Cross-Gender Performance in Kabuki and Takarazuka a Master's Thesis

Home , Gender in Bugis society, Onnagata, Takarazuka Revue

Gender-Bending Roles in Japanese Theater: Cross-Gender Performance in Kabuki and Takarazuka

A Master’s Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the School of Humanities for the Degree of Master’s in Music Studies (Arts and Culture)

Department of Musicology

Jessie M. Bodell

Amsterdam, The Netherlands June 2018

Supervisor: Barbara Titus

Instead of saying that all gender is this or all gender is that, let's recognize that the word gender has scores of meaning built into it. It's an amalgamation of bodies, identities, and life experiences, subconscious urges, sensations, and behaviors, some of which develop organically, and others which are shaped by language and culture. Instead of saying that gender is any one single thing, let's start describing it as a holistic experience.

―S. Bear Bergman and Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation

Contents

Introduction...... 1

Chapter 1: Kabuki...... 8

Chapter 2: Takarazuka...... 18

Chapter 3: Kata...... 30

The Voice...... 36

Chapter 4: Women on the Stage...... 44

Chapter 5: Admirers and Aficionados...... 52

Conclusion...... 57

Introduction

A transgender person is someone who identifies with a gender other than the one they were assigned at birth. The opposite, cisgender, refers to someone who does identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. This assigning is conducted by the attending physician or midwife at the time of a child’s birth, and the decision is based on primary sex characteristics

(i.e. genitalia) of the child. The relationship between assigned gender (read: sex) and gender identity becomes even more complicated when one considers that “the number of sexes has never been two, as developmental geneticist Anne Fausto-Sterling calls our attention to intersexuality by using the phrase ‘five sexes.’”1 Neither sex nor gender is a true binary system.

There are people who don’t identify within the gender binary, and some terms to describe them are gender non-conforming, or non-binary. Usually non-binary people also consider themselves transgender, but not necessarily. We can see gender non-conforming and transgender characters in U.S.-American musical theater, for example in productions such as The Rocky

Horror Picture Show, Yentl, and Kinky Boots just to name a few. But gender bending roles have a long history, one as old as theater itself, and one that extends far beyond the musical theater repertoire of the United States. This history is expansive, beautiful, and may be surprising to some.

The combination of transphobia (more specifically, transmisogyny), and xenophobia have resulted in a general disregard of third gender identities in many different cultures around the world. Despite the discrimination and abuse that transgender people have experienced (and continue to experience), their histories are still preserved throughout various cultures. Tara

1 Maki Isaka Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2017), 12.

Prince-Hughes writes that in the United States, there are many Native American cultures with

“two-spirit traditions [that] have allowed individuals to express alternative gender inclinations by adopting the work, behavior, and dress of the other sex.”2 Carol E. Robertson writes that the

Hawai’ian māhū, third gender persons, “embody an ancient Polynesian principle of spiritual duality and integration. The outer presentation of the māhū is usually female, even when the person is biologically male.”3 Samoan fa’afafine also embody this principle, and “have traditionally been valued for their ability to carry out tasks of both genders.”4 Additionally, there are the Bugis people of South Sulawesi Indonesia, who acknowledge five different genders.

Susan Bolyard Millar points out that “it is inappropriate to think of the Bugis in terms of Western constructions of gender that assume that sexual stratification is inevitable.”5 The aforementioned genders are but a few examples, and are far from an exhaustive list.

In Europe, gender constructions have not always been so rigidly defined. This is evidenced not only by the social acceptance of the uniquely androgynous castrati, but by the

European “premodern ideologies up through the seventeenth century,” in which “male and female are understood as inversions of one another...hence, a single-sex model emerged where women and men were two versions of the same whole.”6 The binary between men and women existed, but everyone shared one sex. According to Thomas Laqueur, “the modern question, about the ‘real’ sex of a person, made no sense in this period, not because the two sexes were

2 Tara Prince-Hughes, “‘A Curious Double Insight’: ‘The Well of Loneliness’ and Native American Alternative Gender Traditions,” Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature 53, no. 2 (1999): 32. 3 Carol E. Robertson, “The Māhū of Hawai'i,” Feminist Studies 15, no. 2 (1989): 313. 4 Sue Farran, “Transsexuals, Fa'afafine, Fakaleiti and Marriage Law in the Pacific: Considerations for the Future,” The Journal of the Polynesian Society 113, no. 2 (2004): 120. 5 Susan Bolyard Millar, “On Interpreting Gender in Bugis Society,” American Ethnologist 10, no. 3 (1983): 477. 6 Naomi Adele André,Voicing Gender: Castrati, Travesti, and the Second Woman in Early-Nineteenth-Century Italian Opera (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 45.

mixed but because there was only one to pick from.”7 He goes on to say, “in this world, the body with its one elastic sex was far freer to express theatrical gender and the anxieties thereby produced than it would be when it came to be regarded as the foundation of gender.”8 The eighteenth century marked a drastic change in how European people conceptualized gender in relation to biological sex—in fact the very notion of two sexes was created.

Prior to this notion, “theatrical gender” was able to be performed without the interference of “anxiety” produced by the idea that gender was dictated by the body (i.e. biological sex).

Fluidity of gender expression was a very real possibility up through the seventeenth century in

Europe, on or off the stage. Also of note is that not all non-cisgender people associate with the label of transgender. Binary systems lead to polarization, and should be avoided—it eliminates opportunity for exploration, is reductive, and has the potential to erase identities that fall outside its bounds. This is true both as a general macrocosm, but can also be applied to the exploration of gender expression. In the essay, “Against Gender, Against Society,” nila nokizaru writes:

The cis/trans binary also furthers centralization and colonialism, assimilating and categorizing all identities outside of itself. Like all forms of representation, the cis/trans binary as an all-encompassing set of categories is both flattening and inadequate. There are genders that are not cis but do not place themselves under the trans umbrella. Despite this, anyone who isn’t cis is assumed to be trans, and vice versa. An LGBTQ avant garde moves to assimilate all “unusual” genders, and even the lack of gender, into trans-ness. This leaves no room for anyone to fall outside of these categories. This often plays out in a colonial manner, rendering non-western genders legible to and manageable by western LGBTQ narratives of gender and sexuality.9

Just as it’s important to be critical of the binary systems of sex and gender, one should avoid reinforcing the idea of a binary between cisgender and transgender individuals.

Additionally, the concept of a non-binary gender identity is a modern and Western idea.

7 Ibid. 8 Ibid. 9 nila nokizaru, “Against Gender, Against Society,” LIES Volume II, A Journal of Materialist Feminism (2015): 5.

(Throughout this paper, the word Western will be used as synonymous to “eurogenic,” or originating in Europe). The genders mentioned above are not aligned with the predominant transgender narratives one can find in, for example, the modern day United States. They are not considered transgender women, or transgender men (i.e. women or men), agender (having no gender), or non-binary. Instead, these people have a separate third gender (or fourth, or fifth, etc., depending on the culture in question). Using the term non-binary, or even gender non- conforming for these indigenous genders erases the roles and functions that they have fulfilled in society (both historically and presently), and is unnecessary as they have their own associated terminology. People with these genders share a combination of characteristics and roles that could be considered both male and female. This can be compared to the onnagata and castrati, and the ways in which they have navigated hybridized gender in their respective societies and cultures.

Japanese onnagata and the Italian castrati have both feminine and masculine characteristics. Paul G. Schalow, in his essay, “Figures of Worship: Responses to Onnagata on the Kabuki Stage in Seventeenth-Century Japanese Vernacular Prose,” writes that “the kabuki audience did not react to onnagata as an image of womanhood but, recognizing the man beneath the costume, saw a third and new creation produced by woman’s clothing and style superimposed on a male body.”10 Castrati, however, are physiologically unique. Naomi Adele

André writes that “with both masculine and feminine features encoded in their physical bodies, the castrati were the ideal singing vessels. They could sing both male and female roles convincingly, and they were even able to continue the ability to embody both genders off the

10 Minoru Fujita and Michael Shapiro, eds., Transvestism and the Onnagata Traditions in Shakespeare and Kabuki (Folkestone, UK: Global Oriental, 2006), 61.

stage.”11 Onnagata and castrati occupy a unique space (potentially designated by them, but also by society) as neither men, nor women, and yet both at the same time.

It is of course possible for gender identity and gender performance (and presentation) to remain separate notions. However, it could be argued that if an actor’s “cross-dressing,” or travesti role continues off the stage, it implies that they are not cisgender. For many theater actors across cultures and throughout history, their “roles” were the actualization of their authentic selves. Undoubtedly, transgender people have used theater as a refuge or sanctuary.

Theater offers a safe space where the restrictions and oppressions of society seem to be temporarily suspended. On stage, transgender people can be themselves with less fear of reprisal, consequence, or violence. Their gender identity is celebrated and considered to be a (selective) sublimation of everyday life and behavior.

The castrati of early eighteenth-century Italy were celebrities, lauded as the greatest singers of all time. Actors who specialize in the onnagata role of Japan’s kabuki theater have always been well-known to the public, and enjoy long and successful careers on stage. Similarly, the otokoyaku of Japan’s Takarazuka Revue have fan clubs, some fans even going so far as to cook every meal for their favorite actor for years.12 With their gender bending performances these actors simultaneously reinforce the gender binary (in their imitation of “men” and

“women”) and subvert the determinism associated with biological sex (by showing that this imitation can be performed regardless of one's body). By performing gender contrary to the gender they were assigned at birth, they’re showing that gender, in essence, is nothing more than a series of gendered acts. Lorie Brau, in her article, “The Women's Theatre of Takarazuka,” writes that “from a Western viewpoint, Takarazuka, like kabuki, challenges the idea of rigidly

11 André, 29. 12 Lorie Brau, “The Women's Theatre of Takarazuka,” TDR (1988-) 34, no. 4 (1990): 91.

differentiated gender roles. It suggests alternatives to the limitations of being male or female.”13

The idea of gender as a binary system with only two options, is indeed limiting and reductionist.

The masculinity and femininity of kabuki and takarazuka actors are not seen as two separate, contrasting entities, but instead two poles along a wide spectrum.

The assumption that sex and gender are synonymous is also incorrect, as evidenced by numerous literature. Some of the most notable being: The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for

Feminist Revolution by Shulamith Firestone, Candace West and Don Zimmerman’s article

“Doing Gender,” and Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity.

In “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist

Theory,” Butler writes:

When Simone de Beauvoir claims, “one is not born, but, rather, becomes a woman,” she is appropriating and reinterpreting this doctrine of constituting acts from the phenomenological tradition. In this sense, gender is in no way a stable identity or locus of agency from which various acts proceede; rather, it is an identity tenuously constituted in time—an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts.14

The aforementioned literature and quotation above support the idea that gender has less to do with the gender one was assigned at birth (one’s biological sex), and more to do with socialization and personal gender identity. In the case of cross-dressing actor roles, it has to do with rigorous training, memorized movements, and a lifetime dedicated to studying specialized character roles. Takarazuka’s otokoyaku are praised for their rendition of masculinity in the same way that kabuki’s onnagata are—still to this day—praised for their mastery of ideal femininity.

I have chosen kabuki and takarazuka theater because, as all-male and all-female theatrical genres, respectively, they are ideal case studies with which to examine the performance

13 Ibid., 81. 14 Judith Butler, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” Theatre Journal 40, no. 4 (1988): 519.

of gender. Both takarazuka and kabuki have had a lasting impact on the performing arts of Japan, and Japanese culture as a whole. As a microcosm of society, theater both shapes and is shaped by society. Gender-bending roles, as acceptable on-stage, have the ability to transmit this acceptance to society at large. Learning about how gender issues are navigated in kabuki and takarazuka can teach us how to approach and navigate our own gender politics.

Through their performances, these actors display gender as a vast spectrum. They play roles that showcase the true flexibility of gender, as some roles require a change of gender or character role mid-scene. Their embodiment of various femininities and masculinities effectively disproves the idea of gender as a binary system, and the very existence of these roles oppose colonial implications of post-eighteenth-century eurogenic (binary) notions of gender. Lastly, by performing gender theatrically, these actors make people aware that this phenomenon is not unique to the stage; they raise awareness of the performativity of gender in our everyday lives.

Chapter 1: Kabuki Sexuality in Japan and the Evolution of Kabuki

Sexual practices that diverge from heterosexuality have had a long history in Japan, and bisexuality and gender roles in Japanese theater (particularly if we look at the early forms of kabuki) are inextricable. Originally, both women and men played characters in kabuki theater. In his essay, “A Note on the Genesis of Onnagata,” Bunzō Torigoe writes that in onna kabuki “the stars were all female, but the supporting roles were, of course, also performed by male actors,” and reminds us that men and women performing together at this time (the beginning of the seventeenth century) “was indeed epoch-making.”15 This early form of kabuki, known as women’s kabuki, or onna kabuki, was outlawed due to the fact that it “inherited various elements from antecedent performing arts and consisted mainly of song, dance, and de facto prostitution.”16

Next, “kabuki performed by young boys, (wakashu kabuki)” became popular and also catered to the male gaze. It was outlawed as well, again due to prostitution.17 Gender and sexuality are two separate entities, but wakashu kabuki created an environment where older men could admire young boys on stage. Yoseharu Ozaki, in his essay, “Shakespeare and Kabuki,” writes about the wakashu kabuki ban: “homosexuality, which then was called ‘the way of male love,’ spread even among the townsfolk. And the onnagata in young men’s kabuki could easily be substitutes for women, and relied more on their sex appeal (as boys as well as female

15 Fujita and Shapiro, 1. 16 Maki Isaka Morinaga, “The Gender of Onnagata As the Imitating Imitated: Its Historicity, Performativity, and Involvement in the Circulation of Femininity,” Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 10, no. 2 (2002): 246. 17 Ibid.

disguises) than on their acting ability.”18 Onnagata “came into being in the seventeenth century” after the bans of both onna and wakashu kabuki.19 This third and final form of kabuki was “called yarō-kabuki (adult men’s kabuki)...until about 1673, when it simply came to be called kabuki.”20

The (homo)eroticism of the wakashu tradition evolved and transformed into this newly created onnagata role of yarō kabuki.

In his essay, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in

Japan,” Mark McLelland writes about the same-sex love of Japan’s samurai: “During Japan’s feudal period (1600-1867) when kabuki was the most conspicuous and popular of dramatic arts, there was no necessary connection made between gender performance and sexual preference because men, samurai in particular, were able to engage in both same- and opposite-sex affairs.”21 The sexualization of wakashu (adolescent boys), was not a new phenomenon, and

“historically, male-male relationships already had a long tradition in the samurai class as well as the Buddhist community.”22 Wakashu were partnered with nenja (older, more experienced males) with the ultimate goal being the transmission of a masculinity that was the ideal male gender for warriors. Once this knowledge was transmitted by the nenja and acquired by the wakashu, the wakashu would become a nenja in his own right, cutting his forelocks, and taking an adolescent boy as a lover to start the cycle anew. “The Way of wakashu” was a tradition “by which townsmen, wealthy yet socially humble, could somehow identify with the prestigious samurai

18 Fujita and Shapiro, 9. 19 Morinaga, “The Gender of Onnagata As the Imitating Imitated: Its Historicity, Performativity, and Involvement in the Circulation of Femininity,” 246. 20 Fujita and Shapiro, 9. 21 Mark McLelland, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in Japan,” Journal of Bisexuality, vol. 3, (2003): 206. 22 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 25.

class.”23 This was a practice that was not exclusive to one class, but transcended that barrier and became a pervasive cultural practice. Maki Isaka Morinaga writes that “a wakashu and his nenja would form a tight relationship analogous to a conjugal relationship, in which ‘sex was only one element.’”24 A nenja’s responsibility was first and foremost to ensure the transmission of knowledge, but he also offered emotional support, love, and mentorship to the wakashu. Their relationship was just as important as that of a husband and wife, and incredibly similar in many respects.

These homosexual and heterosexual relationships were also very capable of existing simultaneously. McLelland goes on, saying “nanshoku (eroticism between men) and joshoku

(eroticism between men and women) were not seen as mutually incompatible.”25 In Japan’s feudal period, a man could have a male lover as well as a wife; they were not seen as mutually exclusive. It wasn’t until Western ideas about sexuality were introduced to Japan in the Meiji period (1868-1912) that “discussions of ‘perverse desires’ (hentai seiyoku) began to circulate in popular magazines which advocated the improvement of public morals in pursuit of ‘civilization and enlightenment’–a popular slogan of the period.”26 Until this point, eroticism between men, and “cross-dressed” prostitutes (perhaps transgender women who were sex workers) were accepted in Japanese society—so long as they remained somewhat separated from kabuki.

It is important to note that the reason onna and wakashu kabuki was banned is not because of prostitution itself, but because of the distraction it created. Katherine Mezur writes about this, saying, “the liaison between patrons and prostitutes after the show was more

23 Ibid. 24 Ibid. 25 McLelland, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in Japan,” 206. 26 Ibid.

important than what occurred onstage.”27 The audience was focused on the actors not as actors, but as sex workers. The sexualization of the actors’ bodies became the main focus of kabuki, which was never the intention. Stickland writes that “the bans were ostensibly a counter- prostitution measure, though probably also arose because of brawls among male spectators over favored performers,” i.e. the onnagata.28 Many patrons became jealous of their favorites, which resulted in arguments and fights which further distracted from the action on stage.

While the success of any given takarazuka production is directly related to the amount of gender-bending elements it features (and their complexity), kabuki plays are famous typically for reasons unrelated to the performance of gender. Or, at least, unrelated to the onnagata. The onnagata is but one element of kabuki theater, while the cross-gender performance of the otokoyaku and hyper-femininity of the musumeyaku in takarazuka theater are always centralized.

The transmission of any knowledge first begins with its acquisition. Kabuki was (and, to a certain extent, still is), considered to be a family tradition. The kabuki kata is passed down from teacher to student; from father to son. This kata was first created by the great kabuki actors of the past, and as time went on new role types were created, conventions changed, and this knowledge was taken in and modified by other actors. However, this system of transmission was inaccessible to the general public, i.e. the majority of people. Leonard C. Pronko, in his article,

“Learning Kabuki: The Training Program of the National Theatre of Japan,” writes that:

Until June 1970 the world of kabuki acting was a closed one, restricted almost exclusively to young men born into families which had provided kabuki actors for several hundred years...now for the first time in the history of Japanese theatre, a training program has been developed to prepare young men outside the kabuki families for careers

27 Katherine Mezur, Beautiful Boys/Outlaw Bodies: Devising Kabuki Female-Likeness, (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 59. 28 Leonie R. Stickland, Gender Gymnastics: Performing and Consuming Japan’s Takarazuka Revue. (Melbourne: Trans Pacific Press, 2008), 18.

in this very rigorous and demanding form of theatre.29

This training isn’t only exclusive to individuals “born into” kabuki, but includes adopted members of kabuki families, as well. Morinaga points out that “kabuki families have long institutionalized the practice of adoption for the sake of hereditary art, which was also common in many family businesses in Japan.”30 This remains true even for families with biological children, as adoption was seen as a way to further insure the transmission of knowledge. The first public kabuki training program marked an important turning point in the world of kabuki.

There was much debate over the length of this training program, but “finally a basic three-year program was devised, to be followed by a two-year advanced program. National budgets for the arts being what they are, the program was cut back to two years. Those involved are not happy, for they believe that a minimum of three years will be required to polish the present students for professional stage performances.”31 Becoming a professional kabuki actor after only two years seems almost laughable, especially considering the extensive and demanding training that students are subjected to. The goal was for students to accomplish “what a kabuki actor normally absorbs by a kind of osmosis in ten years.”32 There is no way to fully assess the impact this decision has made on the quality and authenticity of kabuki performance, but it is safe to assume that some kata (form) or gei (acquired artistic technique) has “slipped through the cracks,” not been transmitted, and has been lost as a result.

The training program originally consisted of the following subjects: “Japanese language, music, gymnastics, and etiquette. In the program now in force these have largely been abandoned

29 Leonard C. Pronko, “Learning Kabuki: The Training Program of the National Theatre of Japan,” Educational Theatre Journal 23, no. 4 (1971): 409. 30 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 143. 31 Pronko, 410. 32 Ibid., 411.

with the exception of occasional lessons in etiquette, which take the form of tea ceremony study, and lessons in language and pronunciation.”33 Tea ceremony study could be particularly helpful to those students aspiring to become onnagata. Language and pronunciation is important for the overall performance of voice kata, which has unique nuances for each role type, regardless of its respective gender.

Dance kata is arguably the most important kata in kabuki performance. Pronko reminds us that “dance is the foundation of the kabuki actor's movement. Indeed, before kabuki was a play it was a dance, and as such it relied upon music to a great degree.”34 Traditional Japanese dance was—and still is—what shapes the basis of kabuki. (So much so that the line between dance and stylized movement is very unclear). In the forms of kabuki predating yarō kabuki, the importance was placed more on the actor’s body and its movements than on the overarching storyline. Still, in modern kabuki training, the relationship between the actor’s body and the music should be honored both for its historical and artistic significance.

The music of kabuki is performed primarily on shamisen (three-stringed lute), with musical accompaniment (hayashi).35 This accompaniment to the main shamisen player could consist of additional shamisen, small taiko drums, and auxiliary percussion instruments for added sound effects. These instruments create cues for the kabuki actors in terms of movement and speech. For example, when a shamisen player strikes the instrument’s strings with the plectrum in a percussive manner, it indicates that an actor needs to change positions, or move in a certain way. The relationship between the musical sounds (timbre, instrumentation, etc.) and the actor’s movements is strong—the music does indeed dictate the timing of each action. The form of the

33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., 412. 35 William P. Malm, “A Short History of Japanese Nagauta Music,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 80, no. 2 (1960): 124.

music is “known as nagauta, literally long song,” and is used in all kabuki plays.36 Another important sonic element of kabuki is the gidayū chanter, which will be discussed in chapter three.

In addition to memorizing kata, the observation of individuals in the world offstage is sometimes recommended in order to gain direction and inspiration for a specific character type.

Pronko writes that in kabuki, “the actor-dancer must remain faithful to the character he is depicting, remembering that a princess, for example, does not think or behave like a merchant's daughter. In order to learn the drunken movements for one dance...students go to the night quarters of Shinjuku and study the drunken staggering of the imbibers there.”37 (Pronko uses the pronoun “he” because he is writing about an official kabuki training program which only accepts men). This type of “real life” observation recommended by teachers in said program could be categorized as field research, because it allows for the kabuki actor to bring an element of realism into the performance that otherwise would be absent.

This faithful depiction is especially important when an actor is switching character roles within a performance. Transformation scenes are commonly used in kabuki plays, and they offer an opportunity for an actor to show off their mastery of various kata. Morinaga writes that “if a character reveals something, such as a hidden identity or an emotional state, he or she can change costume or add makeup in front of the audience, reflecting the transformation.”38 Actors are able to indicate this change, real-time, by altering their appearance. Seasoned actors were certainly experienced in doing this, and onnagata actors particularly. Mezur writes about this, saying:

Gunji suggests that the development of transformation sections in dance works was a means for onnagata gender art to develop variety, for star onnagata to gain greater acclaim, and for onnagata to play with their ambiguous sensuality. Various star onnagata, such as Tomijūrō I and Kikunojō I, constructed their versions of Musume

36 Ibid. 37 Pronko, 413-14. 38 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 8.

Dōjōji on the idea of slipping between role types and characters, tantalizing their audiences with their ambiguous gender acts in their transitions from musume to shirabyōshi to female-like serpent demon.39

According to Mezur, there were some onnagata that were so skilled that they were able to switch roles from young girl, to female dancer in the Japanese Imperial Court, to female demon, all within the same production. As more onnagata adopted and refined this method, it became known as “‘quick-change technique’ (hayagawari).”40 These quick changes are often accomplished with the aid of custom garments, such as a kimono designed to transform and change color. Considered common practice, “it is not unusual in kabuki for two or more parts to be taken by one actor, so that the actor is given a chance to show his versatility.”41 These opportunities to showcase versatile and eclectic kata is not unique to the kabuki stage, however, and it is a theme that will be revisited in the following chapter.

The presence of many different versions of femininities, as seen via these character types, supports the idea that gender is a spectrum as opposed to a binary. Each femininity, each female character type, has its own set of kata. They all have their own movements, mannerisms, speech styles, and so on. An actor’s ability to play two or more characters in a given production showcases not only their skill, but the flexibility of gender itself.

Schalow writes of “a hypothetical otokogata—that is, a woman’s body dressed in man’s garb and carried in masculine style…the way that men and women in the audience would respond to the hypothetical otokogata would not necessarily be identical to the response to the onnagata.”42 In takarazuka theater, a woman playing a male character is not hypothetical, and they are called otokoyaku. Schalow continues, writing that “woman-dressed-as-man is a usurping

39 Mezur, 98. 40 Fujita and Shapiro, 12. 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid., 67.

motion, an act of insubordination in a Confucian context where ‘station’ (kurai) was the central political fact of life.”43 It was acceptable for someone with a higher station (a man) to dress, act, or transform into someone with a lower station (a woman). To do this in reverse, on the other hand, goes against this central notion of kurai in Japanese culture. This potential “act of insubordination” in a kabuki context raises questions of gender articulations and power dynamics behind those articulations. The existence of the onnagata does not do this, because a man has the power (station) to articulate his gender in a feminine way, even to the point of becoming a woman. In conclusion, Schalow writes that “release from gender anxiety through the act of insubordination of a woman-dressed-as-man would be an intolerable violation of the mechanisms of patriarchal power inherent in early modern Confucian ideology.”44 This is part of the reason why takarazuka's founder never intended for otokoyaku to imitate men perfectly (as the onnagata are considered the perfect imitation of women), but instead to embody an ideal masculinity that tends to be more androgynous. The otokoyaku role will be discussed in more detail later on.

Gender was just one of many elements of the kata used for a given character role.

Morinaga writes that “the sex-gender binary in premodern Japan was simply one parameter among many dividers for classifying humans. In this sense, the doomed dualism of masculinity and femininity, which in practice is unflinchingly binding in modern times, is, in theory, unsubstantiated.”45 Gender was an important parameter for characters in kabuki, but it was inseparable from class. The idea of a “clear-cut opposition of masculinity versus femininity was foreign to the gender economy of Edo-era Japan, as femininity in premodern Japan was highly

43 Ibid. 44 Ibid., 67-8. 45 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 150.

class-oriented.”46 The intersections of class and gender roles were at the very heart of authentic kabuki performance. Even if one is a maonnagata, specializing in only female roles, these characters are wildly different from one another despite all being embodiments of femininity. As opinions on gender has changed over time, kabuki actors have found themselves performing in this post-eighteenth-century eurogenic binary conceptualization of gender. Morinaga writes, “the rigid two-sex binary system became a certain meta-imperative, surpassing distinctions based on these other markers. The male/female binary was upgraded in modern times as a meta-criterion for bisecting people, and modern onnagata ended up performing femininity in this context.”47

Gender in Edo-era Japan was free from this reductive, colonist mindset, and it wasn’t until

Western influences were introduced that certain differentiations between masculinity and femininity were established.

46 Ibid., 48-9. 47 Ibid., 150.

Chapter 2: Takarazuka

The all-women Takarazuka Revue gets its name from the hot springs resort town where it was founded in 1913.48 The founder, “Hankyū Railway and Department Store tycoon Kobayashi

Ichizō (1873-1957),” intended for the Revue to be “‘wholesome family entertainment’ for the purpose of attracting households along the railway to the spa near Takarazuka Station.”49 The

Takarazuka Revue was originally named “the Takarazuka Girls Opera Company (Takarazuka

Shōjo Kageki Dan) and, instead of having only a singing and instrumental chorus” it was determined that they would “present fairy tales in operetta form.”50 Their opera productions have proved to be some of their most successful shows, although they also re-stage U.S.-American musicals and perform “adaptations from kabuki, nō, and kyōgen...mostly with westernized music.”51 Shakespeare productions are also plentiful in the takarazuka repertoire. From the very beginning, takarazuka has been a fusion of influences from many different countries.

Takarazuka actors are called “‘Takarasiennes’ (takarajiennu), after Parisiennes, in recognition of the original influence of the French revue.”52 This word has a distinctly feminine ending, which, in the French language, indicates a female variant of a noun. This shows that the

Takarazuka Revue intends for all actors to be seen as female, or feminine, regardless of the gender role they play on stage.

The training for each Takarasienne starts at the Takarazuka Music Academy. The age-

48 Brau, 79. 49 Nobuko Anan, “Two-Dimensional Imagination in Contemporary Japanese Women's Performance,” TDR (1988-) 55, no. 4 (2011): 98. 50 Zeke Berlin, “The Takarazuka Touch,” Asian Theatre Journal 8, no. 1 (1991): 38. 51 Ibid., 36. 52 Jennifer Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” American Ethnologist 19, no. 3 (1992): 422.

span prerequisite for entrance to the Academy is small, and although it was “altered several times until today it is limited to those between fifteen and eighteen.”53 It may be very well that students start young, because this training is rigorous, takes several years, and is highly competitive.

Nobuko Anan writes that:

In 1919, the surprising success of the revue led Kobayashi to establish it as an independent theatre apparatus associated with the newly founded Takarazuka ongaku gakkō (Takarazuka Music Academy). Ever since, Takarazuka performers are all graduates of the academy. In addition to theatrical training, they are also required to learn traditional Japanese female etiquette. For this reason, even though Takarazuka stages Las Vegas- or Broadway-style shows, the academy is known as the best school for training future ryōsai kenbo, “good wives, wise mothers”—the modern construction of ideal Japanese womanhood.54

The training methods have changed slightly since 1919, but girls are still trained in many types of dance, and take acting and voice lessons. Brau writes that “the students are also trained in a manner comparable to that which is used in kabuki actor training, that is, through the memorization of kata—codified behaviors centered on gesture, dress, and voice, that help create a role.”55 These codified behaviors could also be called gender acts, and, like kabuki, they differ depending on the gender and class of the character type in question. When a Takarasienne is portraying a male character (otokoyaku), it’s important to keep in mind that they are not seen by the Japanese public as men. Instead, they are seen as women embodying an ideal masculinity. It was believed that even the male-role actors, embodying this ideal masculinity, were—by proxy—internalizing “the modern construction of ideal Japanese womanhood.”

The takarazuka gender-blend of masculinity and femininity is something that the audience can see and hear. Brau elaborates on this, saying that “costuming also demonstrates how complex the kata for takarazuka style masculinity can be. Rather than trying to look just

53 Berlin, 39. 54 Anan, 99. 55 Brau, 86.

like men, the otokoyaku represent a kind of ‘third gender.’”56 Again, this “third gender” can be compared to the gender created by the onnagata, and the way that Italian castrati were perceived

(although they could pass as both men and women).

As mentioned earlier, gender performance is the substance of all takarazuka productions, which is different compared to other forms of Japanese theater such as nō or kabuki. In her book,

Gender Gymnastics: Performing and Consuming Japan’s Takarazuka Revue, Leonie R.

Stickland writes,

Though kabuki—probably Takarazuka’s nearest rival in terms of the regular crossing of gender lines—does cultivate enthusiastic audiences that appreciate the skilled artistry of the cross-dressed onnagata or oyama (actors who specialise in female roles), the kabuki repertoire also incorporates categories of performance in which the conscious portrayal of gender is not always important: aragoto (lit. ‘rough stuff’) plays, for instance. In Takarazuka, on the other hand, gender mimicry is the very essence of the performance, on each and every occasion.57

A distinction should be made between cross-dressing and cross-gender acting or performance.

As Ann Thompson points out, the cross-gender casting in both kabuki and Shakespeare traditions

(among other forms of theater) is not “merely a question of costume.”58 Whether a Takarasienne has an otokoyaku or a musumeyaku role, they are continuously and consciously performing gender on the stage—and they certainly do this with more than their costume and makeup.

Movement, posture, mannerisms, and sonic aspects concerning the speaking and singing voice are all factored into the Takarasienne’s performance of gender.

The gender of the otokoyaku is not intended to be an accurate reproduction of any one, extant masculinity, but instead is a fictional gender constructed by Takarasiennes. The same goes for the femininity of the musumeyaku. Stickland writes that “Takarasiennes need either to

56 Ibid. 57 Stickland, 5. 58 Fujita and Shapiro, 23.

exaggerate their femininity to compensate for the physical limitations of their male-role opposites, or to hide their femaleness and assume the guise of an ‘ideal man.’”59 These “ideal women” and “ideal men” are unique to the takarazuka stage, in the same way that kabuki’s embodiment of ideal femininity (onnagata) is unique to the kabuki stage. To achieve this ideal gender, whether towards one side of the gender spectrum or the other, the method Takarasiennes use is similar to that of the onnagata.

In order to be successful in their portrayal, the actors “largely rely upon one or more of three methods—the copying of traditional kata that signify masculinity or femininity in a theatrical context, the observation of real people in society, and the exercise of imagination.”60 In the previous chapter, Pronko was quoted as describing the kabuki actors’ employment of this second method (watching imbibers stagger around the street). Takarasiennes employ this method identically, as Stickland quotes one of her interviwees: “If I were given an otokoyaku part as a drunkard, for instance, then I’d be on the lookout even when I was walking along the street, to see how drunkards behaved...I was constantly studying [people].”61 Although the kata used in kabuki is not identical to that used in takarazuka, the concept remains the same.

The training required to memorize the necessary takarazuka kata (thereby internalizing it) takes some years, but how many years is dependent upon the gender role specialization. As

Stickland writes:

It takes time for Takarasiennes to learn how to portray exaggerated gender roles on stage—many more years for an otokoyaku than a musumeyaku, given the latter’s head- start in femininity afforded by the socialisation that most undergo during childhood. In the case of male-role players, a decade or more of practising their art is deemed necessary for internalising the necessary techniques to the extent that these can be applied automatically. Less-experienced Takarasiennes are probably only able to execute their

59 Stickland, 111. 60 Ibid., 113. 61 Ibid., 124.

highly gender-marked roles with sufficient skill and panache precisely because of the limited time during which they need to sustain character on stage.62

Although the female-role actors have this “head-start in femininity,” due to being raised as girls, their “target gender” on stage still differs from the gender socialization they experienced (and continue to experience off-stage). If an actor performs femininity on-stage and off-stage, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the two femininities are exactly the same, have the same nuances, etc. In the case of Takarasiennes, there can even be three types of gender they regularly perform: gender on stage, gender in their personal lives, and the highly fictionalized gender they perform while under the gaze of the public off-stage. There are also Takarasiennes who start as musumeyaku and later on in their careers make the switch to otokoyaku, and vice versa.

Takarazuka’s repertoire is an amalgamation of Western and Japanese musical genres.

They are classified as such: “Japanese pieces (nippon mono) and Western pieces (yōmono).”63

Zeke Berlin elaborates on typical takarazuka programming, writing:

The program usually consists of two parts: one of these is a revue containing musical numbers and sketches; the other is a fully plotted musical play. The revue is made up of a collection of songs and dances and perhaps a brief comic scene—all probably dealing with boys and girls on the wild merry-go-round of love. The songs are often very familiar—either to Westerners or to those who know Japanese pop tunes. But scattered throughout are new songs written especially for this show.64

There are a few shows on the takarazuka stage with roles that require an actor to switch genders during a production, to the great delight of their audience and fans. This is the epitome of the term “gender gymnastics” that Stickland has coined. She writes about a skilled female role- player, “Izumo Aya (1983—)” who “sang a comic ‘duet’ with herself on stage in 1993, taking male and female parts in alternate verses...temporary gender-switching based upon voice kata...is

62 Ibid., 114. 63 Berlin, 35. 64 Ibid.

thus employed for particular dramatic effect, or to showcase individual versatility.”65 The ability to switch parts every-other verse is difficult, and only effective if done with the highest level of skill. This duet, although comic in content, is a very serious and impressive way to showcase one’s mastery of gender roles.

Most of these gender gymnastics are exclusively in the realm of the otokoyaku, which makes sense in terms of the disproportionate amount of training they receive compared to their female-role counterparts. There is one takarazuka production that is perhaps the most well- known, and Stickland writes about it, saying: “In August 1974, the representative ‘face’ of

Takarazuka was irrevocably changed when it staged Berusaiyu no bara (The Rose of Versailles), a flowery musical romance set in the court of Marie Antoinette, based on a best-selling comic book series by Ikeda Riyoko, featuring as its protagonist, Oscar—a girl raised as a boy.”66 She continues, “Takarazuka’s musumeyaku never take male roles, nor play cross-dressed female characters like the boyish Oscar in The Rose of Versailles—Oscar’s masculinity apparently can only be effectively portrayed by a trained otokoyaku.”67 The character in question, Oscar, although technically a female character, is a role only deemed appropriate for a male-role actor.

These casting decisions can be explained very simply: the otokoyaku are more popular, and therefore more tickets will sell if they are cast instead of a musumeyaku. It is well-known that “the Revue Administration undoubtedly also capitalises upon the popularity of starring otokoyaku by casting them in the most prominent roles, even if this means they play women.”68

However, these kinds of decisions can be explained in another way. Anan writes that:

Male-role players can go back and forth freely between female and male gender roles.

65 Stickland, 120. 66 Ibid., 46. 67 Ibid., 127. 68 Ibid.

Moreover, having a female-role player perform the same role as a male-role player contains another subversive possibility: it shows that a female-role player (typically hyperfeminine) can also perform as a sensuous woman. In Takarazuka, sensuousness is regarded as the purview of male-role players, while innocence is a typical attribute expected of female-role players.69

There are exceptions in kabuki as well, of male-role actors playing female roles. It seems that the freedom of expression, the freedom to express sensuality or sexuality, is viewed as exclusively the realm of the man, or otokoyaku. The misogyny in Japanese society translated into kabuki and, later, takarazuka, reinforcing the idea that women have limited capabilities compared to men, and forbidding female-role players (regardless of biological sex) from participating in certain activities that are deemed “inappropriate” for them.

These kinds of casting decisions create a chain of imitation: a female imitating a male who is imitating a female. An otokoyaku performing a female role portrays a different gender than a musumeyaku ever could in the same role. Stickland writes that “when an otokoyaku plays a female role, she must consciously prepare for a metaphorical ‘sex change.’”70 The kata these actors have learned for their respective gender roles are so ingrained that it takes concentrated effort for an otokoyaku to adjust and prepare for the unique challenges of a role such as Oscar.

Even earlier than The Rose of Versailles, there was a production called Karei naru sen byōshi (1000 Colorful Musical Beats), which was a great success in 1960.71 Stickland writes that

“leading otokoyaku performers switched from one gender to the other on stage. The erotic charm of this transformation from handsome men to alluring women was probably a significant factor in the show’s success.”72 The same could be said to explain the success of The Rose of Versailles, and the excitement created by Oscar’s complex gender presentation. In 1000 Colorful Musical

69 Anan, 102. 70 Stickland, 127. 71 Ibid., 44. 72 Ibid.

Beats, otokoyaku were able to show the true scope of their versatility, tantalizing male and female audience members alike with the erotic implications of their gender metamorphosis, as they transformed right before their eyes. The otokoyaku persona was so ingrained (for both actors and audience members), that Stickland writes of the star otokoyaku Sumi Hanayo: “As regular Revue patrons would have known that Sumi was an otokoyaku, some may even have viewed her performance as a type of female impersonation, her costume and heavy makeup being the epitome of ‘drag.’”73 Thus, Sumi’s otokoyaku gender performance is more powerful than her biological sex, creating the impression that she is in drag as opposed to performing a gender aligned with her biology.

This shows that “gender is not automatically bestowed on us, by either Nature or Culture, but is constructed through our doing, that is to say, by citing other people’s doings of gender, which are already citations.”74 The problematic aspects of polarization and binary notions are discussed throughout this paper. These problems arise whether in relation to the binary of male/female, that of transgender/cisgender, or that of Nature/Culture. By capitalizing nature and culture, Morinaga is implying that they are indeed separate concepts. However, nature and culture cannot be removed from one another, because they are in a state of constant overlap and interaction. For example, the way our senses are trained and developed is influenced by our physical surroundings (nature), but also by the society that surrounds us (culture). Nature and culture share the same domain.

Similarly, various articulations of gender share a domain (such as gender presentation, gender performance, and gender identity). Gender is not predetermined, but created by people on an individual level, through performing imitated acts. These acts could very well be referred to

73 Ibid. 74 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 14.

as kata. A decade (or more) of training and memorization of otokoyaku kata was stronger than the kata internalized via Sumi’s socialization as a girl in Japanese society—to the extent that she was rendered “truly male” in the eyes of her audience (at least while on stage).

Does this performance of gender end when the actors leave the stage? Perhaps, and there are undeniably some people who personally identify with the gender (or genders) that they emulate so flawlessly on stage. Brau interviewed a Takarasienne about this very thing, writing:

“I questioned Tsurugi about how she conceived male impersonation. She emphasized that it was just a ‘role’ that she wore like the makeup and costume that help create her otokoyaku image.

After the performance she takes off her costume and makeup, gets into the bath and reverts to her nonperforming (feminine) self. But Tsurugi acknowledges that there are some takarazuka actresses who like to play the male role in everyday life.”75 It is likely that there are transgender men in the Takarazuka Revue, just as it is likely that there have been transgender women onnagata actors. At the very least, there is a high chance of some actors in both theater genres being gender non-conforming, despite conforming to a specific binary division of genders (a division on the opposite side of the spectrum from their biological sex).

One of the most famous onnagata of all time, Yoshizawa Ayame I, wrote in Ayamegusa

(The Words of Ayame): “...if he does not live his normal life as if he was a woman, it will not be possible for him to be called a skillful onnagata.”76 There were onnagata actors living as women in their professional and everyday lives, while also simultaneously marrying wives and fathering children. Their gender non-conformance was accepted because of the high-status that successful kabuki actors achieved in Japanese society. It would have been less so if onnagata neglected to

75 Brau, 86. 76 Charles J. Dunn and Torigoe Bunzō, eds. and trans, The Actor’s Analects, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), 53.

fulfill their most crucial duty: carry on their lineage.

For some Takarasiennes, their otokoyaku roles are more than just roles. The Takarazuka

Revue is diligent in its censorship of rumors, silencing whispers of Takarasiennes being gay, having inappropriately intimate relationships with fans, etc. Stickland writes:

Nor is there any publicity about ex-performers who cross-dress as males in private life, and who choose women, not men, for their life partners, such as several ex-Takarazuka bar-owners and bar employees of my acquaintance, who make their living as professional male impersonators known as bōisshu (boyish) or onabe. One of my informants criticises several otokoyaku of similar type from around the war years, who have continued to behave as men in private life since retirement: ‘They cannot go on being stars forever. Takarazuka is Takarazuka, so when they retire, they should stop [such behaviour].’77

Ironically, there is more stigma and prejudice associated with homosexual and gender non- conforming behavior (off-stage) now than during Japan’s feudal period. This, combined with the fact that the Takarazuka Revue wants to keep its reputation as wholesome as possible, means that any actors who deviate from “normal” behavior while not in character are judged, ignored, and shunned. Behavior that is considered acceptable on-stage, resulting in praise and success when executed with great skill, is immediately unacceptable upon retirement. For some actors,

Takarazuka isn’t just takarazuka—it is where they actualized their gender identity, and then brought otokoyaku kata with them into their everyday lives.

Throughout their careers, Takarasiennes “are still referred to as students no matter how old they may be or how experienced and talented.”78 This aligns with the pervasive attitude that

Takarasiennes are not adults, but girls, and additionally aren’t considered “true women” until they are married (and have retired from the takarazuka stage). Jennifer Robertson writes that

“Since becoming a fully adult female involved marriage and motherhood, unmarried girls and women were referred to (during and after the Meiji period) by the term shōjo, which means,

77 Stickland, 200. 78 Berlin, 39.

literally, a ‘not-quite-female’ female.”79 The founder of the Takarazuka Revue, Ichizō

Kobayashi, intended for takarazuka to occupy a transitional time in the lives of Takarasiennes, not to become a lifelong career. Participation in the Revue was seen as preparation for wifehood and motherhood. This harkens back to the “Meiji-period ideology of ‘good wife, wise mother,’ which became the foundation of the nation's educational policy in the 1890s.”80 The Takarazuka

Revue, founded roughly twenty years afterwards, adopted this ideology, and it remains an important aspect of the takarazuka image that the Revue administration is so careful to maintain.

In order to maintain this image, regardless of role-type, Takarasiennes are required to retire upon getting married, or within seven years (or so) of joining the Revue. There are exceptions to the age of retirement, but married Takarasiennes are essentially unheard of. Berlin notes that, surprisingly, “in 1985 there were twenty-one Takarazuka ‘students’ with more than twenty years of service, and seven of them had been performing for more than forty years. Most of these veterans were still very active.”81 These veteran performers serve as role-models for younger students, both offering support and assuring that the kata is passed down to the subsequent generations.

Of course, these exceptions to retirement only apply to unmarried women. Stickland writes that “the retirement-upon-marriage rule still stands in Takarazuka, in spite of the April

1999 enactment of the Basic Law for a Gender-Equal Society (Danjo kyōdō sankaku kihon hō)...which includes a ban upon the discriminatory practice of forcing women to quit work upon marriage.”82 This is a clear example of misogyny, directly contrasting with the expectations for

79 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 426. 80 Loren Edelson, “The Female Danjūrō: Revisiting the Acting Career of Ichikawa Kumehachi,” Journal of Japanese Studies 34, no. 1 (2008): 74. 81 Berlin, 39. 82 Stickland, 185.

the onnagata of kabuki, who often act well into their 60s and 70s, regardless of marital status.

The maonnagata, a male onnagata who exclusively plays onnagata roles, could not exist as the inverse: an exclusive otokoyaku actor. A famous otokoyaku, upon being cast in a female role, wouldn’t be able to decline on the basis of only playing male roles. Kikunojo I’s refusal to play male roles revolutionized the world of kabuki. The refusal of an otokoyaku to play a female role would result in the death of a career. Otokoyaku cast in these female roles, as we have seen, is highly appealing to audiences. It is also appealing to the takarazuka administration, because it increases their profits and ticket sales. This creates a double standard in terms of gender presentation autonomy in theater. Takarasiennes have little to no freedom when it comes to choosing a role, and thus the gender they are to perform on-stage.

In the age of Ayame I, onnagata were free to express their femininity anywhere, some even dying of old age while dressed in full costume. Morinaga writes that “Segawa Kikunojō I

(1693-1749), for example, is said to have been on his deathbed in full dress in accordance with the onnagata garb code.”83 There are numerous examples of kabuki actors using onnagata kata in their everyday, personal lives, just as Ayame prescribed for them to do. Conversely, the kata of the takarazuka otokoyaku was never meant to exist off-stage.

83 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 11.

Chapter 3: Kata

Kabuki gender performance, specifically the kata enacted by onnagata, was not the first of its kind. Cross-gender performance in Japanese theater has a history that goes back even further than the seventeenth century. Morinaga writes, “If kabuki...provided women offstage with

‘exemplary models (kata) of ‘female’ (onna) gender...to approximate,’ could not the same be said of nō theater, which preceded kabuki by a few centuries?”84 All traditional forms of

Japanese theater originally consisted of all-male casts, (“nō, kyōgen, bunraku, and kabuki are all- male theaters”), but nō was the first.85 Mezur acknowledges this, writing that “nō, the classical mask theatre, set a tradition for men playing female roles.”86 This is a tradition that has lasted seven centuries, from nō to the Takarazuka Revue. This kata is not only different for each theater genre, but the differences depend on the gender of the character as well. There are fundamental differences in the ways that male and female roles are played, but it goes even deeper, as there are a variety of role types (and indeed some that aren’t human, a few examples being animals, demons, and ghosts).

Kabuki has a wider range of role types compared to nō theater, and they are mostly played by specialists, which is different than the conventions of nō as well.

Nō actors are classified in terms of the theatrical functions they perform in a play: shite and waki. Shite (lit., “the one who does”) refers to the principal character in each nō play as well as to actors performing shite roles, and waki are the “side” character and actors playing waki roles. Shite actors, thus, should be capable of performing all principal roles, such as deities, warriors, women, crazed persons, and demons. Accordingly, nō actors need a wide range of training in what nō actor-playwright Zeami Motokiyo (1363-1443) termed the “two techniques and three bodies” (nikyoku santai), that is, the two arts of dancing and chanting and the three role types of the old person, the woman, and the

84 Ibid., 10. 85 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 49. 86 Mezur, 17.

warrior.87

Shite actors, as “generalists,” only need to memorize the kata for three different role types. In his essay, “Female-Role Specialization in Kabuki: How Real is Real?” Samuel Leiter writes that the famed onnagata Ayame I “was the first to articulate the importance of psychological distinctions in the art of acting women.”88 Ayame coined many of the specialized kata for different role types, although this kata has naturally changed and evolved over time. With the emergence of these female character types, a new kind of onnagata actor was born. It is said that “Kikunojo I went a step further by refusing to play any male roles at all...his refusal to perform male gender roles made him quite famous and established the idea of maonnagata, an onnagata who enacts only onnagata roles.”89 Although onnagata could specialize in a specific role type, they would be capable of performing all of the female characters. This marked an important moment for kabuki theater and onnagata artistry; the on-stage presentation of femininity was becoming more complex and nuanced.

Regardless of role type, it is difficult to discern how much of kabuki’s kata was adopted from that of nō. “Through the Genroku period [1688-1704], nō was actively absorbed [into kabuki dance], which must have resulted from the fact that kabuki deeply adopted the taste of the newly risen townspeople, who were the patrons of kabuki.”90 There are definite similarities between the kata of the two theaters, and a few famous kabuki actors even started their careers by learning nō first.

Tōjurō IV, one of the major actors working today, went through intense training in nō in his youth before accomplishing kabuki training, in order to establish the foundations of his kabuki performance. Considering his successful career as a kabuki actor, nō training

87 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 11. 88 Fujita and Shapiro, 71. 89 Mezur, 101. 90 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 89.

was far from detrimental to kabuki acting and in fact helped him to accomplish kabuki training...Nakamura Kanzaburō XVIII (1955-2012) similarly recounts that the nō lessons he took in his childhood were important in establishing the foundations of his kabuki acting.91

In the contemporary kabuki world, most professional actors are adults. It makes sense to take childhood nō lessons as a precursor to kabuki training later on. As the kata was highly influenced by nō, it gives actors an advantage and leads to a greater chance of success on the kabuki stage.

An important aspect of kata is nanba, which is a stylized way of walking. Nanba is not exclusive to Japanese theater, but “appears universally in body movements when people use power in an extreme way: the shot put, fencing, naginata-swordsmanship, ballet, and so on.”92

Coincidentally—or perhaps not—most of these listed appearances of nanba are activities that

Takarasiennes are either encouraged to learn before attending the Takarazuka Music Academy, are part of the curriculum, or both. Stickland writes that the “practice of a martial art like kendō...could also give a potential otokoyaku a useful grounding in sword-fighting, which is quite often required on the Revue stage.”93 Kendō is also of use in kabuki, as sword fighting occurs often and at climactic moments in the play’s plot.94 This is true for both male and female- role characters (for example, the wife of a samurai can carry a sword).

The way that characters walk across the kabuki stage is dependent upon the role type being portrayed. Onnagata actors must walk in very specific ways if they want to maintain consistent gender kata for their role, and nō training can be particularly advantageous in this respect. Morinaga writes that “Tōjurō had to go through intense training in nō to acquire a body with a torso that did not twist during motions. That controlled and linerated body able to walk in

91 Ibid., 88-9. 92 Ibid., 96. 93 Stickland, 86. 94 Pronko, 410.

sliding steps eventually helped Tōjurō run onstage while retaining the figure of an onnagata.”95

Regardless of pace, if an onnagata is walking slowly, or running, they still need to sustain these sliding steps. One can imagine that this is not an easy task.

The kata required for onnagata actors takes years of training to memorize and refine, and it is physically taxing. Even just the weight of the costume itself has been reason for some people to claim that cisgender women cannot be onnagata, as they lack the physical strength. This misogyny and exclusion of female onnagata will be discussed later on in more detail. The most painful aspects of onnagata kata are illustrated as follows by Morinaga:

First, in order to make their shoulders look slender, onnagata would pull their elbows behind their backs and try to bring the shoulder blades together (at the same time, they would walk with their knees together, holding a piece of paper between them)...Second, to raise the corners of their eyes and make them almond-shaped, like the eyes of women in woodblock prints of the Edo era [(1603–1868)], onnagata would use a long, narrow strip of cloth known as metsuri. Just as with the shoulder-blade technique, this eye- raising is physically painful, but it is considered necessary for the creation of a feminine face.96

This further illustrates how unattainable the onnagata ideal of femininity is for an average, cisgender woman. The kata creates a femininity where the mannerisms, movements, and even appearance are highly refined to the point that only those who have dedicated years of their lives to training will be able to master it. This is as far from a “natural” femininity than one can get.

The idealized eye-shape is even based off of fictional women in woodblock prints, and this

“almond shape” can only be achieved by altering the natural eyelids. The onnagata gender is highly detailed, constructed, and stylized—an actor uses their entire body to enact the kata, from their head to their toes (and even their fingers).

There are similarly unnatural, specialized movements for the two gender role-types of the

95 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 103. 96 Ibid., 128.

Takarazuka Revue. Robertson writes that “an otokoyaku, for example, must stride forthrightly across the stage, her arms held stiffly away from her body, her fingers curled around her thumbs.

In contrast, a musumeyaku pivots her forearms from the elbows, which are kept pinned against her side, constraining her freedom of movement and consequently making her appear more

‘feminine.’97 Musumeyaku don’t have their elbows behind their backs like kabuki’s onnagata, but there are obvious similarities between the female-role kata of the two theater genres. Both associate a constraint of movement with femininity, which illustrates further that the femininity of kabuki and takarazuka are unfounded in extant, or real-life femininities. There aren’t women moving in these restricting ways while going about their everyday lives—it isn’t realistic and it isn’t practical—yet on-stage these movements are defining aspects of the female-role genders.

As mentioned in the previous section, Ayame I championed the importance of onnagata bringing their role kata into their everyday lives—and they certainly followed his advice. Mezur writes that “Ayame I’s performance of his onnagata kata in his daily life was part of his star act designing. The continuity between stage and daily life meant that Ayame I in his onstage role or his offstage role were both Ayame I, the star onnagata. His offstage onnagata performance could tantalize and stimulate his audience’s imagination.”98 This could be seen as seventeenth-century

“branding,” a way to advertise superb acting skill while off the stage. It can also be compared with the offstage gender performance of Takarazuka Revue actors, who uphold a certain image when they’re under the gaze of the public. The difference being that Takarasiennes have a separate, private gender (their authentic, “real life” gender), in addition to the gender they

“tantalize” their fans with in public. The only place for an onnagata in Ayame’s time to express a “true” gender was in the comfort of their own home, and there’s no way to know for certain if

97 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 423. 98 Mezur, 83.

onnagata kata was used in the absence of an audience.

The Voice

The rise of castrati in the Italian church and opera happened almost concurrently with the emergence of kabuki’s onnagata: at the beginning of the seventeenth century. In Michael

Shapiro’s essay, “The Introduction of Actresses in England: Delay or Defensiveness?” he writes about actress bans across the world.

Even in Italy, women were forbidden to act in public in certain localities. In Rome in 1588, a troupe known as the Deosisi...was ordered by Pope Sixtus V to replace their actresses with boys. He subsequently banned women from performing publicly throughout the Papal States, a decree which held (with some exceptions) until late in the eighteenth century. This Papal ban included singers as well as actresses, so that in Rome, as elsewhere in Italy, voices in the upper registers were supplied by castrati.99

This explains the circumstances leading up to the preference of the castrati voice. Shapiro stresses that this actress ban isn’t special, nor is it unique to one place or one geographic region.

One of the main differences between Italian opera and kabuki is the importance of the singing voice in the former, and the importance of acting in the latter. However, the voice, or voice kata, was still incredibly significant in kabuki and other forms of Japanese theater.

Even if a castrato had a long career, there was no concern for the voice changing with age (or at least not very dramatically), due to the physical changes that occurred as a result of the

(pre-pubescent) orchiectomy. André explains this, writing “Although the vocal cords remained the same size, the timbre of the castrato’s voice was comprised of a different sound than being an unaltered continuation of his boyhood voice. As the body developed around the larynx, the selection of harmonics and overtones resonating in the voice changed, shaping the ethereal tone color.”100 This was not the case for kabuki’s onnagata actors, as they had the vocal cords and

99 Fujita and Shapiro, 36. 100 André, 31.

larynx of an unaltered, cisgender male. In her essay, “Performing Gender: the Construction of

Femininity in Shakespeare and Kabuki,” Ann Thompson quotes Donald H. Shively on aging onnagata:

They could not merely mimic for, aging and wrinkled, their lantern chins and heavy noses more pronounced, their voices more gravelly, they could hardly be mistaken in appearance for women. A more abstract method of interpretation was required. Thus they singled out the most essential traits of a woman’s gestures and speech and gave to these a special emphasis in much the same way that puppets exaggerate human gestures to appear alive.101

This highlights the power of onnagata kata, because it has the ability, for example, to transform a 60-year-old man into a young girl (musume). This isn’t an easy task, of course, and can explain why only the most successful and well-known onnagata acted in kabuki well past middle-age.

Adeline Hirschfeld-Medalia writes that an “onnagata does not attempt an exact imitation of the female voice; rather, an impression of femininity is created by typically feminine intonation patterns along with a shifting between falsetto and the natural speaking register. The amount of falsetto is varied to create age distinctions, relatively less for a middle-aged voice and perhaps none at all for an old woman.”102 Due to their aural and visual imitation techniques, some onnagata were able to pass as women in their daily lives, and “apparently, during Ayame's time there was even ‘tacit approval’ for the onnagata ‘to bathe at the public baths reserved for women.’”103 This highlights the onnagata’s mastery of kata, their success at embodying kabuki’s ideal femininity on and off the stage, and the societal acceptance that allowed them to “live their roles,” no matter how gravelly their voices became.

The tone quality, or timbre, of kabuki chanting, speaking, and singing is highly strained.

This is not exclusive to kabuki and is true for many performing arts of Japan.

101 Fujita and Shapiro, 28. 102 Adeline Hirschfeld-Medalia, “The Voice in Wayang and Kabuki,” Asian Theatre Journal 1, no. 2 (1984): 221. 103 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 424.

In the West, an open and clear tone is normally the ideal both in singing and speaking, with much more emphasis on vowel sounds (with their greater sonority) than on consonants. But consonants in kabuki, for example, are often given considerable stress as a means of expressing strong emotion. In order to compensate for the relative lack of loudness of these more constricted sounds, a greater breath pressure must be exerted against tightly tensed vocal chords; stridency and harshness are the inevitable result. Tension and harshness, anathemas to the Western speaker or singer, are highly prized in many Eastern theatre forms.104

Qualities that are avoided in eurogenic music are standardized in Japanese culture. The aforementioned sonic qualities are distinguishing traits that form an integral part of kabuki vocal performance. Some more specific features are: “a squeezing-out and cracking of the tone at the top of a long, upward glide; moans; rough ‘vocal fry’ effects; hoarse, husky, and breathy tones; high pitched barks; and deliberate exaggeration of register breaks.”105 This exaggeration of register breaks is the antithesis of eurogenic classical vocal technique, which values a seamless bridge between head, middle, and chest voices. A light and flexible voice is necessary for the proper execution of this vocal technique, and the castrati were praised for their seemingly flawless transition areas between vocal registers (known as passaggi).

Kabuki vocal tradition strays even further from the bel canto ideals when non-human characters are taken into account. Hirschfeld-Medalia writes that “performers playing demon characters vocalize at great volume and produce a variety of nonverbal sounds-growls, snorts, and even occasional tones produced on the in-breath.”106 These vocalizations can be quite damaging to an actor’s vocal cords and throat, but they remain essential elements of kabuki performance regardless.

It is important to acknowledge that just as male actors were the “default” in kabuki (after the actress ban in 1629), everything associated with the male body, including the voice, was

104 Hirschfeld-Medalia, 217. 105 Ibid. 106 Ibid., 217-8.

considered default as well. Pronko writes that “nagauta singing [was] developed during the eighteenth century, largely to accompany the dance movements in kabuki.”107 He goes on to say that “to the western ear it perhaps has a tortured sound, often sung at the upper limit of the singer's vocal range, with a strained dramatic sound quite unlike the more ‘rounded’ bel canto one expects from singers in western classical forms.”108 Just as bel canto singing is normalized to the Western ear (due to a long-standing tradition of eurogenic classical music), the strained sound of nagauta singers is normalized to a Japanese audience. If the nagauta singer is a woman, they aim to emulate the upper limit of a man’s vocal range, as opposed to their own. If there is no natural strain on their vocal cords, they must create the artificial impression of it in order for their performance to be considered authentic.

Kabuki gidayū chanters, like the shite actors of nō plays, portray a variety of different characters with their voices. Morinaga writes, “Gidayū chanting must cross over any imaginable borders for the human voice in Edo-era Japan, and yet the basis of such a crossing over is, by default, a masculine voice.”109 Another parallel can be drawn from eighteenth-century castrati and Edo-period female-role kabuki actors. The high voice of the castrati was gendered differently (i.e. not exclusively “feminine”), just as the low voice of the onnagata or gidayū chanter, albeit low or rough, does not inherently indicate a “masculine” voice.

The issue of male voice kata becomes more complicated when one considers the female gidayū chanter. Morinaga writes that “if a female practitioner of gidayū chanting chooses not to imitate male predecessors, by not anchoring her gei to a masculine voice, it means, in effect, that she relinquishes the possibility—no matter how small—that she will be able to operate in the

107 Pronko, 415. 108 Ibid., 416. 109 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 123.

established economy.”110 In refusing to conform to traditional vocal practice, she gives up any hope of having a successful career (or at least a mainstream career). This is true for anyone in kabuki who deviates from the established conventions; they become an outsider, unable to participate in the dominant, prevailing tradition. Morinaga points out that gidayū chanting is “a formidable vehicle for acquiring masculine elements in gei, whether for men or women, and whether for male-role players or female-role players (regardless of their offstage gender).”111

Female onnagata, too, if they aim to become successful and accepted, have no choice but to memorize the traditional kata. The memorization of voice kata is just one aspect of the onnagata image—and a small yet significant part of kabuki as a whole—but this sonic element is critical if one truly wishes to master the art of onnagata performance.

The members of the all-female Takarazuka Revue face different sonic challenges than those of kabuki actors. Upon entry to the Takarazuka Music Academy, the student’s voice is a powerful factor in determining what gender role-type they are assigned, regardless of their personal preferences. The choice of this “secondary gender” is based on “attributes or markers…premised on contrastive gender stereotypes themselves; for example, men are supposed to be taller than women; to have a more rectangular face, thicker eyebrows, a higher- bridged nose, darker skin, straighter shoulders, narrower hips, and a lower voice than women.”112

Being asked to switch from a musumeyaku role to an otokoyaku role after a growth spurt is common, as the Takarazuka Revue administration aims to maintain these gender stereotypes, and the carefully-crafted, fictionalized genders they present to their audiences. Even a slight difference in height could threaten the delicate balance on-stage.

110 Ibid., 124. 111 Ibid., 126. 112 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 422.

The conventions surrounding the vocal ranges of otokoyaku and musumeyaku actors have changed over the years, as well. At the time of the Revue’s founding, “the School did not make aspiring otokoyaku around the age of seventeen or eighteen sing in a low jigoe (chest voice) to simulate masculinity, as it apparently does now, but expected all students to sing using a higher

‘head voice (uragoe),’ irrespective of their future stage gender.”113 This may have to do with maintaining takarazuka’s wholesome reputation, and avoiding any discussion of “perverse desires” (hentai seiyoku) in regards to girls (and women) cross-dressing. (It was significantly more acceptable for men to participate in cross-dressing, and this will be discussed further on). If each stage gender sings in the same (high) range, their cross-gender performance becomes less of an issue of “trying to be or become a man” and more of a superficial cross-dressing, the audience being fully aware of the femininity of all actors on stage. As cultural opinions changed with the times, so did takarazuka’s vocal range prescriptions.

On the takarazuka stage of today, otokoyaku and musumeyaku sing and speak in different vocal ranges. Stickland writes that “most otokoyaku now force their voice into as low a register as possible. This process is often destructive and irreparable, as it is achieved by such harsh means as cigarette-smoking and drinking copious amounts of alcohol.”114 Some otokoyaku manage to seriously damage their voices with these unhealthy methods, which are seen as necessary to create the otokoyaku voice kata. This sonic contrast between the two role-types is crucial in sustaining the balance between otokoyaku and musumeyaku actors. Similarly, female onnagata have made damaging choices in order to perform as authentically as possible.

Morinaga reminds us of “the nineteenth-century female onnagata Ichikawa Komehachi I (ca.

1846-1913)” who “is said to have bound her breasts and deformed her vocal cords through

113 Stickland, 106. 114 Ibid., 119.

vigorous voice training so that she could be a perfect kabuki actor, yet she was highly acclaimed for an onnagata performance that was said to be ‘truly feminine.’”115 Komehachi (or

Kumehachi), a woman, altered her body in order to appear and sound more masculine, performed a female-role, and was praised for her femininity. This is a familiar concept for takarazuka fans, who consider the costuming and makeup that otokoyaku wear while playing female characters to be “drag.”

As established previously, voice kata in the Japanese performing arts does not entirely consist of qualities relating to pitch, but tone quality, harshness, tension, and projection. Every decision, every action taken by Takarasiennes is intentional, including their word choice, which indicates their gender role more explicitly to the audience. Stickland writes that, “even if male- role players do not use particularly low voices...their very words will incorporate clues to the gender they are performing.”116 Thus, from 1913 until the end of World War II (when otokoyaku shared a vocal range with their musumeyaku counterparts) the diction of an otokoyaku communicated to their audience that they were male.117 The quality of the otokoyaku voice was different during this time period, as they “sang in high ‘operatic’ voices that reminded the audience of their female physiology.”118 The audience is consistently aware that they are watching an all-female troupe performing, but with a sonic aspect of the otokoyaku performance not aligning with the visual aspects, it is almost impossible for otokoyaku to “pass” as men as the onnagata pass as women.

The Takarazuka Revue’s kabuki productions, along with a highly eclectic collection of other repertoire, showcase the kata that Takarasiennes have spent years memorizing. The kata

115 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 21. 116 Stickland, 121. 117 Ibid., 151. 118 Ibid.

that students internalize through rigorous training in the Takarazuka Music Academy are intended to be interdisciplinary; crossing various genres. Just as nō training has helped kabuki actors hone their skills, so, too, has takarazuka training helped actors accomplish authentic performances of kabuki.

In a 1961 review of an all-female Takarazuka production of gidayū kabuki (kabuki pieces adapted from bunraku), Kitagishi Yūkichi writes of male-role actor Kamiyo Nishiki (1917-1989): ‘Kamiyo Nishiki’s [elocution] was splendid, [suitable for] a jōruri period piece. Such [excellent] intonation, pause, and low tone of voice made me forget that it was kabuki performed by women.’119

Otokoyaku Kamiyo Nishiki’s voice kata allowed Kitagishi Yūkichi to suspend his disbelief and experience all-female kabuki the same way he would experience all-male kabuki. Strangely enough, Yūkichi didn’t mention any visual components of the performance, which indicates how powerful the voice kata is in portraying the otokoyaku gender role.

The kata training is so strong that speaking in a deep voice is a habit (among many other behaviors) that retired otokoyaku have a difficult time changing. Stickland writes that “one former otokoyaku interviewee claims that since her marriage, there had been occasions when it was ‘like having two men in the house’—she and her husband. Her small daughter would exclaim, ‘It’s like having two daddies!’...when her mother scolded the child in her low voice.”120

Both kabuki actors and Takarasiennes use on-stage kata in their off-stage lives, but it isn’t always an intentional choice.

119 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 126. 120 Stickland, 194.

Chapter 4: Women on the Stage: Female Onnagata and the Advent of Actresses

Onna means woman, and the “g[k]ata in onnagata means model or archetype.”121 With this in mind, the term “female onnagata” seems strange to those unversed in the terminology of kabuki. It is logical that women would indeed be most capable of modeling womanhood, but in the world of kabuki, this is not so. Additionally, male onnagata, as we have established, are referred to simply as onnagata, as male is considered to be the default.

In the beginning, onnagata were not imitating “real” women, instead they “invented their gender acts in accordance with the repressive discourses on ideal female likeness and behavior set down by the governing body.”122 All female onnagata aim to emulate men—the onnagata— in their performances of femininity. Women are imitating men who are embodying this fictional, idealized femininity that is not modeled on any extant femininity—past or present. This chain of gendered performance is reminiscent of the otokoyaku of takarazuka who are cast in female roles. Just as the female onnagata of kabuki are women playing men playing women, so too are the otokoyaku.

There is a strong element of homoeroticism that is lost when women play onnagata roles, and this is another reason used to justify their exclusion on the kabuki stage. Women are unable to “exude the peculiar eroticism with its homosexual overtones which has become an inherent characteristic of kabuki. Actresses become plausible only when they play their parts, not by miming women, but by imitating onnagata.”123 This imitation of onnagata is crucial to the authentic performance of kabuki both in terms of kata and eroticism. These two components

121 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 424. 122 Mezur, 1. 123 Fujita and Shapiro, 29.

have been traditionally valued and passed down since men began playing women’s roles in wakashu kabuki. In fact, “the highest compliment for female onnagata was ‘favorable’ comparison to their male counterparts, saying, for instance, that once Actor X was on stage, it was impossible to tell that she was not a male.”124 The goal of the female onnagata was complete integration into the world of all-male kabuki, which was achieved by internalizing this traditional onnagata kata.

Kabuki has excluded women, yet at the same time the theater genre was created by a woman. William P. Malm writes that this woman was “a Shinto priestess Okuni of the Izumo

Shrine. Her performance around 1596 of a Buddhist nembutsu odori on the banks of the

Kamogawa in Kyoto is said to be the origin of kabuki.”125 Men and women performed together in

Okuni’s productions, effectively making a bridge that would soon lead to the creation of onna kabuki. Morinaga reminds us that the word kabuki is “norminalized from a verb, kabuku (to lean; to act and/or dress in a peculiar and queer manner.”126 Andrew T. Tsubaki writes that Okuni

“succeeded in charming the audience by disguising herself as a man and by having men impersonate women. Sexual transposition is another of her unique contributions.”127 Okuni’s performances featured cross-dressing on stage (men and women playing both male and female roles), and this cross-gender costume was the “peculiar and queer manner” of dress that the term kabuki originally referred to. The new theater genre that Okuni created, although borrowing elements from nō, was unlike anything her audience had seen before. This is due to the fact that

“the world of kabuki...is made up of a softness and a coquettishness which were completely

124 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 19. 125 Malm, 127. 126 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 5. 127 Andrew T. Tsubaki, “The Performing Arts of Sixteenth-Century Japan: A Prelude to Kabuki,” Educational Theatre Journal 29, no. 3 (1977): 309.

foreign to the nō. For eyes used to seeing a nō performance, a kabuki presentation must have appeared throughly outside the norm.”128 In and of itself, the notion of women performing in theater was outside of the norm, let alone men and women performing together in a queer, cross- gender fashion. Okuni revolutionized the performing arts of Japan, and in doing so single- handedly catapulted the country into this new era of kabuki theater.

Okuni’s kabuki led to onna kabuki, which in turn led to the ban of female performers in

1629. As the shogunate forbid women from performing kabuki in public specifically, women were still able to perform kabuki in performances at venues such as private residences and estates, some of “which housed a lavish theater that often rivaled public ones.”129 This form of kabuki came to be known as “‘parlor-kabuki’ (zashiki kabuki).”130 Thus, despite being officially barred from the professional stage, women still found ways to participate in kabuki. Additionally, there were “some actresses [who] surreptitiously joined young men’s kabuki and performed with them dressed in female attire.”131 The fact that there were cisgender women performing in all- male kabuki was of course kept secret from the audience. A “reader of the theater journal

Entertainment Illustrated magazine (Engei gahō)” recounted the following story in a letter published in 1912: “The reader recollects wandering around a corridor in a playhouse as a boy.

He ended up peeping at actors who were getting undressed. Just when he noticed that some had breasts, a man in a uniform of the troupe caught him and said, ‘Keep it to yourself, OK? If people know they’re women, tickets won’t sell. They’re men, all right?’”132 If rumors had spread, it would have been incredibly bad for business, leading to financial consequences as attendance

128 Ibid. 129 Edelson, 72. 130 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 114. 131 Fujita and Shapiro, 8. 132 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 132.

rates dropped. The fact that there were women performing in all-male kabuki did nothing to diminish the inherent eroticism of the performance, because the audience was not aware of the female onnagata’s biological sex. This further supports the argument that gender is a series of learned acts, and not dictated by one’s biology. The kata is what makes a performance authentic and convincing. It is clear that female onnagata were just as capable of memorizing this kata, because it was impossible for the audience to differentiate female onnagata kata from that of the male onnagata.

It wasn’t until the Meiji era (1868-1912) that female onnagata were able to perform openly in public. At this time, “the grand theaters (ōshibai) remained, more or less, the exclusive domain of male actors, but the minor theaters (koshibai) opened their doors to women, who performed many of the same plays from the kabuki repertory as men.”133 Once again, women were prevented from becoming part of mainstream kabuki tradition. However, by imitating male onnagata, women “were performing a specific type of femininity established by their male predecessors in the Edo era (1603–1868), thereby making themselves ‘honorary men,’ succumbing to the master discourse on femininity through the excessive rendering of it.”134

Female onnagata were memorizing kata established by the great male onnagata of the past. This kata, which has created the foundation upon which the aforementioned “discourse on femininity” sits, has essentially nothing to do with extant women or femininity off of the kabuki stage (this is true from the Edo era until present-day). In order for women to participate in kabuki (even in the minor theaters), they needed to participate in the memorization and transmission of this kata just as male onnagata have done since the creation of yarō kabuki during the first century of the Edo era.

133 Edelson, 69. 134 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 112.

Most female onnagata have been forgotten, with the exception of “Ichikawa Kumehachi

(1846?-1913),” mentioned previously by Morinaga, who was “the only one to have achieved lasting fame.”135 Kumehachi’s success was due in part to the fact that she was the first female student of famed kabuki actor, Ichikawa Danjūro IX (1838-1903).136 Interestingly enough,

Kumehachi’s acting career started far before the two had met. Edelson writes that “by the time she became Danjūro’s apprentice, she would have been somewhere between 40 and 55 years old, having already acquired a lifetime of onstage experiences.”137 She is commonly referred to as

“the female Danjūro,” regardless of the fact that for the majority of her life she was not his student. The transmission of knowledge in Japan was a patriarchal system, which inherently excluded women from participating in it (beyond the fact that they gave birth to the sons to which the information is passed down). Despite this, and although Kumehachi “managed to participate in the transmission of kata...her involvement in such traditions has been more or less erased from kabuki historiography.”138 Perhaps Kumehachi’s name and legacy would have been lost altogether if she hadn't been associated with such a well-known and influential man as

Danjūro IX.

Besides the female onnagata who managed to infiltrate the dominant (male) kabuki tradition, Morinaga writes that “women kabuki performers did eventually remerge in two forms...first as theater-masters, who had come into being by the latter half of the eighteenth century, and second, as their offspring, women-actors.”139 These women actors went on to become performers in the Takarazuka Revue. However, there still remained a lingering stigma

135 Edelson, 69. 136 Ibid. 137 Ibid., 71. 138 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 156. 139 Ibid., 114.

associated with actresses, due in part to their association with the origins of kabuki (i.e. prostitution). Some schools have even gone so far as to ban students from participating in the

Takarazuka Revue. Stickland writes that “a variety of reasons may exist for a school’s ban on students’ association with the Revue: vestiges of discrimination against actors in general; a belief that actresses, in particular, represent an immoral type of woman; an idea that idolatry towards cross-dressed females is perverted; a pride in academic achievement to the exclusion of other paths, and so on.”140 This shows the strong association made in Japanese society between acting

(or performing in general) and “immoral” women, and also the association between cross- dressed females and perversion (if a female fan admires an otokoyaku, maybe even to the point of veneration, then it’s not much of a stretch to imply there are hentai seiyoku involved).

There are many accounts of onnagata “living as women” in their personal lives, but because of this fear of hentai seiyoku, the Takarazuka Revue does their best to squash any talk of otokoyaku “living as men” (so as to uphold their ever-present wholesome, and family-friendly image). The Takarazuka Revue’s founder, Ichizō Kobayashi, evidently “was no Ayame, and he was keen on limiting an otokoyaku's appropriation of ‘male’ gender to the takarazuka stage.

Along with many early 20th-century sexologists, he believed that a masculine female outside the context of the Revue was something abnormal and perverted.”141 This is one example of many double standards when looking at the lives of kabuki’s onnagata and takarazuka’s otokoyaku.

The reasons for the acceptance of the former and the skepticism of the “normality” of the latter shouldn’t be reduced to a matter of misogyny, but it cannot be ignored or denied as a large influence on opinion.

In fact, the misogyny rampant in the administrative choices of the Takarazuka Revue

140 Stickland, 82. 141 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 424.

have had a long history, if one considers their origin to have evolved from the dynamics between male actors playing male roles (tachiyaku) and male actors playing female roles (onnagata) in kabuki. Both musumeyaku and onnagata play subservient roles to male characters on-stage, even being placed below or lower than them via staging instruction. But besides the on-stage evidence of misogyny, which is a reflection of off-stage, societal misogyny, there is evidence that actors who play female roles are discriminated against.

This discrimination goes beyond a play’s plot, as Morinaga writes, “the traditionally observed inferior status of not only females but also male onnagata helps highlight the fact that the very reasoning that makes it possible to assign such inferior status to some people in this community is associated with gender and not sex. It is thus not so much male-centric as masculinity-centric.”142 Onnagata and tachiyaku share the same physiology, but because of the onnagata’s embodiment of femininity, they are designated as having an inferior status to that of the male-role actor. Comparatively, in takarazuka theater, the otokoyaku and the musumeyaku share the same physiology, the same biological sex, but the female-role actor is considered inferior yet again. Anan writes that “Takarazuka continues to reproduce a strict patriarchal gender hierarchy, with male-role players always placed in a privileged position. For example, only a top male-role player can announce the opening of a show while serving as the star of a troupe, and only top male-role players can have their photographs printed on novelties sold at

Takarazuka theatres.”143 This effectively produces a silencing of female-role players, because their voices are literally unheard in the same capacity that the otokoyaku voice is heard.

Musumeyaku are denied any representation in the form of their image on memorabilia, and this last point could be explained by the ever-present desire of the takarazuka administration to

142 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 142. 143 Anan, 102.

diminish idolatry towards the musumeyaku, as the admiration they receive from female fans has homoerotic implications. The otokoyaku are able to gain temporary, on-stage privilege in relation to the musumeyaku because their performance of idealized masculinity contains kata that is powerful enough to imbue them with a higher (read: masculine) status.

Chapter 5: Admirers and Aficionados: Fan Behavior

The Takarazuka Revue has garnered both male and female fans over the years, although a majority of these fans are female. This fact doesn’t help the Revue administration from squelching rumors or allusions to homosexual relationships between Takarasiennes or between

Takarasiennes and fans. It wasn’t just female fans that were admiring Takarasiennes, either. For heterosexual men, the beautiful Takarasiennes were a breath of fresh air after years of watching onnagata kabuki actors. As Stickland notes:

Men have probably been attracted to Takarazuka for a variety of reasons. Actresses had appeared on the professional stage in Japan for only a few years when Takarazuka was founded, and the all-male kabuki was probably more familiar to regular theatregoers of either sex. To boys and men attracted by (representations of) femininity, especially, the relatively unpolished stage skills and smooth, youthful faces and limbs of Takarazuka performers, as well as their girlish off-stage appearance, must have seemed delightfully fresh in comparison to the highly stylised refinement of the cross-dressed kabuki onnagata, who were beloved of theatrical connoisseurs but who may have been quite ugly, elderly, balding or wrinkled without their makeup and costumes.144

Takarasiennes—male-role actors (otokoyaku) and female-role actors (musumeyaku) alike—were beautiful both on and off the stage, regardless of their official gender role in the Revue.

However, over time, the takarazuka administration changed the ways in which they cast productions. There was a switch from casting primarily musumeyaku in lead roles, to casting otokoyaku. This did make a difference for male fans, which was reflected in the attendance rates.

It was “up until the mid-1940s [that] productions gave prominence to female-role players, and the large number of male fans in the audience during that period suggests that the musumeyaku were especially attractive to them. The female-role players also won more approval from

144 Stickland, 150.

patriarchal authorities and the media.”145 From the outset, takarazuka productions were catered to the male gaze, and the approval and support extended by patriarchal institutions are further evidence of this.

When musumeyaku were given more prominent roles, acting out their hyper-femininity, it relieved the public’s anxieties over cross-dressed females because the otokoyaku were not as crucial to the takarazuka productions as they are today (and since the mid-1940s). The musumeyaku were popular with heterosexual male fans, but didn’t excite the female fans nearly as much as the otokoyaku did (and still do). The reasons for this could indeed be (homo)erotic in nature, but Stickland writes that it is more complex:

Another possible reason for the lesser popularity of players of female roles among female fans is the frequent failure of musumeyaku to provide female spectators with a positive model of female agency, due to their dependent and subordinate status vis-à-vis their male-role opposites. Moreover, women who profess support for a musumeyaku cannot use the excuse reiterated by female fans of otokoyaku, namely that their idol is attractive because (s)he is an ‘ideal man,’ and thus may be uncomfortable with the fact that they are drawn to a fellow female.146

Fans who favor an otokoyaku do so because of their masculine appearance on stage, and their ability to embody this ideal masculinity that is not found in extant men. This admiration towards the otokoyaku can be interpreted as homoerotic, and its implications are more easily explained away compared to those that arise with admiration towards a musumeyaku. The musumeyaku are also holding this traditionally subservient place, which reflects the subjugation of women in

Japanese society. They are seen as less important than the otokoyaku, and the casting decisions made by the takarazuka administration from around 1945 to the present reinforce this idea as well.

Modern girls and women could possibly see the musumeyaku as an empty shell, a trope,

145 Ibid., 151. 146 Ibid., 165.

and a persona that they would never want to emulate. The existence of the otokoyaku, on the other hand, gives them a very different persona to choose as a role model. The founder of the

Takarazuka Revue, Kobayashi, “proclaimed that ‘the [Takarazuka] otokoyaku is not male but is more suave, more affectionate, more courageous, more charming, more handsome, and more fascinating than a real male.’”147 The otokoyaku is a blend of masculine and feminine characteristics both in personality and in appearance. This androgynous persona, unfettered by societal restrictions on women (at least while on stage), creates a role model that young girls and women feel comfortable emulating. It excites the audience members to see that women can embody this masculinity, and it creates the possibility in their minds of adopting a similar (i.e. masculine or gender-fluid) gender presentation in their own lives.

When this masculine persona changes, however, “many fans of otokoyaku lose interest in their idol when she sheds her masculine persona upon retirement, as she can no longer fulfil their fantasies of the ‘ideal man,’ or continue to be a role model for women who dislike stereotypical femininity.”148 This incongruency between the onstage and offstage persona of the otokoyaku is upsetting to fans because it shatters their romantic fantasies. Not only that, but it shatters the realistic possibility of performing a nuanced femininity (or femininities). When an otokoyaku retires and reverts to certain mannerisms and dress, it indicates to female fans that one cannot permanently deviate from this stereotypical, compulsory femininity. Kobayashi’s original intention was for the otokoyaku to create an example of non-toxic masculinity for male fans to emulate offstage, instead of incidentally creating this example of liberated femininity for female fans.149

147 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 424. 148 Stickland, 165. 149 Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 424.

Much can be learned about kabuki and takarazuka by studying their fans. Kabuki “was, first and foremost, an actor-centered entertainment. People came to the theatre, primarily to see and hear their favorite actors, not the plays.”150 The playwrights and productions themselves were not as important as the actors, and onnagata, not surprisingly, were the center of attention.

Kabuki and takarazuka audience members play a highly active role, actually inserting themselves into the performance with verbal proclamations. During a kabuki play, “the audience’s response took the form of organized clapping (by ‘troupes of clappers,’ teuchi renjū); formal ‘words of praise’ (home kotoba); and spontaneous ‘vocal outbursts’ (kake-goe) expressing favour or criticism. Sometimes, members of the audience sent admiring notes backstage after the performance.”151 This is similar to how takarazuka fans “draw attention to their own presence, influencing performers’ mood, timing and ability to stay in character by pronounced applause, laughter, weeping or calling out the nicknames of their favourites. Such activity is probably more common and more influential than it is among audiences at other forms of live theatre in Japan and elsewhere.”152 Both kabuki actors and Takarasiennes receive notes backstage, famous otokoyaku sometimes even receiving extravagant gifts from enthusiastic fans.

Kabuki fans in Edo-era Japan could be quite raucous, as well, and “far from being sincere and quiet students, spectators...shout the actors’ yagō (shop name) to praise performances, eat snacks and box lunches, and enjoy themselves in what Hattori calls the ‘site of a fete’ (shukusai kūkan), a site shared by actors, musicians, staff members, and audiences alike.”153 Although this kind of conduct could be considered disrespectful in other contexts, kabuki and takarazuka spectators express their excitement and appreciation through this boisterous behavior.

150 Fujita and Shapiro, 7. 151 Ibid., 59. 152 Stickland, 168. 153 Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 65.

In these ways, takarazuka fans and kabuki fans declare their admiration openly for the actors on stage. Takarazuka fans do so in the moment, as performances unfold (although it can be quite disruptive), and after performances in physical expressions of admiration such as gifts, notes, or food. Berlin writes:

Before and after each [takarazuka] performance there is always a sizable crowd at the stage door waiting for the most popular players. These waits are usually long. Gift giving is striking evidence of the intense affection the fans have for the Takarazuka performers. Going well beyond cookies and chocolates, the fans often give clothing (sometimes personally made) and costume jewelry. There are even unconfirmed but plausible stories of expensive jewelry and stereos being proffered.154

Some of this admiration is in fact projected romantic idealization, but these actors are praised for their skill and artistry, too. These actors are so highly idealized that they almost acquire a non- human status. Stickland writes that “old-time kabuki fans apparently say that to be stared at by an actor is to ‘have one’s demons exorcised,’ and Takarazuka, also, seems to generate something akin to or substituting for a sense of sacredness (seisei).”155 An actor’s attention, indicated through their gaze, gives audience members a sense of euphoria. The higher the skill of the actor, the greater the “sense of sacredness” is. After all, it is their skill that allows them to embody the femininities (onnagata and musumeyaku) or masculinities (tachiyaku and otokoyaku), that their fans so adore. Without the skillful mastery of this kata there would be no gender performance to speak of.

154 Berlin, 40. 155 Stickland, 169.

Conclusion

The performance of gender in kabuki and takarazuka theater show the complexity, flexibility, and spectral nature of gender. By using the medium of theater, onnagata and otokoyaku actors are able to oppose the binary distinctions established and enforced by post- eighteenth-century Western culture. nokizaru writes that “the two most commonly imposed genders are man/male and woman/female, and to stray away from them, move amongst them or act against them summons the enforcement agents of society.”156 On the theatrical stage of

Japan, however, these “enforcement agents of society” have significantly less power. Actors on stage are allowed a higher degree of freedom of expression than individuals off-stage.

In the case of Edo-era kabuki, onnagata were permitted (and even encouraged) to perform their femininity off-stage. There was a societal acceptance of onnagata which was pervasive enough to allow them the ability to bathe in public bathhouses with cisgender women

(i.e. to be considered the same, or equal to cisgender women). The otokoyaku of takarazuka have essentially no freedom to express their masculinity off-stage, but their visibility helps audience members recognize their own autonomy is choosing a nuanced gender expression to use in their own personal lives. Stickland writes that

On a theoretical continuum of stereotypical traits of masculinity and femininity as exhibited by the general population, Takarazuka female-role players on stage would perhaps occupy a position closer to the “very feminine” end of the continuum than the average woman, but be more gender-neutral than their stage persona when not in the public eye. Their male-role counterparts, on the other hand, would usually be more “masculine” on stage than a significant proportion of men, yet much closer than most men, and perhaps even many women in general, to the “feminine” end of the continuum when off-stage.157

156 nokizaru, 4. 157 Stickland, 136.

The musumeyaku and otokoyaku have highly specified and stylized genders on-stage (as dictated by the Revue administration), and they also have specific off-stage personas for their fans. In their case particularly, gender performance, gender presentation, and gender identity do not intersect—in fact it would be almost impossible for that to occur. Stickland continues, writing that the “performers’ gender, therefore, is fluid, not fixed, and various markers of gender can be consciously chosen and utilised by individuals to suit the purposes of each situation.”158 This fluidity of gender allows Takarasiennes to utilize certain characteristics or behaviors depending on what subtle distinction or variation they need to portray. The takarazuka gender is therefore more of a non-binary or flexible nature, which further de-centralizes the concept of gender as two contrasting polarities.

As Butler posits, gender is a series of acts which can be learned through repetition. This repetition is memorized kata, which constitutes the essence of all theatrical and dance performance in Japan. The gender performance of both the onnagata and otokoyaku prove that gender is not determined by one's biology, upbringing, socialization, cultural influences, etc.

Gender can only be defined by one thing: the self. The performance of gender is not exclusive to the stage, but instead is an active, ongoing performance in each person's everyday life. We all have the ability to choose what elements of masculinity and femininity to incorporate into our lives, and, to a certain extent, dictate how we are perceived by others.

Therefore, there is much we can learn from the performing arts of Japan. Japanese culture has different (read: less harmful) “rules” or restrictions on gender. Their masculinity, traditionally, has been less toxic than that of Western culture. This is because the Japanese have less rigid expectations for what is “masculine” or “feminine,” which alleviates the pressure to

158 Ibid.

conform to these standards purely based on the gender one was assigned at birth. Gender roles for men in Japan don’t restrict expression (of gender, emotions, or sexuality) in the same ways that Western gender roles do. Cross-dressing for men is more comparatively accepted and an androgynous aesthetic (for pop musicians, actors, other famous performers or idols) is not only accepted but celebrated. Japan has a long-standing appreciation for androgyny, ambiguity in terms of gender and sexuality, and homoerotic elements in theater. Perhaps kabuki, or nō drama are the earliest theatrical forms that serve as evidence of these mentalities. When freed from damaging, binary notions, gender is beautiful, flexible, spectral, and diverse. Theater can become an agent of transmission, allowing us to open our minds and begin exploration of gender's seemingly boundless expanse.

Glossary

Bisexuality: Attraction to two or more genders.

Castrati: (Castrato, singular) A male singer whose genitalia was altered before puberty to prevent a change in vocal range due to testosterone.

Cisgender: An individual who identifies with the gender they were assigned at birth.

Gei: Acquired artistic technique

Hentai seiyoku: Perverse desires

Intersex: An individual born with variations of both primary and secondary sex characteristics, including chromosomes, genitalia, and hormones.

Kata: Positions, movements, and form used in Japanese martial arts, dance, and theater.

Musumeyaku: A female-role player in takarazuka theater.

Nenja: An older partner in a male-male relationship.

Non-binary: An individual with an identity that falls outside the gender binary of male or female.

Onnagata: A female-role player in kabuki theater.

Otokoyaku: A male-role player in takarazuka theater.

Tachiyaku: A male-role player in kabuki theater.

Transgender: An individual who does not identify with the gender they were assigned at birth.

Transmisogyny: Discrimination or prejudice against transgender women.

Transphobia: Discrimination or prejudice against transgender people.

Wakashu: An adolescent boy, younger partner in a male-male relationship.

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