At first glance, NHK’s Tokyo Salad Bowl, which first aired earlier this year on the broadcaster’s terrestrial channel and later on Netflix (at least in Japan), seems like a bold attempt to tackle Japan’s increasingly diverse urban landscape, mixing in themes of immigration, policing, and emotional repression with a sprinkle of queer grief. The title alone promises a vibrant, tangled mix of identities and issues. But after watching it, I found myself wondering: is this really a thoughtful exploration of multicultural Tokyo, or just another case of well-meaning Japanese media fare that tiptoes around the hard stuff while patting itself on the back?
Let’s dig in.
Policing Diversity with Gloves On
The show centers around a quirky young green-haired female officer who encounters a former police officer with a mysterious past but still working with the police as an official Mandarin translator during interrogations of foreigners caught up in the Japanese justice system and international criminal syndicates.
It’s an ambitious premise. Japan has long struggled with how to talk about or even acknowledge, the lived experiences of non-Japanese residents. From language barriers in hospitals to Kafkaesque immigration rules, there’s no shortage of real-life drama to mine. And Tokyo Salad Bowl does gesture toward some of these.
But too often, the drama plays it safe. It’s like someone wrote down the words “diversity,” “inclusion,” and “LGBTQ” on a whiteboard and then immediately erased them before writing the script.
Foreigners in need of salvation
Foreigners are seen as victims caught up in a system without mercy “They are all, in their own way, struggling to live their lives” the protagonists says at one point before she solves a mystery that settles a misunderstanding or misdemeanor.
Blatant racism is portrayed but without much subtlety and it is even explained from time to time. Like the time a Vietnamese worker is accused of stealing from a senior citizen home. “You immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was guilty because he is a foreigner,” says the green haired protagonist.
While it is inevitable considering that it is a police drama, nearly all the foreigners – except a few at a colleague’s home party – are seen as eventually falling victim to the Japanese system, whether it be random police stops, racism, exploitative trainee systems or the criminal underworld. And these victims are only saved thanks to the ‘self-less efforts’ of ‘good people’ in the Japanese police force.
Queer Trauma as Backstory
We find out several episodes in that the main male character had once a boyfriend and he too was a cop. Much later in the series we learn he died in unfortunate and mysterious circumstances. While appearing in a few flashbacks, he hovers over the series like a ghost, never quite allowed to be fully present. We’re told there was a deep love. We’re shown flashes of his absence – even once the sihoulette of the two in a tender moment. But that love is never really explored, past a furtive holding of hands, there is no hint of sexual attraction or love that could not also be interpreted as platonic. Like in so many dramas where we have been included in the script, we are like Victorian confirmed bachelors. Is a tender kiss asking for too much? The fact that there is a queer couple becomes a backstory, a sobering little detail that says “See? We included queerness. Now let’s move on.”
Queer viewers of a certain age, such as myself, know this trope well. Remember the days that gay characters are often more valuable to mainstream dramas dead than alive or at very most single. Well, that seems to still be the case here. And god forbid that we express sexual attraction! A tragic asexual boyfriend here, a throwaway line about “that one time” there. It’s all technically representation — but it’s the kind that leaves you cold. The show feels like it wants points for inclusion, but without the discomfort of actual intimacy.
It’s not queerbaiting in the traditional sense. There’s no flirty tension or unresolved romance. But it does raise a question: why do Japanese dramas still treat queerness as either a tragedy or a footnote? Why can’t it ever just be… real.
Not to mention that the two actors playing the queer policemen are straight and stiff as daikon stick aperitifs. An friend inside the broadcaster tells me that the series did consult an actual queer policeman turned YouTuber who has been in a long term relationship with a firefighter. I have met both and found them delightfully queer, sexy and relatable – unlike the characters they supposedly advised. It left me wondering how long the consultation was and how fleeting.
I understand that unlike in the US or Europe, there are next to no openly queer actors in Japan in the mainstream media here. This obviously does not include the few queer comedians/ sharp tongued commentators. The few queer entertainers on Japanese TV that tried to be authentic often faded into obscurity if they did not fit the stereotype flaming caricature they were meant to play- though that is changing slowly.
Interpreters of Justice (Sort Of)
One of the more genuinely interesting aspects of the series, however, is its spotlight on police interpreters – the invisible go-betweens who mediate between foreign suspects and the Japanese justice system. It’s a fascinating world rarely shown on TV, and when the show slows down enough to examine how miscommunication (or willful misunderstanding) can derail a person’s life, it shines.
Still, there’s a missed opportunity here too. The show lightly brushes against Japan’s infamous “hostage justice” system, where suspects lack proper representation or even any recordings during interrogations, and can be detained for weeks in order to extract a confession. But instead of digging into it, Tokyo Salad Bowl tends to retreat into the emotional storylines of the Japanese characters. The foreigners are often just plot devices – there to be rescued, mistranslated, or misunderstood so as to help the protagonists fix them and be heroes.
So much for the salad being evenly mixed.
Salad or Safe Bento Box?
Tokyo Salad Bowl clearly wants to say something about how Japan is changing. And to its credit, it tries. It gives us a protagonist grieving his boyfriend, a few scenes of heartfelt cross-cultural connection, and a parade of foreign faces not played for cheap laughs. That alone sets it apart from most primetime fare.
But in the end, it plays like something served with plastic gloves – sanitized, cautious, and slightly over-rehearsed. Many of the parts are over acted and some of the supposed language experts speak their supposed language with a heavy Japanese accent. It doesn’t trust viewers with the messiness of real multicultural life. It’s a show about interpreting, but it still feels like it’s translating diversity through a filter to make it clean, palatable, and non-threatening.
Final Thought
If you’re expecting Tokyo Salad Bowl to be a game-changing series that dives deep into Japan’s shifting identity, you may be disappointed. But if you’re looking for a show that gently gestures toward feel good social issues while keeping its feet firmly in the comfort zone, this might be your cup of miso soup.
Just don’t expect a full meal. There’s food for thought here, yes, but also a few stale queerbait crumbs and a side of patronizing dressing.
Did the show move you, frustrate you, or leave you craving something more nourishing? Let me know.