Toward Sophistication, Not Luxury
This is a highly sophisticated train. While there exists a thriving competition on luxury among train designs, the Laview, a limited express train connecting Tokyo’s Ikebukuro and Saitama Prefecture’s Chichibu, was designed for clarity, both exterior and interior, resulting in a highly comfortable train, completely free of excess of any kind. Seeing this sort of train running gives us some hope for Japan’s future. Among the train’s many features, one of the most impressive is the coherence of all eight cars, as if comprising a single living organism.
The lead car, with its rounded, caterpillar-like head, is the first thing that catches the eye, and the train’s overall styling produces a confluence between this and the following cars. The windows are much larger than those of ordinary trains, but the fit is beautiful; there is no overhang inside or out. The windows’ edges are even with the body of the train, and the gradation pattern of the glass makes it appear continuous with the body, adding to the overall impression of cohesion.
The paintwork further enhances the sense of complete evenness. The exterior, made of painted aluminum composite panel, looks as bright silver as if it were made of solid aluminum. Yet the surface is not mirrored; instead, it hazily reflects the complex reflections of its surroundings, whether steel poles or electric wires, and these seem to blur and melt into the surface of the train itself, with its rotund cladding, smooth exterior and this unique texture. As Seibu Railway representative Kazuhiko Yamashita says, the goal was to create something special, rather than lavish.
The designer, architect Kazuyo Sejima, has continued to attract attention from the architecture world for her bold yet subtle interpretation of space. Curiously, this design of hers convinced me that trains are architecture in motion, and that train design is inherently the domain of architects. Sejima's architectural perspective naturally accumulates in the particulars, for instance the smooth manner in which the windows are positioned and the thoroughness with which they are detailed, creating a uniquely light presence.
Each seat makes you feel as if you are being comfortably enveloped. Because the windows extend much lower than usual, passengers have clear views to both left and right, expanding the dimensions of visible scenery beyond what one can see from an ordinary train. I was worried that this might make riders feel exposed as the train pulled into the station, but the design perspective was the opposite; presenting a bright view of passengers relaxing and enjoying the ride simply kindled in those outside a longing to join the passengers. I was impressed by this.
Hoping to capture the running train, I set up my tripod facing a railroad bridge over a river bounded by thickly growing water grass. I felt like a railfan photographer. By chance, I witnessed two trains passing one another on the bridge: the one I was waiting for, bound for Seibuchichibu, and one bound in the opposite direction, for Ikebukuro. Even Japanese railroads, which pride themselves on punctual operation, cannot guarantee such a scene – two identical trains passing each other on a railway bridge. And yet the scene was classic Japan: ultramodern trains speeding past one another through vegetation luxuriant in the humidity.
Suddenly, the image of a single-car train popped into my head. This would certainly be a lonely sight. But if, for whatever reason, a railroad company were to run a single-car train, say in a rural area without enough people to justify multiple-car trains, why not attempt the very best design for that single car? Railroad car design isn’t easy, and manufacture isn’t cheap, so the design could be straightforward and modest. If railroad companies in the same situation were to cooperate with one another, they could call for first-rate ideas, bringing forth a new landscape in Japan, and before long, travelers from all over the world would come to visit the different regions of Japan.
2022.10.3