Sydney Reviews

How to Stop Worrying and Love the Bun could be an apt subtitle for The Face of Jizo, Hisashi Inoue’s play of the aftershock of a nuclear strike, depleted daughters and spirited fathers, the ghosts of the past and a future sparked by the romantic allure of red bean buns.

The story takes place in Hiroshima three years after the dropping of the atomic bomb on that city on 6 August 1945. Mitsue, a young librarian, arrives home to find her father Takezo literally closeted there.

As their story unfolds, Mitsue must confront the truth of what happened on the day the bomb fell and the cloud that descended on her and her father, both figuratively and physically, in that world changing instant and the resounding effects rippling through the present.

Having survived radiation illness, Mitsue has succumbed to the sickness of survivor guilt, a dis-ease that distances herself from a persistent suitor. His wooing via red bean buns is being met with a reluctant resistance, a deep seated denial that she is lovable and worth loving.

Takezo is at his wits end trying to convince his daughter to come out from the shadow of the mushroom cloud and embrace life after the devastation and death they have endured. He wants his daughter to have a future, or at least a chance of one with this bun toting potential beau. His cajoling and coercing is funny and frustrating, palpably poignant with paternal concern.  

After a sold-out, twice-extended season at the Old Fitz Theatre in 2023, Omusubi Productions present a welcome revival of this beautifully crafted and effervescently playful show.

Translated by Australian writer Roger Pulvers, the production features the original cast and creative team, including Mayu Iwasaki as Mitsue, and Shingo Usami as Takezo, dazzling as duelling father and daughter.

Tobhiyah Stone Feller’s set design is an exemplary example of the economic and evocative, an enabling living room and kitchen that allows fluid movement for both actors and time shifts in the narrative and commingles seamlessly with Matt Cox’ lighting design, serenely subtle for the most part, erupting significantly at times in vicarious flash.

Composer Me-Lee Hay and sound designer Zachary Saric supply a sonic boon.

The Face of Jizo serves both as a commemoration of the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and the very contemporary urgent need to move beyond blame and denial. It is a production of charm, energy, empathy and passion, a testament that hope can spring from horror, and the human capacity for humour as a fundamental source for healing.