Issue link: https://digital.copcomm.com/i/1541592
50 M PS E . O R G price. Then, as if blessed by the gods of cinema, we learned that a real Zero fighter would be brought to Japan for an event at Tokorozawa Aviation Memorial Park. Unfortunately, we weren't granted permission to record in-flight sounds, due to local opposition. But after some negotiation, we were allowed to do field recording of the engine startup, propeller sounds, and taxiing. Even that was incredibly exciting—just having the chance to record the real sound of a Zero fighter. Akihiko was overjoyed with the wide range of microphone recordings we captured. He processed the material and created an impactful, powerful Zero sound that impressed even director Yamazaki during the final mix. In one scene, the fighter planes are locked in combat while characters deliver lines of dialogue describing the battle situation. During the premix, we found that the sound effects overpowered the dialogue more than expected. I was about to start working with volume, EQ and compression to pull the dialogue forward, when Akihiko stopped me and said, "Wait, let me try something." He then softened the effects—effects he had painstakingly built—and lowered their volume, allowing the dialogue to come through naturally, in line with the performance tone from the previous scene. "It's a flashback scene," he explained, "so forcing the dialogue up unnaturally doesn't really work with the tone." It was a smart, intuitive decision. Akihiko also gave me advice during the final mix. While I was lifting the fader, following the emotional arc of the music, he suggested, "Since the musical peak of this film comes at the very end, maybe we shouldn't let it peak too early." He had a calm, clear sense of the big picture and always considered the overall shape of the film, not just the moment-to-moment emotion. I once complained to Akihiko, "Whenever people praise the sound in a film, it's always the sound effects or the music, hardly anyone ever compliments the dialogue mix or overall balance." He casually replied, "Then just say you made the sound effects too. You're the one who recorded the original, and you give advice all the time, so in a way, we created them together." I was happy to hear that, and from then on, I didn't just offer suggestions, I started making some sound effects myself. And if Akihiko didn't reject them, we sometimes used them as is. I hope to continue working this way on future projects too. I had known Akihiko for so many years that, naturally, we weren't always on perfect terms. In Japan, a production sound mixer usually handles both location and post for only two or three films a year, whereas a sound effects mixer often works on twice that number. At times, Akihiko's cool demeanour —and what felt to me like a lower level of passion for a single project—left me irritated. I'd find myself thinking, "Do more of this, push more of that!" Yet when I look back, what I remember most is not the moments where he calmly reined me in, but the times he stepped up for me, telling the director, producers, or music team, "Fujimoto wants to try it this way; let's support his idea." That kind of heartfelt backing defined him. Five years ago, I moved, and our homes ended up in the same neighbourhood. I thought we'd grab dinner together any time we wanted, but Akihiko was always working. I suspect that relentless workload contributed to how quickly he left us. His sudden passing still doesn't feel real. Sometimes when I hear the sound of waves in a cinema, I catch myself thinking, "That's not quite Akihiko's." His atmospheres were wider, the rhythm of the surf more spacious. And then it hits me all over again: he's gone. I suppose I'll keep repeating that cycle—each time I notice a difference in the sound of waves, I'll remember him, and little by little come to terms with saying goodbye. (L to R): Kenichi Fujimoto, Yohei Kogayashi (Composer) and Akihiko Okase, Dubbing Studio No. 2, Toei Studio, Tokyo for 52-Hertz Whale (2023)