Nureki Chimuo Archive

Good morning.

Thanks to R-ko’s kindness once again this month, I was able to see many, many wonderful plays.

As always, I was able to fully experience the stage of the finest actors of our time from the best seats (also the best in terms of ticket price), seats that were easy to see from.

It was a month of pure bliss.

The expression of utter sorrow on Matsuhima-ya Matsuomaru’s face, captured in close-up, remains deeply etched in my mind, refusing to fade.

The pale face of a man enduring the bitterness of life, his whole body trembling, clings to my mind, clings to my mind, refusing to leave.

I’ve seen Gen Nizaemon perform Matsuomaru in Terakoya several times since his Takao days, but this performance was his finest.

Compared to the Matsumaru portrayed by the previous Nizaemon, I felt Takao’s artistry possessed a more formidable power in expressing humanity that transcended stylistic beauty (or perhaps it simply resonated more with my sensibilities).

Of course, I also loved the previous Nizaemon’s Matsuomaru, imbued with the unfathomable classical grace and pervasive sense of sorrow.

The sorrow in the previous Nizaemon’s Matsuomaru sometimes became a kind of pleasure, intoxicating the audience. But Gen Nizaemon’s Matsuomaru is so profoundly sad it feels like it might crush your chest.

I know of no other Matsuomaru that has dug so relentlessly deep into the very core of my soul, a stubborn, moss-covered, terminal elderly human being like myself, as this one has.

(Indeed! Transcending conventional forms, surpassing traditional styles, and stirring the hearts of today’s audience, this is the art of the Kamigata actor!)

Unlike Sakata Tojiro, Nizaemon may no longer be considered a Kamigata actor.

The late Kanzaburo’s Matsuomaru, when his emotions ran high, would literally have snot running down his face, soaking his entire face, it was full of human warmth (though, viewed through opera glasses, it looked a bit unsightly. In Jirozaemon’s Kago Tsurube, he’d also drench his face in snot. Well, but his passionate performances always had charm, and I loved them dearly). It was an art full of service. However, the current Nizaemon’s Matsuomaru possessed a dignified psychological portrayal that stirred the souls of modern people, distinct from that kind of passionate performance.

It’s an utterly inhumane story, a defenseless little boy of seven or eight, who’s done nothing wrong, is killed by a group of supposedly sensible, affectionate adults, who even go so far as to behead him. Yet the actor’s skill and the ingenuity of the staging make this shocking tale movingly convincing.

Despite being a story riddled with contradictions, it manages to draw you into the drama without making you feel those contradictions, sustaining tension right up to the end. That, I think, is truly remarkable playwriting.

Nizaemon’s voice, once the clear, rhythmic cadence of Takao’s era, has now subtly deepened and matured into a slightly huskier tone. This new timbre suits his portrayal of Matsuomaru in this scene perfectly. Indeed, it moved even someone like me, whose well of tears has long since run dry.

This profound “Terakoya” made me feel the very karma of humanity, the burden of having to live through this hellish 2008 reality.

I’ve seen nearly all the popular plays from the Kogyoku duo era nearly twenty years ago, starting with “Sakura Hime Azuma Bunsho.” Watching this “Terakoya,” I deeply felt, “Ah, so this is the actor’s mature period. This is what it means for an art to have grown.”)

One more thing I absolutely must write down.

That is how excellent Yamashiroya Sakata Tojiro was as Chiyo.

I saw Matsuo's wife like this for the first time, one who so accurately, subtly, and silently expressed such heart-wrenching emotion and inner psychology.

There she was, the samurai’s wife, crushed by misfortune, sharing a sickbed with her husband, Matsuomaru, loving him, bearing their son Kotaro, raising him, and then being forced to kill him.

I was deeply moved, whether I wanted it or not.

Truthfully, like R-ko, I hadn’t liked this actor since the days of Sensaku and Ganjiro (it was his poor diction that put me off. Yet I didn’t dislike the previous Ganjiro, despite his terribly raspy voice. I loved him to the point of shivering). But this Chiyo was good.

Hidden small behind Matsumaru’s large frame, she looked like a black mass of utter sorrow.

I was shown a fine Chiyo.

It was a truly superb Chiyo, one that could be called a masterpiece.

Yamashiroya is incredible!

(Ahh, she’s the same age as me!)

The world of people three hundred years ago, and the world of people now, are both full of hardship, pain, and sorrow.

Yet this play taught me that we are still alive, and that we must go on living.

Ume-gyoku and Kaishun as the Genzo couple were also excellent.

I’ve never seen such a youthful Genzo couple.

Takabe Genzo even felt like a “young man.” He showed us glimpses of a passionate warrior, fully aware of his own cruelty and ruthlessness, yet resolutely stepping deeper into that very cruelty.

Ah, I thought, so this is another side of Genzo.

The Genzos I’d seen before, Tomijuro Kichiemon, Mitsugoro, Uzaemon, Matsugoro (the previous generation), Nobuyoshi, Koshiro, Kanzaburo (the 17th), Danjuro, En’o, Hakucho, Bando Chikuwaka, Bando Tsuruzo, Jitsukawa Nobumatsu, Bando Takenosuke. All portrayed him as a thoughtful, discerning, rational warrior.

(You probably don’t know actors like Takejaku, Tsurozo, Nobumatsu, or Takenosuke, but I’ll explain them another time.)

The other day, when I met R-ko at our troupe gathering, I said, “Actually, I’ve seen Terakoya about three hundred times in the past.” I should have seen it.

In the 1950s, right after the war, when I was just shy of twenty, I played both the drooling boy and the drooling old man in this “Terakoya” with a certain troupe.

At first, even though I was still a child, I was made to play the old man’s role. Later, I was promoted and got to play the drooling boy.

(The cast at that time was Bando Takejaku as Matsuomaru, Ichikawa Fukunosuke as Chiyo, Bando Takenosuke as Genzo, and Onoe Otojo as Tonami. That was the kind of troupe it was.)

Of course, the drooling boy Yotaro was a fine role for a leading actor, while the old man was for a supporting actor.

So, moving from the old man to the drooling boy was a promotion.

I plan to write about this period in detail elsewhere and am currently preparing for that.

I recently told R-ko that I still have every line of dialogue for all the characters in “Terakoya,” even the Gidayu narration, memorized. A child’s memory is truly remarkable. Without even trying to memorize things, they somehow get etched into your brain.

And even now, over sixty years later, it remains vividly clear.

As R-ko well knows, nowadays I resort to sticking my own few lines onto the inside of a bucket, the inside of a Western style umbrella, or a bottle of Western liquor placed on the bar counter, and then sneak peeks at them during the performance.

Compared to that (well, comparing is wrong, really). Matsushima-ya, even though it was his first role, memorized the long, long, and incredibly complex Satsuma Gen’gohei’s lines for three acts and six scenes perfectly.

You could say it’s just his job, so it’s only natural, but it’s still nothing short of amazing.

This “Kamikakate Sango Taietsu,” the Koman Gengo-bee by Tsuruyanami, was being staged for the first time in ages.

I watched it with great, great excitement, feeling thrilled and thrilled all over.

The pairing of Nizaemon and Kikugoro in this sordid, intensely human drama of lust was truly the finest of our time. It was richly satisfying, exuding that characteristic Namboku-style atmosphere of grim pleasure.

Perhaps the reason this well-crafted play isn’t staged more often is that its story is too grim and brutal, too grotesque, forcing us to confront the foolish and wicked depths humans are capable of.

For me, of course, that very aspect was wonderfully fascinating.

Gengobee, utterly, madly, hopelessly in love with the woman Koman (Tokizo), cuts off her head and places it on a wooden stand.

Then, the scene where that head slowly opens its eyes and smiles, even knowing what was coming, it still sent a chill down my spine. It must be because the staging before and after that moment is so masterfully done.

I remember seeing the late Onoe Tannosuke (father of the current Matsugoro) perform it long ago at the Shimbashi Enbujo Theater.

At that time, Takao (now Mizaemon) played Sango.

It was staged in Showa 60 (1985), so it was over twenty years ago now.

Over those twenty years, both Sangoro and Gengobe have gained experience. Has their portrayal of human frailty and the allure of villainy matured?

Kikugoro, I’ve watched him perform for decades, and honestly, I never quite knew if he was truly skilled or not. But watching his Sangoro this time, I finally understood, yes, he really is a masterful actor.

There was a fascinating flavor in the way he muttered his final line at the seven-three point on the hanamichi before retreating.

I have more I’d like to write, but I’ll stop here, as I don’t want to trouble busy R-ko with a lengthy letter.

The plays R-ko let me see this month alone number this many.

I’ll just list the titles.

“Ise Ondo: The Lover’s Blade”

It was my first time seeing “Ise Ondo” performed in its entirety. Ebizo’s beauty in his yukata was breathtaking. The agonizing, tragic beauty of that yukata, stained crimson with the blood of the woman he had slain.

Kabuki truly is a grotesque, bizarre spectacle of intense joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure.

Uemura Yoshiya’s portrayal of Manno was excellent. It was a dignified and splendid Manno.

Saruya of the Sannosuke troupe was selected for the role of Oshika. It truly was a selection. Lately, his notable performances outside the Sannosuke troupe have been gaining attention.

I’ve been a fan of Saruya-san since the days of the old “Hitoritabi Gojusan Tsugi” (Solo Journey: Fifty-Three Stations). A secret fan.

Saruya-san, congratulations. That’s what I should say. It’s true he’s highly valued. Munenojo’s Okon was fresh, beautiful, and charmingly innocent.

Old man Sawamura Munenori, in Daiei films, always played the hateful (yet endearing) antagonist opposite Hasegawa Kazue. I loved him.

Well, chatting like this could go on forever, so I’ll just stick to the title after all.

“Yoshitune and the Thousand Cherry Trees: Mount Yoshino”

“Meiboku Sendaihagi”

This is also a full-length play. I wrote this to praise Kikunosuke’s performance as Masaoka in this “Talking Theater.”

It’s the “Dragon and Tiger” dance. It was a strange, poorly executed dance.

“The Five Great Vows” (Kami Kakete Sango Taisetsu). This is also a continuous piece.

“The Courtesan’s Letter: Yoshida-ya” Sakata Tojiro as Toya Izaemon. Yogiri was played by Kaishun. Yugiri’s makeup looked like a monkey.

In November 1946, I saw “Yoshidaya” at Togekijo, with the sixth Kikuguru as Izaemon and the third Umegyoku as Yugiri. This is my secret pride. I went to see it alone as a boy.

“Terakoya” as mentioned earlier.

In “Funabenkei,” Shikan played Funosa. What incredibly flexible movements. I was mesmerized.

“Komochi Yamanba” (The Old Woman of the Mountain). A few days before seeing this play, I heard the “Kuruwabashira” segment of the narrated joruri “Komochi Yamanba” performed by Takemoto Hozako at Ueno Hirokoji-tei.

Takemoto Hozako is a jogi, a female joruri narrator. It was truly splendid.

In kabuki, the title is “Yaegiri Kuruwabashi.”

Genju the tobacco seller is actually Sakata Kuranosuke Tokiyuki (Umedama), and Hagiya Yaegiri (Tokizo). Here too, Kuranosuke stabs himself in the belly with a sword, cuts himself open, and feeds his entrails to his wife.

It’s a story, again tinged with grotesque taste, where Yaegiri, conceived from her husband’s single-minded resolve, becomes the mountain hag with the peerless great sword and fights.

Over the course of a month, you invited me to so many plays.

I would like to express my gratitude once again to R-ko.

Additionally, this month I invited R-san (R-ko and R-san, a bit confusing, but they’re different people. Both are beautiful.) to the National Theater to see a new kabuki play called “Edo Yami Ayashi no Kagizume” (Edo Twilight’s Mysterious Claw).

This play is based on a work by Edogawa Ranpo, so for me, there was no way I could miss it.

The cast featured Koshiro and Somegoro.

Also, Ichikawa Shunen from the Sannosuke troupe.

To cut to the chase, it was a truly pointless, boring play.

This is just my own speculation, but I feel the script (by Yuki Iwaho) was actually quite well-written.

It seems like Koshiro and his son just went off on their own tangents and ruined it.

Sorry for speaking based on speculation.

I imagine the scriptwriter, Yukiko Iwaho, must have felt incredibly frustrated. Koshiro himself directed it.

I couldn’t help but feel they had some fundamental misunderstanding about what theater-making truly entails.

It was boring.

While it marketed itself on Edogawa Ranpo’s grotesque sensibilities, there was absolutely no trace of that vibe.

“San Go Dai Tai” is far more grotesque. Tsuruyanami really is amazing.

Still, even in this botched, tedious play, there were some good scenes here and there.

The roughly fifteen-minute scene where Akechi Kogoro’s wife, played by Ichikawa Shunsaro, is kidnapped by villains and bound, writing in agony inside a sinister cave.

The emotional intensity of this bondage scene is quite something. It felt like seeing a “bound woman” for the first time in ages.

On the National Theater stage, there was a woman’s emotion and sentiment, a genuine eroticism that seemed to spill out, something you don’t see in the “bondage photos” and “bondage videos” now being produced everywhere and used as sales gimmicks.

The allure of this bondage scene lies entirely in the allure and masochistic acting of the onnagata actor, Shunen.

With opera glasses pressed to my eyes, I kept staring intently at the onnagata’s figure, writhing in the ropes with a hauntingly beautiful and erotic beauty.

Suddenly, I recalled a passage written somewhere by Itoh Seiu.

He said that binding a young, beautiful onnagata was far more evocative and exciting than binding a woman who wasn’t into it.

I will write about the intense sensuality of the bound Shunen in this scene on another occasion.

R-San’s Note This “Talking Theater, Episode 66” was written on November 29, 2008. Therefore, references to “this month” or “over the course of a month” in the text refer to November 2008. Please be aware of this.