How do you translate grief? How do you relive memories? Most importantly, can you? The Face of Jizo, currently showing at the Seymour Centre after a season at the Old Fitz, asks us to reckon with Hiroshima’s aftermath through the intimacy of a two-hander. Written by Hisashi Inoue in 1994 and translated by Sydney local Roger Pulvers, this production is guided by directors Shingo Usami and David Lynch, and produced by Omusubi Productions with co-producer Jade Fuda.

Translation as Cultural Nostalgia

Translation is always a negotiation. While Pulvers’ version occasionally pares down the lyricism of Inoue’s original text, losing some of the symbolic connotations of Japanese dialogue, it makes the story accessible to Australian audiences in a direct, clear and relatable way. What lingers is the universality of trauma and resilience, even if some of the original poetic nuance is softened and replaced by cultural inferences that feel tailored to an Australian audience than a Japanese one.

Direction and Staging

Flashbacks are notoriously difficult to stage, yet Usami and Lynch make bold, simple choices. Instead of heavy reliance on lighting tricks or sound effects, the past is evoked through gestures and memory fragments: cleaning, wringing, miming small household rituals. It’s restrained but effective, letting the performers’ bodies carry the weight of time.

The stage picture, though often concentrated on stage right, is anchored by Tobhiyah Stone Feller’s set design, a space defined by tatami mats, a sliding wardrobe reveal, and the warm glow of a Japanese lampshade. It feels authentic, lived-in, and delicately composed. Matt Cox’s lighting design and Zachary Saric’s sound are subtle yet well-judged, never overwhelming the performers, while Me-Lee Hay’s composition lends a soft emotional undercurrent to the production.

Performances

The heart of this production lies in its performers.

Mayu Iwasaki (Mitsue) delivers a tour de force. Her performance is layered with guilt, grief, and resilience, and her monologues are genuinely heart-rending. The constant wringing of a cloth in her hand recalls Lady Macbeth, but here it becomes a symbol of unbearable memory. By the end, her tears drew my own. Shingo Usami (Inoue), doubling as co-director and actor, offers a playful, humorous counterbalance as the father’s ghost. While some of the more serious scenes lean into bluntness, his warmth and comic timing keep the piece buoyant. Together, the duo create a dynamic of daughter and father that oscillates between tenderness and tension, reminding us that memory itself is never linear, it slips between humour and horror, levity and loss.

Design as Atmosphere

The creative team succeeds in weaving an atmosphere that feels both authentic and theatrical. Costumes are neat and symbolic, the props functional if at times impressionistic. The cutting of vegetables may not always signify a clear meal, but it does root the characters in a sense of ordinary domesticity, a reminder of what was shattered by war. The tatami mats, meanwhile, provide a grounding world for the actors, with humour threaded in through simple staging choices.

A Necessary Witness

What emerges from this production is less a literal retelling and more a meditation: how do we carry the unbearable into the present? The Face of Jizo doesn’t aim for spectacle, but instead for intimacy, an honesty that invites us to witness grief without embellishment.

Independent theatre is often where the most daring conversations take place, and this production proves it. With Omusubi Productions steering and a deeply thoughtful creative team, this staging brings Hiroshima’s ghosts into our present with grace, humour, and devastating clarity.

Go for Iwasaki’s extraordinary performance, stay for the quiet power of the staging, and leave reminded that memory itself is theatre: fragmented, fragile, and achingly human.