Nureki Chimuo Archive

The New Year’s Performance at Tsurukame Theater in Showa 21 (1946) opened on December 31.

Was it a week-long run starting on New Year’s Eve the previous year, or did it continue for two weeks because it was a New Year’s performance? My diary doesn’t record that.

But, following the precious time, my memories of this performance are also vivid.

First, the opening act was “Danmari (Silence).”

My diary simply notes “Silence, one act” and beyond that,

Tokoku Taro … Bando Takejaku Uesugi Terutora … Onoe Takenosuke Aramusha Taro … Sawamura Tetsuzaburo And other numerous roles.

It only says that.

I’m included in this “other numerous roles” category.

There are many kinds of “silence.”

In the darkness, the main characters move silently, sometimes groping their way around, a kind of pantomime, or perhaps dance drama. Thus, when written in kanji, it is rendered a “暗 闘” and read as “danmari.”

“Jidai danmari” (period drama pantomime) and “sewa danmari” (domestic drama pantomime) are still occasionally seen in Grand Kabuki today.

The “Japanese Theater Dictionary” mentions variations like “erotic silent plays” and “humorous silent plays,” but I have never seen them myself.

I vaguely recall seeing something resembling “Okashimidanmari” (comedy pantomime) once at the Kotobuki Theater in Honjo, but I don’t remember clearly.

The danmari performed at the Tsurukame Theater during the New Year season of 1946, under the direction of Bando Takejaku, was undoubtedly a “jidai danmari” judging by the character names and costumes. However, after that, I never saw a danmari featuring a character like Tokoku Taro at any theater.

Perhaps it was a rare danmari from a kyogen play only performed in small theaters.

In October 2009, the kyogen “Otowagadake Danmari” performed at the Kabuki-za in Tokyo during the matinee was the stage debut of Onoe Matsugoro’s eldest son, performing under the stage name “Fujima Taiga.” Judging by the title alone, it was likely a kind of demonstration “danmari” by the Otowaya troupe.

Kikugoro, the head of the Otowaya troupe, will play the hero role of “Otowa Yasha Goro.”

Matsugoro, who is also Taiga’s father, will appear in an important (probably) role as “Yakko Datehei.” However, I have never seen this kyogen play.

Also, distinguished figures like Kaishun, Tanosuke, Kichiemon, and Tomijuro will make appearances.

Of course, Kikunosuke, the next head of the Otowaya family, also appears.

It promises to be a splendidly lavish danmari.

Given the name of the play and the character names, this is undoubtedly a “period danmari.”

It will likely be a script akin to a new work, combining the traditional danmari with the debut of Otowaya’s new star.

I take my hat off to Shochiku’s stance of seizing every possible opportunity to preserve traditional performing arts.

In contrast, the Tsurukame Theater’s New Year’s performance titled “Silence” simply bears the name “Silence” with no further explanation.

Of course, we don’t get a proper script.

As the youngest, lowliest actor, I was in no position to ask my seniors, “What kind of play is this? What kind of silent role is it?”

All I could do was move my body exactly as Director Takejaku had instructed.

When the opening clappers sounded, two samurai from the Warring States period, played by Hideo Umezawa and myself, appeared from the hanamichi, accompanied by the clamor of gongs and drums evoking the battlefield.

Outside the curtain, at center stage, we drew our swords and immediately launched into a sword fight.

This choreography was arranged by Kataoka Tobei.

I knew Tobei’s skill as a fight choreographer from plays like “Blood-red Smoke at Takeda Horse Market” and “The Famous Suzukamori” during my time with the Hitachi public relations troupe.

“Let’s have Umezawa-kun and the youngster do a slightly more intense fight scene. After all, they’re both young. Right, Master? That’s fine, isn’t it?”

Smiling cheerfully at Takejaku, Tobei choreographed the fight scene for the danmari scene outside the curtain.

Tobei still called me “the boy,” just as he had during the public relations troupe days.

At first, it was a gentle, dance-like, choreographed fight. Partway through, it became intense, like the stage combat of the New National Theater.

“Wow, you’re good! Amazing! That’s some serious power!” Takejaku was delighted even during rehearsals, watching Umezawa and my fight scenes with narrowed eyes.

Hideo Umezawa, the popular swordplay king from Asakusa performed this fight scene with more intensity and passion than usual.

Afterwards, even after the curtain fell on the danmari, Takejaku approached me and said, “Umezawa-kun and Fukujiro-san’s fight scene was like fire. The audience was amazed.”

I loved Takejaku’s smile at moments like this.

Deep wrinkles gathered on either side of his nose, extending down to the lower lip. It was an incredibly warm, gentle smile. His gold tooth was set in place, glinting brightly.

I still remember this “danmari” because Takejaku praised me.

Come to think of it, my master Fukunosuke never once praised me.

Not only did he never praise me, he barely spoke to me at all.

He always sat quietly in seiza, his eyes narrowed, looking as if he were deep in thought.

He was a man of few words.

Even when old patrons brought precious food items, rare at the time, to his dressing room, he rarely showed much of a smile.

In that, I saw the uncompromising, solitary nobility of Fukunosuke, a truly talented onnagata, and my respect and admiration for him only deepened.

The second play following “Silence” was “Nozakimura,” and thanks to Fukunosuke’s recommendation, I was given the role of Yoshi, the maid serving O-Some, the oil merchant’s daughter.

This role of the maid accompanying O-Some, who comes from Osaka to Nozakimura longing to see her lover, Hisamatsu, is usually played by a well-known mid-level actor even in Grand Kabuki productions.

Fukunosuke played O-Some, and the heroine O-Mitsu was played by Takejaku, a role he excelled at.

O-Some and the maid Yoshi enter from the hanamichi and exchange the following lines:

O-Some: Oh, no, no. I long to see Hisamatsu soon, but is Hisamatsu’s house still far off?

Yoshi: Even in this cold season, His Excellency Hisamatsu’s pilgrimage to Nozaki is made out of deep faith, more so than for the Kannon statue. The plum tree at the boat landing, which served as our landmark, is likely the one we were told about.

O-Some: Then it must be that house over there, I suppose.

Yoshi: It certainly seems so, but I’ll go ask just to be sure.

O-Some: Ah, no, be quiet. Though I’ve come eager to see His Lordship Hisamatsu, it’s still the village. It wouldn’t do to be seen by others. You wait here by the boat.

Yoshi: No, no, my lady. How could I possibly leave you alone?

O-Some: Well, that house is right there. There’s nothing to worry about.

Yoshi: Farewell then. I shall see you to the gate.

O-Some: No, no, that’s not necessary. You should hurry back to the boat.

Yoshi: Yes, yes, understood.

Here, the gidayu chant begins: “The maid hurries back to the riverbank, turning back in haste…”

I exit the hanamichi alone.

The reason I cannot forget this kyogen play, “Nozakimura,” is that it was the only play where I exchanged lines with my master, Fukunosuke, on stage.

Like “Terakoya,” this is also one of my favorite plays. It’s a fine piece that beautifully expresses the earnest romantic psychology of men and women of that era. I still remember every line, even the gidayu verses, without forgetting a single word.

And whenever “Nozakimura” is performed in a grand kabuki production, I always go to see it.

Like “Terakoya,” it’s a popular play frequently staged in the Grand Kabuki, so I’ve seen countless actors portray O-Some, Hisamatsu, Hisasaku, and O-Mitsu over the years.

I keep returning to see “Nozaki Village” because I want to weep over this pure tragedy of self-sacrifice, and at the same time, I long to feel the warmth of remembering Ichikawa Fukunosuke in his prime, to see the image of sixteen year old Fukujiro, to feel as if his spirit is still present.