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Is it theater or dance? Or baseball?
Kashu-juku Noh Theater at the Perelman (2nd review)

I find it interesting that BSR's editor placed Jonathan Stein's recent review of the Kashu-juku Noh Theater under the "Theater" category, rather than "Dance."
True, Noh has a "plot" perhaps more associated with drama, and the Kimmel audience received plot information twice: once with a pre-performance lecture by Penn Professor Linda Chance, an expert on Japanese medieval literature and second by subtitles flashed during the performance on a screen far above the stage. Those of us who speak no Japanese need every possible lifeline to get the most from Noh performance, so we hang on every translated word. And the action has a kind of grounding in myth, which suggests narrative.
Maybe it's baseball
But actually seeing the Kimmel production was more like watching dance. And watch you had to do, even during the extended periods when a main actor stood stock still, because the slightest movement forward, or sideways, toward or away from another actor, registered as fear, aggression, inquisitiveness, or a host of other possibilities, all shaped and defined by the immediate context.
(I couldn't help comparing it to a baseball game, when nothing much happens for the longest time, and just when you blink your eye, you've missed the pitch and the important hit. No wonder the Japanese are so good at baseball, too.)
War and comedy
The Kashu-juku troupe performed three pieces. One was a kind of ballet with an intoned monologue (plus commentary from the chorus and one of the drummers), recalling a climactic episode in a famous battle.
Another was a skit in which two servants binge on their master's sake; he has tied them up but left their hands free, so they could help each other to the master's stash. Their drunken staggers, rendered more laughable by their physical constraints, provided a comedic commentary on many things, including the controlled Noh movements that give the form its essential grace, rhythm and majesty.
Cure for jealousy
Then there was the unadulterated Noh, presented via an excerpt from a domestic tale of romantic jealousy. As Professor Chance noted in her remarks, in Western drama something happens; in Noh, someone appears.
In this work, a wife insults her husband's mistress, Lady Rokujo, who explodes in jealousy. The emotion is expressed as an evil spirit that causes the wife to fall ill; a cure will be possible only when the mistress abandons her negative feelings.
In fact, it's important to the mistress to calm down. In Buddhist belief, Chance explained, you can't go to heaven after death if you remain burdened by the attachments that chain you to the world.
Buddhists also believe that an intercessory power can pray successfully for someone else's salvation: In this play, a monk appears on the mistress's behalf, cures her, saves her soul and heals the wife.
Messages in the masks
For me, dance was the dominant lively art here. The "dialogue" was intoned rather than spoken as conversation, and it was intermixed with music. The main character wore a mask that, rather than hiding or disguising feeling, channeled and intensified it— because the actor wasn't portraying an individual but an emotion.
Noh masks are carefully carved to change aspect according to the way the stage lights strike them, and Lady Rokujo wore a Hannya mask, with horns, fangs, steeply defined cheekbones and deep-set eyes, devil-like and supposedly emblematic of the insecurity and anger of the jealous woman.
Most striking, perhaps, was the walk. The woman's feet were covered by her full-length kimono, but the monk's feet were intentionally visible under his robe, so we could see what he was doing. He slid his feet forward flat and at the right instant raised the toes slightly. He moved forward with nary a waver or shake in his torso or head, indicating the authority his character represented. A dance movement so understated yet clear in its intention is pure art.
21st-Century Noh
The Kimmel production presented traditional Noh, which some in this century might regard as an exercise in nostalgia. That would be a mistake, because there's nothing wistful or mushy in excellent performances like this. But Noh is also finding a place as a modern stage form.
Last summer, I saw the Lincoln Center's production of Hisashi Inoue's Musashi, a 21st-Century retelling of a duel for supremacy between two samurai rivals. This felt more like theater, because it dealt less with evil spirits and more with the familiar grub of keeping up appearances and reputation; indeed, the winner of the battle may have won by a trick (standing with his back to the sun, he essentially blinded his opponent).
Lincoln Center carefully described the drama as "Noh-inspired." In fact, when the work previously debuted in Japan, critics didn't make any connection to Noh, according to the director, Yukio Ninagawa. But an entire culture of highly developed and sophisticated Noh may be informing our Western theater. That can only enrich our offerings.
Obstructed view
Let me add a footnote to this performance. My wife and I sat in the very last row, which in the smallish, well-raked Perelman Theater could still offer a novel perspective on a skillfully staged production of the Noh type. But the screen displaying the English subtitles— an important element for an American audience—was partially obliterated.
Only Professor Chance's pre-show commentary helped us understand the action of the first two pieces. It was especially annoying to hear the laughter from the patrons on the main floor during the comic portion when we in the nosebleed row could decipher meaning only through the actors' movements.
At intermission, we asked the box office for better seats. How they materialized, I'll never know, since the orchestra seemed full, with maybe a scattering of empty seats. But we spent the second act in the fifth row, where the words were more comprehensible and we were able to enjoy the production as intended.
The Kimmel Center had a problem with the screen the night before, an usher told us. Management and the box office deserve a bow for stepping up and changing our seats. I hope our fellow back-seaters found satisfactory solutions, too.♦
To read another review by Jonathan Stein, click here.
True, Noh has a "plot" perhaps more associated with drama, and the Kimmel audience received plot information twice: once with a pre-performance lecture by Penn Professor Linda Chance, an expert on Japanese medieval literature and second by subtitles flashed during the performance on a screen far above the stage. Those of us who speak no Japanese need every possible lifeline to get the most from Noh performance, so we hang on every translated word. And the action has a kind of grounding in myth, which suggests narrative.
Maybe it's baseball
But actually seeing the Kimmel production was more like watching dance. And watch you had to do, even during the extended periods when a main actor stood stock still, because the slightest movement forward, or sideways, toward or away from another actor, registered as fear, aggression, inquisitiveness, or a host of other possibilities, all shaped and defined by the immediate context.
(I couldn't help comparing it to a baseball game, when nothing much happens for the longest time, and just when you blink your eye, you've missed the pitch and the important hit. No wonder the Japanese are so good at baseball, too.)
War and comedy
The Kashu-juku troupe performed three pieces. One was a kind of ballet with an intoned monologue (plus commentary from the chorus and one of the drummers), recalling a climactic episode in a famous battle.
Another was a skit in which two servants binge on their master's sake; he has tied them up but left their hands free, so they could help each other to the master's stash. Their drunken staggers, rendered more laughable by their physical constraints, provided a comedic commentary on many things, including the controlled Noh movements that give the form its essential grace, rhythm and majesty.
Cure for jealousy
Then there was the unadulterated Noh, presented via an excerpt from a domestic tale of romantic jealousy. As Professor Chance noted in her remarks, in Western drama something happens; in Noh, someone appears.
In this work, a wife insults her husband's mistress, Lady Rokujo, who explodes in jealousy. The emotion is expressed as an evil spirit that causes the wife to fall ill; a cure will be possible only when the mistress abandons her negative feelings.
In fact, it's important to the mistress to calm down. In Buddhist belief, Chance explained, you can't go to heaven after death if you remain burdened by the attachments that chain you to the world.
Buddhists also believe that an intercessory power can pray successfully for someone else's salvation: In this play, a monk appears on the mistress's behalf, cures her, saves her soul and heals the wife.
Messages in the masks
For me, dance was the dominant lively art here. The "dialogue" was intoned rather than spoken as conversation, and it was intermixed with music. The main character wore a mask that, rather than hiding or disguising feeling, channeled and intensified it— because the actor wasn't portraying an individual but an emotion.
Noh masks are carefully carved to change aspect according to the way the stage lights strike them, and Lady Rokujo wore a Hannya mask, with horns, fangs, steeply defined cheekbones and deep-set eyes, devil-like and supposedly emblematic of the insecurity and anger of the jealous woman.
Most striking, perhaps, was the walk. The woman's feet were covered by her full-length kimono, but the monk's feet were intentionally visible under his robe, so we could see what he was doing. He slid his feet forward flat and at the right instant raised the toes slightly. He moved forward with nary a waver or shake in his torso or head, indicating the authority his character represented. A dance movement so understated yet clear in its intention is pure art.
21st-Century Noh
The Kimmel production presented traditional Noh, which some in this century might regard as an exercise in nostalgia. That would be a mistake, because there's nothing wistful or mushy in excellent performances like this. But Noh is also finding a place as a modern stage form.
Last summer, I saw the Lincoln Center's production of Hisashi Inoue's Musashi, a 21st-Century retelling of a duel for supremacy between two samurai rivals. This felt more like theater, because it dealt less with evil spirits and more with the familiar grub of keeping up appearances and reputation; indeed, the winner of the battle may have won by a trick (standing with his back to the sun, he essentially blinded his opponent).
Lincoln Center carefully described the drama as "Noh-inspired." In fact, when the work previously debuted in Japan, critics didn't make any connection to Noh, according to the director, Yukio Ninagawa. But an entire culture of highly developed and sophisticated Noh may be informing our Western theater. That can only enrich our offerings.
Obstructed view
Let me add a footnote to this performance. My wife and I sat in the very last row, which in the smallish, well-raked Perelman Theater could still offer a novel perspective on a skillfully staged production of the Noh type. But the screen displaying the English subtitles— an important element for an American audience—was partially obliterated.
Only Professor Chance's pre-show commentary helped us understand the action of the first two pieces. It was especially annoying to hear the laughter from the patrons on the main floor during the comic portion when we in the nosebleed row could decipher meaning only through the actors' movements.
At intermission, we asked the box office for better seats. How they materialized, I'll never know, since the orchestra seemed full, with maybe a scattering of empty seats. But we spent the second act in the fifth row, where the words were more comprehensible and we were able to enjoy the production as intended.
The Kimmel Center had a problem with the screen the night before, an usher told us. Management and the box office deserve a bow for stepping up and changing our seats. I hope our fellow back-seaters found satisfactory solutions, too.♦
To read another review by Jonathan Stein, click here.
What, When, Where
Kashu-juku Noh Theater: Traditional Performance. March 21, 2011 at Perelman Theater, Kimmel Center, Broad and Spruce Sts. (215) 893-1999 or www.kimmelcenter.org or www.bowerbird.org.
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