Memories of a Futuristic Tokyo Tower

By Brian J Pape, AIA

New York City has experimented in recent years with “micro-unit” apartments, sponsoring a competition to design apartments of under 400 square feet to meet the needs of single occupant renters. Won by Monadnock Development LLC, Actors Fund Housing Development Corporation, and nARCHITECTS, the completed building in Kips Bay, Manhattan, boasted studio apartments ranging from 265 square feet to 360 square feet. This was an idea that had a history in Japan.

When architect Kisho Kurokawa designed and built a modular 13-story tower of mini-apartment capsules in Tokyo’s Ginza district, completed in 1972, it caused an international sensation. Within an 8’ x 8’ x 13’ long shell of steel (about 100 SF each), there was room for one person, or an intimate couple, possibly. New York City’s experimental micro-units are bloated in comparison, but the Japanese experience with multi-functional spaces have a long tradition, and their culture tolerates smaller spaces.

It was the news of the demolition of Kurokawa’s building by real estate developers recently that recalled early memories of this iconic building.

I had the chance to explore Japan as part of a University of Hawaii study tour as a young architect. Travelling in Japan alone, I made my way around the Ginza one day and walked to a construction site of a new apartment building that caught my eye. While admiring the nearly complete work from the sidewalk, architect Kurokawa came over and introduced himself, inviting me to tour the interiors.

Stepping into the futuristic dwelling units, everything was built-in to save space, from the Murphy-type bed to the study desk. The bathroom resembled an airliner restroom, super-efficient with the shower integrated with other plumbing fixtures instead of being a separate stall. A tiny kitchenette near the entry rounded out the studio space. An outstanding feature of every unit was the giant round operable window with fan-shaped white curtains for privacy, giving each unit plenty of light and views of the dense urban neighborhood. The units are oriented in all four directions around the central circulation core.

Kurokawa had already shown an unbelievable level of courtesy to me, but it didn’t stop there. We walked over to his new Volvo 1800ES sport wagon, and he offered to show me around the Ginza entertainment district. While we drove over to one of the skyscrapers that housed multiple floors of clubs and restaurants of all types, he noted a common plight of architects, low pay. At the time I visited, the condominium-like building was 100% sold and critical acclaim was very positive. For a young apprentice architect, I certainly got the impression he was doing very well, but then I didn’t know much about the Japanese financial system or relative pay.

We exchanged contact information, and he gave me a tip about visiting the Japanese Architect magazine offices nearby. As the afternoon was getting late, we parted company. The impression was everlasting.

It was sad to read about the demise of this iconic building in a 1/21/24 New York Times article by Tim Hornyak. As the Times article described it, officially named the Nakagin Capsule Tower, only 23 out of 140 dwelling ‘pods’ were salvaged after prolonged negotiations with the developer, who purchased the building in 2018. Kisho Kurokawa (1934-2007) had envisioned an organic, sustainable, biotechnology architecture of detachable parts that could be replaced as they became out-of-date or damaged. In fact, he talked about having all the capsules replaced in 25 years.

While the capsule building lasted 50 years, the cost of replacing the aging units was prohibitive, so in the end, many units had long ago ended their habitable life. I consider architecture as a commitment to the future with durability, delight, and function. If one of those is not honored, it is not sustainable. Unfortunately, beyond an architect’s control, on-going maintenance is essential for any building. Throwaway architecture is not sustainable. Materials that can be repaired in place are essential to sustainable architecture.

Kurokawa’s own capsule unit was purchased by the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, where it was refurbished and put on display, because this visionary creation is seen as a work of art. I also consider it a work of art.

As the Times article put it, “How do the people of today, who (will) live in the future, feel about the ‘future ideas of the ‘70s that the Nakagin building’ held, and how will they connect these ideas to our own future?” Mikio Kurokawa, Kisho’s son, responded, “The fact that due to the strong feelings of many people, some capsules have survived and been restored as new cells for new locations is perhaps even more interesting than Metabolism itself. Their architect would have been delighted.”

I sincerely hope so.