Pathway to Japanese Literature

September 3 (Saturday), 9:30 AM Lecture begins

“I shall now address you under the title ‘The Characteristics of Japanese Theater’.”
“I presume none among you have come with particular scholarly interest in Japanese drama.”
“Therefore, rather than delivering an overly specialized lecture, I intend to provide explanations most useful for appreciating theatrical performances during your stay in Japan.”
“To discern what distinguishes Japanese theater, one must first comprehend Japan itself.”
“Moreover, you must possess fundamental understanding of what constitutes drama.”
Yet Japan presents itself—as you perceive—with extraordinarily complex features.
“When recognizing this land as Japan, we find it contains elements that appear diametrically opposed or even contradictory.”
“In this sense, apprehending Japan’s totality proves challenging indeed—particularly regarding drama itself. Mere casual theatergoing while thinking ‘so this constitutes drama’ remains insufficient. Only through studying drama’s compositional elements and historical development across multiple dimensions can one properly grasp its essential nature.”
“However, lacking time for such foundational discourse here, I shall proceed by building upon your existing theatrical knowledge—whether gained through performances witnessed in Japan or your homelands.”

“Now, should you visit theaters in Tokyo on occasion, arriving with even a basic understanding of a play’s current standing in Japan and how it differs from others would prove beneficial. Moreover, we wish to discuss these points in detail during this opportunity to prevent Japanese theater from leaving an erroneous impression—that is to say, because we hope you will grasp the spirit of what we Japanese strive to create and cultivate through theater today.”

“When speaking of contemporary Japanese theater, its varieties are remarkably abundant and diverse; this multiplicity of forms would likely rival that of any nation.”

“Though mere numerical variety warrants no pride, this very multiplicity may indeed be counted among modern Japanese theater’s defining characteristics.”

“There exists a reason why Japanese theater currently possesses such numerous varieties that have persisted from antiquity—I shall shortly explain this reason. But first, enumerating the specific types: we begin with what is called Noh and Kyogen.”

“I shall elaborate later, but briefly—there exists a genre termed Noh and Kyogen, which as you know stands recognized as a monumental theatrical form within world drama history.”

“Next comes what we call Kabuki—this too boasts three centuries of history, its technical perfection rivaling any theater worldwide.”

“Moreover, this Kabuki form conversely exerts influence upon Europe and America’s new modern theaters.”

“On one hand lie these two classical theaters—Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki—while on the other exists what may be termed a modern theater school.”

“This modern theater’s history has already neared sixty years while remaining in developmental progress.”

In addition to these, regional theatrical forms exist throughout all areas of Japan.
These regional forms arose spontaneously rather than being cultivated through any singular artistic method like Noh/Kyogen or Kabuki—naturally emerging from people's daily lives and being transmitted in their original state.
Furthermore, prior to the emergence of Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki, there existed Bugaku Dance—a theatrical form structured through dance and music that was transmitted alongside the transplantation of Chinese culture.
This Bugaku Dance remains carefully preserved even today.
At present, it survives primarily within imperial court traditions.
Meanwhile, Kabuki theater developed gradually over three centuries, exerting tremendous influence until achieving its complete modern form while simultaneously giving rise to a distinct theatrical style that incorporated various elements from Kabuki itself.
This constitutes Japanese puppet theater.
The puppet theater we now call Bunraku displays techniques so meticulously refined that I consider them unparalleled among global puppet theater traditions.
Within the modern theater movement representing new drama today, we find various approaches.
There exist trends inheriting Japan's classical theatrical lineage while seeking to create new forms from within those traditions, alongside another movement that adopts Western theatrical traditions and techniques while striving to adapt them within Japanese life.
Moreover, among Western theatrical forms, those derived from musical theater and opera traditions are likewise being actively researched in contemporary Japan.
Additionally, there exists a great multitude of more popular spectacles focused on entertainment—unique forms like what we call girl operas performed exclusively by young women.
One might say our streets overflow with manzai performances featuring improvised comic dialogues and other yose arts containing comedic elements; when we add radio dramas born from mechanical civilization to this foundation, we see all theatrical forms created—from those witnessed visually to those experienced aurally.

Now, when we inquire why so many theatrical forms were nurtured and developed over an extremely long period by the hands of the same people, it may be considered that Japanese culture achieved remarkably multifaceted development upon a consistent national spirit.
When something new emerges here, it proves relatively rare for existing forms to be hindered and destroyed as a result; even as new elements arise, those that had long endured still remain. It may first be considered that such a unique cultural phenomenon exists in Japan.
A force rising with new vigor often inevitably destroys and extinguishes the old—I believe such a cultural movement can be observed among the nations and peoples of the world.
I believe Japan developed an exceptionally unique culture in this regard; for instance, as I mentioned earlier, Noh and Kyogen—which medieval samurai households protected and which experienced unprecedented prosperity—did not decline in the least even with new Kabuki theater's rise during the Tokugawa period.
As Kabuki theater flourished among the masses, society's upper classes simultaneously continued fully supporting and preserving Noh and Kyogen.
With the Meiji era's advent, forms inheriting Western traditions emerged yet failed to drive out what had existed during the Tokugawa period; instead they too took root among the populace. This very condition caused such a rich variety of theatrical forms with differing styles to develop simultaneously within the same people.

Following the Meiji era, it came to be realized that Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki were forms incompatible with modern Japanese life—indeed, forms highly inconvenient for representing contemporary existence on stage—and thus arose a theatrical movement equipped with new forms.
“This constitutes what we now call the New Theater Movement.”
“The theater reform movement, developing alongside ideological movements, gained support from intellectuals who demanded such changes; yet the general populace remains enamored of Kabuki’s peculiar allure.”
“Though often declared obsolete, Kabuki theater persists as Japanese drama’s mainstream today.”
“This reality brings me profound regret as one professionally committed to theater—particularly involved in these new endeavors.”
“Let me clarify—this does not disparage Kabuki’s merits—but I maintain modern Japanese deserve modern theater, and that this modern drama must ascend to become our theatrical mainstream.”
“Japan may appear quick to adopt novelties, but truly rooting innovations within our national character demands extraordinary time.”
“Precisely this challenge engages the sincere efforts of Japan’s younger generation.”
“Having noted this abundance of forms as Japanese theater’s hallmark, I must clarify—this multiplicity does not represent its essential quality.”
“Far deeper lie characteristics rooted in artistic essence.”
“Addressing this requires first acknowledging Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki—these classical forms—as Japanese theater’s most perfected expressions.”
“These twin classical traditions share one fundamental trait.”
“To articulate this shared quality—though phrasing proves challenging—it resides in how their stages fundamentally disregard individuality.”
“In Western theater—from Greek antiquity through modern drama—any distinguished stage invariably showcases the playwright’s genius blazing forth, propelling the entire production into spectators’ hearts.”
“Japan’s Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki follow no such design.”
“Regarding Kabuki’s structure—one might describe its stage energy as collective artistry shaped through multitudes’ prolonged refinement.”
“Put simply—the beauty and harmony achieved prove impersonal.”
“Neither I nor you nor he—this sensory beauty transcends individual perspective, surpassing theories and systems through compression, organization, and polishing of universally perceptible beauty.”
“This realm of compressed refinement manifests clearly in Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki performances.”
“This quality—I submit—constitutes their unique distinction among global theatrical traditions.”

It was neither a realistic imitation of nature, nor conversely something that bent and distorted nature to fit into a particular form. Taking an archetype existing within nature, expanding it, then simplifying it, and imbuing it with symbolic meaning - this had taken on symbolic form. From this process emerged those quintessential elements unique to Japanese art: yūgen (mysterious depth) and iki (stylish sophistication). Then arose the pure emotional response to duty and human emotion. Such elements came forth. Consequently, upon the stage there existed no such thing as the thoughts of a specific individual. Nor was there anything resembling the philosophy of a particular school. Naturally, there existed no originality born from an exceptional intellect or mind. What remained there was the aesthetic taste cultivated by a certain social class of a certain era, along with its morality. And these tastes and morals cultivated by one era's social stratum were invariably accepted by other strata across different periods. This was why Japan's Noh/Kyogen and Kabuki - though they had existed as entities quite removed from and unrelated to the general populace in certain eras - in other eras regained vigor to answer the common people's demands, a cycle I believed would continue repeating itself henceforth as it had until today.

Next, among the various types of theater currently performed in Japan that I have enumerated thus far, I would like you all to particularly note these aspects when viewing them, and I shall briefly outline only the most essential points regarding their differences from other theatrical forms.
Fundamentally, whether considering Noh/Kyogen or Kabuki, there exists such abundant material for study that one must devote considerable time to it.
"Since I shall be explaining this in merely five or ten minutes, I harbor doubts about how much everyone might retain—yet I believe I may perhaps manage to indicate some manner of entry point."
First, what we call Noh and Kyogen constitutes the earliest form of authentic theater perfected in Japan.
By authentic theater we mean a form possessing play scripts through which actors perform their respective roles on stage—an established format.
Noh and Kyogen represent Japan's first such formal theatrical tradition, originally performed on shared stages.
However, their dramatic content differs entirely in nature—indeed scholars believe Noh and Kyogen likely diverged in their origins from considerably earlier times.
Noh constitutes a musical drama employing chanted texts—a tragic form structured through musical composition.
Kyogen conversely manifests as comedy enacted through physical gestures.
"In both cases—as with Western classical tragedy and comedy—not only do playwrights differ between forms but so too do their respective performers."
Noh utilizes scripts called yōkyoku composed specifically for musical recitation.
This musical drama combines actors' stylized movements known as kata with hayashi instrumental accompaniment—all performed upon distinctive Noh stages unlike those of other theaters.
Regarding Kyogen's nomenclature—while etymological theories abound—the term fundamentally denotes narratives lacking logical progression.
Though drawing from Sarugaku dance-drama traditions predating Noh/Kyogen's emergence—a Bugaku-derived lineage—Kyogen consists essentially of humor and satire.
Whereas Noh employs literary styles emphasizing rhythmic patterns—veritable prose poetry—Kyogen utilizes colloquial language contemporary to each era.
Consequently Kyogen features abundant realistic elements—its hallmark being depictions of samurai and daimyo domestic life.
Today Noh and Kyogen thrive remarkably through near-monthly Tokyo performances.
While foreign visitors often attend Noh seeking representative Japanese theater—truthfully most find themselves growing drowsy during performances.
"One might suppose these plays deliberately induce sleepiness—yet truly their temporal remoteness and profoundly symbolic simplicity hinder popular appeal."
Only through breaching this barrier may one perceive their authentic charm.

That is precisely how it is.
This is by no means limited to foreigners; even Japanese people today cannot properly appreciate Noh unless they have developed particular familiarity with it. However, once one comes to find Noh interesting, there exists likely no spectacle more fascinating than this Noh.
The fascination of other theatrical forms has its limits.
Yet Noh's fascination knows no bounds.
Ordinary theater's appeal lies principally in its themes and plot structure.
In Noh's case, the ever-shifting stage imagery imparts pure emotional resonance.
When we speak of weeping, it signifies not mere sorrowful tears but those shed when struck by genuine beauty.
Among all stage arts, Noh alone attains such realms.
“Now you might ask—‘What exactly makes Noh compelling? Explain it concisely’—yet truthfully this eludes brief explanation.”
Verbalizing Noh’s appeal proves more arduous than skillfully discoursing on cuisine.
Therefore, to enter Noh’s world requires not preparatory knowledge but rather honed sensibilities and refined perception.
Such refinement cannot be achieved overnight.
Simultaneously, this process possesses an insidious quality—one becomes immersed unknowingly.
In contemporary Noh practice exist schools called iemoto.
These number five.
Five schools exist—Kanze, Hōshō, Konparu, Kongō, and Kita—each maintaining its own theaters.
Regarding Noh programs’ composition—they generally comprise five elements.
That is to say—five performance pieces.
To simplify greatly—the first features deities or divine equivalents as protagonists.
In Noh terminology, this principal role is termed shite.

The second category features male protagonists.
When we speak of 'man' in this context, it reflects one of Japan's cultural conventions—specifically denoting martial character.
Therefore, works centering on male protagonists principally involve warriors and samurai.
Alternatively, they may depict Asura plays portraying figures of extreme violence.
Third comes women; fourth madwomen—those who have lost their sanity; and fifth demons or animals. These five elements are customarily grouped to comprise an evening's program.

So when considering what constitutes Noh's themes or philosophical concepts, to put it simply, it deals with human psychological states such as earthly desires, attachments, delusions, and jealousy. Then when confronted with an event, a person makes a certain resolve. These plays reach their climax in such psychological states: the resolve itself, the love and hatred between parent and child, another crucial element being conflicts of duty, along with the sorrow of separation and parting anguish. The most crucial aspect of Noh lies in mask usage, with those masks occupying a central position in this theatrical form. Regarding their structure and application—first, how Noh masks are crafted: the eyes remain perpetually wide-open and aligned parallel to the viewer's sightline. Thus as performers adjust the mask's angle relative to the audience, it assumes profoundly expressive visages. Furthermore, the lips exist in a state neither fully closed nor open. Such lips they are. This allows them to serve equally whether speaking or silent—in other words, designed to appear natural in any circumstance. Only essential facial muscles receive carved definition, avoiding fine wrinkles or texturing. By carving only vital musculature, the masks function identically whether animated or motionless. Therefore every mask expression inherently contains dual aspects of stillness and movement—or phrased conversely, moves through quietude. Moreover, extensive study ensures both luminous and shadowed aspects manifest through mask manipulation at will. The artisans creating these masks have produced many geniuses who continue serving as vital technicians in Noh today. Hence Noh masks command respect as artistic masterpieces. While global theater includes various masked traditions, no other form grants masks such absolute dominance through these particular methods. Regarding stage props, Noh's defining characteristic remains sparse decoration. What we term stage sets achieve extreme simplicity, compensated through protagonists' stylized movements—their acting techniques—and poetic song lyrics that supplement visual elements.

To have the audience imagine what kind of place it was, they would present scenes symbolizing elements like the moon through songs about them.
The main actor would adopt an expression of gazing up at this symbolic moon.
The expression of moon-gazing and the poetic verses would blend seamlessly into a unified whole.
That scenes of the moon shining brilliantly over mountains and forests could be so vividly evoked stands as a defining characteristic of Noh.
While there are many more aspects of Noh I would like to discuss, I shall conclude my remarks here for now.

Next, I shall discuss Kabuki.
Kabuki is what we call the early modern popular theater.
If we consider that Noh and Kyogen, since the medieval period, had been preserved by the warrior class—the samurai of society’s upper strata—and constituted theater suited to their tastes, then Kabuki was entirely created by the hands of the common people, most beloved by them, and developed through their nurturing.

This was a theatrical form that emerged during the Keichō era at the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate and already possessed a history of three centuries.
According to records, there was a girl called Okuni.
This girl called Okuni was a shrine maiden who worked at a certain shrine in Izumo Province.
Speaking of shrine maidens, they were those who danced and sang at shrine festivals.
Due to their training in dance and song, whenever it became necessary to renovate their shrine, they would come to Kyoto, the capital at the time, and collect funds by performing dances and songs there as well.
This girl called Okuni was quite clever and added various elements to the performances she conducted at the shrine.
She devised a structure that incorporated elements from various events being held in different regions to delight large crowds.
This has been traditionally recounted as Kabuki's original origin.
However, there was no doubt that this Kabuki performed by Okuni had been a crude and unsystematic form, but its novel style became popular in the capital, leading to the emergence of specialists, and later developed into the refined theatrical form known as Kabuki.
However, the Kabuki performed during the Tokugawa period possessed a unique theater structure, and today’s theaters in Tokyo, beginning with the Kabukiza, differ significantly from the structure of Japan’s traditional Kabuki theaters.
It was necessary to first keep this fact in mind.
The majority of today’s Tokyo theaters had adopted new Western-style modern theater forms.
Incidentally, by incorporating elements such as stage dimensions or the hanamichi passageway, they preserved some aspects of Kabuki theater’s architectural structure within this framework.
Next, I shall proceed to discuss the types of Kabuki Kyogen.
Even when speaking of Kabuki theater as a single entity, there were various types within it.
This was broadly divided into three categories.
First were those adopted from Bunraku Puppet Theater—originally scripts written for Bunraku.

When Kabuki actors began performing these works, Kabuki theater developed further.
“Everyone has likely heard of this, but Kanadehon Chūshingura represents a title adapted from Bunraku Puppet Theater.”
There exist texts adapted from Noh and Kyogen for Kabuki performance.
Kanjinchō serves as its representative example.
Additionally, numerous other scripts were written specifically for Kabuki plays.
These texts composed expressly for Kabuki theater can be further categorized into various types.
When broadly classified, they fall into three categories: period pieces (jidaimono), household dramas (oiemono), and domestic dramas (sewamono). What we term period pieces concern the Genpei era, also referred to as courtly pieces.
This refers to the period before Japan’s feudal governance became firmly established.
Next, household dramas address the so-called domain conflicts of feudal-era daimyo families.
“The terminology may prove somewhat challenging initially, but I shall elaborate on this later.”
Following these come domestic dramas—works drawing material from the lives of common townspeople.
As this remained the feudal era, these pieces depict what we call urban merchant-class life.
“In contemporary terms, domestic dramas (sewamono) treat romantic entanglements within emerging bourgeois society, conflicts between social obligation and human sentiment, and such incidents arising in ordinary citizens’ lives—they might be characterized as a form of social drama or theater of manners.”
Furthermore, domestic dramas subdivide into older and newer varieties.
That is to say, we find domestic dramas from authors epitomized by Chikamatsu Monzaemon of that period, alongside those by distinguished Kabuki playwrights like Tsuruya Nanboku and Kawatake Mokuami.
Notably, these domestic dramas demonstrate a distinct transformation demarcated by the early Meiji era.
The early Meiji years witnessed radical changes in Japanese customs.
During the Tokugawa period, even men wore topknot hairstyles (chonmage).
Following the Meiji era’s abolition of topknots, domestic dramas featuring characters with cropped hair became known as zangirimono (“cropped-hair plays”).
Having broadly categorized Kabuki’s essential elements into three groups in this manner, we may now classify Kabuki as a whole into two stylistic forms.

Shosagoto refers to pieces centered on dance, while Jikyōgen denotes ordinary dramas that advance narratives through dialogue and gestures.
This broadly constitutes Kabuki's categorical framework.
Even when considering Kabuki as a unified tradition, one cannot comprehend its essence through a single performance—within it exist diverse forms structured thus.
Regarding Kabuki's performative priorities: as previously outlined, having been created by commoners to entertain commoners, its defining characteristic lies not in philosophical discourse or psychological depth but in spotlighting vivid scenes from quotidian life—incidents captivating general audiences—as its dramatic focal points.
These may be broadly categorized into nine principal elements.
Kabuki's distinctive highlight techniques have been meticulously refined over three centuries through expressive methods, acting styles, and costuming approaches—true connoisseurs focus precisely on these curated moments.
Other scenes serve as intervals where spectators dine on boxed meals and sip sake.
The essential components requiring attention manifest through nine representative aspects.
First emerges nureba—scenes fundamentally depicting romantic encounters.
These portray amorous exchanges between genders while incorporating erotic undertones.
Second comprises two variants: satsuba (slaughter sequences literally interpreted through their kanji) and semeba (interrogation scenes forcing confessions through duress).
Historically, satsuba involved graphic enactments of extreme violence that left brutal impressions.
Actors perfected blood effects through elaborate methods—simulating realistic wound hemorrhaging via techniques resembling stage magic.
However contemporary implementations have become largely ritualized to prevent adverse social influences.
Certain regional jurisdictions now entirely prohibit blood depiction.
I maintain this practice warrants complete abolition in modern times.
Foreign observers initially expressed astonishment at such Japanese theatrical conventions.
Yet similar reactions occurred when Shakespeare's works premiered in France—French audiences reportedly recoiled.
French classical tradition dictated offstage treatment of deaths and conflicts.
Shakespeare's defiance of these norms through explicit onstage violence allegedly caused female spectators to faint during performances.

“Had those French people witnessed Japanese theater, not a single one would have survived.”
“Now regarding semeba – while these interrogation scenes constitute a form of torture, they are not limited to physical implements.”
“There exists both logical coercion through argumentation and emotional entrapment.”
That is to say, they mercilessly corner their adversaries between societal duty and human sentiment.
People often jokingly imitate Kabuki dialogue from such moments with phrases like “Now then, what shall you do?”
This represents one characteristic line from these interrogation scenes.
Next comes damarimari.
“Damarimari means performing in silence, though it should not be confused with pantomime.”
The technique primarily involves broad gestures and tableaux vivants – though explaining this concept proves somewhat challenging – whereby living performers momentarily create effects resembling paintings or sculptures.
“This damarimari remains absolutely vital to Kabuki theater.”
When debutant actors first appear on stage, damarimari is invariably incorporated as a ceremonial greeting to the audience.
At such moments, veteran actors of the troupe position themselves before the newcomer, meticulously arranging the stage to focus spectators’ attention through sustained observation.

Next is aragoto (roughhouse acts), which differs from the earlier killing scenes (satsuba) and interrogation scenes (semeba). This involves placing characters of extraordinary strength or courage on stage; while certainly violent, it impresses audiences with its bold theatricality.
For instance, scenes where a man crawls beneath a house’s eaves to suddenly heave up the entire structure, or where one might swing a large ship with a single hand—through such actions showcasing strength utterly beyond human capability, they let the audience feel catharsis through these displays.
A certain actor had been lifting the house in a scene of a play with both hands until then.
However, one actor lifted it with one hand.
Since there were various mechanisms in place, it made no difference how it was lifted.
“This seems trivial,” began the manager, “but no matter how strong you are, lifting it with one hand looks utterly fake—you should use both hands.” The actor countered that either way, lifting an entire house was obviously fake to begin with.
He argued that using one hand better emphasized physical strength, and since then, that play has featured houses being lifted with one hand.

Next is quick change.
This refers to a single actor performing two roles.
This technique also exists in the West.
There are actors who specialize in quick-change performances.
A blind musician called zato appears in a certain scene.
He enters playing the xylophone while singing.
This blind musician is actually an honorable samurai in disguise.
During the quick-change sequence, he jumps into a pond visible onstage.
At that instant, a magnificent samurai emerges from upstage and leaps into the pond with movements too swift for the eye to follow—whereupon another splendid samurai immediately appears from behind.
This constitutes the quick-change technique.
When actors executed these transformations with exceptional skill during that era, the shogunate issued reprimands, sending patrol officers to investigate whether they were employing forbidden Christian missionary methods—or so the anecdote goes.
Next comes what we call puppet-style acting.
This demonstrates how a single play might devote itself entirely to one technical approach.
In Kabuki theater where live actors perform on stage—despite these very humans having enacted every conceivable action—finding it ultimately lacking in appeal, the performers resort to imitating puppets.
The actors replicate the motions of Bunraku Puppet Theater.
When reaching their marks, they abruptly begin dancing in precise synchronization with musical accompaniment, adopting marionette-like facial expressions while moving hands and feet with mechanical precision.
At this moment, black-robed stagehands who will later operate puppets stand ready.
They manipulate the actors to resemble actual puppets.
This is puppet-style acting.
Next we examine stage combat.

This stage combat referred to scenes where exceptionally courageous and technically skilled warriors would face multitudes of opponents and cut them all down. To achieve this, they wielded swords too heavy for ordinary men—a single swing felling all surrounding foot soldiers where they stood.
This was the style of stage combat.
Originally simple in execution, it evolved into acrobatic displays when audiences grew dissatisfied.
The scene showed many victims being cut down, each felled through distinct techniques.
Those being struck down also collapsed in varied manners.
Merely slashing someone to make them drop flat lacked appeal—thus they tumbled head over heels.
Or executed flips while delivering fatal blows.
Both striker and stricken were said to demonstrate technical mastery.
This became both acrobatics and dance combined.
Ultimately transforming scenes of killing into gymnastic dance created unexpected humor.
The eighth technique was Roppō.
Wearing two massive swords at his waist, he strode wide-legged while swinging both arms grandly.
While Roppō appeared in certain plays, its true purpose lay in focusing audience attention on a single figure.
This swaggering walk epitomized the most self-assured gait of certain Edo-period figures.
Specifically, it mimicked the stride of chivalrous men visiting their favored courtesans.
In modern Kabuki, this technique accompanies lead actors withdrawing along the hanamichi passageway.
Finally came Tsurane.
Tsurane shared elements with cascading dialogue and exorcism speeches—a monologue delivered during Roppō stances primarily serving as self-introduction.
The actor declared their lineage and character to both cast members and spectators.
This became their formal proclamation.

Next I shall explain a particular location within Kabuki theater structure.
This location bears such-and-such designation through formal exposition.
Such explanations constitute exceptionally fluent rhetorical compositions representing Kabuki’s unique elocutionary tradition.
The eloquence inherent in Japanese theater fascinates me through its parallels with Western oratory traditions spanning Greek drama to modern plays.
However I shall defer detailed analysis of this subject today.
When further elaborated through performance practice we encounter watariserifu—cascading dialogue where actors successively pass lines downstage like relayed utterances.
With these examples I have outlined Kabuki’s principal showstopping techniques.
Though time grows late allow me briefly to address three architectural innovations—revolving stages hanamichi passageways and seri trapdoors—which alongside theater design constitute Japan’s unique theatrical forms.
The seri mechanism elevates actors from beneath stage level—a technique now commonplace globally but pioneered exclusively by Kabuki in antiquity through simultaneous lifting of performers and stage elements.
Hanamichi too exemplifies Japanese theater’s populist character by fostering actor-audience intimacy—a convention later imitated in European avant-garde productions.
Finally regarding costuming Kabuki’s garments and wigs demand particular attention.
Most crucial remains makeup philosophy—especially kumadori facial patterning.
Detailed explication would prove lengthy but consider kumadori’s essence: this stylized cosmetic technique exaggerates features allowing instant recognition of moral qualities—good evil strength gentleness—through codified visual symbolism refined over centuries.
Notably kumadori finds precedent in Chinese opera traditions from which I believe it likely originated.
Having thus outlined Noh and Kabuki fundamentals I conclude this section of my lecture.

Finally, I turned to discuss the emerging theater movement.
To explain how this new theater since the Meiji era had historically developed would prove excessively involved and of limited direct interest; therefore, I chose to survey plays created post-Meiji that were currently being staged.
First were those that partially rewrote Kabuki plays or attempted new historical dramas using Kabuki techniques.
These were performed chiefly by Kabuki actors and ran concurrently with traditional Kabuki productions in the same theaters.
Nevertheless, we maintained Kabuki theater as that pure classical form on one side.
"We could indeed become fully immersed in Kabuki's inherent charm," I observed, "yet came to recognize that the Kabuki we sought from the stage failed to provide complete fulfillment."
This held equally true for Noh-Kyogen: contemporary lifestyles defied expression through Kabuki's conventions, sparking demands for radically different dramatic forms.
The initial response to this demand became what was termed Shinpa Theater.
However, though Shinpa Theater now ran practically parallel to Kabuki in Tokyo's major venues, examination of its founding motives revealed a reform movement lacking essential human elements and clear artistic objectives.
Ideologically, it had adopted no new concepts.
Since it merely superficially portrayed Meiji-era social changes through Kabuki-derived techniques, Shinpa Theater today stood divorced from representing Japan's new drama.
In essence, Shinpa had merged with Kabuki.
Though discussing Shinpa's origins might intrigue you, this pattern recurs across cultural movements—thus I refrained from particular elaboration.
What emerged aiming to address our urgent life demands beyond Kabuki and Shinpa—a theater for new times—was called New Theater (Shingeki).
This movement had been modeled after European/American small theaters that provided its initial stimulus.
They rejected commercialism outright and confronted vulgar elements.
They challenged the base qualities already absorbed by Kabuki and Shinpa.
The other sought to integrate new literary philosophies into drama.
Though Kabuki remained actor-centric spectacle, we aimed to transform it into playwright-centered theater—moreover, rather than appealing to the masses' varied education levels, we sought audiences of exceptional cultivation through what became the New Theater Movement.
This New Theater Movement too had seen initiatives launched under sundry slogans fail successively, literally traversing a path of tribulation.

To gain a proper understanding of the New Theater Movement up to the present day, one must thoroughly know these two individuals: Tsubouchi Shōyō and Osanai Kaoru.
While Mr. Osanai originally specialized in English literature, he primarily introduced Northern European, German, and Russian plays to Japan, and following that late nineteenth-century French New Theater Movement—the Free Theater movement—he established what became known as the Free Theater in Japan's theatrical world.
This still exists today, having been created together with the actor Ichikawa Sadanji.
Though the work of our two seniors, Tsubouchi and Osanai, leaves no lasting legacy today due to various obstacles, the desire to create new plays—to craft dramas that can showcase the lives of modern Japanese people on today’s stages—burns fiercely among the younger generation.
"If you would kindly pay attention to these aspects today, you will come to understand that there exists in present-day Japan a theatrical world distinct from that of Noh-Kyogen or Kabuki; moreover, I believe it is precisely this world that Japan’s younger generation hopes you will witness."
Moreover, it is precisely within such a world that I believe you can lend your cooperation to our work.

“Currently, there are three theater troupes advocating this New Theater Movement.”
“First, in chronological order of their founding: the Shingeki Tsukiji Gekidan, the Shinkyō Gekidan—and another with which I am involved—the Bungakuza.”
The Shingeki Tsukiji Gekidan and Shinkyō Gekidan troupes worked from the Tsukiji Little Theater, a small playhouse established during Mr. Osanai Kaoru’s era.
What I particularly wished to draw your attention to was this: though composed of members who had once operated under a certain ideology during Japan’s period of flourishing leftist art movements, these troupes now wholly lacked such ideological tendencies in their theatrical work due to contemporary prohibitions; however, they excelled remarkably in collective training methods.
Through this strength, their activities possessed the power to vigorously engage with broader society.
Consequently, the works performed there were in some sense ideological, social, and simultaneously ambitious in scope.
Recently, the Shinkyō Gekidan troupe had staged Shimazaki Tōson’s monumental work Before the Dawn with considerable success.
The Shingeki Tsukiji Gekidan also achieved notable results with Tsuzurikata Kyōshitsu—a production adapting an elementary schoolgirl’s essay that portrayed starkly simple yet compelling scenes onstage.
As for the Bungakuza, its primary objective lay in developing new techniques essential for creating Japan’s modern plays.
Neither Kabuki methods nor Shinpa conventions could produce fresh drama.
“That said, even adopting Western plays wholesale—having Japanese actors mimic Western performers—would still fail to create Japan’s new theater; therefore, under the conviction that original theatrical techniques must be developed by contemporary Japanese artists themselves, we currently focus principally upon actor training.”
The scripts performed here were by young Japanese writers who absorbed influences from Western drama while employing pure Japanese language.
We selected works by authors who had forged new stylistic approaches to playwriting in Japanese, compiling them into Bungakuza’s repertoire.
These were staged approximately every other month in Tokyo.
Bungakuza conducted brief runs at the Hikō Kaikan venue.
These three troupes constituted what might be termed the pure New Theater Movement practitioners. Beyond these existed independent professional companies.
As you know, Japanese theater now operated almost entirely under the Shochiku conglomerate’s control.
Being governed by this corporate giant entailed both conveniences and drawbacks.
There existed troupes where professional actors—dissatisfied with such conditions—established independent operations adhering to their own principles.
Among these, Shinkokugeki and Zenshinza maintained particularly sound trajectories today.

Although these two troupes had once separated from Shochiku, as they were now achieving sufficient box office success, Shochiku further began temporarily lending them theaters to perform.

In particular, this Zenshinza troupe recently saw its members begin a new lifestyle movement.
Deeming their previous lifestyle as actors unsatisfactory, they initiated communal living as part of this reform movement—moving entirely into a single building and maintaining a meticulousness unseen among Japanese groups of this kind.
Another aspect involved theater itself: they aimed to rationalize its management.
“I believe it would be beneficial for you to visit Zenshinza’s research institute on some occasion.”
Other productions could well be termed miscellaneous plays; there existed countless dramas whose presence or absence would have made no difference.
“I shall not enumerate these individually.”
Then there emerged another category: what was called children’s theater—plays for children—or school plays, which had recently flourished remarkably.
These children’s theater productions and school plays were, of course, not commercially operated endeavors; however, as part of Japan’s cultural movement, their existence could not be ignored.
For this reason, there were people conducting various research.
Plays intended for children to watch, and plays that children themselves performed—research was conducted from these two perspectives.

"As for other categories—returning to what I had mentioned at the very beginning—were one to list all the folk theaters performed across Japan’s various regions and plays akin to those traditionally performed in each locality, numerous examples would still remain; however, I must refrain from discussing those today as well."
"In Ryukyu, Korea, and Taiwan’s folk theaters—and even among the Ainu, though these are termed dances—there existed those with certain theatrical elements incorporated within their dance forms."
"This constituted something quite distinctive."

First, I have now concluded the main points I wished to convey to everyone today. There was one final matter I needed to address regarding what we term Japanese theater: generally speaking, Japanese people themselves invariably cite Noh-Kyogen and Kabuki first and foremost, while foreigners too initially retain the impression that Japanese theater consists solely of Noh-Kyogen and Kabuki. This constitutes our failing as Japanese people on one hand, yet simultaneously stems from Japan's new theater remaining so underdeveloped that its presence pales utterly when compared to both Kabuki and Noh-Kyogen. However, it is precisely within such incompleteness that resides the anguish of our youth—and I particularly wish to convey to you all that this realm of anguish resonates with the collective anguish of youth itself.

"Although this has been a rather disjointed presentation, given that the subject itself is extremely difficult, I believe I have done as much as possible under these circumstances."
"I humbly ask for your kind understanding."
"This concludes my lecture."

Adjourned at noon.