Nureki Chimuo Archive

Why do audiences flock to this three-and-a-half-hour show performed in this small theater with such fervor and frenzied passion?

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for quite some time.

Though I’ve wondered about it, I’ve never given it much thought. I myself am quite a fan of this stage, even if I wouldn’t go so far to call myself a die-hard fan.

The audience is drawn in because it has a certain charm. Sometimes, they come even at the cost of their own well-being.

To me, ever since I was a child, this has been a scene that could almost be called common sense.

I had grown accustomed to encountering this scene.

So, I never thought it was worth pondering why people gathered here.

Their appeal has endured for so many years that it could almost be called traditional.

I had grown accustomed to their charm and their talent, and I had also grown accustomed to the sight of fans supporting them with such frenzied passion.

Therefore, I never harbored any particular doubts about the true nature of their appeal, which could even be called mysterious.

Watching them today, I feel like that mystery has been solved, just a little bit.

To put it simply, the audience gathers here, captivated by the decadent beauty of the gypsy troupe performing on this stage.

A decadent beauty that looms over the audience, brought to life by the gypsies’ overwhelming expressiveness.

I say “gypsies,” but I am by no means looking down on them. I do not harbor a shred of contempt.

I respect and admire them from the bottom of my heart. That is why I use the honorific title. I love them. If I were just a little younger, I would gladly work as their assistant and travel with them from one place to the next. I long for that.

Let’s try looking up the word “gypsy” in the dictionary. “Gypsy”: An ethnic group originating from northwestern India that has wandered throughout Europe. They excel in dance and music, and make their living through storytelling, fortune-telling, and the like. People who do not settle in one place. People who lead a nomadic life. (Obunsha Japanese Dictionary) “Gypsy”: A nomadic people scattered throughout Europe. They live in horse-drawn wagons. The men make a living through metalwork, while the women do so through fortune-telling, and they enjoy music and dance. Bohemians. (Iwanami Japanese Dictionary)

Ah, what a romantic, free-spirited people they must be!

Let me make this clear (though it feels strange and silly to make such a disclaimer here): the performers who put on the three-and-a-half-hour show that never ceases to fascinate me are, without a doubt, Japanese.

In fact, you could say they are the most quintessentially Japanese, the most traditional Japanese people you’ll find today (after all, they can slip into a kimono with ease and tie their obi stylishly all by themselves).

Since I’ve gone so far as to describe the “decadent beauty” of this gypsy troupe, I’ll take this opportunity to look up the word “decadence” in the dictionary. “Decadence”: To fall into ruin; desolation. Moral disorder, fragility, and unhealthiness. Decadent. (Obunsha Japanese Dictionary)

It says that, but hmm, this interpretation isn’t quite right. It doesn’t match my image of it. Let’s look it up in the Iwanami Japanese Dictionary instead. “Decadence”: The collapse of morality and wholesome values. The resulting pathological atmosphere. (Iwanami Japanese Dictionary)

Hmm, this doesn’t quite fit either. It feels a bit different from something described as a “pathological atmosphere.” Decadence, huh? Alright, then let’s look up “decadence” in the Kojien. “Decadence”: Meaning decay or moral decline. A literary movement that emerged primarily in France in the late 19th century. Characterized by nihilism and aestheticism, with a preference for the morbid and the macabre. Pioneered by Baudalaire and represented by Verlaine, Rimbaud, and the British writers Swinburne and Wilde. It also generally refers to nihilistic and decadent artistic tendencies or attitudes toward life. “Decadent”: An artist of the Decadent movement. A person who lives according to nihilistic, decadent emotions. Also, such a state or manner. (Kojien)

Yeah, well, I feel like this one is a bit closer.

But still, maybe it’s not quite right.

I just can’t see their work as being very nihilistic.

Far from being nihilistic, they are exceptionally diligent and hardworking. To please the customers right in front of them, they seem to spare no effort, even sacrificing sleep, exposing their own shame, and giving their all to the point of wearing themselves out.

I think both their work and personal lives exist in an extremely harsh environment.

It’s a bit of a hassle, but let’s look up “nihilism” in the dictionary again. “Nihilism”: The state of having nothing; emptiness. Void. Specifically, the absence of anything of value or substance. Or, the “nothingness” that is the root of all things. “Nihilism”: A tendency and doctrine that denies reality, truth, and all existing institutions and authorities. (Iwanami Japanese Dictionary)

No, no, that’s ridiculous, it’s completely different.

Those people are definitely not nihilists.

It seems they don’t even have time to eat. Today, I saw them performing on stage while slurping some kind of slimy energy drink right in front of the audience.

I sense a certain decadence in the act of exposing oneself like that in front of the audience and turning it into part of the performance, but I don’t think it’s nihilistic.

They manage to turn even that into an “art” and delight the audience.

They drag the audience’s hearts into the beauty of decadence and force them into a state of intoxication.

What astonished me most today was when, during the play (and in a period drama, no less, complete with topknots), three characters grabbed a sake bottle with their left hands and took a swig of the water inside.

It was a play in which the main character, the ronin Nakayama Yasubei, along with the residents of the tenement house, were about to rush out to Takeda no Baba to duel with their enemy swordsmen.

Just as the actors on stage were speaking their lines and took a sip of water, a dozen or so audience members sitting in the front rows suddenly raised white towels above their heads with both hands.

At the same moment, the actors aimed at those towels and “Pffft” spat out the water they had taken into their mouths.

They didn’t do it just once. They took water from the sake bottle into their mouths again and again, repeating the action.

The water mixed with saliva, spat from the actors’ mouths, rained down like mist onto the heads of the audience members from the front row to about the fourth row.

The packed auditorium erupted in laughter, with people rolling on the floor and shrieking with delight.

I was completely taken aback.

The dozen or so audience members seated in the front rows had been handed towels beforehand.

Sitting in the back, I had no idea when they’d been handed out.

The audience members who had received the towels were prepared to use them to shield themselves from the water the actors would spit out.

That meant they knew that, as part of this play, the actors would take a mouthful of water and spit it forcefully toward the audience.

Had the audience, intoxicated by the decadent beauty of this troupe, flocked to the venue before the performance even began simply because they wanted to be hit by that water?

And had they taken their seats in the first four or five rows to wait for it?

Unaware of any of this, Rakka-san (she was there too!) and I, sitting in the back row, a dozen or so rows away from the stage, could do nothing but marvel.

It wasn’t just the audience members who got drenched. Every single person in the packed theater had been seamlessly woven into the staging of this period drama.

(And to think, this production of “The Duel at Takada no Baba” was a one night only performance!)

This gypsy troupe performed plays and shows at this theater for just one month (twenty-nine days, to be exact), and once the month changed, they vanished from our sight.

They performed twice a day, once in the afternoon and once at night, with completely different plays and shows each time. In other words, over the course of twenty-nine days, they performed fifty-eight different plays and shows before leaving this place and moving to other regions.

While there are undoubtedly passionate fans known as “chase fans,” it is hard to imagine a hundred or two people actually following a traveling gypsy troupe from one performance venue to the next.

(Or perhaps there really are such fans. I don’t know. Seeing that frenzied enthusiasm, maybe there are.)

Neither Rakka-san nor I could ever manage to be “chasing fans,” so we can only see this troupe about once a year.

No matter how much we favor this troupe, we simply cannot see them.

Well, I’ve gone on quite a tangent, but I must explain the decadent beauty that the actors of this troupe portray on stage.

I haven’t written a single word yet about what exactly constitutes this decadent beauty.

If I don’t explain it, my readers will likely remain unconvinced.

But even now, I still hesitate. Even if I want to write about the decadent beauty of these people, my limited expressive ability makes it difficult.

I believe the charm of this troupe lies in its decadent beauty, and at times, in its perverse beauty.

If you’ll forgive me for taking a leap here, I think it’s fair to call the people who like these actors and the roles they play a kind of “enthusiast.”

Furthermore, perhaps the reason Rakka-san and I feel such an extraordinary kinship with the people who gather at this theater is that we sense their warmth as “enthusiasts” of decadent beauty.

I have not yet written about the most crucial aspect. The decadent beauty that this troupe expresses with such passion and conveys to the audience.

I also think it would be too simplistic to simply label it as “decadent beauty.”

However, describing the mysterious beauty of those people is truly difficult. It is beyond my capabilities. Whether it is seen as simplistic or shallow, given my abilities, I have no choice but to call it “decadent beauty.”

It is precisely because of the actors’ otherworldly, eerily made-up beauty that the audience cries out and holds up towels with both hands to catch the water spewing from their mouths.

I must write about the hearts of those audience members.

Actually, tomorrow I’m going to see another gypsy troupe’s show with Rakka-san.

It’s in a building on the eastern edge of Tokyo, different from the venue we usually go to. The Edogawa River flows right nearby.

It was Rakka-san who invited me there.

These days, Rakka-san is the one who’s become obsessed with the gypsy troupe.

Tomorrow, we’ll be cooped up inside that building all day and night, watching the gypsy troupe. We’ll immerse ourselves in that terrifying show.

I will carefully observe the decadent beauty of perversion.