Nureki Chimuo Archive

Good morning.

I went to see Kikunosuke’s Masaoka.

Until just recently, he was appearing in TV commercials, a boy with droopy eyes and a sloppy face, who could only manage a lisping voice. Honestly, I was half worried whether he could pull off the role of Masaoka in “The Late Hagi.”

More than worried, I was dismissive.

But after all, Kikunosuke is the son of the seventh Kikugoro, the grandson of Baikyo, and tracing back, he is the scion of the sixth Kikugoro (I’m from the generation that saw the stage performances of the great sixth Kikugoro several times).

He commands a hefty 15,000 yen admission fee (though I’m always fortunate enough to be invited) and is a star of popular kabuki. Performing at a top-tier Tokyo theater, I expected he’d deliver a certain level of performance as Masaoka.

To cut to the chase, it lived up to that expectation. Kikonosuke’s super-young Masaoka was actually quite good.

I felt bad for having secretly looked down on him.

(The previous month, I had seen this same Kikunosuke perform Mitsukoshi at the Kabuki-za. He lacked the decadent allure expected of a Yoshiwara courtesan, appearing more like a merchant’s maiden bride-to-be. His attendant was Kikugoro.)

This time, he maintained the dignity and lofty bearing befitting Tsuruchiyo-ken’s wet nurse from beginning to end.

Above all, his sheer beauty was truly delightful.

Kabuki, after all, absolutely must have visual beauty.

I was watching him through my opera glasses, stubbornly searching for any flaw in Masaoka’s facial expressions.

There was no flaw, no lapse, not even a moment’s relaxation.

Kikunosuke held Masaoka’s unwaveringly loyal heart throughout.

He became the very embodiment of the fierce woman who, faced with the unjust death of her own child, Chisho, remained unflinching and unbroken.

Not a single moment of weakness was visible. (From the bamboo grove to the palace, it was a long, demanding role with no time to catch his breath. Kikunosuke must have been exhausted.)

Certainly, for the young Kikunosuke, the mindset of a samurai wife, prizing family above all, placing her lord first, was likely easier to grasp than the dark, twisted romantic feelings of a Yoshiwara courtesan whose lover was a criminal pursued by the police.

(Sukerokuemon’s Mitsukoshi embodied a decadent eroticism born of sharing a pillow with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men. But expecting Kikunosuke, seventy years his junior, to embody that was simply unreasonable.)

Kikunosuke’s delivery was smooth, his phrasing precise, and there was nothing unnatural or awkward about him.

(There was just one instance, somewhere in a moment of heightened emotion, where he slipped into his natural voice.)

I believe his father firmly guided him, hand in hand, with meticulous instruction, and the son obediently and faithfully performed, adhering to his father’s teachings.

I sensed the father Kikugoro’s obsession, the determination to pass on the family art to his son, the necessity to do so.

“Well, this is good enough. Now, don’t let your guard down. Pour your soul into it and become the role completely,” the father must have told his son, though perhaps with a hint of lingering unease.

And now, at the Kabuki-za next door, at the entrance of the hanamichi10’s curtain, dressed as the spirit of Tomomori in “Funabenkei,” he must be waiting for his entrance, his thoughts drifting to his son's performance as Masaoka.

To say now that Kikunosuke’s Masaoka lacks gravitas or presence would be harsh indeed.

While it’s natural he resembles his father in places, the moments when his features and expressions become the spitting image of his grandfather, Umesuke, are surely the work of “blood.”

The Otowaya lineage is safe.

At the key moments, the young Masaoka received repeated applause from the audience.

This was not applause born of sympathy or encouragement for a star actor entrusted with a major role, but applause born of the emotion of being drawn into this tragedy.

Though many young women were in the audience, the old-fashioned Gidayu drama’s themes of loyalty and mother-child love seemed to resonate completely within their hearts.

It’s not about whether something is new or old; seeing this kind of performance, given with such wholehearted dedication, truly reaches the audience. It strengthened my resolve.

If young actors believe in their path and dedicate themselves to traditional arts with such pure spirit, kabuki will be secure and will continue to flourish.

Perhaps to speed up the drama’s flow, the scene where the rice is cooked was cut.

I found it a bit lacking, but for today’s audience, this might be preferable.

We should just create a separate group dedicated to performing authentic, full-length productions.

Ainosuke’s Yashio, with a youthful vigor well-matched to the young Masaoka, was refreshing in places. While his detestable presence as the antagonist felt slightly lacking, he was refined, beautiful, and excellent.

Kichiyasu Uemura’s Matsushima, Monnosuke’s Oki no I, and Unosuke’s Emi Gozen were all quite satisfactory.

A raised runway in Japanese Kabuki theater, extending from the back of the theater through the audience to the stage, used for dramatic entrances and exits

However, I wish Monnosuke would show a bit more distinct personality as the leader of the Takino-ya troupe. I preferred him during his Komai days when he was with the Ennosuke troupe. (I liked his father!)

Ebizo’s Niki Danjo was good in that his makeup made him look like a proper sorcerer, eerie and unsettling, but he felt a bit too scary.

Still, it was a spirited Niki that thrilled the audience, and his tendency to act overly fierce was charmingly endearing.

He’s currently the most popular young actor, and I like him. He definitely has the aura of a leading star.

Shido’s Arajishi Oinosuke had a splendid appearance and makeup, but his mindset and spirit didn’t quite seem to blend into the drama.

I’ve been a fan since his early days with the Sarunosuke troupe.

After he became an adult, his performance as Kanamachi’s Hanjiro in “Mother’s Eyelids” (performed at the Kabuki-za by the late Matsuya Kinnosuke) was superb.

Somehow, I saw a sense of unease and hesitation in the aura of Arashishio Oinosuke, a character who must be spirited, fiercely unyielding, and utterly devoted to loyalty.

The inner state of an actor on stage is surprisingly perceptible to the audience.

Even with the thick makeup and flashy costumes, you can sense what’s in their heart.

After all, actors expose their entire bodies to the audience, project their voices loudly, revealing everything.

I’m in no position to criticize others. This is a reminder to myself.

This “Dragon and Tiger” dance is performed by Shido and Ainosuke as a duo.

It was clearly lacking in rehearsal.

(I believe this was probably my first time seeing this dance. Meaning it’s a new choreography. The choreographer is Bando Mitsugoro.)

It was only the second day after opening night, so it’s understandable the movements weren’t perfectly synchronized. But the audience pays fifteen thousand yen and spends the entire day coming to see it.

They can’t afford to say they weren’t prepared enough.

Now then, R-ko.

Our troupe, too, will begin rehearsals tonight under the new script, won’t we?

Just for fun, if we were to cast our troupe, would R-ko’s role be Masaoka?

No, I’d let H-san take Masaoka. I want to see R-ko as Yashio.

I’m sure you’d show us a truly hateful Yashio, one with such weight she’d crush Masaoka underfoot.

I’d like to be Niki Danjo, but Niki has so many lines in the confrontation at the interrogation office. Since I’m bad at memorizing lines, I’ll take Ara Shishionosuke instead.

When I was in elementary school, I used to play with the neighborhood kids, taking turns being Niki or Ononosuke.

“Ah, how suspicious! You sewer rat, creeping up on me? You’re no ordinary rat either. Before you taste this iron fan, I’ll send you packing! Vanish, vanish, vanish! Gone!”

Among my playmates, there was a bold, lively girl named Umeko. When she played Ononosuke, I’d wrap a large furoshiki cloth around my body and play the rat.

It was Niki Danjo transformed into a rat.

The rat would struggle as Umeko stomped hard on its feet.

As a child, it felt incredibly satisfying.

I was born and raised in that environment, in the lower-class neighborhoods of Tokyo.

Come to think of it, R-ko was also born and raised in Mukojima, wasn’t she?

Asakusa and Mukojima, neighboring towns separated by the Sumida River.

I look forward to your continued kindness.

That concludes my thanks for inviting me to such a wonderful play and my report on seeing it.