Haikyo

The vast majority of my work, both personal and professional, is shot on a digital Leica M — arguably one of the most film-like experiences it’s possible to have with a non-analogue camera. Still, regardless of old-school styling and a comparatively limited set of technological capabilities, it remains a fully digital process. An experience I thoroughly enjoy too, as the M is a camera I simply love using. A piece of kit that even on days when I don’t feel especially creative, encourages me to go out and take photos.

All that said, I also appreciate the look and imperfections of film, so I generally carry an old school camera in my bag as well. One that admittedly may not get used all that often, but one that is nonetheless always there. And so these then are some film photos taken in various abandoned places in and around Japan over the last 6 months or so. Moments when I remembered the camera was there, felt the shot was worthy, or simply had a day when I wanted to shoot more film.

Western Village first opened in the early 1970s. It was originally quite a modest affair known as Kinugawa Family Ranch, but its Wild West theme caught the public’s attention, and it gradually expanded, which also meant a new name. However, despite that early success, changing times resulted in similarly changing fortunes, and in 2006 it closed, leaving the buildings, and in particular the animatronic figures, to slowly succumb to time, nature, and more than a little vandalism.

I first visited in 2017, with half of these photos taken back then, but finding myself in the area just recently, it was impossible to resist another look. Perhaps unsurprisingly, more damage has been meted out to the increasingly sinister residents, with John Wayne in particular looking very worse for wear. Or at least that’s who I assume the cowboy is supposed to be. His dark and empty eye sockets proving especially unsettling.

Far more disappointing was to find the buildings all boarded up, meaning photos of their inhabitants had to be taken through the windows, although in some ways that made them more atmospheric. Plus the whole area is still watched over by the hugely incongruous Mount Rushmore recreation. A sight that one definitely does not expect to see by the side of an otherwise nondescript Japanese road.

On a recent trip a few hours north of Tokyo, we saw a whole host of faded scenes — places where time, neglect and the climate had taken their toll. There were also plenty of abandoned buildings to be seen as well. Hotels in particular, of both the conventional and love variety, plus several homes.

These then are photographs of some of the interiors we saw. Sights that in so many of Japan’s small towns and settlements are increasingly the norm. A decline that will only become more visible as the population gets smaller, and those young enough continue to make their wholly understandable exodus to the country’s major hubs and cities. All of which make such locations a fascinating mix of the past, present and future.

This abandoned cable car station and its lovely coloured old carriage featured on Tokyo Times back in March, but returning to the area to conduct photowalks last month, I had the unexpected pleasure of capturing the interior of the building as well. An added extra that didn’t disappoint in the slightest. Quite the opposite in fact.

The 800 metre cable car system opened in 1929, and eventually closed for good in the early 2000s. The station’s exterior (and indeed the carriage itself) make it easy to imagine the nearly 100 years that have now passed, but inside was very much like stepping back into the 80s and 90s, with the sight of those stunning old arcade games in particular being a wonderfully unexpected treat.

Below then is a mixture of new and older photos that together now fully document this poignant relic of the past.

Finding old and dilapidated properties in Japan isn’t exactly unusual, but this whole street of crumbling, collapsed and almost entirely abandoned nagaya (row houses) is a genuine rarity.

Speaking to a man who lives in a far more modern residence a few metres down from where the old ones stop, it turns out that the small, traditional homes were built before the war, and in the 25 years or so he’s lived in the area, the nagaya have gradually emptied. A slow process that has resulted in just one inhabitant remaining. An elderly man who uses two of the structures — one for general living, and the other for the benefit of its bathing facilities. However, somewhat surprisingly, it wasn’t just ageing residents, as it turns out some young people stayed there too over the years, with the lure of cheap rent presumably making the properties far more desirable than they would have been otherwise.

That though was then, and this is now, with their considerable decay and abandonment meaning the houses likely won’t survive the simple passage of time, let alone the wrecking ball.