"I'll be fine during the performance."──Actors are only human; my chest tightened, and I couldn't sing.

More than words of eternal love,
The happiness you gave me came from ordinary days.
Everything spreads its radiance, scattering across the entire sky full of stars.
That is what people call stars.
Scoop the sparkle in a spoon and reflect it in the moon, and it's always there.
Scoop the sparkle in a spoon and reflect it in the moon, and I am there.
I am there.

This song isThe Musical "Moon Reflected in a Silver Spoon"my final number, "If You Reflect It in the Moon." Before every performance, we always do a sound check with microphones. There are a few set songs for the check, and this number was one of them.

June 20th, Kenji Utsumi's funeral──After delivering a tearful eulogy, I went to the theater and did a sound check for the matinee performance. I tried my best to remain calm and sing as usual, but when I reached the second line, my chest suddenly tightened, and I couldn't sing.

The piano played alone for a while, but its melody felt as if it were gently healing me. I recall being able to sing again from the part that began "Scoop the sparkle..." Suddenly, the song felt too poignant, too deeply resonant. The singing coach, who didn't know what had happened, rushed over, asking with concern, "Are your vocal cords okay?" I felt so sorry for worrying her.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll be fine during the performance."

Even so, actors are only human. It's incredibly difficult to perform live amidst such a mix of joy and sorrow; there's no guarantee that everything will be alright.──.

In times like these, times like these... yes, back to the basics. It's about "living as the character!" That's the only way! As Miyuki, I can sing gently, without crying, even with a smile. I decided to immerse myself in the role more than ever. This continued until the final performance.

"See you later, Keiko!" The last words and smile we shared.

On the evening of June 10th, a Monday, in the midst of rehearsals, my phone rang from an unknown number.
I usually don't answer calls from numbers that don't display caller ID, so I let it go to voicemail.

It was from Mr. Utsumi's son, who said, "My father asked me to use his phone." The message was that his father's condition had worsened significantly, and the doctors had told him that he might only have a day or two left, so they were asking him to invite anyone his father wished to see. I remember leaving a voicemail asking, "Why? Why?" not understanding what was happening.

I immediately called back and, while hearing the devastating situation that made my ears ring, I accepted the reality.
"Understood. I will come first thing tomorrow morning."

The next day, the 11th. When I visited the hospital in Kawada-cho, Mr. Utsumi was sitting up with the back of his bed slightly raised, without an oxygen mask. He recognized me. Due to the painkillers, he had many vacant moments, and we couldn't have a proper conversation. His voice was still the same resonant, deep bass, and loud. When I told him, "I'm heading to the theater tomorrow for stage rehearsals!" he firmly held a flyer for "Silver Spoon" and wryly smiled, saying, "You're still at it, aren't you?"

Masaru Nakamura, a senior voice actor (with whom I worked on the Japanese dub of "Charlie's Angels"), was also there. Mr. Nakamura and Mr. Utsumi talked about golf, which they both loved. Since the hospital was in Kawada-cho, the three of us also reminisced about how Fuji TV used to be located there. Mr. Utsumi then quietly mentioned, "Tatsuyuki too..." referring to voice actor Tatsuyuki Ishimori, who had passed away a few days earlier. He also added, "It's no good if he falls asleep."

"I'll come again tomorrow."

Although our conversation was fragmented, Mr. Utsumi's complexion seemed very good, and Mr. Nakamura and I repeatedly said, "He'll be fine! He'll be fine!" Indeed, on the way home, Mr. Nakamura said to me, "He seems okay, doesn't he? He'll be alright," and I too believed that Mr. Utsumi would surely recover.

"I'll come again tomorrow."
That was the last time we were able to have a proper conversation.

I visited again on the morning of the 12th. He was no longer able to speak, and I couldn't tell if he recognized me. It was truly unbelievable to see Mr. Utsumi suffering so much...

Holding his hand,
"I'm going to stage rehearsals now. I'll be nearby at Globe Theatre, so I'll come again tomorrow."

After finishing stage rehearsals that day, I returned home. The next day was the dress rehearsal, and while I was preparing various things late at night, I received a call and rushed to the hospital. Everyone from the agency had already gathered, and the room was filled with prayers surrounding Mr. Utsumi. When I called out, "Mr. Utsumi, I'm here! Keiko is here!" he seemed to nod slightly... though that might have been my own wishful thinking. In a lull, I stayed until past 2 AM watching over him before returning home.

A cold, rainy night.
"I'll come again tomorrow."

The next morning, the 13th, I visited again. His condition was still difficult, unchanged from the night before, and I cried a lot that morning. I touched his much-thinner face and said, "Thank you, Mr. Utsumi." For some reason, that morning I felt I had to properly say "thank you."

"I'll come again tomorrow."
Saying this, I left the hospital.

After 3 PM, I received the news of his passing during rehearsal.
There was no "tomorrow" left.

A stern appearance, but a kind senior who truly cared for his juniors.

The next day, the 14th,The stage play "Moon Reflected in a Silver Spoon"received flowers from Mr. Utsumi on its opening day.

Magnificent phalaenopsis orchids.
I was speechless.
Tears just kept flowing.

I placed them on my dressing table in the dressing room and let them watch over me.



We worked together on many foreign film dubs, and regularly on the anime "Cat's Eye" and "Thomas the Tank Engine." During our regular work, we often went out drinking. He also had many regular roles in "Anpanman." He even appeared in "Anpanman" this April, and we all had dinner together. It's hard to believe that was in April...

A eulogy that was a picture of utter devastation; Kenji Utsumi would surely be smiling.──

Kenji Utsumi was always incredibly cheerful. I never once saw him falter, but after a serious illness two years ago, he was repeatedly hospitalized and discharged, and he often said, "I might not make it." Because of this, I truly believed he was invincible. However, his left leg became impaired after his illness two years ago, forcing him to use a cane, which must have been difficult for the active Mr. Utsumi. I will never forget when he told me at the hospital, "Keiko, even if your legs are short, it's better to keep moving."

Since then, I would find and send him comfortable, stylish tracksuits that suited his personality, and the "Anpanman" team and I decorated a cane with "flashy" designs as a gift. When he came to the studio, we would all go out for meals, and we all continued to wish for Mr. Utsumi, whom we loved so much, to feel even a little bit better.





Mr. Utsumi could see emails on his phone, but he couldn't type them (laughs wryly). I told him to try many times, but it didn't work. So, I would write and write and write emails of encouragement and information about my TV appearances. When I needed an answer to a question or his opinion, I would end up calling him or contacting his wife, which was frustrating. But I enjoyed that frustration too, Mr. Utsumi.

The large number of attendees at both the wake and the funeral truly reflected Mr. Utsumi's character. When I practiced the eulogy I had stayed up all night to write, I broke down in tears, and during the actual funeral, I cried uncontrollably, just as I had imagined. Seeing me with a runny nose, Mr. Utsumi was surely smiling. I'm sorry I couldn't read it properly.

In this industry, people often say things like, "You can't be there for your parents' final moments," or "You have to perform on stage despite your grief." Of course, these situations occur frequently even outside of this industry. Work can help you endure, distract you, or allow you to escape. It's natural to feel grateful for that, but──.

It's unforgivable, but at a time like this, I truly thought, "Why work?" I wanted to take a break. I wanted to see him off until the very end. I didn't want my feelings to be distracted; I just wanted to cry, continuously and for a long, long time.

The phalaenopsis orchids are now in full bloom at my home.

With deepest respect,

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Inquiries regarding the performance
Nelke Planning
Tel. 03-3715-5624 (Weekdays 11:00 AM - 6:00 PM)
www.nelke.co.jp/stage/imano_2013/