Midnight Diner; Have It Your Way
The patrons cry easily into their food as they battle their past in the touching television show, Midnight Diner. They are allowed to sob loudly into their ochazuke. It is something stirring about the vocal weeping of the customers, unlike the normal silent crying we are used to seeing on most Western television shows. It feels real and not pretty or contained. Yet, in other ways, it is quite contained. There is a perfect structure to this show that feels familiar.
The show predominantly takes place in an everyman’s diner. Odd people find themselves drawn to be with other odd people. They become friends, perhaps even, a family they chose. At the Midnight Diner, the regulars drift in and out of each other’s lives, but also stand witness to their private experiences. There is only one dish on the menu, but Master–as he is aptly called–can make anything provided he has the ingredients. Here, you can truly have it your way.
The show is both comedy and tragedy–what good thing isn’t–while reinventing an old style of storytelling. Ancient, in fact. The Greek theater. It seems odd comparing a contemporary Japanese television show with Greek theater, but every episode employs the same classic conceits.
The regular cast of characters in the show are unique and, surprisingly, do not judge each other or their way of life. That is, of course, outside of light teasing. The establishment is truly a safe space for porn stars and Yakuza members, as well as gamblers, unmarried women, and trans people. There are no expectations from anyone, except to be comforted by Master’s culinary creations and pearls of wisdom. Every episode is focused on a single character in five acts, matching the prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and epilogue found in classic Greek theater.
The opening prologue always begins the same. The night scene is lit up in neon but silent for several seconds until the music swells. Our first voice is Master.
When people hurry home and finish their day, my day starts. [Pork Miso Soup Combo, Beer, Sake, Shochu] That’s all I have on the menu. But I make whatever customers request as long as I have the ingredients for it. That’s my policy. My diner is open from midnight to seven in the morning. They call it Midnight Diner. Do I even have customers? More than you would expect.
This sets the setting for the play and gives us our entry into the story.
Moments after Master wipes down the bar, the patrons begin to trickle in. Sometimes in groups, occasionally one at a time. The sheer elegance of the smooth transition from the prologue into the parados is a talent of both the writers and the director. The patrons–salarymen, regulars, drag queens, gossipy women–operate as a Greek chorus for the show. The entire diner operates as a chorus–switching roles between witnesses and participants. Their conversations set the tone for the plot of the episode. They are more than customers, they represent the heart of the Midnight Diner.
We are introduced to a new character–or perhaps a character who has been in the background. We do not have all the details leading up to the character taking center stage. Whatever the conflict–a drag queen falling in love with a Yakuza or a porn enthusiast feeling shame for his collection–Master listens to them and attentively offers his advice. The patron leaves to deal with their issues and we as the audience are left to wonder what happened that we didn’t see.
Luckily for us, the barflies are happy to clue us in. The gossips sit around and give us the backstory on our new character. In effect, we have shifted from the episode to the stasimon. Stasimon (for those of you sleeping through lit class) is the part of the play in which the chorus fills in the gaps for the audience either by offering new information or debating the actions of the main character. The old men remember something from the past, the three girlfriends argue the outcome of the incident, and the drag queens are hopeful for a happy ending.
We return to the episode, sometimes briefly, and then to the stasimon until the incident has reached its conclusion.
However, the most beautiful part of the pattern they have chosen for the show is the epilogue. These stories are unique stories of love, each as unique as the characters. Since Midnight Diner focuses on how food connects us and Master always prepares whatever the customer most earnestly desires, it always ends with the customer giving the audience tips on how to prepare the featured dish. We call it breaking the fourth wall these days, but it was a classic ending to any good Greek drama. It leaves the audience with a lesson and a lingering feeling of being intimately connected to the main characters. We, too, want to have Master prepare our favorite dish, be guided with his wisdom, and have it our way.
All three seasons can be found on Netflix.
