Nureki Chimuo Archive

The role of Yataro of Shimkita, the protagonist of this play and one that the troupe leader is traditionally supposed to play, is entrusted to a young, handsome actor as a combination of a birthday celebration and a show of encouragement, simply because the performance happens to fall on his birthday.

I wrote last time that this kind of bold and fearless flexibility is, first and foremost, truly impressive.

(Is it flexibility, the leader’s authority to act on his own, or should I call it dictatorial power?)

He goes ahead and makes this major casting change on a whim, without informing the audience.

The audience remains unaware of this until the curtain rises and the play begins.

Only after the curtain rises and the protagonist appears on stage do they finally realize the change: “Oh, wait, that’s not the troupe leader. It’s Masakazu Himeno.”

The audience learns this out of the blue, with no prior warning or announcement, yet no one complains.

The audience, watching silently without complaint, or rather, with eyes sparkling with anticipation for the young leading man, is amazing in its own right.

For example, if in a major kabuki production, the role of Benkei in “Kanjincho,” which should be played by Kichiemon, were suddenly given to Matagoro or Utaroku without any prior notice, the audience would be furious and it would be impossible for the play to proceed smoothly.

What I find even more impressive is how the young leading man stepping in for the troupe leader manages to perform the lead role in this play, a role that’s demanding in terms of both dialogue and movement and can certainly be called a difficult part, with such distinction.

Given the actor’s youth, he is far too handsome and dashing to convincingly portray a man who grew up facing adversity from a young age and ended up as a vagabond, wandering from place to place in search of his blind sister who was abducted.

His movements are fresh and light, showing no trace of the hardships that have seeped into the character’s very being.

But then again, this is just a play.

And that’s perfectly fine.

It would be wrong to point out that his straw-sandaled feet are always clean, free of mud and dust.

The troupe leader must have entrusted this young, handsome leading man with the lead role he usually plays himself precisely because he was convinced it would be fine.

(I forgot to mention this, but in this type of theater troupe, the troupe leader is always the director.)

Without that conviction, there’s no way he could have put the actor on stage in front of his audience.

If the young actor failed, it would damage the troupe’s reputation and the audience would stop coming.

And while the young leading man naturally lacks the gravitas of the troupe leader, the entire troupe, now in supporting roles, unites to support him and bring the performance to life.

I can feel the passion and affection in the way they build up the performance.

The supporting actors’ passionate performances resonate with the audience and it feels wonderful.

Even though they’re putting on such a sincere, well-crafted play with so much heart, this troupe doesn’t have a program.

The only way to find out the cast members’ names is from a single flyer.

That flyer lists the names and photos of all fifteen troupe members.

What’s surprising is that there are two troupe leaders. On top of that, there’s also a “young leader.”

Furthermore, there are, believe it or not, three second-in-command members.

(The second-lead actor who played the lead role of Yataro is one of those second-in-command members.)

I suppose young lead is read as “wakagashira,” but I was surprised by this title, which reminds me of the old-time “tobi” (construction workers) and “hikishi” (firefighters).

However, I believe there is a necessity for this troupe to use such titles, so both Director Nakahara and I have grown accustomed to them and, in fact, aren’t all that surprised anymore.

There must be something about it that makes terms like executive or associate executive, used by other theater companies, inappropriate here.

With the troupe leader, young troupe leader, and young lead in place, the remaining actors are presumably considered regular members.

(The two actresses I raved about last time, who played the prostitutes murdered by the yakuza, are listed as regular members on this flyer. Their photos are also small.)

cast.

Since there’s no program, the audience has no way of knowing the exact play title or

Just before the curtain rises, the play’s title is announced over the microphone, but the background noise is so loud and the speakers are of such poor quality that it’s almost impossible to make out.

The audience has no choice but to concentrate intently and watch the action unfold on stage.

With a troupe like this, you simply can’t put together a program, even if you tried.

That’s because the play they perform is different every day. No, every single time.

In fact, when this troupe performs both a matinee and an evening show at the same venue on the same day, they stage a different play for each performance.

They never perform the same play twice.

When they perform twice a day, once in the afternoon and once in the evening, at the same venue for a month, they end up performing different plays a total of over sixty times. This is what is known as “daily-changing plays.”

In other words, fans who passionately love this troupe can enjoy sixty different plays over the course of a month, a different one every day and every performance.

While this is a joy for fans, for the performers it means they must present a different play to the audience every single time.

And they must not only perform it but give it their all.

Otherwise, the fans won’t be satisfied.

They’ll stop being fans in an instant.

(In fact, Director Nakahara and I, out of deep affection, secretly refer to the group of ardent fans who flock to see this troupe as “enthusiasts.” And since Director Nakahara and I have come to see this troupe five, six, or perhaps even seven times over the past few years, we might just be part of that group of enthusiasts ourselves.)

If this troupe were to go to the trouble of publishing a program, they would have to create a different one every day and for every performance.

Even if they were to create a large-scale production like “Yataro of Shimoka” with bold casting changes and a constant downpour of snow, and even if the entire cast gave passionate performances, this play would still only be performed once in this region.

We saw the matinee performance, but come evening, they would have to give their all in a completely different play.

It’s entertaining and moving for the audience, but I imagine the tension and energy required of the performers must be immense.

Even without a program, the die-hard fans never complain.

No matter how unusual the makeup, how elaborate the costume, or how outlandish the role, the die-hard fans can tell who the actor is at a single glance.

And the actors always captivate and satisfy those die-hard fans.

In this production of “Yataro of Shimokita” as well, the troupe leader has cast the second-in-command in the cool lead role, while he himself plays the teahouse owner who appears briefly at the very beginning of the prologue.

With his wrinkled, white-haired head, that old man exits almost immediately and I was so careless that I didn’t realize he was the troupe leader.

(Director Nakahara, as expected, seemed to recognize him right away.)

I was impressed by the troupe leader appearing as a nondescript old man in a minor role, but when he properly made up for it during the speech after the play I was even more amazed.

You could simply call it a spirit of service to the audience but I can’t help but be amazed by the subtle sense of balance they demonstrate in reading the psychology of their fans.

During that speech, the troupe leader explains to the audience with a sense of warmth that the young, handsome grandfather who played “Yataro” was once one of the troupe’s leading actors.

Then, he went out of his way to project a large slide of that now-deceased grandfather’s photo onto the screen in the center of the stage.

While explaining with a warm smile, the troupe leader subtly conveys to the audience the rigor of the artistic tradition passed down within this troupe and the strength of their unity.

Fans love hearing these behind-the-scenes stories about the troupe, told with a conversational flair that’s as enjoyable as music (I love them too). The die-hard fans often laugh as they listen.

In addition to the two troupe leaders (who appear to be brothers) there is a young leader (who seems to be the child of one of the brothers) and the presence of three second-in-command figures with strikingly similar features conveys a sense of the strong bonds forged by blood ties.

Furthermore, I can vaguely imagine that the master-apprentice bonds passed down through generations have become the artistic tradition of this troupe and form the basis of its strong unity.

If they maintain strict standards for their performances and sustain a consistently positive mindset, there is no weapon stronger than the bonds of blood.

And even without relying on blood ties, if one’s father and grandfather were both actors in the same troupe, the emotional bond among the members would naturally be strong.

It is enough to deeply move even a jaded, nitpicking theater lover like me. This troupe leader must possess an exceptional actor’s spirit and the leadership to understand and inspire the hearts of his people.

There are actually still more reasons why Director Nakahara and I find them so amazing and are so intrigued by them.

That, perhaps, is the biggest reason why I’m writing this piece.

As mentioned earlier, in “Yataro of Shimokita,” all the main characters whom the audience cheers for are ultimately killed by the villain.

That is indeed the case.

And it’s not just this play.

This troupe particularly enjoys performing stories in which the protagonist meets a tragic or gruesome end in the final act.

To take it a step further, there are many scenes in which the lead character, or a character of equal importance, dies by committing seppuku.

They perform these seppuku scenes with considerable realism and meticulous care. They make it the highlight of the play, showcasing the vivid red color of blood.

Even in stories where seppuku isn’t necessary, they’ll suddenly grip a sword with their non-dominant hand and plunge it into their stomach. It’s shocking.

Surprised by the unexpected turn of events, I’ve found myself thinking, “Wait, wait, wait, there’s no need to commit seppuku right here…”

I’ve found myself screaming that in my head several times.

When the protagonist finds himself in a tight spot, for example, I whisper in Director Nakahara’s ear, “He’s going to suddenly draw his sword and commit seppuku right here, just watch.”

And then, more often than not, that’s exactly what happens.

I can’t help but think, “Hmm, I guess I really do like this.”

The fans in the audience also applaud and cheer the protagonist’s passionate portrayal of death. Some are even wiping away tears.

I think this is simply the natural flow of the story, and neither the performers nor the audience have any clear, specific purpose in mind for the seppuku scene.

However, I feel compelled to write in detail and specifically about how this troupe features so many seppuku scenes and the dedication with which the actors perform them.

As a common rule in this kind of popular theater, there must be an ironclad principle that no matter how tragic or tear-jerking the scenes may be along the way, when the curtain fails, a happy ending must be forced, even if it’s contrived, to send the audience off with bright, buoyant smiles.

I’d like to write about the unique characteristics of this troupe, which has gained popularity by subverting that rule, but since this has gotten too long, I’ll leave it for now.

I’m sure I’ll have a chance to write about it someday.

That’s right. I finally managed to track down just two programs, one for Noboru Umezawa’s troupe and one for Osamu Kanai’s troupe.

They were published seventy-six years ago. The paper has discolored and is now in tatters.

These two flimsy programs contain the very source of the passion that drives me to continue watching plays like this with such fervor even now.

The Umezawa Noboru Troupe program is twenty-four pages long. The cover reads, “Umezawa Noboru Times,” Showa 11, Issue No. 12, Edited by the Umezawa Literary Department, Shinryoku No. 2, Yoshimoto Kogyo General Partnership, Showa-za

The colophon has been torn off and is no longer visible.

The program for the Osamu Kanai Troupe also bears the words “Yoshimoto Kogyo General Partnership, Koen Theater” on its cover. It is listed as issue No. 7, priced at 10 sen per copy. This, too, was published in Showa 11.

Showa 11, that is, 1936, when I was six years old. My scribbles remain on the cover of this program.

Looking at this program now, I have learned that the set designer for Osamu Kanai’s troupe was Seiu Itoh.

It turns out that I have been exposed to Seiu Itoh’s work since I was six years old. I feel as if there is some kind of fate at play here. I think there will come a time when I write about the various memories I have associated with this program.