Kabuki~!

So I went to my very first kabuki show today and it was the epitome of validating why I study Japan.

Yes, it was that epic.

The kabuki I went to was a very special show—one shown only in December. It’s called the Kichirei Kaomise Kogyo (Annual custom, all-star cast face showing) and it’s called “face showing” because it’s snippets of scenes in plays and not the whole plays in their entirety as well as starring only the best and brightest of the kabuki troupe. Despite this, we started at 4:30pm and got out around 10pm. It was very long, but very worth it.

Kabuki is the traditional art of Japanese theater that involves dancing, elaborate make up and costumes, and cross-dressing. Yes, just like Shakespearian theater, all the actors are men—even the women. What makes it worse is that the onnagata (the men who play female roles) are usually more feminine than most women…or at least me. 

Yes, this is a man.

Machi, Me, and Alexa in our traditional finery after the show!

I went with a couple of my friends—pictured are Machi and Alexa (with Heather taking the picture!), but it all started with something better suited for a farce.

Running late, Machi and I strove to quickly get Alexa into her kimono; we had five or so minutes to do a process that usually takes over half an hour. We managed to get a good portion of it done, but decided to forgo the obi (the sash) with a complicated bow and use substitutions instead, and then ran like headless chickens for the bus that if we missed, we would be late beyond all politeness.

While we were running to catch the bus (and me in three inch heels!), I managed to braid Alexa’s hair into less of a tangled bird’s nest and into something presentable (though I know you’re supposed to do the hair before the kimono!). Yes, I managed to braid her hair while running. I feel as if I deserve some sort of semi-mom award for “helping get presentable under pressure” or something like that! :D

We made the bus.

Taking a train, we managed to arrive at the kabuki theater just as it was opening. There was such a swarm of people! It was kinda claustrophobic… But eventually we managed to get in and find our seats…which were at the very back (and top!) of the theater.

Pretty steep, huh?

Walking into the theater room itself gave me a very different sense from American theaters. For one, I felt like I was scaling a rock cliff, the stairs were so steep. One of my friends actually had to leave for a while because she got vertigo. But the colors on the stage were fantastic and every so often you could see someone running behind the curtain to move stuff. And then the show started and I got my first real difference between Japanese and American theater.

In Japan, they don’t turn the lights completely off during the performance. There was plenty of light for me to read and write notes in the margins of the copies of the script the teacher had given us (I was joining a fieldtrip for a class I was not a participant in). There was enough light to navigate the treacherous stairs (though I did not attempt to do so), and even enough light that I could admire the gorgeous haori I was wearing (though I didn’t, instead deciding to focus on the very fascinating scenes shown in front of me).

In between all of the plays (there were five), there is a fifteen to thirty minute intermission, where you can stretch your legs, go to the bathroom, buy food, or eat dinner. Yes, you can drink beer in the theater while watching. It’s practically encouraged.

So, the first “scene” cemented my love for kabuki. It was not the plot (kinda trite in my opinion, though if I did enough research, I’m sure it would make more sense for me), or the interesting use of stage effects—it was the scenery that did it for me.

DISCLAIMER: This is a very scarce and brief description of the play in order to highlight the scenery, costumes, and acting, not the story.

It started with a man on a balcony admiring the tops of some blooming cherry trees. There was talking and reminiscing and the man finding out that he was adopted. Then—suddenly!—his arch rival appears underneath his balcony.

To show this, the trees start running away (quite literally, as there are people behind them) and then the balcony the man is sitting on starts rising up into the air, until a whole new level is shown and the arch rival appears.

My eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets. Everything was done so cleverly and it looked so real! I think I may have let out a dreamy sigh. I think the old man sitting kitty-corner to me gave me a look. But it was so well executed!

The second act I enjoyed for the last scene and the character contained within—the kabuki horse. It is one of the most comical things I have seen in a long, long time. Imagine a horse, but instead of horse legs, it has human legs (with shoes!) that march in unison—very much not like how a horse works. Despite the somber mood of the actors before it (it was a pretty sad story), I nearly burst into guffaws. Luckily, I managed to keep it silent, though I was shaking from the effort.

The third act was actually pretty boring because we didn’t have a copy of the script on hand, and most of the characters were sitting down and speaking. In formal, archaic Japanese. Despite being able to understand about a third of what comes out of my Okaasan’s mouth, I was so utterly lost. It went on for ages with no one moving—just one man talking, and then another talking. I was surprised when I didn’t fall asleep and despite not having a script or even understanding any of what they were saying allowed me to focus on the details in the costuming and the set. The tiniest of details, like a papered over crack in the wall or a bloody bandage around a man’s head were given the greatest care.  The most impressive thing was the speedy scenery changes. Going from the luxurious inner room of a rich man to the desolate, snowy winterland of the outdoors in under two minutes? Let me tell you non-drama people, doing something like that is an amazing feat!

The fourth act, however, was the deal breaker for me. I don’t know how else to describe it, but the dance was exactly like an ukiyo-e (which makes sense because ukiyo-e were originally designed to highlight kabuki actors). With the traditional songs and music, it was what one would call “traditional Japan.” The colors put into Okaji’s (the woman) clothes and the way she moved were so graceful, sometimes I forgot that she was a man! I could see tropes of a “traditional woman” in her dance and through her actions. It was a wonderful moment for me because I understood what was happening, even without looking at the script and I had never taken a kabuki class before this! All of my studying paid off for this single moment of enlightenment!  This was my favorite piece, actor-wise.

Also, how do the singing men hit pitches higher than sopranos without vibratos?!

To see a parody dance of this in a smaller environment, click here.

Despite not having a script (only a summary) for the fifth, and final, act, I have to say that it was the one that was my favorite acting-wise. It was, what I've been told, a Japanese version of the Weekend at Benny's? Anyways, there was a corpse and in order to make money for the funeral, his friends made the corpse dance in people's houses to gather money. The acting was exquisite--you couldn't even tell that the corpse was actually a person if you didn't look hard enough. And the other actors' reactions were priceless!

One of the scenes where the corpse "grabs" the rich man's wife. One of my favorite scenes! :)

The highlight of the whole event, though, was surprisingly during an intermission. I was in the line for the bathroom and two old Japanese obaa-sans stopped me and told me in very simple Japanese that my haori (Japanese coat) looked lovely. I blushed so hard…. It’s one thing to feel like you’re just a pig in sheep’s clothing when you’re wearing traditional Japanese clothes and are painfully not Japanese, but it’s quite another thing to have two old ladies in exquisite kimono tell you you’re doing something right. I practically floated for the rest of the night!

Me in my haori