[2021.02.01] Kikuo Makabe - Ambition: A Dream Betting on Ice Shows

[yuzurujenn]

Info: https://www.amazon.co.jp/-/en/志-アイスショーに賭ける夢-真壁-喜久夫/dp/4403231276

https://www.amazon.co.jp/志～アイスショーに賭ける夢～-真壁喜久夫-ebook/dp/B0BXRLZTZ6

 

 

The unknown world of ice entertainment.

"Why did the famous producer of the ice show 'Fantasy on Ice' step into the world of ice entertainment? What was his ambition?"

Packed with anecdotes, this book explores the glamour and behind-the-scenes of the spectacular show, as well as the secrets of the entertainment business. It also includes interviews with Yuzuru Hanyu, Stéphane Lambiel, and Johnny Weir.

 

 

Table of content:

Preface
Where there is a will, there is a way

 

Chapter One: My encounter with figure skating

Aberdeen, 1995 / Early Life / Starting My Own Business

 

Chapter Two: Moving away from a contract-based business model
Establishment of CIC / Encounter with Philippe Candeloro
The Turin Olympics as a turning point
Champions on Ice / Another turning point

 

Chapter Three: Fantasy on Ice
The reborn “Fantasy on Ice” / Launching into a new era from Makuhari
Deepening collaboration / The joy of the 10th anniversary

 

Chapter Four: Behind the scenes of event production
Deciding priorities on the ground / Trust and professional skills / An eye for people / "Aspiration" is the Origin

 

Chapter Five: Exhibitions that strengthen athletes
Ice shows and exhibitions / Medalist on Ice / Dream on Ice

 

Chapter Six: Stars who make the shows shine
Stéphane Lambiel / Johnny Weir / Evgeni Plushenko
Yuzuru Hanyu / Javier Fernández, Cappellini & Lanotte

 

Chapter Seven: Overcoming times of crisis
Entertainment under the pandemic / Holding “Dream on Ice” without an audience

 

Dialogue: Kikuo Makabe

 

Yuzuru Hanyu: Believing in the power of figure skating
Ten years with “Fantasy on Ice” / Unforgettable collaborations

Emotions are Born When Skating, Music, and the Audience Intersect

 

Stéphane Lambiel: Intuition and generosity — what makes a good producer
Stéphane helped me / Programs that remain in memory / Strong desire as a driving force

 

Johnny Weir: A vision that creates the magic of a show
Figure skating as art / The ice is where I belong

 

Afterword

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Preface

Where there is a will, there is a way

 

Spoiler

The lights in the venue go out, and blue laser beams emerge. One by one, skaters appear on the mirror-polished ice. Surrounded by lighting that changes colors in various ways and live music performed on stage, the space instantly transforms into a dream world. This is the beginning of an ice show, a first-class entertainment created by figure skating.

 

I have been involved in the world of figure skating for over thirty years, including the ice show I organize, Fantasy on Ice. As figure skating as a sport has grown significantly, Japanese skaters have become stronger, and they've gained more fans, so too has figure skating as entertainment. Figure skating has the unique characteristic of being both a sport and entertainment, unlike anything else. I was drawn to that charm, and in pursuing it, I've spent the last few years exploring new avenues of its appeal. This book summarizes that entire story: what it means to run an entertainment business, its joys and challenges, and the episodes with the skaters and artists I met along the way.

 

CIC Inc., which began as an event production company, initially operated a contract-based business. We received orders from event organizers or agencies for sports events, promotions, and various other events, and ran the events. The major turning point came when we expanded into producing our own ice shows as organizers. Moving from “running events on commission” to “creating our own content,” and successfully doing both at the same time, is what I believe led to our business success. When we, as a production company, became the organizers of the entertainment business, our intention to create better content could be reflected more clearly and more quickly, and we were able to develop ice shows further. While this is the path we arrived at in our pursuit of the "joy of figure skating," there aren't many examples of a production company hosting an entertainment event. I hope you'll see how we've navigated our way into the entertainment business, and take this as an example of business development leveraging the unique strengths of a production company.

 

In recent years, it has often been said that people’s interests have shifted from “consuming things” to “consuming experiences.” In a world where information is abundant and convenient, people increasingly value sharing the same experience with others and placing value on real-life encounters. Ice shows fall into this category of “experience consumption.” People wait with excitement, looking forward to the performance, and then the day arrives. They gather at the venue and immerse themselves in a special, once-in-a-lifetime experience, created by live skaters and artists. They applaud and cheer, and become captivated by performances that evolve again based on that feedback. What makes ice shows so interesting is that they are not only something you “watch,” but something you “take part in.” Our mission is to maximize the emotional impact of this entertainment. There is no greater joy than witnessing the moment when a carefully conceived idea becomes reality and moves the audience’s heart. I sometimes think there may be no job more enjoyable than this.

 

I want to surprise the audience. I want the audience to dream. And through the platform of ice shows, I want to create opportunities for skaters to grow. With this “will” in mind, I have moved forward over the past thirty years. By tracing the various events that occurred during that time, I hope to show how the world of figure skating as entertainment has changed, and the direction it will head from here.

 

If not for the talented skaters who performed and gave their all, the staff who worked hard to create the dreamlike world, and above all the audience who trusted the value of our ice shows and came to see them, I would not be where I am today. I am deeply grateful to all of you, and I would like to invite you, for a moment, behind the scenes of the dazzling world of the ice show.

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Chapter One: My Encounter with Figure Skating

 

 

1.1 Aberdeen, 1995

 

Spoiler

There is a scene in the world of figure skating that has become legendary.

 

In 1984, at the Sarajevo Winter Olympics, British ice dancers Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean performed their “Boléro.” The music by Ravel rises gradually while keeping the same rhythm, and Torvill & Dean skated it with such rich emotion that the world was captivated by the beauty of their dance. This was still the era when a perfect score was 6.0, and for the first time in ice dance history, every judge awarded a perfect artistic score, making it a gold-medal program.

 

I don’t remember the exact circumstances under which I first saw the video, but I clearly remember being completely captivated by that “Boléro.” Since it was ice dance, there were no difficult jumps or powerful lift techniques. I didn’t yet know that, under the rules at the time where skating time was counted from the moment the blade touched the ice, they had begun the program from a pose kneeling on the ice facing each other so they could maximize the time and tell the story more fully. Still, the performance had a magnetism that pulled the viewer in and would not let go.

 

A year later, an event called the World Professional Figure Skating Championships was held in Japan. Professional skaters were invited to perform in a competition-style format. Because I was involved in the event’s operation, I had the chance to see Torvill & Dean skate “Boléro” live, right in front of me. Seeing the world's best skating firsthand completely blew away my vague understanding of what “figure skating is supposed to be.”

 

At the time, I was working at a production company that handled events, and I first got involved with figure skating at the 1983 NHK Trophy. But back then I still hadn’t fully grasped what figure skating really was. Even so, I was inevitably drawn into the performance of the skaters in front of me. That was when I felt: this is entertainment. Though it is a sport that demands harsh discipline and training, it also contains the elements of entertainment that captivate the audience. I think the moment I realized how fascinating the sport was marked my true first encounter with figure skating.

 

Torvill & Dean remained a special presence in the figure skating world. The music of “Boléro” became a legendary piece that later skaters could not perform lightly. Ten years after Sarajevo, they returned to competition as professionals at the 1994 Lillehammer Olympics, winning a bronze medal. Then, the following year, in 1995, I learned that they would be leading a tour of ice shows under their own name in their home country, Britain.

 

At that time, the World Championships were scheduled to be held in Birmingham, England in March 1995. I was already planning to attend the event to observe its management, but I discovered that Torvill & Dean’s ice show would be held around the same dates. The show was set in Aberdeen, a city north of Scotland. I desperately wanted to see what their professional ice show would be like, so I extended my stay and went. The purpose of attending the Birmingham World Championships was to gather know-how in event management with an eye toward the Nagano Olympics three years later. But it was around then that a desire began to take root in me: “I want to explore the possibilities of figure skating as entertainment. Someday I want to produce an ice show.”

 

It was my first time seeing a live ice show. My imagination ran wild, wondering what would unfold. This sense of anticipation was part of the show, I thought. I arrived in Aberdeen and headed to the venue. Everyone in the audience was blonde. Of course, not a single Asian. My seat was in the front row. This was back when no promoters in Asia were interested in ice shows.

 

When the show began, Torvill and Dean skated with the same brilliance as ever, and I was able to enjoy smooth, poetic skating. The lighting and overall production were elaborate, giving the show a strong sense of unity. The direction enhanced the skaters’ performance, and the skating supported the direction. It was a mutual feedback loop, and I was deeply moved, thinking, “So this is what an ice show is.”

 

Since I’m the kind of person who believes “if it’s good, act quickly,” I began to think about bringing the show to Japan. I approached the organizers and sat down at the negotiation table, but various conditions could not be agreed upon, and I had to give up at that time. The package, including performance and production fees, totaled over 100 million yen, which left me stunned. There was no way we could pay that amount. At that time, the idea of “showing figure skating as entertainment” had not yet taken root in Japan.

 

Since I tend to act quickly when I think something is good, I began to consider whether we could bring this show to Japan. I approached the organizers and entered negotiations, but various conditions could not be reconciled, and I had to give up at that time. They offered a package that included appearance fees and production costs totaling more than 100 million yen, and I was stunned. It was an amount we could never pay. At that time, Japan did not yet have a foundation that would accept the idea of “showing figure skating as entertainment.”

 

However, this was the starting point for the ice show business I have been involved in for more than twenty years. At the same time, it is one of the reference points I always return to when thinking about figure skating as entertainment from the producer’s perspective. I believe I was able to encounter ice shows at that time because I kept my antenna up and maintained a mindset of going after opportunities.

 

There are many reasons and environmental factors that allowed me to continue the ice show business for so long. But before introducing them, I would like to briefly touch on the history that led me to become a producer. Through that, I hope to convey the “spirit of the times” that nurtured figure skating as an entertainment business.

 

 

 

1.2 Early Life

 

Spoiler

I was born in 1957 in Kita Ward, Tokyo. My father ran a construction business, and shortly after I was born we moved to Itabashi Ward. I vividly remember that workers were paving what is now the Circular Route 7 right in front of our house. It was just before the 1964 Tokyo Olympics, a time when the country was booming. Many craftsmen came and went from our home, and since I was an only child, they often became my playmates.

 

My father was old-fashioned and a craftsman with no connection to academic life, so he likely wanted his son to attend university. He was particularly enthusiastic about education. At my parents’ request, I went to a private school rather than a local public one from elementary school, and I took the entrance exam for junior high school, eventually entering the Tokyo University of Education-affiliated junior high school (University of Tokyo’s affiliated school). As an affiliated school of the education faculty, it offered advanced education at the time, and the class size was small. I spent the six years from junior high through high school in a relaxed, nurturing environment.

 

At that time, TV production was a glamorous profession. Like many others, I also admired the work of television people, so by my third year of high school I had decided that I would apply only to Nihon University College of Art (Nichigei). My first choice was the Department of Broadcasting, but I thought that any department at Nichigei would be fine, so I did not apply to any other universities. Nichigei was considered a prestigious arts university.

 

At that time, Nichigei allowed applicants to apply to up to three departments out of its six. I applied to the Department of Broadcasting, the Department of Film, and the Department of Theater, and I was accepted into the Department of Film. During the entrance interview, I was asked which course I wanted to join. I was afraid that if I said my preference, I might be rejected, so I figured I might as well choose the most prestigious one: the director. So I answered, “The director course.” As a result, I entered the Film Department’s Director Course.

 

In the Film Department, there were courses such as cinematography, sound recording, acting, theory, and screenwriting in addition to the director course. Students from each course formed teams and began production practice from the first year. As a director course student, I naturally took the role of director. In the early years, we shot on 8mm video, but as we advanced, the equipment improved, and we were allowed to use professional 16mm film equipment. Upon graduation, students submitted a film graduation project rather than a thesis.

 

I wasn’t originally a film buff, but making movies was interesting. Making films as a director with many classmates during my student years is, in a way, similar to my current production work, where I’m involved in a director-like role as a producer. The mentality of “if something catches my attention, I’ll go see it myself” and “if I’m interested in someone, I’ll go meet them”—this producer-like attitude may have already been present in me at that time. I even reached out to theater groups outside the university, held auditions like a professional, and selected performers. On the other hand, I was also part of the athletic ski club and spent the winter months deep in the mountains.

 

In my fourth year, I was so absorbed in my graduation project that I hardly did any job hunting. Even around October of my final year, I was still editing the film for my graduation project, so perhaps those around me became worried about my carefree days. “We will give you a faculty recommendation, so go take the hiring exam for Tokyo 12 Channel,” the university told me, and taking the exam for what is now TV Tokyo was the only real job-hunting activity I did. Three students from our department received the faculty recommendation and went to the interview, but unfortunately, all three of us failed. It’s interesting to think that if I had passed and become a TV professional, neither I nor my company as they exist today might have come to be. Many of my university peers went on to work for television program production companies or commercial production companies. That was how booming the industry was, and how much demand there was for people to work in the field.

 

In the end, after graduating without a job offer, I began working as an assistant director at a TV production company introduced to me by the university. As an AD, my first assignment was producing a quiz show on TBS called "Super Dice Q," hosted by Masaru Doi. It was fun at first, but after a few months, I found the mechanical, pre-planned filming boring. Because they recorded a week’s worth of daily programs all at once, everything was predetermined. Once one episode was finished, the performers changed jackets and recorded the next day’s show. That kind of routine progress felt monotonous, and I quickly lost interest. I quit in less than three months.

 

I contacted a lecturer who had helped me at the university, and was introduced to the production company "Staff Tokyo," where a senior from the Film Department was working. The company was led by Shigeru Tsukada, a pioneering broadcast writer. Not only did the company create the structure for TV programs such as "Yoru no Hit Studio" and "Hachiji da yo! Zen'in shūgō," but it also handled event planning, direction, and production. As a newcomer, I became involved in the events that the company was contracted to produce. This was the era when sales promotion events were at their peak.

 

Unlike recorded TV programs with scripts that can be re-shot, events are a one-shot performance with no do-overs. The tension of building something with many stakeholders toward a one-time live show was on another level. The level of seriousness among the people involved was different, and there were many troubles and yellings, but the sense of accomplishment was all the greater. In that work, I felt a sense of fulfillment and interest I had never experienced before.

 

Among these experiences, the one that made me strongly want to continue working in events was my involvement in an event called “Japanese Festivals.” “Japanese Festivals” was a grand event in which traditional festivals from across Japan gathered in one place to compete in splendor. They transported majestic floats and portable shrines from their original regions and recreated the live atmosphere in the square in front of the Meiji Jingu Gaien Art Museum, a scale of event that would be difficult to achieve today. The venue was about the size of five baseball fields.

 

At the event, famous festivals from all over Japan were demonstrated, including Aomori Nebuta, Hirosaki Neputa, and Akita Kanto. The grand finale was the majestic Aomori Nebuta. The faces and bodies of the Nebuta floats were transported in about five 11-ton trucks and assembled on-site by Nebuta artisans ahead of the event. The dancers, called haneto, followed the Nebuta and danced energetically, just as they do in Aomori.

 

Originally, the event was held with the aim of giving Tokyo residents who could not return home during Obon a chance to remember their hometowns. Since the season was different, it was impossible to bring haneto performers from Aomori. To gather people near the venue, the organizers worked with the Folk Performing Arts Culture Federation and hired part-time staff, training them to perform. Even then, people were not enough, so the staff, including us, changed into costumes and joined the parade when the time came. While managing the rapid transition from one stage to the next, we worked flexibly to keep the event running. I felt a strong excitement from the real-time nature of the work.

 

“Japanese Festivals” had its secretariat based at the headquarters of Nippon Broadcasting System, which is part of the Fuji Sankei Group. While I was frequently going in and out of that office, I was approached and invited to join the production company “1002” (Ichimarumaru-ni), which was running the event. Up until then, all the work I had done had been on short-term contracts, so 1002 was the first company I officially joined as a full-time employee. This was in the autumn of 1981.

 

Unexpected accidents happen at every site. The true result of an event is to solve those issues within the allotted time and successfully deliver the show without trouble. For someone who is weak under pressure, this job might be highly stressful. But I thought, “The fact that failure is not allowed makes it interesting.” I was young and inexperienced, so I naturally made many mistakes and often had to apologize in a cold sweat. However, even the most inexperienced person can gradually become a full-fledged professional if trained on the job. The discretion entrusted to me grew, and the number of events I managed with responsibility increased. In those days, no matter when I was called, if it was a client request, I would rush to the site. The client’s word was absolute, and I worked hard to build strong relationships with people. As a result, before I knew it, my sales performance had become top-ranked.

 

Perhaps I had the right temperament and ability for the work. As with any job, there are things that suit a person and things that do not. Beyond that, and true in any field, the growth that follows depends on how many experiences you have had and how much you have been tested. I was nurtured by countless field experiences. Looking back now, life may ultimately depend on how many times you have passed through the fire of experience.

 

 

 

1.3 Starting My Own Business

 

Spoiler

The president of the company 1002 that I joined was Mori Senji, who later became the Executive Director of the New Japan Philharmonic Orchestra. The company mainly handled work related to classical music. The company was divided into two divisions: one that produced classical music concerts and another that took on any commissioned events. The latter division handled a wide range of projects including figure skating, various sports events, and sales promotion events. I was in charge of that latter division. I stayed with the company for fourteen years, and in the final few years I jumped ahead of my seniors and became a director at the age of 37, overseeing the event division.

 

I remember my first time in charge of a figure skating event was the 5th NHK Trophy in 1983. It was a new project the company had taken on, one where we could apply the experience we had accumulated in sports events. At the time, I wasn't particularly interested in figure skating. But, as I mentioned earlier, I gradually became captivated by it. Although it was not yet a major sport, I was impressed from the start by how passionate its fans were. After that, I continued to handle figure skating competitions and events, including the 1994 World Championships in Makuhari.

 

Toward the end of the 1990s, as President Mori approached his 60th birthday, the question of succession within the company came to the forefront. When he began thinking about who might take over the business, I seemed to be the first person who came to his mind, and he approached me about becoming the next president. I declined, citing concerns that I couldn't handle the classical music division, which was outside my area of expertise, and the prospect of taking on all 25 employees. But a year later, he approached me again. This time he said, “Makabe, why don’t you start your own business and do it on your own?”

 

At that time, the classical music division was achieving stable results, but the event division I was responsible for had revenues that fluctuated greatly depending on the trends and scale of orders. The president, now over sixty, probably thought to reduce the business to a scale he could manage and control more stably.

 

Looking back now, I can understand both the necessity and the difficulty of business succession, and I also feel grateful that he saw leadership potential in me. He must have been thinking about the future. But at the time I was still young, and I couldn’t help interpreting it negatively, thinking, "Is this just about keeping the production company alive?" In truth, it wasn’t a case of me being fired up with lofty ambitions to start my own business. Still, everything comes down to luck and timing. So I steeled myself, decided to take the plunge, and began preparing to establish my own company and go independent.

 

First, I wrote letters to all the employees in my department. I gave them three options: “Move to the new company with Makabe / Quit now / Neither,” and asked them to think about their future. I couldn’t start a business while ignoring the employees’ wishes, so it was important that they chose to come along of their own volition.

 

After considering the employees, the next issue was capital. Naturally, establishing a new company required capital. At the time, a joint-stock company needed a capital of 10 million yen to be established, so I planned to borrow it from a bank. But I couldn’t get the loan, and since our separation from the previous company had been agreed upon, I ended up in a position where I had to ask President Mori to lend me the entire amount, money that ideally should have come from my own funds. Still, within about three months, we ran out of money due to rent and salaries. I went to the bank with my mother and mortgaged my parents' house to get a loan. I then repaid my previous company over the next three years.

 

I managed to secure the capital, but since I was starting the business with employees from the very beginning, I needed a substantial amount of working capital even before the business got off the ground. Every month I had to pay salaries, and I also had to cover the rent for the new office we rented in Ginza, even though it was a rundown building. Just as I was wondering how to handle this working capital, something interesting happened.

 

At that time, I often stopped by an old-fashioned izakaya after work for dinner. There were many company dormitories and employee housing around where I lived, so there were other solo diners who came in for dinner. I got along with one of them and started talking. After drinking together a few times, I must have mentioned, “I started a company, but I have no funds.” After a while, he said, “Shall I lend you a hand?” It turned out he was a banker working for a major bank. He intervened with the branch’s loan department and lent me 20 million yen, unsecured.

 

Of course, being granted an unsecured loan was a special favor. I have no way of knowing what exactly convinced him or what part of the business he believed in, but it truly saved me. In the first few months after starting the company, money was going out constantly for operating expenses, while payments from clients were still far in the future. At first, I was overwhelmed by worry about what would happen, but gradually I got used to the pressure of being the president.

 

Although my independence came about through these circumstances, I feel a deep sense of gratitude toward my former company. President Mori was even the matchmaker for my wife and me, and he also lent me the funds to start the business. He has been a fatherly figure to me both personally and professionally, and I am still deeply grateful. That is why, when I staged the exhibition "Medalist on Ice" in 2006 and decided to feature a full orchestra on stage, I asked my old company to handle the arrangements. Since then, I have continued to rely on them for music-related arrangements up to the present day.

 

In any work, it is because we have received someone’s kindness at the start that we are able to take it on. One of the principles I hold dear in my professional life is to never forget that original debt of gratitude and to carry that spirit with me in everything I do.

 

 

[yuzurujenn]

*Machine translation, inaccuracies exist. Please do not reply in this thread.*

 

 

Chapter Two: Moving away from a contract-based business model

 

 

2.1 Establishment of CIC

 

Spoiler

In April 1999, I established CIC Co., Ltd. Six employees from my previous company chose to come along and work with me, so I suddenly became the president of a company with six employees. The responsibility of paying salaries and keeping the company alive felt heavier than anything I had experienced up to that point.

 

For the first year or two after the company was founded, I focused on working steadily on the projects we had inherited from the previous company. Even back then, I seemed to have a knack for sales, and I had built a wide network of contacts in many different circles. Even after I became president, my work remained primarily sales. I went day and night to ask the clients I had dealt with at the previous company to place orders with us. But just because I had become independent did not mean that those clients would suddenly say, “From now on, we’ll give the work to CIC,” so easily. It wasn’t impossible for them to suspect there were lingering grudges or hidden motives. As a countermeasure, I asked the president of my former company to publicly announce that the business had been transferred to me, and above all, I made sure to work diligently on every project we were entrusted with, because that was essential for securing future business.

 

As the company president, I had to lead the way, handing over the work I had done at my previous company to the new company and solidifying my footing. I was determined that this was the most important thing for the time being, both internally and externally. However, while I devoted a lot of energy to this during the first year or two after starting the business, I was secretly very worried about what direction I should take going forward.

 

Not only in figure skating, but in sports events in general, I realized once again after starting the company just how powerful the content itself can be. The track record and experience we had in managing various sports events were the new company’s greatest assets. However, putting energy into existing work also meant there were fewer opportunities to receive new projects. Indeed, managing contracted events could provide stable performance for the company. But there was no guarantee that those contracts would continue indefinitely, and the market could change to the point where the work might disappear altogether. Since our main field was sports events, I expected the decline would not be extreme, but as the person responsible for the company’s fate, I could not just sit back and do nothing.

 

Would the company find its footing if things continued like this? What would become of the future? This was one of the periods I struggled with the most. Naturally, it was important to steadily handle the work in front of me, but I would say the president’s greatest duty was to think about the company’s future direction with a long-term perspective. Even though I was supported by employees with talent and experience, in that regard the role of president was a lonely one. Still, I couldn’t abandon thinking or stop trying and experimenting.

 

As I continued to think about this, I gradually began to realize that we needed our own business, even as we continued to work on projects entrusted to CIC, including not only figure skating but also soccer, baseball, and other non-sports events. Going forward, we needed to break away from the unstable business model that relied solely on commissioned work and explore opportunities to develop products that we could sell as our own, in other words to develop our own business.

 

So what should we sell? Our company’s irreplaceable strength is the ability to run events flawlessly, so wouldn’t it make sense for our core business to be events as well? And what if we created those events in our strongest field, figure skating? And that's how the idea of hosting our own ice shows emerged.

 

In fact, the concern I had at the time proved accurate. The sales promotion events that we had relied on heavily when we first started the company have sharply declined over the past twenty years, and many other companies that worked in that field have disappeared. If we had continued to depend solely on event commissions, I can only imagine where we would be now.

 

Fortunately for the company, the 2002 World Championships were held in Nagano. Even before starting the company, we had been working with the same team on projects for the Japan Skating Federation, so there was a strong possibility that we would be selected to help run the Nagano World Championships as well. In other words, even if we took some risks in the first half of fiscal 2001, if we could count on the large-scale work of the World Championships in March at the end of the fiscal year, it might support the full-year performance of the newly established company…

 

And so, in the second year after founding the company, as my business plan began to solidify, the figure skater Philippe Candeloro came to mind.

 

 

 

2.2 Encounter with Philippe Candeloro

 

Spoiler

In January 2001, I arrived in Lyon, France. I traveled overland from Japan via Paris to Lyon. Niimura Kaori, who has long been the Japanese-English announcer at competitions and is well-connected with skaters, accompanied me and acted as my interpreter. What I was there for? I went to see an ice show hosted by Philippe Candeloro.

 

Philippe Candeloro is a bronze medalist from the 1994 Lillehammer Olympics and the 1998 Nagano Olympics. In Japan in particular, he left a powerful impression with his acclaimed performance of “D’Artagnan,” skating in the costume of one of the Three Musketeers. With his handsome looks and open, affable personality, he was especially popular with female fans and captivated not only dedicated figure skating followers but also countless viewers who watched the Olympics on television. Even today, he remains one of the figure skating world’s foremost entertainers.

 

The first time I saw Philippe skate was in March 1994, shortly after the Lillehammer Olympics, at the World Championships held in Makuhari, Japan. Having just won a bronze medal, his name recognition was rising rapidly, and his popularity in the arena was striking. That year, he skated to a program set to "The Godfather." In competition skating, athletes perform two programs over two days, a short program and a free skate, but "The Godfather" was conceived as a continuous story across both programs, inspired by the famous film. I was captivated at first sight. With his rich facial expressions, inventive movements, and showmanship that constantly surprised the audience, it was easy to understand why fans were so enthusiastic about him.

 

At the 1998 Nagano Olympics, he won another bronze medal. After leaving a strong impression with his dynamic skating, he retired from competition, but as a professional skater he continued to enjoy great popularity in his native France and around the world. By 2001, he was producing and performing in his own ice show in France. Given that many of his competitive programs already had a strong show-like quality, turning them into an ice show seemed like a natural progression.

 

In fact, even before that, Philippe himself had apparently been pitching the idea of bringing his ice show to Japan to Japanese television networks. Japan, where he had won his medals, held special meaning for him, and he was also well aware of his popularity there, which is why he considered Japan as the next place to stage the show after France. However, when the show actually took place, the only people who came all the way from Japan were Niimura and me. This was less a question of his popularity than of the fact that the culture of staging ice shows had not yet taken firm root in Japan.

 

Perhaps it was clear that I was the only one truly serious about it. Philippe, too, seemed to decide that he would aim to stage a show in Japan together with me. After various negotiations, the two of us reached an agreement to go ahead in July 2001, and the performance dates were set for September, just two months later. If this had been at a time when figure skating was already a popular sport, we would have sought sponsors and co-hosted the event with television networks and other partners. But back then, there was not a single media company willing to join us. Even though the decision to stage the show had been made, everything had to be done entirely at my own risk, and if it failed, all I could do was vaguely imagine how large the losses might become.

 

After all, I had no experience whatsoever as a promoter. I had never set ticket prices, never sold tickets, never carried out publicity to sell tickets, and never handled the process of inviting overseas skaters to perform. Lacking experience across the board, we were thrown into chaos from the start. The work visas were particularly nerve-wracking. We did not even realize until a month and a half before the performance that we would have to handle the visa application ourselves. The first thing we were told was, “In principle, applications from organizers with no prior experience of inviting foreign performers are not approved.” Unless we kept going back to the government offices and somehow got our application accepted, the performance itself was in jeopardy. At the time, documents such as passport copies could only be exchanged by mail, and although we managed to gather everything, deficiencies were repeatedly pointed out and the paperwork was slow to be accepted. No matter how much we pleaded, because this was a public institution, the time required for issuance followed the rules, and in some cases could be delayed depending on the response of the other country. I was constantly worried that the visas would not be issued in time for the performance.

 

With only two months to prepare, it was complete confusion. Because the invitation procedures involved public institutions in multiple countries and allowed no margin for error, they consumed so much time that we were unable to devote sufficient effort to publicity, something I later regretted. Still, despite not knowing the ropes, we tried various approaches, such as offering ticket giveaways to newspapers in exchange for having the event listed in articles. Embarrassingly enough, we even went so far as to cold-call prospective customers to try to sell tickets. This was something I could not possibly ask my employees to do, so I asked my wife instead. We were desperate. She kindly agreed and made countless calls, but not a single ticket was sold that way. Perhaps many of the people we reached were simply prize-hunting enthusiasts. In any case, there were very few people interested in figure skating to begin with, and it was an extremely tough situation.

 

Thus, in September 2001, the "Philippe Candeloro Japan Tour 2001" was held at the Shin-Yokohama Prince Hotel Skate Center (as it was then called). The cast included skaters with Olympic-medalist credentials and popularity, such as Surya Bonaly, Viktor Petrenko, Maya Usova and Evgeny Platov, and Oksana Kazakova and Artur Dmitriev. Japanese skaters included Shizuka Arakawa, Fumie Suguri, Yoshie Onda, Yamato Tamura, and Yosuke Takeuchi. Philippe performed with overflowing enthusiasm to entertain the audience, skating programs such as “D’Artagnan” and “Braveheart,” while the other skaters dazzled with everything from elegant skating to comic skits. It was also at this time that the ice acrobats Oleksiy Polishchuk and Vladimir Besedin, whom we continue to invite to this day, came to Japan together with the rest of the cast. Looking back, this show truly marked the beginning of many things.

 

Given the limitations of such a short preparation period, dedicated fans still came out, and attendance was probably around 60 to 70 percent. We knew there would be empty seats, but we did not try to artificially boost attendance to fill them. We wanted everyone involved, on our side, the skaters including Philippe, and Philippe’s agent, to share a clear understanding of where we stood at that moment. As a result, the “Philippe Candeloro Japan Tour” ended with a deficit of roughly 20 million yen. Although I had been prepared for it, a 20-million-yen loss for a company in its third year was extremely painful. And yet, strangely enough, I never once thought, “Let’s give up and withdraw.”

 

Fortunately, just as I had hoped in advance, we were entrusted with the operation of the World Championships held in Nagano in March 2002 at the end of that same fiscal year, and this helped toward offsetting the deficit in our overall annual results. Even so, I still wonder why, despite running at a loss, I never once considered giving up on the business. As a company, we were able to catch our breath at the end of the fiscal year, but as a standalone venture, a money-losing project would normally be very difficult to sustain.

 

Objectively speaking, it was a failure. From the employees’ point of view, the failed project looked like “the president’s hobby,” and even if they did not say so directly, I could clearly sense their worry about whether things would be all right. If I had been thinking normally, I probably would not have considered holding it again. But, contrary to common sense, I made up my mind to do Philippe’s ice show once more in the summer of 2002. I had a strong feeling that “next time it will go better.” The first time, because it was our first time running the event, there were many things we did not understand, and we got bogged down in the invitation procedures, so there were many things we should have done but could not. I believed that if we learned from those initial lessons and put our experience to use, and if we did what needed to be done properly, the second time could be a success.

 

I was also encouraged by the gratitude I received from Noriko Shirota, then head of the figure skating development department at the Japan Skating Federation, who said, "By skating alongside the world's top skaters, young Japanese skaters learned what it means to captivate an audience, and this has certainly led to their growth." I wasn't sure whether a second event would turn a profit, but I thought that if we did what we needed to do, we could fill that venue.

 

The following year, the second ice show featuring Philippe was titled “Philippe Candeloro Fantasy on Ice 2002.” This became the origin of the ice show title that continues to this day. Once preparations began, the advantages of a second attempt were unmistakable.

 

For the invitation process, which had been a major bottleneck during the first event, we prepared detailed documentation about the show and made sure to contact the embassies of each country in advance, since they would be the ones to give final approval. Since many of the skaters were Russian, we frequently called the Japanese Embassy in Russia, pleading for approval as soon as possible.

 

When it came to PR, I had learned that tickets simply would not sell without spending money. So, even though our budget was tight, we decided to spend where we needed to and be creative where we could. We carried out conventional advertising activities, such as transit ads and putting posters up in convenience stores.

 

These steady improvements paid off, and with a longer publicity period, the second show turned a profit. The profit margin did not reach the size of the first year’s deficit, but over the course of two years we were able to recover it, more or less. My sense that results would follow if we did what needed to be done proved to be correct.

 

Because we had more time, we were able to have some say in the content of the second show as the organizer, and the positive response we received gave us confidence. Among the Japanese skaters who appeared in this show were Daisuke Takahashi, who won the World Junior Championships that year, and Mao Asada, whose talent Philippe had long admired and praised. In retrospect, inviting singer-songwriter Maxime Rodriguez to perform alongside the skaters was also groundbreaking. Maxime composed the music for “D’Artagnan,” which Philippe skated to, and he would later be commissioned to compose the opening theme for the new “Fantasy on Ice,” which launched in 2010. The 2002 show featured a lineup of artists with whom he would later develop close ties. This was largely due to the keen eye of the Spanish agent we worked with to organize the show, Sergio Canovas.

 

Looking back, 2001 and 2002 were major turning points for the company. The two self-produced shows, one a failure and the other a success, stood in sharp contrast to each other, and precisely because of that contrast, the lessons learned were especially clear. Regardless of profitability, the most important outcome was that we acquired the know-how of staging ice shows, an intangible asset. Above all, the direction of our in-house production business was finally set.

 

In 2003, under the title "Philippe Candeloro Fantasy on Ice," we staged shows in Sapporo, Osaka, and Shin-Yokohama in the fall. These were our first regional performances, but ticket sales were weak and we once again suffered a major loss. Even so, by the third year our confidence in the ice show business itself had deepened, and we no longer doubted the direction we were pursuing. Furthermore, the success of the memorial ice show "Nagano Olympics 5th Anniversary Exhibition" held at the Nagano Big Hat in the spring of the same year meant that we remained steadfast in both our company's performance and our determination to continue with the ice show business.

 

It was around this time that we began hosting an ice show called "Fantasy on Ice" with Philippe Candeloro. The ice show production business was launched with nothing but the desire to create our own work and build our own business, starting from a place of knowing nothing at all. There were many hardships, but the rewards were even greater, and I feel strongly that we succeeded in creating something from nothing, turning zero into one. We have continued our efforts while cherishing this point of origin, and the connections formed there have since expanded into many projects and many ventures.