Why Does Japanese TV Feel so Copy-Paste?
Japanese television and its ubiquitous variety shows often evoke a sense of déjà vu: the same faces, close-ups of food, and long, meandering formats.
Behind the sameness lies a culture of comfort, ritual, and small, shared joys.
To start with a small confession: my wife and I have a guilty pleasure. When travelling in Japan, we often set aside an evening to enjoy some wine and watch Japanese TV. This is the only time or place we watch Japanese Gogglebox. It may be the wine, but even with that limited exposure, you can feel like the remote must be broken.
Channel one: A group of comedians exploring the Yamanashi countryside have stopped at a local restaurant to enjoy steaming bowls of ramen.
Channel two: Another set of comedians, three of whom I could swear were on the previous channel, are tasting skewers of yakitori in downtown Tokyo and shouting “Oishii!” (delicious).
Channel three: A quiz show about northern prefectural specialities and delicacies. The contestants have paused between rounds to snack on what appears to be heavenly slices of melon from Ibaraki. I am pretty sure I now know each one’s sex face.
This probably sounds like a massive put-down, but it is not that the programs are necessarily bad – it is that they feel like they were copy-pasted. But if that is so, then why is that the reason?
The variety formats that won’t quit
Spend any time with Japanese television, and you will find that variety shows are its beating heart.
The programs dominate prime-time slots and spill into mornings, afternoons, and late nights.
Their structure is consistent: a panel of tarento (personalities from TV, music, film, etc.) and comedians sits in a brightly decorated studio, reacting to pre-recorded segments, their own previous adventures somewhere in Japan, or participating in staged games.
The shows are often several hours long, and for commercial stations feature extensive recaps after commercial breaks.
The familiar faces and feelings
If the people on your screen seem eerily familiar after just a few hours, you are not wrong.
The geinōkai (Japan’s “celebrity world”) is a tight-knit circuit. Once comedians or tarento find success, they’re likely to appear across multiple networks, sometimes in half a dozen shows in a single week.
At the same time, the skills and personalities the various people bring to a show are often very similar. For example, Japanese comedians typically work in pairs (manzai duos) or small groups. Their routines rely on the interplay between the “boke” (the funny one) and the “tsukkomi” (the straight man). The result is less dazzling new performances and more comforting, recurring dynamics.
This recycling isn’t laziness (especially not on the part of the tarento who work insane hours); it’s a feature of the system. Audiences grow attached to certain personalities and enjoy seeing them in different contexts. For example, seeing a goofy comedian known for playing a fool suddenly shows a knack for cooking. This fosters a sense of intimacy as viewers feel they “know” more about the celebrities on screen.
Perhaps the pervasiveness of these aspects contributes to Japanese global hits, such as Iron Chef or Ninja Warrior, enjoying more success outside of Japan than in their home market.
Food, food, and more food
The choice of a cooking comedian example above is by no means random.
If there is one theme that unites Japanese television (and the Japanese in general), it’s food.
I have a strong suspicion that the Japanese may rival the Italians when it comes to passion for food; they just express it in very different ways – including through their TV programmes.
Cooking competitions, travel shows that highlight local and regional delicacies, and morning news programs that segue into product tastings are just the tip of the iceberg (or, in this case, the iceberg salad).
The accompanying imagery is often downright indecent, including close-ups of quivering, soft-boiled eggs, glistening sashimi, or bubbling pots of curry.
And that is before we get to the reactions. Every bite, no matter how ordinary, is met with a chorus of “Oishii!” or “Umai!” (Tasty!). The facial expressions are strikingly similar to…well, let’s say you might find yourself suddenly thinking about the word “hub.”
Why the sameness?
So why does Japanese TV lean so heavily on familiar formats, familiar faces, and food? The answers are both practical and cultural.
Some viewers sometimes complain about the lack of variety. However, the programmes are mainly targeting the older generations who still seem to prefer this type of terrestrial TV.
The variety formats and “wipe,” picture-in-picture reaction windows are familiar and a shared experience that, perhaps, feels like it ties viewers together.
The same goes for the abundance of food. Cuisine has long been central to Japanese identity, socialising and even travel. The shows often feature regional specialities (meibutsu) or specific restaurants, thereby doubling as soft advertising.
Turning to the spreadsheets, variety shows require relatively low production budgets. The safe content also satisfies cautious sponsors and advertisers.
Additionally, Japanese culture places a high value on comfort and predictability. The familiar offers reassurance in a society that often emphasises group harmony (wa) over individual disruption.
The dying charm?
Sometimes, I find myself wondering why my wife and I keep coming back to an evening of Japanese TV time after time. More often than not, we end up discussing some of the points mentioned here, such as the lack of variety variety (sorry, couldn’t resist) and predictability.
One reason is the slower pace and the opportunity to experience explorations of regions, restaurants, and foods we may not be familiar with. Perhaps it is because we are getting older. Personally, I have softened my views on bingo and feel irresistibly drawn to crosswords.
However, a significant part of the enjoyment also comes from shaking our heads at some of the same features. We may be on the road to becoming full-fledged adults, but we still share more entertainment sentiments with younger generations of Japanese, who are increasingly turning away from traditional variety shows and terrestrial TV to online options.
The developments could herald the beginning of the end for variety shows as we know them today. Perhaps, if they go away, we shall find ourselves missing the odd charm of déjà vu viewing.
I, for one, plan to keep putting my feet up, pour a glass of wine, and enjoy the Japanese variety shows as we travel around the country while there is still time. I can always get around to the crosswords and bingo later.
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