Zaju and Kabuki in English

Zaju and Kabuki in English Directing in the Classical Styles Grant Guangren Shen In , at the National University of Singapore, I directed the first English zaju opera, a genre that has had no known stage productions for the past years. During an -month period from to , I directed Sukeroku: Flower of Edo, the first kabuki play to be performed in English in Asia. In both productions, authenticity was the major criterion: the performative elements identifiable with the genres were meticulously preserved; an effort was made to approximate those for which there were no records; and their probable effects on original audiences were attempted. While indigenous classical theatre attracts attention, it poses practical challenges to the director of the modern stage. Actor Training In my experience, the training of actors is often the biggest challenge, and always the most time-consuming process, in producing Asian theatre. There is initial movement and voice training conducted by singing masters from the genre’s native land, who bring to the production their expertise, which is the result of many years of practice. Their technical know-how is unavailable in any book and adds. They add to the nuances that are vital to the success of the show. After these general sessions, singing masters hold intensive training for the leading roles. When rehearsals go badly, special training has to be devised to work through the problems. The conventional stage of Asian theatre does not allow much leeway for acting problems. You either do it right or do it wrong—and the audience can tell. The freedom to improvise does not pro- vide an escape from acting difficulties either, as it is a benefit of, but not an alternative to, the mastery of skills; it is often reserved for stars only. In the kabuki production, Sukeroku, the actors were all students who had majored in theatre at the National University of Singapore and had audi- tioned. When the rehearsal started, they could already perform satisfactorily. However, their moderate skills shriveled before my very eyes when the stag- ing elements, which I shall name “kabuki dynamics,” mysteriously exagger- ated the lack of training in their lower bodies. The “legless” performances were so unbearable that they provoked in my mind an image of cuts of meat being lugged from one spot to another. The Drama Review , (T), Fall . Copyright © New York University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/10542040152587169 by guest on 01 October 2021 Zaju and Kabuki The differences between Japanese and Western theatre in posture, stance, and movement arise from pro- found cultural assumptions. The Japanese belief system—from mythology, animism, and shamanism, to Shintoism and Zen Buddhism—constantly finds its ob- jects of worship on the earth. Even the sun goddess, Amaterasu, chooses to hide in a rock cave instead of in the clouds when she is offended. Her hiding brings about a universal darkness. The goddess Uzume has to stamp her feet and disrobe to create a scene that will trick Amaterasu out of the cave. Uzume’s spectacle is recorded in Japan’s earliest writings about performance (Ortolani [] :). Japanese theatre conceptually draws its energy from the earth. Noh actors frequently slide their feet on the floor as if to prolong their con- tact with the earth. Kabuki heroes thunderously stomp on the hanamichi and the stage while upward motions remain secondary or sequential. This is in sharp con- trast to Western performing arts, which historically draw their spiritual enlightenment and artistic inspira- tion from the heavens. The tragic hero fixes his eyes on the sky, from which the deus ex machina descends. Ballet dancers throw their bodies toward heaven while touching the ground on tiptoe as if to signify their de- sire to leave the sinful earth. Our actors, educated in a Western acting system, had to retrain their lower-bodies—that is, if we still wished to bill our production as kabuki. But it was out of the question for them to undergo the training of professional kabuki actors, which takes years if not decades. The dilemma was that we found no Western alternative, because of cultural constraints, yet we could not follow the Japanese tradition, because of time limitations. We then considered seeking a Japa- nese alternative in the hope that it would hasten the training. The Suzuki method naturally drew our attention because of its pronounced emphasis on the “grammar of feet” (Suzuki :–). In Sukeroku: Flower Since our purpose was not to master the Suzuki method, but the kabuki of Edo (), Agemaki style, our training sessions did not follow the Suzuki manual. We instead pre- (Yasmin Khan) walks with sented the experience as a kind of “rite of passage,” and didn’t tell the actors if the undulating, wide- the exercises were Western or Japanese. First our actors broke free from sweeping, “figure-eight” Western mannerisms by practicing the Suzuki stepping—firing the feet to the steps of a first-rank courte- ground while freezing the upper body. Then they repeated certain Suzuki san. Sukeroku was written patterns and rhythms involving both the upper and lower body. And finally by Tsuuchi Jihei II and they were allowed to walk again in the vigorous yet controlled, rigid yet ex- Tsuuchi Hanemon, and di- pressive kabuki style. No explanation was given, for it was meant to be a ritu- rected by Grant Shen at the alistic experience, not an academic exercise. The training sessions, conducted Ruffles Hotel in Singapore. with Zen-like simplicity and cult-like discipline, wore out the actors before (Photo by Jack Ling) they produced the true Suzuki quality. But when the actors returned to the stage, most of them appeared poised in the kabuki dynamics. Evidently, the “rite”—reinforced by the acute pain—left a sufficient mark on their physical- ity and mentality. By opening night, actors walked with the energy, control, and stylistic exaggeration that was unmistakably kabuki. Some even added a touch of cruelty or seductiveness to distinguish their role-types. However, Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/10542040152587169 by guest on 01 October 2021 Grant Guangren Shen . In a rehearsal for Sukeroku, Tiffany Wee and Bavani Shanmugan- athen use breath, instead of muscles, to initiate move- ments. This training session breathes life into courtesan acting. (Video by Grant Shen) they had yet to gain, except occasionally, the expressive power to identify in- dividual characters simply by their gait. I also devised special training programs for specific rehearsal problems. In the kabuki production, two actors—who played the heroine’s fellow courtesans— reached the understanding that their characters had to act romantically yet reti- cently, intimately yet reservedly, with their patrons. However, this plausible character interpretation failed to manifest physically as the actors felt that play- ing hot and cold simultaneously was technically impossible. By the second round of rehearsals, it became obvious that they merely looked beautiful, lack- ing the power of sophisticated high-class courtesans who were supposedly irre- sistible to men. The fact that their characters had little to do onstage but sit and talk made the situation even worse. One was restless, the other dead. This problem, although difficult, was less threatening than that of the kabuki walk, because we had the following options: . We could totally abandon this character interpretation. The courtesans would then become more or less decorative set pieces, a phenomenon often seen on the traditional Asian stage. It would be safe and look “authen- tic.” But the scenes with these two performers could be boring. We might change this character interpretation into one that suited the actors’ own acting styles. The actors would then, ostensibly, spring back to life and the scenes would be interesting. But the Tokugawa (–) courtesan culture would be misrepresented and the audience cheated. We could retrain the actors. We chose retraining. After some struggle, we formulated a training program just for the two of them. The program as a whole was never explained outright to them. This was not merely a ceremonial mirroring of the secretive tradition of actor training in Asian theatre, but a precaution. I had learned from previous experiences of this nature that actors’ prior knowledge of the expected progress could hinder training in certain circumstances, especially when an “empty mind” (Brook :) was desired; or when the rehabilita- Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/10542040152587169 by guest on 01 October 2021 Zaju and Kabuki tion of a fixed acting habit was required; or when there was a risk that the trainees might mentally skip over parts of the process. All these elements pertained in our case. A three-stage training program was thus quietly implemented. The first stage: eliminating the elements of interest or disinterest in one actor and nonaction in the other. Movement and voice exercises were conducted in such a mechanical way that they bordered on boring and left no room for any dramatic expression. Ostensibly designed to achieve stylistic perfection, these exercises were in fact meant to create an intellectual and emotional vacuum in the actors. The progress in their stylization came as a useful byproduct. The second stage: using breath instead of muscles to initiate movement. This technique indicates action but does not actually involve action. It thus gracefully suggests a possibility without committing to a message. The ambi- guity or uncertainty associated with such performance attracts interest and creates tension, both of an intellectual and sexual nature. Additionally, this method provides a means to prolong the delicate and exciting moments of the liminal stage of the courtesan’s courting ritual, during which she will decide to be or not to be the patron’s lover.

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