Review: ZERO HOUR: TOKYO ROSE'S LAST TAPE, an Intriguing Abstract Piece

With the 70th anniversary of the end of World War II approaching this year, it's doubtful if there are many, if any, American veterans alive who were "comforted' by the staticky broadcasts of the woman they nicknamed Tokyo Rose.

And if they were around, how many would have been aware that the friendly voice that teased about the uselessness of their mission and of the questionable activities of their wives and sweethearts back home was actually several voices, one of them belonging to a Japanese-American prisoner of war who happened to be in the wrong country when war broke out?

In her intriguing abstract theatre piece, Zero Hour: Tokyo Rose's Last Tape, playwright/director Miwa Yanagi uses this nearly forgotten slice of history as an example of female imagery as utilized by men.

Five smartly and identically dressed young women (Aki, Hinako Arao, Megumi Matsumoto, Sachi Masuda and Ami Kobayashi), wearing hats that obscure the individuality of their faces, play out scenes and execute movements that portray them as pawns in a war orchestrated by men.

We see them as typists for Zero Hour, a program that used popular music from the states to attract the ears of Americans stationed in the Pacific, but they're also made to read copy confiding with the allies as a "fellow orphan" who fears for their safety. ("I'm afraid that if you've heard my voice tonight, you won't be making it to Guadalcanal.")

Symbolically, the men played by Yohei Matsukado and Sogo Nishimura partake in a series of chess matches through the mail. Matsukado is a Japanese-American soldier who is sure he can differentiate between the various Zero Hour announcers and comes to the defense of American-born Annie (Arao), when, upon returning to the states, she is put on trial for treason.

A three-night engagement at The Japan Society was the first stop of Zero Hour's North American tour, but while Yanagi's work is visually striking, the production's technical aspects were lacking. The text alternates between English and Japanese and the English translation flashed on the wall was often too light to be read. Recordings meant to replicate the fuzzy reception through which Americans heard the Zero Hour broadcast made what Tokyo Rose was saying mostly indecipherable.

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