Nureki Chimuo Archive

Tsurukame Theater is located about a three-minute walk from Kameari Station on the Joban Line, meaning it’s easily accessible by train. Even visitors from far away can take the train to come see a play.

To reach Shirahige Theater, tucked away on the back side of Mejii-dori across Shirihige Bridge over the Sumida River, one must walk over twenty minutes from Minami-Senju Station on the Joban Line along a desolate, lonely road littered with bombed-out ruins.

Another nearby station is Tobu Isesaki Line’s Tamanoi Station (now Higashi Mukojima Station), but disembarking there still requires a walk of nearly thirty minutes.

Even so, fans from the Honjo Kotobuki Theater days still come by daily, about four or five people. Still, the audiences were mostly made up of local residents.

Compared to the weighty historical plays with Gidayu narration, like “Terutora’s Banquet” featuring characters such as Takeda Shingen, Nagao Terutora, Naoe Yamashiro, and Yamamoto Kanketsu, the more accessible and relatable plays for people around the theater, specifically the Mukojima neighborhood, are the domestic plays (sewamono) where the high-ranking courtesans of Yoshiwara shine in all their splendor.

From the perspective of the theater operators, it seems only natural that they adapted the story of “Koya Takao,” which features a dye shop artisan as its protagonist, into the brightly comedic “Ishii Tsuneemon,” reimagining it as a tale of naive, simple-minded samurai.

Around this time, I had read nearly all two hundred volumes of the Shun’yodo published “Complete Collection of Japanese Plays” and the similarly Shun’yodo published “Complete Collection of Meiji and Taisho Literature” from my father’s bookshelf (it was wartime and postwar, so there was little else to read). Yet, even in theater magazines, plays like “Ishii Tsuneemon” never appeared.

It was probably a play only performed in small-scale productions. Or perhaps it was a play only staged by troupes now referred to as “popular theater.”

Through this “Ishii Tsuneemon,” I learned lines like: “Even in the pleasure quarter where the moon rises on New Year’s Eve, remember this is darkness.”

And: “The sincerity of a courtesan, a square egg, and the moon rising on the last day of the month… if such things existed”

I was able to memorize such interesting lines.

The country samurai Ishii Tsuneemon, played by Bando Takejaku, spoke with a country accent, yet his diction was clear, his speech crisp, and his lines had a light, rhythmic feel that was pleasant to the ear.

I think it was perhaps from this “Ishii Tsuneemon” that I first awakened to the appeal of what we now call “popular theater.” (currently, R-san has suddenly awakened to this “popular theater,” becoming a fervent fan. Almost every month, I am practically dragged by her to see various troupes of “popular theater” performing all over the place. As a result, I’ve gained much and been deeply moved many times.)

—And just like that, the conversation somehow veers off course again, derailing uncontrollably and spreading out.

Startled back to my senses, (is this really okay?), my pen hesitates.

Shuntaro Tanikawa has a piece titled “A Day Until I Return to the Earth.” One passage reads:

I wanted to write in my diary but was too sleepy to do so Choosing which events of the day to write about And which to leave out is always difficult There’s nothing I absolutely must write down, Yet why does leaving it blank make me restless?

This feels close to my current state of mind.

I intend to write only the titles of the plays performed at the Tsurukame Theater and the Shirahige Theater, avoiding unnecessary details. Yet, I inevitably end up reminiscing about the memories tied to those plays.

And since there are people who enjoy reading those stories, I, being the show-off that I am (after all, I was born and raised in Asakusa), can’t help but write them again. (Though those who find it entertaining are surely just being polite.) A word of caution to myself.

Even though I have plenty of other things I ought to be writing about in this era.

After this period of experiencing kabuki “small plays,” I eventually moved on to a children’s theater troupe, or rather, a new-style theater troupe called “Gekidan Todo.”

There, I gained stage experience as a new drama actor.

Though the years and time spent living daily as a new drama actor far outweigh my experience as a lowly kabuki actor, I surprisingly have little I wish to write about this period.

Deep within me, the inexhaustible charm of kabuki and the bubbling excitement of “small plays” have become ingrained, nestled deep in my bones.

The phrase “in my bones” felt like it might be a dead term now, so I decided to look it up in the dictionary.

“Bone-deep: When syphilis spreads throughout the body, causing the bones to ache and throb.”

Well, well.

In this play, “Ishii Tsuneemon,” the villainous samurai, Kato Satota, was played by Kataoka Tobei.

Among the three retainers following this villain, I, Ichikawa Fukujiro, was given the role of one of them.

A two act play at the Shirahige Theater.

One, Mikazuki Hanji: Origin of the Black Ships. Fourth Scene.

Scene 1: The Coast. Scene 2: Kiyoshi’s Residence.

Scene 3: Godayu’s Residence. Scene 4: The Road.

Mikazuki Hanji………Sawamura Tetsuzaburo Carpenter Kiyokichi………Onoe Otojo His younger brother Tokimatsu………Ichikawa Fukujiro Kiyokichi’s wife Kiyo………Sakamoto Yoko

Ota Godayu………Kataoka Tobei Yamamoto Ippei………Umezawa Hideo Yamada Santayu………Arisawa Kotaro Yokogushi Osen………Sakamoto Reiko

I clearly remember “Ishii Tsuneemon,” but this “Mikazuki Hanji” plays almost no part in my memory. I don’t recall the story either. It must have been a rather dull play.

I was given the role of the younger brother of a handsome carpenter named Seikichi (the actor Onoe Otojo typically played young female roles or handsome male roles). I must have had lines and movements, but I remember absolutely nothing about it.

I suspect this play was one Tetsuzaburo had actually performed with another troupe in the past, and the script existed only in his head.

The fact that Tetsuzaburo himself played the lead role of Mikazuki Hanji is likely proof of this.

The promoter’s policy of avoiding difficult kabuki and staging many easy to understand plays gradually became apparent.

Neither the troupe leader, Takejaku, nor Fukunosuke appeared in this “Mikazuki Hanji.” Basically, it had become Tetsuzaburo’s own production.

2. The Love Courier’s Journey to Yamato: The Scene of the Seal’s Breaking

Umekawa………Ichikawa Fukunosuke Oen………Onoe Otojo Jiemon………Kataoka Tobei Niwaya Hachiemon………Onoe Takenosuke Tesho/Yubei………Sawamura Tetsuzaburo Chubei………Bando Takejaku

This was a splendid Kabuki sewa-kyogen, and both Takejaku and Fukunosuke delivered dignified and passionate performances.

Fans traveled from afar, crossing the Sumida River, just to see this one act.

In this “Seal-Breaking,” I played the opening hokan, the drum bearer, dancing with a fan spread across my forehead and tied in place.