Japan's Wondrous Road Show

By Michael Walsh

The Grand Kabuki brings tales of triumph and tragedy

It is an art as old as Shakespeare's. With in its emotional universe are found heroic legends and pathetic domestic tragedies, as well as broad comic treatments of such eternal human vagaries as drunkenness and adultery. Immediately accessible on the level of mime, it is nevertheless highly sophisticated, yielding its ultimate secrets-- and thus pleasures-- to those who have taken the time to study it. Its name once connoted "outlandish" or "eccentric," yet it literally means song-dance-skill. It is Kabuki.

Kabuki is probably best viewed in its context, as part of the Japanese social tradition from which it derives. But this month Americans are seeing several of the most famous Kabuki plays without venturing overseas, as Tokyo's Grand Kabuki tours New York City, Knoxville (at the World's Fair) and Washington, B.C. The 77-member company

is offering a look at one of the world's most impor tant dramatic institutions at its very best--a'rich, culturally resonant blend of acting, sets, costumes, music and dancing that is likely to remind gaijin of grand opera melodrama, situation comedy and Richard III all at once.

As with any other highly developed art form nourished by centuries of performance tradition, nuance is everything in Kabuki. The simplest dramatic idea may be drawn out to great length to express an emotion or state of mind. Take the openemotion or state of mind. Take the opening of the touching Sumidagawa. Hanjo (Utaemon), a mother searching for her kidnaped child, appears first at the back of the hanamichi, the runway used for important entrances and exits that extends from the stage well out into the audience. Her torturous progress in slow, halting steps shows her distraught emotional state and firmly establishes the tragic mood.

Utaemon, of course, is a man, as are all the members of the troupe. Kabuki originated at the beginning of the 17th century, when a legendary shrine maiden named Okuni took her temple dances on the road for profit. When prostitutes began imitating Okuni, using their dancing to entice customers, a shogunate concerned about public morality banned women from the stage in 1629.

As the art evolved, with men known as onna-gata performing the female roles, Kabuki became more explicitly theatrical, drawing on the earlier dramatic conventions of serious Noh theater, comic Kyogen plays, and stories from the Bunraku puppet theater. Parts were passed down the generations as leading theatrical families established themselves. Today, when a Kabuki actor reaches a sufficient level of artistry, he is rewarded with the name of a distinguished ancestor. Leading Kabuki artists like Tamasaburo, 32, a brilliant onnagata, may achieve the popularity of rock stars. One of the most effective works in the tour repertory is Narukami (The Thunder God), first presented in 1684. A stirring tale somewhat resembling the biblical stories of Judith and Delilah, it recounts the bravery of Princess Kumo-no-Taema (Tamasaburo), who journeys to the mountain redoubt of Priest Narukami (Ebizo) to seduce him and free the god of rainfall, whom Narukami has imprisoned. Tamasaburo, a picture of idealized femininity, and the virile, matinee-idol handsome Ebizo both display the mastery of gesture and vocal control that Grand Kabuki requires. Also noteworthy is Tomijuro, who plays the brave retainer in Kanjincho.

Even better is Kumagai Jinya (Kuma-gai's Camp), a work of epic sweep. Set during the wars of the 12th century, it relates the terrible dilemma of General Kumagai, who must kill his own son to spare the life of an enemy whose mother had helped him long ago. Playing the general, Kanzaburo is a figure of universal, tragic stature who is shattered by his act. An accomplished, versatile actor, Kanzaburo also displays a sly comedic sense as the errant husband in Migawari-zazen.

Enjoyable as Kabuki is, it has elements that Westerners may find difficult. The musical accompaniment--voices, flutes, drums and three-stringed plucked instruments called shamisens-- is of real but recondite beauty. Performances are long, running close to four hours. And there is the language barrier as well.

But such problems are small considering the art form's exquisite grace, its awesome dramatic power and delicate beauty. In Kabuki, there is a world of meaning in the sweep of a fan, the cast of an eye or the crook of a finger. What is outlandish about a song-dance-skill like that? --By Michael Walsh

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