challenges us to focus on and interpret the still images that comprise the film; ‘Tomorrow’s Sun’ provides a few minutes of light relief; and then ‘Sinner In Paradise’ entertains, provokes and puzzles.

Watching such a well thought-out triple bill has been a great way to spend this Friday afternoon.

After leaving Shin-Bungeiza cinema, I retrace my steps back to Ikebukuro Station.

From here, I catch the Yamanote Line train to Ebisu to pay another visit to the Yamatane Museum of Art.

This time the exhibition is titled, ‘Nihonga vs Yoga: Betwixt and Between Japanese and Western-Style Painting’.

In this context, the term Yoga refers to Japanese oil paintings that are heavily influenced by Western paintings.

The exhibition covers the Meiji, Taisho and Showa Periods of recent Japanese history.

During these periods, Nihonga and Yoga painters increasingly influenced each other and drew from each other’s styles.

Two of the exhibits are designated as ‘Important Cultural Properties’. Both are from the Taisho Period: Hayami Gyoshu’s wonderful painting ‘Dancing in the Flames’ (1925) and Kishida Ryusei’s ‘Road cut through a Hill’ (1915).

Kishida Ryusei’s painting leaves me cold, but I stand mesmerized by ‘Dancing in the Flames’; the stylized lava-like flow of the flames casts a hypnotic spell broken only by the arrival of some other visitors who want to look at the picture.

Other memorable exhibits include Umehara Ryuzaburo’s ‘Autumn in Beijing’ (Showa Period, 1942), with its deep vibrant colours showing a Beijing of green nature and blue sky far removed from the polluted metropolis of today; Yokoyama Misao’s ‘Manhattan’ (Showa Period, 1961), its strikingly flat perspective scrunching the skyscrapers up even closer together than they are in reality; two superb winter landscapes which are mounted next to each other in the gallery thereby amplifying their impact on the viewer, Okumura Togyu’s ‘Snow-covered Mountain’ (Showa Period, 1946) and Kayama Matazo’s ‘Mountains in Winter’ (Showa Period, 1966); and the hauntingly beautiful ‘Spring Dawn at the Ferry Crossing’ by Kawai Gyokudo (Showa Period, 1938).

Still life works of art such as vases of flowers or bowls of fruit have never done anything for me, but somehow Kobayashi Kokei’s ‘Still Life’ (Taisho Period, 1922) stands out. All it shows is one apple in a bowl. Simple stuff. Maybe it is the harmony of the colours, or the way that the bowl seems to float isolated and anchored in the centre of the picture, but for some reason it lingers in the mind.

The highlight of the exhibition for me is one of the older pictures, Saigo Kogetsu’s ‘Landscape in Taiwan’ (Meiji Period, 1912). The foreground trees and scrubland plain give way to a mountain range in the background, whilst a straggling belt of cloud hangs in the air between the foothills and the mountain tops. The whole scene, including the sky, is suffused with a strangely distinctive, understated grey-green tone.

What really differentiates ‘Landscape in Taiwan’, though, from most other landscapes is that in the middle ground of the picture, between the plain and the mountains, there stands a small factory.

But rather than being an eyesore, this factory constitutes a discreet focal point around which the rest of the picture coheres. The factory chimney, for example, mirrors the tall straight tree trunks in the foreground of the picture.

Coming out from the exhibition and emerging back into the afternoon sunlight, I feel light-headed and mildly euphoric after seeing such wonderful art.

For people like me who have never studied art, Yamatane Museum of Art provides an inspiring introduction to some wonderful work by a wide range of great artists.

Akasaka, about three miles across town from Ebisu, is my destination for tonight’s entertainment.

In Akasaka I go to a club to see latin jazz pianist Hector Martignon perform with a group of Japanese musicians.

Their set is a brilliant blend of latin jazz and salsa.

Back in the day, Hector played with the legendary Ray Barreto’s band for six years; he also played with Tito Puente, Celia Cruz and many other leading lights of the latin music scene.

The bar staff at the venue look like they have just returned from a big hair seminar. One of them has a splendid Mohican, a real bog brush, whilst one of his colleagues wanders around turning heads with his enormous mop of candy floss hair in the style of Johnny Pacheco circa 1972.

During the second of the band’s two sets, they are joined by a superb trumpet player from Orquesta de la Luz.

This guy was sitting just in front of me by the bar for a while before he got up to do his guest spot. His battered trumpet case is adorned with various stickers, including one from Orquesta de la Luz’s tour of Puerto Rico.

That particular sticker is peeling away; he tries smoothing it down but its sticking-down days are clearly over.

I speak briefly to Hector Martignon at the beginning and the end of the night; not only is he a great musician, he is also a very nice guy.

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Yamatane Museum of Art’s new exhibition has just started.

Its full title is ‘Establishing Modern Art in Japan: The Artists of the Nihon Bijutsuin, from Yokoyama Taikan to Hirayama Ikuo’.

The exhibition includes paintings by artists active in the Meiji, Taisho, Showa and Heisei eras.

Hoping that it will be as good as the Yamatane’s previous exhibitions this year, I go along and am not disappointed.

Yokoyama Taikan’s Showa period pieces ‘Mountains in Bright Moonlight’ and ‘Stream and Autumn Colors’ are highly atmospheric, as is Kobayashi Kokei’s ‘Kumano Shrine’.

Many of the other works on display are equally good.

I particularly like Okumura Togyu’s ‘Maelstrom at Naruto’, which is especially good when viewed from a distance; the lush, luxuriant, deeply swept greens of Omoda Seiju’s ‘Hillside Road’; Sakai Sanryo’s wonderful ‘Cormorant Fishing’, showing cormorants and fishing boats in the foreground, the lights of the lamps illuminating the darkness as huge mountains loom in the background; and Goto Sumio’s ‘Waterfall’, in which the flattened perspective of the painting is very effective, particularly on the side of the canvas next to the waterfall, where the forest and rocks spread out tantalizingly.

One of the more modern paintings (from 1981) is Matsuo Toshio’s ‘Cranes Flying over the Northern Vastness’, which is not only a great painting but also a wonderful title.

Another painting with a great poetic title is ‘Sounds of Wind through Pine Leaves’ by Ito Hoji.

This painting is very large, one of the biggest in the exhibition.

It shows a lone figure sitting on the ground amongst pine trees.

That’s it.

Nothing more.

It’s powerful, though. The man sitting there in the pines looks solid, literally and spiritually grounded, in a state of harmony with the world akin to that which reiki practitioners seek to achieve.

Amongst all these superb paintings, one stands out. It is Iwahashi Eien’s ‘Splendor of the Setting Sun’, an absolutely stunning picture that glows so much that you feel warm just looking at it. This is one of those paintings that grabs your attention and won’t let go.

I am not the only person entranced by this magnificent painting. Another visitor can’t drag himself away from it, walking right up to it, then taking a few steps back, examining it from all angles.

The only disappointing aspect of the ‘Establishing Modern Art in Japan’ exhibition is that the museum shop does not have a book to accompany the exhibition. It would have been good to have a permanent reminder of this exceptional exhibition.

Feeling uplifted by the wonderful Yamatane exhibition, I take the train from Ebisu to Shinjuku to go see Machete at Wald 9 cinema.

When I get to Wald 9 I can’t believe it when the person at the box office tells me that the 3.30 p.m. showing of ‘Machete’ is sold out.

Usually, the midweek afternoon showings that I go to have only a handful of people in the audience.

In stunned disbelief at not being able to get a ticket for the film, I wander out of the cinema and consider my options.

I don’t have a Plan B, as I hadn’t even contemplated the possibility of the afternoon showing being sold out.

I check out the nearby Musashino cinema but nothing there appeals: ‘Amelia’ with Richard Gere, ‘Brooklyn’s Finest’, and so on.

Along at Ikebukuro, Shin-Bungeiza is showing the original 1954 version of ‘Godzilla’ as part of an Ishiro Honda retrospective, which is very tempting.

But I probably wouldn’t make it there in time for the start of the film.

So I decide to retrace my steps back to Wald 9, where I buy a ticket for the 7.50 p.m. showing of ‘Machete’.

I still don’t understand why the mid-afternoon showing is sold out whereas the evening showing, which you would expect to be the busier time, still has tickets available.

But never mind, it’s just a minor inconvenience, not the end of the world.

Now I am in Shinjuku with plenty of time on my hands before the evening showing of ‘Machete’.

I walk as far as a point near Shinjuku train station from where in one direction I can see the skyscrapers of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government district oozing political power, whilst if I turn my gaze in the opposite direction the bright brash neon sleaze of Kabukicho assails me.

Irish pub Dubliners beckons.

I drop in for a couple of pints of Kilkenny.

Today the price of all drinks is reduced to 500 yen as it is the bar’s anniversary, so my unplanned visit here on this day is a lucky piece of timing.

After the liquid refreshment it is time for some food.

I head over to Numazukou, a conveyor belt sushi joint in the bowels of Shinjuku Station. It’s a great place.

Normally I’m not a fan of brightly lit restaurants, but Numazukou has a good lively atmosphere despite its bright lighting.

The clientele when I get here consists of a mix of salarymen dropping in for sushi and a beer after their day’s work, a couple of families, and one or two stray foreigners like me.

Shouts constantly ring out from the waiting staff, either shouting orders to the chefs or shouting greetings to newly arrived customers.

The sushi is delicious.

I wash it down with a bottle of dry saké from Shizuoka prefecture.

A conveyor belt is such a great way to present sushi. Tempting dishes continually pass by just inches before your eyes. It is so easy to reach out and grab whatever you like the look of.

The place soon fills up and several people are waiting by the entrance to be seated.

Sushi restaurant etiquette dictates that you don’t hang around once you have finished eating, particularly when others are waiting to be seated.

So, well fed and watered, I set off back to Wald 9.

After two pints of Kilkenny and a bottle of Shizuoka sake, I am in a perfect mood to enjoy ‘Machete’.

The film is showing in Screen 7, a cosy 81-seater.

My seat is D1, a very well placed seat on the left hand side of the auditorium quite near the screen.

The only problem with this seat is that I am trapped next to the wall with no means of escape when the final credits roll.

At the end of a film in most Tokyo cinemas, not a single person gets up to leave until the entire credits have finished.

I don’t fancy clambering clumsily over everyone else in my row to get out, so I will be stuck when today’s film ends.

It doesn’t really matter, though, as I’m in no particular hurry to get anywhere after the film.

‘Machete’ is violent, sexy and funny.

Its star-studded cast and tongue-in-cheek bravado make this film a highly entertaining spectacle.

Although it has a serious subject matter – illegal immigration into the United States from Mexico – the film entertains rather than pontificates, albeit its liberal political stance is never far from the surface.

It is quite an achievement to have assembled a cast that includes Robert De Niro, Jessica Alba, Michelle Rodriguez, Steven Seagal, Don Johnson, Jeff Fahey, and Lindsay Lohan.

But the undoubted star of the show is Danny Trejo, who plays the Machete of the title.

Danny Trejo exudes menace.

His intimidating face and withering glare leave you in no doubt that this is not a man to be messed with.

Even though he is in stellar company in such a cast, he carries off his leading role with great style and charisma.

The Japanese subtitler didn’t bother translating one of the great throwaway lines in this darkly humourous romp of a film. When De Niro’s character, a slimy racist Senator, is about to go into a press conference, his assistant gives him his walking stick and tells him to try and make the assembled journalists feel sorry for him. In that scene, De Niro’s character is trying to win the sympathy vote on the basis of a gunshot wound that he himself orchestrated. It would have been interesting to see the Japanese translation of that line.

But no translation is given in the subtitles and so, being the only non-Japanese person in the audience, I am the only person who laughs.

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