“Ballets Russes” in Sergei Diaghilev 145th Anniversary Special Screening – Paris Opera 2009 Performance @ TOHO Cinemas Umeda, March 31

I came across the information online about a one-day-only special screening of the Paris Opera’s Ballets Russes, and I went with great curiosity. “Ballets Russes” literally means “Russian Ballet.” Detailed information about this performance can be found on the website Bravo, which I’ll link here.

A more general introduction was posted on Ticket Pia. Here’s the summary:

In 1909, the Ballets Russes was founded, bringing innovation to the ballet world of its time and leaving a profound influence on the form of ballet as we know it today.

The Ballets Russes was directed by Sergei Diaghilev, an art producer from Russia. He brought together not only ballet dancers but also leading composers and artists of the 20th century—Picasso, Matisse, Cocteau, Chanel, Laurencin, Braque—fusing ballet with art, fashion, and music to create a new kind of ballet.

Now, in celebration of the 145th anniversary of Diaghilev’s birth, the 2009 centennial performance of the Ballets Russes held at the Paris Opera House will return to the big screen for one day only!

On his birthday, March 31, audiences in Tokyo and Osaka can experience four exquisite programs—Le Spectre de la rose, Afternoon of a Faun, The Three-Cornered Hat, and Petrushka—performed by brilliant dancers. These works, never released on video, are a rare opportunity to be enjoyed on the large screen of a cinema. Don’t miss it!

I realized that the Ballets Russes was one of the great artistic movements in Europe at the turn of the 19th to 20th centuries. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t known this until now.

As for the content of the ballet, the details are given in Bravo. The program consists of four works: Le Spectre de la rose, Afternoon of a Faun, The Three-Cornered Hat, and Petrushka. What struck me most throughout the performance was its sense of “festivity.” Expressed in avant-garde terms, it felt like a stage brimming with a message, even a manifesto. Composers, visual artists, choreographers, and dancers fused into one to create these works. Their avant-garde spirit gripped me and would not let go. Exoticism was strongly present as well—something that might even be deemed “politically incorrect” today. But it is precisely this boldness that gives the works their brilliance.

Le Spectre de la rose could almost be read entirely through Freud’s idea of the unconscious: a young girl’s erotic dream. The spirit of the rose, clad in a tight pink costume, seduces her, and their intertwining is deeply sensual. This was my first time seeing the legendary dancer Isabelle Ciaravola as the young girl. She truly embodied fragility and innocence, yet expressed sexual awakening with refinement—something only a dancer of the highest caliber could achieve. The Spirit of the Rose was danced by Mathieu Ganio, supple and beautiful, yet irresistibly sensual. The music was by Weber.

What fascinated me most, however, was Debussy’s Afternoon of a Faun. The faun is indecent and yet elegant—balancing on the knife’s edge of suggestion. Deliberately emphasizing vulgarity, yet somehow making it charming. Nicolas Le Riche danced the role, with choreography by Nijinsky. That razor’s edge was exactly what captivated me—truly masterful. With such top-tier artists collaborating, how could it not be extraordinary? Nijinsky’s genius as a choreographer shone brilliantly, though Diaghilev himself is said to have been dissatisfied with choreography he considered “too erotic.”

Next came The Three-Cornered Hat. José Martinez’s performance as the Miller, with its matador-like flair, was breathtaking. Martinez, a frequent figure in Dance Magazine, has a uniquely slender, elongated physique. Watching him fold those impossibly long legs into ultradifficult steps, executed with such speed, power, and dynamism, was overwhelming. Picasso’s stage designs provided the framework, pulling together the entire avant-garde production.

The final piece was Petrushka. The puppet-like movements were spectacular. Though it portrays the tragedy of a sawdust doll yearning to become human, the staging retained a festive tone throughout. Stravinsky’s music drove this festivity to its peak.

Looking up Ballets Russes on Wikipedia, one finds explanations of its historical background and artistic significance:

The Ballets Russes was a ballet company directed by Sergei Diaghilev (1872–1929), an art producer from Russia. Also known as the “Russian Ballet,” it debuted at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris in 1909 and continued until Diaghilev’s death in 1929. Centered in Paris, it laid the foundation for modern ballet. Although the artists involved were not always united in spirit, the Ballets Russes left behind an immense artistic legacy. One could say that the dance, music, and art of the early 20th century all culminated in the Ballets Russes.

Among those who took part in this “dance and art movement” were:

Composers
Claude Debussy
Richard Strauss
Alexander Glazunov
Erik Satie
Maurice Ravel
Igor Stravinsky
Francis Poulenc

Dancers/Choreographers
Michel Fokine
Vaslav Nijinsky

Artists
Henri Matisse
Alexandre Benois
Georges Rouault
Pablo Picasso
Georges Braque
Maurice Utrillo
Marie Laurencin
Coco Chanel
Giorgio de Chirico
Max Ernst
Joan Miró

Amazing, isn’t it?

The screening lasted an hour and forty minutes. Though short, it was an incredibly “dense” experience. And by the way, there were seventy people in the audience—that alone moved me.

Noh Genjō in “Kyoto Kanze-kai September Regular Performance” @ Kyoto Kanze Kaikan, September 24

Cast

• Mae-shite (Old Man) — Urata Yasuchika

• Nochi-shite (Spirit of Emperor Murakami) — Urata Yasuhiro

• Mae-tsure (Old Woman) — Terasawa Takumi

• Nochi-tsure (Dragon God) — Kawamura Kazuaki

• Tsure (Fujiwara Moronaga) — Mikata Madoka

• Waki (Attendant) — Arimatsu Ryoichi

• Waki-tsure (Attendant) — Oka Mitsuru

• Ai (Servant) — Konishi Reo

Stage Assistants

• Katayama Shingo

• Oe Nobuyuki

Musicians

• Kotsuzumi — Sowa Kodō

• Ōtsuzumi — Yamamoto Toshiya

• Fue (flute) — Sugi Shintarō

• Taiko — Maekawa Mitsunori

  Synopsis of Genjō (borrowed from the Nohgaku Jiten of the Tessenkai)

  Fujiwara Moronaga (Tsure), a master of the biwa lute, is no longer satisfied with his fame in Japan and dreams of traveling to Tang China. On his journey, he and his party arrive at Suma Bay, where they are given shelter by an old man (Mae-shite) and an old woman (Mae-tsure). To repay their hospitality, Moronaga plays the biwa late into the night. But when the sound of rain begins to disturb the performance, he stops playing.

  The old man then lays a thatch mat on the roof so that the raindrops harmonize with the sound of the biwa rather than disrupt it. Amazed by this musical insight, Moronaga lends him the instrument and invites him to play. Ashamed of his own arrogance, Moronaga tries to slip away, but the couple stops him. They reveal themselves as the spirits of Emperor Murakami and the Lady of the Pear Chamber, the former owners of the treasured biwa Genjō, who have appeared to dissuade him from leaving Japan.

  At last, Emperor Murakami (Nochi-shite) shows his true form. To recover another legendary biwa, Shishimaru, once stolen away to the Dragon Palace, he summons the Dragon God (Nochi-tsure). The Dragon God returns the instrument to Moronaga, who then performs secret pieces together with the dragon deities before returning to the capital.

• Impressions

  The structural perfection of Genjō goes without saying, but what struck me most was its abundance of allusions. The variety and number of characters, the ingenious twists of the plot—all gave it a surprisingly Western theatrical flavor. I found myself watching with mounting excitement from beginning to end.

  To be honest, I had only skimmed the program notes before seeing the play, but halfway through I sensed this was not an “ordinary” noh. Something unsettled my heart. Without a chant-book in hand, I could not confirm in the moment exactly which lines or chants stirred this feeling. That regret aside, the exhilaration carried me throughout.

  First, I was deeply impressed by the versatile expressiveness of Urata Yasuchika, the shite. As the old man, his voice was deep and weighty; as the spirit of Emperor Murakami, it became resonant and noble, full of dignity. The final hayamai (swift dance) especially showcased his trademark sharpness, dynamic movement, and brilliance.

  Terasawa Takumi as the old woman perfectly embodied the elegance of an imperial consort. Kawamura Kazuaki as the Dragon God gave a magnificent performance in the final vigorous sequence with kakko drums, his chant brimming with force.

  Mikata Mdoka as Fujiwara Moronaga could not have been a better fit for the role of an aristocratic prince. When Urata as the emperor raised his sleeve, the image was like a living painting—a scene that kept returning to me afterwards.

  The ensemble of younger musicians was especially powerful this time. Yamamoto Toshiya, standing in for his father on the ōtsuzumi, gave a thunderous performance—strong and youthful, overwhelming in sound.

  Reflections Afterward

  Once home, I looked up the libretto online and realized where the sense of déjà vu had come from: the place names—Ikuta, Minatogawa, Ōsaka, and especially Suma and Akashi. Of course, these are the sites of Genji’s exile in The Tale of Genji, later evoked by countless poets. The accumulated weight of those poems pressed in on me during the performance. To that was added an echo of Tōru’s famous “Chiga no Shiogama.” Such place names conjure noh’s vast panorama.

  Reading the libretto also clarified the source of my unease: Kyoko Yui’s article, “A Study of the Tale of Taira no Tsunemasa and the Biwa Aoyama in the Heike Monogatari” (Taisho University Research Bulletin, no. 104). According to her, the Engyō version of the Heike Monogatari preserves a tale about the biwa Aoyama.

  I had read the Kakuichibon version during my doctoral Comprehensive Exam preparations in the U.S., but not the Engyō text. I had heard the latter contained more folktale-like elements, and indeed, the Aoyama biwa story seems to be one of them.

  Yui explains: Emperor Murakami was given the biwa Aoyama by a celestial being, and it was housed at Ninnaji Temple. Later it was lent to the gifted player Taira no Tsunemasa. Before departing to battle the Genji, Tsunemasa returned it to the temple. This is precisely the plot of the noh Tsunemasa.

  At a recital this September, I myself was given the chance to chant Tsunemasa. Even for just twenty minutes, to embody that tragic young genius of the biwa who perished with the Heike was an invaluable experience (regardless of my actual performance!).

  And now, seeing Genjō, I felt that experience deepen and blossom—an enrichment I will long treasure.

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Motomezuka performed by Master Soichiro Hayashi in "Hayashi Tsuizen Noh" at the Kyoto Kanze Kaikan on April 8th

The program featured in the performance flyer is as follows.

Motomezuka is based on a play by Kan'ami and was adapted by his son, Zeami. The story is set in Ikuta, a village in Settsu Province (now Kobe City), and the titular “Motomezuka” refers to two different mounds located in Nada Ward and Higashinada Ward, both of which were in the "neighborhood" of the my childhood home. The reason for the solemn atmosphere surrounding both mounds, as if they were not to be touched, became clear when I discovered the meaning behind the legend of "Unahi no Otome (a virgin of Unai" during my visits. The "Ikuta River" mentioned in the story is located in the present-day Chuo Ward, near the Nunobikii area. Recently, when passing through Shin-Kobe Station, I observed a lively cherry blossom festival taking place. It is easy to imagine that during the time of this story, many people would have gathered to watch a bow and arrow match between two young men, perhaps even taking part in the festivities themselves.

As usual, I will borrow the explanation of "Tessenkai."

One early spring day, a group of monks (Waki and Wakitsure) arrive in the village of Ikuta, where they are greeted by a group of women (Mae-shite and Tsure) who are harvesting vegetables. The women guide the monks to a local landmark, but when the monks mention the name "Motomezuka," the women all fall silent and leave to return to their work. However, one of the women (Mae-shite) remains behind and guides the monks to Motomezuka. It is there that they discover the grave of Unahi no Otome, a young virgin who drowned herself after being caught between two men whom she loved.

The woman tells the story of Unahi no Otome in great detail and then disappears, leaving the monks to pay their respects to her grave. As they do so, the ghost of the virgin (Nochi-jite) appears before them, her body worn down by the sufferings of hell. Despite the cleansing power of Buddhist prayers, the virgin is unable to find peace, haunted by the spirits of the two men she loved and the ghost of a pair of mandarin ducks who died as a result of their conflict. The virgin's tortured spirit fades away, lost in the endless darkness.

Here is a scene description borrowed from the "Tessenkai" performance guide, which describes in detail the gruesome and cruel scene of the virgin's drowning, which was only briefly mentioned in the previous summary.

After the women (Tsure) have exited the stage, one woman (Mae-shite) remains and guides the monks to the grave of Unahi no Otome. She describes in graphic detail how the Otome, caught between two men she loved, stripped off her clothing and plunged herself into the river, screaming in agony as the cold water enveloped her body. She writhes in pain and despair, her hair wild and disheveled as she gasps for air before finally succumbing to the depths of the river. The scene is vivid and intense, a stark contrast to the serene beauty of the surrounding landscape.

5.               Mae-shite remains on stage alone and guides the audience to an old tomb. She speaks:

"Long ago, there were two men who loved Unahi no Otome, a virgin who lived in this village. One man was named Sasada Onoko, and the other was called Chino Masurao. Both of them loved her deeply, and it was impossible to determine which one loved her more. Their love letters arrived on the same day and at the same time. Unahi no Otome was confused. She decided to test their love by having them shoot a pair of mandarin ducks swimming in the Ikuta River. Their arrows hit the same wing of the same duck with equal accuracy..."

6.               Mae-shite hints at her own identity and disappears from the stage. (Intermission)

"At that moment, I thought to myself: I was the one who killed those mandarin ducks. I've reached the limit of what I can bear in this life. I might as well throw myself into the river and die. I was nothing more than a piece of flotsam in the Ikuta River, barely surviving. Then, the two men came looking for the tomb where I was buried. They killed each other in a fight, and even that became another sin for me to bear in my torment..." She speaks about her own story as if it were her own life. Mae-shite reveals her past and then disappears, hoping to find salvation.

The idea of presenting a difficult task to a suitor can be seen in various legends, such as The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter and the legend of "Ono no Komachi". However, in Motomeduka, the person who presents the challenge is also subjected to punishment, making the story even more cruel. Furthermore, the punishment for that person was supposed to have been "settled" by their own death, but the suicides of the suitors prolonged the virgin's torment in hell.

Nochi-jite describes the intense suffering of hellfire, borrowed once again from the "Tessenkai" performance guide.

The virgin appears, her body tormented by the flames of hell. She had thought that her sins would be cleansed by her death, but the suicides of the two suitors only increased her torment. The virgin's spirit wanders endlessly, lost in the darkness. She writhes in agony as the flames consume her body, causing her to scream in pain. The scene is vivid and intense, a terrifying portrayal of the virgin's torment in the underworld."

As the monks mourn at the tomb, a village guy appears. He reveals the bloody background of the virgin’s life and the monk offers prayers and compassion for her.

Suddenly, a voice is heard coming from the tomb. It is the spirit of the virgin, who explains her eternal torment in the underworld due to her sins, despite her death.

The virgin thanks the monk for his prayers but soon displays her suffering from her sins. She is a mere shadow of her former self, tormented by her punishment in the underworld. She expresses gratitude for the relief the monk's prayers have given her, but her relief is only temporary.

The virgin's vision clears, but she is gripped with fear when she sees two men, her former suitors, in her hands. The spirits of the lovebirds appear in the sky, tormenting her. Flames rise from the tomb, and demons of the underworld appear. She clings to a pillar to escape the flames, but it becomes a vortex of fire.

Finally, the virgin disappears, showing her suffering and punishment in hell. She falls and struggles to get up as a demon begins to torment her. She wanders the eight great hells and descends to the depths of the underworld. Even as her torment lessens, she is consumed by darkness, loneliness, and anxiety. She returns to the fiery realm, seeking respite from her endless suffering. She walks the silent, dark road of the underworld alone.

This is an excellent commentary by Kenssei Nakano that vividly portrays the agony of the virgin. In depicting the anguish of a soul burning in the fires of hell, unable to attain enlightenment even through the prayers of a monk, Motomezuka is a masterpiece that stands alongside Akogi and Utoh.

Although I have seen Motomezuka twice, I did not fully understand the virgin's tragedy until I saw Soichiro Hayashi's portrayal of the pain, which was so realistic that it sometimes felt as if it were piercing my own skin. The performance also expressed the grief of not being able to achieve enlightenment, which was moving. Especially in the scene where she leans against the artificial mound and writhes in agony, it felt as if I could hear the virgin's voice of suffering. While Noh expresses pain somewhat abstractly, the agony of the virgin who is tortured by the two suitors, pecked by the souls of mandarin ducks, and burned by the blazing flames of the abyss, was conveyed to the viewer in a visceral way.

In that regard, it was more realistic than the ghost with a Hannya (demon) mask in Aoi no Ue. The interpretation was more contemporary, which means it had a strong power to engage and move the audience.The mask was not a demon mask like that of the Rokujyo in Aoi no Ue, nor were the clothes particularly frightening, but the weight of the suffering conveyed through the performance was palpable.

Why must a young and beautiful girl suffer so much? The absurdity of it all felt more real. The glimpse of a scale pattern on the sleeve and collar of the costume suggested that the Shite was a demonic being that was not ordinary. However, I felt that there was a hint of the author Zeami's compassion for this virgin in the fact that she did not wear a Hannya mask.

The two performers who played the companion (Tsure) were probably the sons of Sugiura and Inoue, who performed the Jikata part. They played their roles admirably. One thing that pleased me was that I was able to see the excellent Shomaru Sekine, who played the Kokata role in Eboshi Ori (DVD) I saw four years ago at the SOAS Library of the University of London. I have previously written an article about this.

The musicians were also top-notch.

“Motomezuka” with Hayashi Sōichirō as Shite in Hayashi Memorial Noh Performance (50th Memorial for the 12th Kiyoeimon, 7th Memorial for the 13th Kiyoeimon) Kyoto Kanze Kaikan, April 8

Cast List

• Mae-shite (Vegetable-gathering woman, in truth Unai no Chōjo): Hayashi Sōichirō

• Nochi-shite (The ghost of Unai no Chōjo): Hayashi Sōichirō

• Tsure (Two vegetable-gathering women): Sugiura Yūichirō, Inoue Hiroyukima

• Waki (Traveling monk): Fukuō Shigejūrō

• Waki-tsure (Traveling monks): Kita Masato, Nakamura Yoshinari

• Ai (Local man): Shigeyama Chūzaburō

• Fue (Flute): Sugi Ichikazu

• Kotsuzumi (Small hand drum): Ōkura Genjirō

• Ōtsuzumi (Large hand drum): Kamei Hirotada

• Taiko (Stick drum): Maegawa Mitsunaga

• Kōken (Stage assistants): Ōe Matazaburō, Sakaguchi Takanobu, Kawamura Kōtarō

• Chorus (Jiutai): Hisada Kankichirō, Sekine Yoshimaru, Ōe Yasumasa, Urabe Yukihiro, Kanze Saburōta, Inoue Hirohisa, Kanze Kiyokazu, Sugiura Toyohiko

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The Play and Its Origins

Motomezuka is an original work by Kan’ami, later revised by Zeami. The setting is Ikuta Village in Settsu Province (present-day Kobe). There are two sites identified as the “Motomezuka” mound—one in Higashinada Ward and one in Nada Ward, both close to my family home, which I have visited. I recall researching the legend of “Unai no Otome” at the time. Both sites carried an atmosphere of forlornness, as though they were not to be touched—a quality that makes sense in light of this tragic tale.

The “Ikuta River” in the story refers to the present-day area of Nunobiki in Chūō Ward. Recently, when I passed through the area on my way to Shin-Kobe Station, it was filled with the lively bustle of a cherry blossom festival. One cannot help but imagine the great crowds that must have gathered in the old days to witness the archery contest between the two young men, a contest that ultimately led to tragedy.

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Synopsis (after Tessenkai’s explanatory notes)

On an early spring day, a group of traveling monks (Waki and Waki-tsure) arrive in Ikuta. They encounter women gathering greens (Mae-shite and Tsure). The women guide them to local sights, but when the monks mention “Motomezuka,” the women suddenly fall silent and leave. Only one woman (Mae-shite) remains, leading the monks to the mound.

It is revealed to be the grave of Unai no Otome, a maiden who drowned herself after being torn between two suitors. The woman narrates the story as though it were her own, then vanishes, praying for salvation.

As the monks chant prayers, the ghost of the maiden (Nochi-shite), exhausted from torment in hell, appears. Through the power of the Buddhist rites, the smoke of karmic flames momentarily clears—yet before her appear the spirits of the two men and the slain mandarin ducks whose deaths were bound up with hers. Burned and tormented by hellfire, she wanders endlessly through the dark roads of the netherworld, before fading once more from sight.

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The Cruelty of the Maiden’s Fate

Though briefly mentioned in summary, the maiden’s drowning is in fact depicted with brutal vividness. After the other women exit, the Mae-shite alone reveals the tale:

Two men, Sasada no Onoko and Chinuma no Masurao, both deeply in love with Unai no Otome, send her letters that arrive at the same hour of the same day. To test their devotion, she commands them to shoot mandarin ducks on the Ikuta River. Both arrows strike the same wing—a chilling omen. Believing herself guilty for the ducks’ deaths, she despairs, and throws herself into the river, vanishing into the waterweed.

Later, the two men arrive at her grave, and in despair, kill each other upon it. Their deaths compound her sin, intensifying her torment in hell.

This is more severe than the challenges posed to suitors in The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter or Ono no Komachi legends, for here even the maiden herself is condemned, her torment never ending.

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The Ghost’s Agony

When the ghost reappears, she speaks of her endless punishment:

The grave is haunted by spirits wandering through samsara, never finding release. Though grateful for the monks’ prayers, her torment abates only slightly. The fiery smoke clears, but she sees before her the two men dragging her hands, and above, the spirit of the mandarin ducks transformed into an iron-beaked bird that strikes her brain. Flames rise from the mound, demons appear, and she clings to a pillar that bursts into fire, enveloping her body. Crying, “Ah! Hot, hot!” she collapses, dragged once again into the cycles of hell.

The commentary by Nakano Akimasa conveys this searing torment with such immediacy that one feels the maiden’s agony as if witnessing it firsthand.

Together with Akogi and Utō, Motomezuka stands as a masterpiece depicting souls who cannot attain salvation despite Buddhist prayers.

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Performance Impressions

Although I had seen Motomezuka twice before, I had not fully grasped the depth of the maiden’s sin and suffering. Hayashi Sōichirō’s performance as Shite made the torment piercingly real—so real it seemed to stab into my very skin. At the same time, he conveyed the sorrow of being unable to find release, which deeply moved me.

Particularly unforgettable was the moment when he clutched the edge of the artificial mound, writhing in anguish—his voice seemed almost the maiden’s own. Unlike the abstract style of many Noh plays, here the suffering was immediate, bodily, and raw: beset by the suitors, pecked by the ghostly mandarin ducks, and consumed by the flames of hell. Compared with the demon-faced ghost in Aoi no Ue, this felt more real, more contemporary, and more capable of drawing the audience into visceral empathy.

Although the mask was not demonic, and the costume was not grotesque, the weight of suffering was palpable. Why must a young and beautiful woman suffer so terribly? The absurdity of it struck with powerful force. The glimpse of a scale-patterned undergarment beneath the sleeves and collar was the only sign of her supernatural nature—yet this restraint suggested Zeami’s compassion for the maiden.

The Tsure roles were likely performed by the sons of Masters Sugiura and Inoue, both of whom also served in the chorus, and they acquitted themselves admirably. I was also delighted to see Master Sekine Yoshimaru, whom I remembered from a DVD performance of Eboshiori I had once watched at the SOAS library in London, where he had played the child role.

Finally, the ensemble of musicians was of the very highest caliber.

Katayama Kurōemon’s Powerful New Noh Creation — Theater Edition <Maso> at Odawara Sannomaru Hall, January 23

The following is the photo of the Shite Maso on the performance site.

Performance Overview

• Planning / Direction: Katayama Kurōemon

• Original Work / Script: Tamaoka Kaoru

• Video Supervision: Sugimoto Hiroshi

• Cinematography: Suzuki Shin

Cast

• Shite (Mazu): Katayama Kurōemon

• Tsure (Clairvoyant): Mikata Shizuka

• Tsure (Keen-Eared Attendant): Wakebayashi Michiharu

• Waki (Yamabe no Akahito): Hōshō Kinya

• Tsure (Retainer): Hōshō Naoya

• Ai (Boatman): Shigeyama Ippei

Musicians

• Kotsuzumi (Small Drum): Yoshizaka Ichirō

• Ōtsuzumi (Large Drum): Kamei Hirotada

• Fue (Flute): Takeichi Manabu

• Taiko (Stick Drum): Maekawa Mitsunori

Chorus (Jiutai)

Ōe Kōsuke, Kawamura Kazutaka, Hashimoto Tadamiki, Tamoi Hiromichi,
Hashimoto Kōji, Furuhashi Masakuni, Urata Yasuchika, Katayama Shingo

Stage Assistants (Kōken)

Aoki Michiyoshi, Kawamura Haruhisa, Ōe Nobuyuki

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Synopsis

The setting is the Nara period, a time when repeated wars had left the land in ruin and the wrath of the gods had reached its peak. The world demanded renewal. It was at this juncture that the deity of Kasuga sought to mediate between the divine and the human realms, awaiting the advent of the compassionate maiden known as Mokujō (“the Silent Maiden”).

Yamabe no Akahito (Waki), on his return journey from Hitachi to the capital, lodges at Enoura while waiting for a favorable wind. There he encounters a miko (Shite, in the first act), reputed to foresee maritime disasters and save human lives. Having lost her parents in childhood and grown up without the ability to speak, she was given the name “Silent Maiden.” Akahito, praying for safe passage, requests that she perform a sacred kagura, invoking her spiritual power by likening five rocks to the Five-Ringed Pagoda (gorintō) as an offering of appeasement. Accompanied by her two supernatural attendants—Clairvoyant (Tsure) and Keen-Eared One (Tsure)—she embarks with Akahito from the harbor of Naniwa.

At first the voyage seems calm, but soon the party is struck by a sudden storm. Empowered by divine insight, the Silent Maiden dons a crimson robe, points the way forward, and vanishes together with her two companions.

Surviving the storm, Akahito arrives safely at Hakata in Tsukushi. In gratitude, he dedicates a Five-Ringed Pagoda at that place. At that very moment, before his eyes appears the transformed figure of the Silent Maiden, now revealed as Maso, accompanied by the two demon-deities Clairvoyant and Keen-Eared.

From the sea, the Kasuga deity also manifests, exhorting Akahito to spread the compassion of the Bodhisattva. Together, Maso and the Kasuga deity perform a dance of joyful prophecy (yosoku no mai), inspiring and fortifying Akahito for his sacred mission.

Reflections on the Performance

In a word, it was “magnificent.” Presenting Noh—an art form traditionally confined to a highly codified and intimate performance space—within the vast setting of a Western-style theater seemed to open the way to entirely new audiences. I felt this was an “experiment” that demonstrated Noh’s potential to stand independently as a form of entertainment. Many appeared to enjoy the performance simply as theater in its own right. Observing the audience, I was especially struck by the younger spectators, who seemed genuinely captivated, leaning forward in fascination. It recalled to me the atmosphere I once sensed in post-performance interviews with young audiences after Noh productions at the Paris Opera.

Bonds among the Performers

One decisive factor was the profound commitment of Katayama Kurōemon, who conceived, directed, and performed the central role. His passion for the work was palpable, and equally important was the sense of solidarity among the performers who had already shared the stage with him during the Kyoto Kanze Kaikan performance in April of the previous year. The ensemble’s unity and mutual respect were unmistakable; the stage overflowed with an intense, shared energy. Apart from Nomura Mansai as Kasuga Myōjin, Hōshō Kinya as Waki together with his son Naoya, and the musicians Takeichi Manabu (flute) and Kamei Hirotada (large drum), all other performers were members of the Kyoto Kanze school. The sheer level of artistry from Kyoto was unmistakable.

Innovations in Theatrical Devices

Transforming Noh into a “theater edition” requires new devices and fresh invention. Just as Kabuki has integrated elements from contemporary experimental troupes while retaining its base, so too must Noh undergo a kind of deconstruction, breaking with inherited conventions only to reconstruct them anew. Whereas Kabuki has always embraced change, Noh has maintained its performance practices virtually unchanged for centuries. Any deviation risks criticism from traditionalists, yet to continue unchanged risks alienating younger generations—a dilemma that Kanze Hisao himself wrestled with throughout his life.

Katayama’s Experience in Large-Scale Productions

Katayama Kurōemon had already undertaken such experiments, most notably with Takahime at the Kyoto ROHM Theatre in 2019, which I reviewed at that time. There, the introduction of sophisticated lighting and three-dimensional staging—standard in Western opera houses—created an entirely new visual experience. Unlike the traditional Noh stage, which admits only minimal props, this production embraced scenic design as a theatrical principle. It was refreshing, even revelatory, pointing toward one possible future for Noh. While the earlier Takahime stood firmly as a classical work, this more Westernized staging was equally valid as “classical Noh,” even within its innovation. If we substitute Maso for Takahime in my earlier review, the impression is much the same.

For Maso, Katayama was chiefly responsible for adapting the original story into a Noh script. The Kyoto Kanze performance followed conventional form, but the present “theater edition” required a radical reconfiguration.

The Role of Nomura Mansai

The participation of Nomura Mansai, long engaged with various theater-style Noh projects, was another major factor in the production’s success. Although I did not see his Takahime at Ōtsuki Nōgakudō and the Nara Centennial Hall, I recall his brief but memorable appearance in Moriaki Watanabe’s The Satin Slipper (Shusu no Kutsu, 2016). In Maso, Mansai’s role as Kasuga Myōjin added a powerful dimension. Meanwhile, Shigeyama Ippei—who had played the “narrator” in The Satin Slipper—served here as the Ai character, the boatman.

Collaboration with Sugimoto Hiroshi

Equally striking was the collaboration with Sugimoto Hiroshi, whose video projections opened new dimensions of theatrical effect. Sugimoto had previously worked with traditional arts, notably in Sugimoto Bunraku: The Love Suicides at Sonezaki (Festival Hall, Osaka, 2014). Whereas in that vast venue his work was difficult to appreciate from a distant seat, here at Odawara’s Sannomaru Hall the images were vivid and effective. The heavy use of projection in the first act, overseen by Sugimoto, gave the performance a distinctly modern tone, contrasting with the more traditional staging of the second act.

Appropriateness of Venue Size

The scale of the hall itself proved crucial. With roughly 1,000 seats—comparable to the Osaka Shōchiku-za or the Kyoto Minami-za—the Sannomaru Hall is about half the size of Kyoto’s ROHM Theatre or major Western opera houses. This intermediate scale allowed the staging to balance intimacy and spectacle, making it ideally suited for such a “theater edition” of Noh.

Contrasts between the First and Second Acts

The contrast between acts was particularly effective. The first act, enhanced by visual projections and background music, gave way in the second act to a traditional Noh stage environment, with visible musicians and chorus. This juxtaposition of modernity and tradition kept the audience engaged throughout, unfolding in the rhythm of jo-ha-kyū even within a Western-style theater context.

Kabuki-Like Elements

Some gestures—large sweeping movements, bold leaps—were unusual for Noh but effective in Maso, particularly in the later scenes involving Clairvoyant (Mikata Shizuka), Keen-Eared One (Wakebayashi Michiharu), and Maso herself. Katayama’s elegant feminine movements, together with Mikata’s dynamic style reminiscent of Shōjō Midare, provided highlights of the performance.

The stage props (tsukurimono) also departed from Noh’s minimalism. The boat, painted in vivid vermilion with an ornate patterned sail, evoked Kabuki rather than Noh, where boats are typically simple bamboo frames without sails. Even the towing ropes were included, giving the scene a striking opulence. Such moments of deliberate excess, especially in climactic sections, can in fact sharpen the thematic impact of Noh.

Symbolic Objects and Masks

According to the official performance site, the “Hyakumantō” displayed at center stage was in fact Optical Glass Gorintō by Sugimoto Hiroshi, a work from the Odawara Foundation’s collection. Its image of the sea crystallized within glass became a visual symbol of the sea goddess Maso.

Another noteworthy feature was the mask of Clairvoyant, newly created for the 2022 premiere. Modeled on a Momoyama-period mask long preserved by the Katayama family, it was adapted for the role of Keen-Eared One (Junpūji) in this work—a remarkable modern addition to the Noh mask tradition.

Personal Impressions

On a personal note, I was delighted to see my teacher serving as jigashira (chorus leader). Only days earlier, he had devoted hours to correcting my clumsy chanting in rehearsal, and yet here he commanded the stage with dignity. Likewise, to witness Katayama Kurōemon himself—whom I had recently seen at the Rokko rehearsal hall—leading this grand production with tireless energy was extraordinary. His performance seemed almost superhuman. Truly, to call him a “goddess” on stage is no exaggeration.

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Urata Yasuchika as Shite in the Noh Nakamitsu: Shūshō no Mai in the Reiwa 4 (2022) Second Urata Regular Noh Performance Kyoto Kanze Kaikan, December 24, 2022

The following is the cast list and synopsis printed on the back of the performance flyer.

Performance Notes

There was a cast change: Kawamura Kōtarō, originally listed as a chorister, was absent. The photograph on the flyer’s front was from a performance in which Urata Yasuchika’s father, Urata,Yasutoshi appeared as shite. The notation of kogaki (“Shūshō no Mai,” “Dance of Mourning”) indicates the presence of a distinctive shi-oru movement within the choreography. Although the author of the play remains unknown, the theme of “Bushidō” suggests that it was composed in the Edo period.

First Encounter with Nakamitsu

This was my first time seeing Nakamitsu, and I was deeply struck by its intensity. The theme of “sacrifice in the name of loyalty” strongly resembled Kabuki plays such as Terakoya (Sugawara Denju Tenarai Kagami) and Meiboku Sendai Hagi. In Terakoya, Genzo sacrifices Kotarō (the son of Matsuomaru,), while in Sendai Hagi, Masaoka mourns the brutal killing of her son, Senmatsu, who dies in place of Lord Tsuruchiyo. I could not help but see in Nakamitsu—who offers up the head of his son, Kōju, in place of Bijōmaru—the same tragic figure as Matsuomaru and Masaoka.

The flyer lists both the cast and the plot outline. One point easily misunderstood is the name “Bijōmaru.” Despite the name, Bijōmaru is not a woman but a young boy. It is for this boy that Nakamitsu’s son Kōju becomes a substitute victim. Again, the parallel with Terakoya and Sendai Hagi—both involving two boys—is remarkable. On this occasion, brothers Kei and Haruka Mikata, sons of actor Mikata, Madoka played the two boys.

Plot Summary

Fujiwara Nakamitsu’s lord, Tada Mitsunaka, grows furious when his son, Bijōmaru, neglects his studies in favor of martial training. He orders Nakamitsu to execute Bijōmaru. Unable to lay hands upon his master’s son, Nakamitsu instead sacrifices his own child, Kōju, presenting his severed head as if it were Bijōmaru’s. Hearing of this tragic loyalty, the monk Eshin Sōzu intercedes with Mitsunaka on Nakamitsu’s behalf, as expressed in the following passage:

Thus it was. First, still your heart and listen. The commands came repeatedly to strike down Bijōmaru. Yet Nakamitsu thought in his heart: how could I lay hands upon three generations of my lords? Therefore I took the head of my own son Kōju and presented it as Bijōmaru’s. In this way, may all suspicion concerning Bijōmaru be lifted.

Moved by both Eshin’s mediation and Nakamitsu’s willingness to commit suicide, Mitsunaka relents and pardons Bijōmaru. Overjoyed, Nakamitsu is then asked by his lord to perform a celebratory dance. Yet in the midst of his dance he collapses in grief, lamenting: “If only this dance were a duet with my beloved Kōju…”

Impressions

Urata Yasuchika’s shi-oru movements were profoundly moving. The dramatic intensity far exceeded that of a typical Noh play, strongly recalling Masaoka’s lament in Sendai Hagi. Yet unlike in Kabuki—where tears rarely come, given the reliance on “set forms”—I found myself weeping uncontrollably during this scene. The Noh stage revealed a reality beyond fixed convention, and I felt caught off guard, struck by Urata Yasuchika’s extraordinary ability to embody the drama.

The two young actors, Mikata Kei and Mikata Haruka, also demonstrated remarkable expressive skill for their age. Their father, who served as kōken (stage assistant), must have felt great pride.

Finally, the chanting led by Katayama Kurōemon and Mikata Shizuka deserves special mention. It was not only precise but also deeply expressive, conveying Nakamitsu’s torment directly to the audience. Their exceptional jiutai heightened the emotional impact of the play, making the tragic scenes of Nakamitsu vividly real. To have witnessed such a performance was a great blessing.

Becoming One with Uki: Noh Matsukaze with Kanze Tetsunojō as Shite Kyoto Kanze-kai November Regular Performance, Kyoto Kanze Kaikan, November 27, 2022

The Kyoto Kanze-kai regular performance begins at 11 a.m. and lasts until about 4:30 p.m.—a long day with three Noh plays, one Kyogen piece, and shimais(short dance excerpts). Lacking the stamina for the entire program, I attended from the second Noh onwards. Both plays I saw were outstanding, and I returned home with my heart full of emotion.

Below are images of the program leaflet (front and back).

The cast for Matsukaze was as follows:

• Shite (Matsukaze): Kanze Tetsunojō
• Tsure (Murasame): Katayama Shingo
• Waki (Traveling Priest): Fukuō Kazuyuki　
• Ai (Local Villager): Shigeyama Shichigosan　
• Kotsuzumi: Kissaka Ichirō
• Ōtsuzumi: Kamei Hirotada  
• Fue: Sugi Shintarō  
• Kōken (Stage Assistants): Aoki Michinobu, Ōe Nobuyuki
• Chorus (Jiutai): Juge ChisatoChie, Kawamura Kōtarō, Ōe Yasumasa, FukanoTakahiko, Hashimoto Kōji, Urata Yasuhiro, Katayama Kurōemon, Mikata Shizuka

The play is attributed to Kan’ami, but was later revised by Zeami.

The Power of Zeami’s Revision

As one would expect from Zeami, the language of Matsukaze pierces the heart with its beauty. It is simultaneously static and dynamic, and the tension born in that interstice compels the audience into a kind of synchronicity with the play.

The leaflet image (with Katayama Yūsetsu as shite) depicts the scene in the first half where Matsukaze pours seawater into a salt-kiln barrel placed on stage. Even here one sees the balance of stillness and motion. The poetic lines recited are as follows:

“What I draw is but a shadow. Beware the smoke of burning salt.
So shall we pass our autumns of sorrow, like fisher folk on the shore.
At Matsushima, the divers of Ojima draw up reflections in the moonlit water—
yes, to draw shadows is to draw the heart.”

The “shadow” suggests the absent figure of Yukihira, who left Matsukaze and Murasame behind when he returned to the capital. The “autumn of sorrow” refers to the grief of knowing that their lover will never return. This grief is inscribed in the downward tilt of the shite’s mask. The image of Katayama Yūsetsu’s Matsukaze on the flyer captures a perfected embodiment of this “uki” (sorrow).

In Kanze Tetsunojō’s performance, too, the mask’s gentle incline carried deep resonance. Having seen him perform shite roles five times, I found this portrayal the most affecting. It was as though the strength and depth of the performer’s devotion to the role crystallized into the very figure of Matsukaze—an emotion that drew the audience into complete identification.

The Climactic Dance

Another unforgettable moment was the transition into the dance sequence prompted by Yukihira’s famous poem:

“If, parted, you hear that I live among the pines on Mount Inaba,
know that I shall return.”

At this cue, Matsukaze dons hunting robes and begins the chū-no-mai, moving into the faster ha-no-mai. The tempo quickens, raising the heartbeat of the audience. The dance ends suddenly, almost as if nothing had happened, leaving behind only silence. This modulation of pace was breathtaking. As Tetsunojō exited gracefully along the hashigakari bridgeway, he carried with him an overwhelming sense of unspoken emotion.

The Role of the Chorus and Musicians

What gave the performance further solidity was the chorus, which was truly magnificent. Led by Katayama Kurōemon and Mikata Shizuka, the chanting was perfectly unified, creating sharp contrasts of tempo and sustaining the beauty of the poetic text. I was reminded of how a recent performance by another troupe (available on YouTube) fell short: the chorus there lacked cohesion, resulting in a blurred effect and weakening the impact of the words. The excellence of the Kyoto Kanze-kai performers was all the more evident.

Equally impressive was the fue of Sugi Shintarō—sharp in tone yet imbued with warmth. It was music one could be enchanted by.

 Reflections

Zeami’s reworking of Matsukaze reveals the depth of his dramaturgical genius, where static sorrow and dynamic motion intertwine. Kanze Tetsunojō’s portrayal this evening conveyed Matsukaze’s “uki” not as an abstract theme but as a visceral presence, one that enveloped the audience in shared grief and beauty. Supported by an extraordinary chorus and musicians, this Matsukaze was a performance that will long remain in memory.