Back in Ginza, I hunt down 30s-era beer hall, The Lion and plan my next move. Was it really just this morning that I enjoyed fresh sushi in Tsukiji? It feels like days ago. The cafeteria decor of The Lion isn't quite my style (though on the way out I notice a much more comfortable-looking lounge area off to the side) so I down my beer and decide to give the Kabuki a shot.
The theatre is not closed on Mondays, I’m pleased to say, and this time (being one of a drizzle of tourists instead of a deluge) I get plenty of help in selecting a ticket and performance time. I see the second act of Kaidan Botan Doro, which is the ghost story of the peony lantern and was adapted from a Chinese story back in the 19th century by Sanyutei Encho.
The Kabuki is a fantastic experience. Armed with an English synopsis of the play, I avoid the earphone guide so I can concentrate on the performance. There are many features of kabuki that distinguish it from the theatre we are used to in the west, but two in particular stand out to me.
First is the use of the mie, which is essentially a powerful glare that the actor will adopt in a particularly climatic moment and then hold it for several long moments. The second is the behaviour of the audience, who will periodically call out the actors ‘house name’ when they make an entrance or in appreciation of a particular line or pose. I try to come up with a parallel to describe these chants (called kakegoe) but the closest match I can think of is the way sports fans sometimes call out an opposition player's name in a sort of jeer, but it’s the opposite case here, as the chants are meant as a sign of respect. I wonder what it would be like to try and introduce this in London’s West End, shouting “McKellen-san,” if I'm ever fortunate enough to see Sir Ian on the stage.
People start to shuffle out from the cheap seats before the end of the performance, but despite a considerable amount of walking on a lamentable amount of sleep, I’m feeling wide awake again. When the story of the peony lantern ends - following a well choreographed and musical slaughter of the principal characters - I’m ready to squeeze the last few hours I can out of Tokyo, so revisit a few of my favourite spots from two nights ago, before washing down a baked lobster with a few flasks of sake. By the time I get into bed, I’m able to fall asleep instantly and stay that way for the next ten hours.
The theatre is not closed on Mondays, I’m pleased to say, and this time (being one of a drizzle of tourists instead of a deluge) I get plenty of help in selecting a ticket and performance time. I see the second act of Kaidan Botan Doro, which is the ghost story of the peony lantern and was adapted from a Chinese story back in the 19th century by Sanyutei Encho.
The Kabuki is a fantastic experience. Armed with an English synopsis of the play, I avoid the earphone guide so I can concentrate on the performance. There are many features of kabuki that distinguish it from the theatre we are used to in the west, but two in particular stand out to me.
First is the use of the mie, which is essentially a powerful glare that the actor will adopt in a particularly climatic moment and then hold it for several long moments. The second is the behaviour of the audience, who will periodically call out the actors ‘house name’ when they make an entrance or in appreciation of a particular line or pose. I try to come up with a parallel to describe these chants (called kakegoe) but the closest match I can think of is the way sports fans sometimes call out an opposition player's name in a sort of jeer, but it’s the opposite case here, as the chants are meant as a sign of respect. I wonder what it would be like to try and introduce this in London’s West End, shouting “McKellen-san,” if I'm ever fortunate enough to see Sir Ian on the stage.
People start to shuffle out from the cheap seats before the end of the performance, but despite a considerable amount of walking on a lamentable amount of sleep, I’m feeling wide awake again. When the story of the peony lantern ends - following a well choreographed and musical slaughter of the principal characters - I’m ready to squeeze the last few hours I can out of Tokyo, so revisit a few of my favourite spots from two nights ago, before washing down a baked lobster with a few flasks of sake. By the time I get into bed, I’m able to fall asleep instantly and stay that way for the next ten hours.
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