Nureki Chimuo Archive

Due to the unfortunate news that the husband of the family living next door to the Yamanouchi residence had passed away suddenly early that morning, we had to postpone the scheduled photo shoot at the Yamanouchi residence.

The Yamanouchi residence and the neighboring house are very close, separated only by a garden and a fence.

There is no way our filming would not cause some disturbance to the neighbors during such a hectic time.

We, the members of Tomoshibi, gathered at the coffee shop designated as our meeting place. For that reason, we had no choice but to cancel today’s shoot. After having lunch together, we went our separate ways.

So, Producer Nakahara and I decided to go see the play with Terushi that afternoon, but this decision was not made merely for entertainment.

We wanted to be inspired by Terushi’s heroic way of life.

Both Nakahara-san and I sense an aura in her work that resonates with our own filming and other activities.

The aura that radiates from Terushi’s entire being is extraordinary.

It is likely called an aura precisely because it exudes an unusual, mysterious charm. But now, if we were to try to explain this word aura, a term we often use casually in our daily lives, in Japanese, how exactly should we put it?

It piqued my curiosity a bit, so I looked it up in a couple of dictionaries to verify.

Aura: (1) A fluid believed to emanate from living beings; a term in spiritualism; said to be photographable using special fluorescent plates. (2) A unique atmosphere; a subtle mood. (Shueisha, Dictionary of Foreign Words in Japanese) Aura: The atmosphere a person possesses. Alternatively it refers to the vital energy emitted by living beings, which is said to be visible to certain individuals. (Dictionary of Katakana Terms, published by Nihon Jitsugyo Publishing) Aura: The energy or mysterious atmosphere exuded by people or objects; in spiritualism, it refers to spiritual energy or aura. (Shueisha, Imidas Supplement: Dictionary of Foreign Words and Abbreviations)

So, while one of the dictionary definitions describes it as having a mysterious atmosphere, the real issue is what kind of mystery it is. There is an indescribable eroticism in the mystery that Terushi seems to exude.

Even as a man, I feel a tingling sensation in a certain part of my brain and sense a bewitching allure, as if something were being drawn out of me.

This reaction isn’t normal, and I find it a bit unsettling myself.

For example, I often watch kabuki. When I see a young, dashing leading man at the height of his popularity or a glamorous onnagata in her prime, I do find them beautiful, but I’ve never felt the kind of emotion I get from Terushi. An emotion akin to the pain of having the surface of my skin swiftly cut by a sharp blade.

I inadvertently wrote pain, but I don’t actually feel pain. Even if I am wounded, it is a pain that doesn’t hurt.

Far from being painful, it is actually pleasant. Rather than pain, perhaps a throbbing sensation would be more accurate.

Terushi is tall and slender overall, with supple movements in his limbs and waist. Not only is his form beautiful and impressive, but he is also a skilled actor. It is not a skill acquired through training, but rather a sharp, almost innate talent that he displays in an instant.

Is Terushi a handsome man?

He has a distinctive face, but he is undoubtedly handsome.

Despite standing over 180 centimeters tall, he plays female roles.

He performs elegant female-role dances with great skill, earning cheers from the audience.

Because his movements are so flexible, there is no awkwardness in his onnagata dancing, but his face has a somewhat stern look.

His cheekbones are high, and his nose is slightly hooked. His chin is pointed and slightly long.

His eye sockets are slightly sunken, and his gaze is sharp.

He casts a sidelong glance toward the audience. A look that is, in itself, sufficiently alluring and seductive. Yet the sharpness of his gaze cannot be concealed.

Nevertheless, combined with his skilled acting, he is beautiful.

The audience is entranced by his mysterious, sensual beauty, with that sharpness lingering in the corners of his eyes.

Nakahara-san, sitting next to me, is also gazing at him with a mesmerized expression. Being timid, I sense something dangerous in Terushi’s beauty and occasionally look away from him.

Since he is this type of onnagata, he does not perform dances portraying virgins or young women. Most of his dances involve mature women who suggest intense romantic affairs. For example, those that carry the scent of an affair.

I’ve suddenly started writing about Terushi’s onnagata dance, but the roles he looks best in are not those of an onnagata.

It is that of a ronin, dressed in a loose-fitting black habutae kimono, carrying two swords, a large and small one, sheathed at his sides.

Moreover, a ronin who has truly embraced the desolation of a life of lawlessness always harbors a hidden killing intent.

I have seen several of Terushi’s dance shows, but there is one scene that I cannot get out of my mind.

Set to the song “Otonari Mujo,” Terushi appears dressed as the ronin Hirate Zoshu. An aura of grim intensity instantly fills the stage.

As you know, he was once hailed as a prodigy at Chiba Shusaku’s dojo in Kanda, Edo, but he was a master swordsman who fell into ruin due to his addiction to alcohol. Now, he is a pitiful figure, worn out by consumption and reduced to serving as a bodyguard for gamblers.

The setting is the embankment of the Tone River, the scene of a brawl between the Iioka and Sasagawa factions of gamblers.

Tall and gaunt, with a pale, ghastly face ravaged by consumption, he dances slightly.

From his left and right, the gamblers of the Iioka faction, his dueling opponents, appear.

Terushi places his hand on the hilt of his long sword, twists his waist slightly, and arches his back.

This moment of readiness is irresistibly cool. He extends one leg diagonally forward, arching it all the way to the tips of his bare toes in his straw sandals.

(Since this theater isn’t very large, if you crane your neck, you can see the actor’s toes from the audience.)

The yakuza, having drawn their swords, attack all at once.

Terushi draws his long sword and, in an instant, cuts down four or five of the yakuza.

There is no wasted motion or opening in his movements. His hand and footwork are brilliant and beautiful.

It is truly a refined sword fight.

In a single breath, he cuts down five men, and as he strikes a stylish pose, a voice immediately calls out from the audience, “Terushi!”

At that very moment, the body of the ill-fated swordsman, Hirate Mikku, is enveloped in an even denser aura, radiating a dazzling glow.

(Damn, he’s good!)

I can’t help but marvel inwardly.

Glancing discreetly at the seat next to me, I see that Nakahara-san, like me, is staring intently at Terushi without blinking. She, too, has been captivated by the ronin in his black double-layered kimono standing on the embankment of the Tone River.

The actor Terushi is likely skilled in swordplay. He exudes a confidence that’s almost infuriating.

A performance calculated to make the most of his tall, slender frame, his chiseled features, and his piercing gaze that radiates an aura.

As I watch Terushi on stage, I imagine this actor secretly practicing late at night, alone, drawing his sword in front of a mirror, perfecting how to cut down his opponent with style.

He must know all too well, perhaps to a disturbing degree, just how the swordplay of a lonely swordsman, living in adversity and charging forward despite knowing his own doom, captivates the hearts of the audience.

one.

All actors are narcissists, but this Terushi is an exceptionally, outrageously narcissistic

Carried away by his meticulous calculations (or rather, what is likely his innate sense), both Nakahara-san and I, and indeed the entire packed audience, are innocently intoxicated.

It feels good to be intoxicated. We’re paying the admission fee to get drunk.

When he sees the audience intoxicated by his art, Terushi’s own heart is simultaneously intoxicated on stage.

Is it that his self-absorption, wrapped in that narcissism, sometimes appears to our eyes as a sinister aura?

When I watch his swordplay, I am reminded of the swordplay in Shinkokugeki that I grew up with from childhood through middle age.

The various beautiful poses of Tatsumi and Shimada as they draw their swords come back to life behind my eyelids.

(To tell the truth, Terushi’s swordplay, due to his young age and handsome appearance, sometimes surpasses that of Tatsumi and Shimada.)

Furthermore, though it was over sixty years ago now, I recall the swordplay of Osamu Kanai’s troupe at the Asakusa Koen Theater, and my heart aches as I think of the swordplay of Noboru Umezawa’s troupe at the Asakusa Showa-za during the same period.

What on earth am I rambling on about?

No matter how much I write about how cool Terushi’s fight scenes are, it doesn’t really get me any closer to the theme of this post, does it?

Well, maybe it gets me a little closer, but I should have written about Terushi’s unique charm much sooner.

And yet, I ended up beating around the bush and taking the long way around for some strange reason.

I should have been honest from the start and written bluntly about why Nakahara-san and I are so captivated by the actor Terushi.

I must write frankly about why we took advantage of the postponement of our important Tomoshibi shoot to come see Terushi perform.

I should have written more directly about how the aura he exudes is so full of the allure of decadent beauty, and how he is an actor so obsessed with bleeding on stage.

Watching his performance and writing about it serves as an indispensable stimulus and a valuable learning experience for our own work.

So, I will write about that next, since you’ve likely already grasped his universal charm as an actor.