Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies English Selection

5 | 2016 New Perspectives on Japan’s Performing Arts

Electronic version URL: https://journals.openedition.org/cjs/1164 DOI: 10.4000/cjs.1164 ISSN: 2268-1744

Publisher INALCO

Electronic reference Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies, 5 | 2016, “New Perspectives on Japan’s Performing Arts” [Online], Online since 01 January 2016, connection on 08 July 2021. URL: https:// journals.openedition.org/cjs/1164; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/cjs.1164

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Cipango - French Journal of Japanese Studies is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. 1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editorial Note Dan Fujiwara

Introduction Pascal Griolet

Kabuki’s Early Ventures onto Western Stages (1900‑1930):Tsutsui Tokujirō in the footsteps of Kawakami and Hanako Jean‑Jacques Tschudin

Gagaku, Music of the Empire:Tanabe Hisao and musical heritage as national identity Seiko Suzuki

Questioning Women’s Prevalence in Takarazuka Theatre:The Interplay of Light and Shadow Claude Michel‑Lesne

A history of Japanese striptease Éric Dumont and Vincent Manigot

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Editorial Note

Dan Fujiwara

1 The current issue consists of four translated essays written all originally published in issues 20 and 21 of Cipango. Other essays not translated here are detailed in the “Introduction” by Pascal Griolet, who supervised and edited the two issues on Japanese performing arts.

2 One of the authors, Jean‑Jacques Tschudin, an eminent specialist of Japanese theatre and well‑known translator of Japanese literature, passed away in 2013. On behalf of the committees I would like to express our deep sadness here. I would also thank the CRCAO (East Asian Civilisations Research Centre) where Jean‑Jacques Tschudin carried out his research activities and which granted financial support for translating his essay.

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Introduction

Pascal Griolet Translation : Karen Grimwade

1 Issues 20 and 21 of Cipango, published respectively in 2013 and 2014, both explored the subject of Japan’s performing arts.

2 Issue 20 focused on the performing arts during the modern period, in particular the confrontation between traditions and modernity as Japan opened up to the outside world.

3 Jean‑Jacques Tschudin continued his work examining how Japan’s performing arts—in this case kabuki—were introduced to European audiences via the tours conducted by Kawakami Otojirō, Hanako and, most particularly, Tsutsui Tokujirō. Just as ukiyo‑e influenced Western painting, Japan’s performing arts inspired a wave of Japonism that invigorated Western aesthetics.

4 Yet this cultural influence was not unidirectional. Ian McArthur revealed the extraordinary skill with which one Westerner—the Englishman Henry Black—mastered the techniques of the rakugo public storytellers to introduce stories, enigmas and scenes from nineteenth‑century Western literature into Tokyo’s theatres, with resounding success.

5 Suzuki Seiko critically explored the reflections, from the Meiji period onwards, on whether Japan’s traditional arts—in this case gagaku—were compatible with modernity, showing how Japanese tradition and Western aesthetic theories were combined with the highly political aim of endowing Japan with a national culture it could be proud of, but which also served the country’s expansionist policy.

6 The process Suzuki describes exactly mirrors the one presented in Suh Johng Wan’s analysis of early performances of nō in Korea just prior to the country’s colonisation.

7 By retracing the history of Takarazuka, Claude Michel‑Lesne revealed the challenges of creating a national popular theatre and questioned the official history of the troupe as an all-girl revue right from its creation.

8 Issue 20 was rounded out with a quasi-ethnographic description, chosen and translated by Pascal Griolet, of life for a travelling troupe of actors performing taishū engeki—a

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genre of popular theatre—in contemporary Japan. Finally, Takemoto Yoshio translated a series of short texts on theatre by contemporary stage directors Higashi Yutaka and Yū Miri.

9 In contrast to issue 20 with its focus on the history of Japan’s performing arts during the modern period, issue 21 attempted to draw links between the classical, or “traditional”, form of these arts and more contemporary practices.

10 Jean‑Michel Butel traced the history of folk research on the performing arts and questioned the pertinence of the approach taken to traditions. His paper introduces the translation of an article by Hashimoto Hiroyuki showing how folk performances have been restructured, or even recreated, to become the core of a supposedly traditional regional culture. Butel suggests that researchers abandon their “obsession with the historical authenticity of ‘traditional’ arts and instead consider the strategies adopted by actors in order to permanently re-create folk performances”.

11 This need to constantly adapt was perfectly described by Catherine Delpuech in her paper on Hayachine kagura. Delpuech carefully distinguishes between the views of scholars—who see this performing art as immutable, impervious to outside influence, perfect and linked to mythology and history—and those of the performers who are in close contact with the public and thus permanently fighting the erosion of time.

12 Chloé Viatte described the difficulties encountered in 2012 by a troupe attempting to adapt an ancient piece of puppet theatre, the seventeenth-century play Amida no munewari. Viatte describes in detail the staging of the play and how it evolved, underlining the constant need to adapt and innovate technically.

13 As for Éric Dumont and Vincent Manigot, their work explored an entirely different realm, namely striptease in post-war Japan, which was exposed to the same staging dilemmas. Dumont and Manigot underlined the transitory nature of each performance, in that it held the promise of being followed by another, potentially more desirable one. The authors argue that this transition from the static “states” of the early nude shows to the succession of “steps” associated with stripping marked the appearance of a dramatic tension and opened up a “world of expectations”.

14 Finally, performance analysis becomes a genuine object of reflection in Laïli Dor’s paper on the art of public calligraphy. Dor questions what future performance calligraphy might have when its strength is predicated on its being innovative.

15 Issues 20 and 21 of Cipango thus analysed the modern and contemporary construction of Japan’s performing arts at a time when the country was engaged in forging a national culture and identity.

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Kabuki’s Early Ventures onto Western Stages (1900‑1930): Tsutsui Tokujirō in the footsteps of Kawakami and Hanako

Jean‑Jacques Tschudin Translation : Karen Grimwade

Original release: Jean‑Jacques Tschudin, « Le Kabuki s’aventure sur les scènes occidentales : Tsutsui Tokujirô sur les traces des Kawakami et de Hanako », Cipango, 20, 2013, 13‑63, mis en ligne le 17 avril 2015. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ cipango/1901 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1901

1 In the 1860s, as Japan opened its doors to the outside world, the previously unknown arts of this mysterious Land of the Rising Sun were unveiled to the West, revealing aesthetic options and techniques that not only aroused its curiosity but also offered its artists and creators novel solutions and stimulating possibilities for their own work. Although this phenomenon is primarily associated with the world of painting, printing and the decorative arts, somewhat away from the influence of Japonism1 and at a slightly later date, theatre also came to be fascinated with the performing arts of Japan. But what was truly known about these arts at the time? By what means and through whose initiative could they be discovered?

2 From the early Meiji period (1868‑1912) through to the eve of World War II (1939‑1945), information generally took the form of narratives published by visitors returning from Japan who described their forays into Japanese theatre. These highly impressionistic accounts were gradually supplemented with studies by leading specialists, many of them long-term residents to Japan and fluent in the language. Nevertheless, this scholarly approach tended to focus solely on the literary—and in some cases liturgical— dimensions of theatre, taking little interest in it as a stage art.2 It was only towards the late 1920s that serious, enlightened studies of the subject began to appear. Generally speaking, theatre practitioners inspired by the Japanese example—such as Appia, Artaud, Brecht, Craig, Copeau, Dullin, Eisenstein, Fuchs, Gémier, Lugné‑Poe, Meyerhold,

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Reinhardt, Stanislavski and Yeats—had no knowledge of Japan (with the exception of Paul Claudel, French ambassador to Japan from 1921 to 1927) and drew on an assortment of fragmentary data, themselves based on a handful of performances of questionable authenticity. It is precisely these rare appearances by Japanese theatre on European stages that I propose to examine in this paper.

The first international tours

3 A quick tally reveals just four tours throughout the entire first half of the twentieth century! The first came courtesy of the theatre troupe led by Kawakami Otojirō 川上音 二郎 (May 1899-December 1900 and April 1901-August 1902). This was followed by a long sojourn in Europe by Hanako 花子, from 1901 to 1916, and a brief visit to the Soviet Union by Ichikawa Sadanji 市川左団次 (summer 1928). Finally, there was the lengthy tour conducted by Tsutsui Tokujirō 筒井徳二郎 (January 1930-April 1931), taking in twenty-two countries.

4 The first three tours, which are relatively well documented even in the West, will merely be outlined briefly in order to focus on Tsutsui’s as‑yet relatively unknown endeavour.

Kawakami Otojirō’s troupe

5 While visitors to Japan were sending home colourful descriptions of their theatre excursions, and French travellers were expressing shock or delight at kabuki-style realism, theatre enthusiasts back in the West were about to discover a curious version of this performing art right on their doorstep thanks to a tour organised by a Japanese actor who arrived in Paris with a programme supposedly representing the great Japanese tradition.3 Although the ircumstances of this tour are well known, a brief summary would no doubt be useful.4 It consisted of course of the performances given by Kawakami Otojirō and his troupe as part of the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1900. These performances, and the acting skills of Kawakami’s wife Sadayakko 貞奴5 in particular, charmed Parisian aesthetes, eliciting an abundance of sometimes surprising commentary. The situation was paradoxical in that, despite being supposedly traditional, these plays were introduced by a pioneer of modern theatre, performed by actors considered in the world of kabuki to be low‑class showmen, and starred a woman in the main female roles.

6 Indeed, far from being an actor born and bred, Kawakami Otojirō (1864‑1911) was originally a sōshi 壮士, a political agitator within the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement (Jiyū minken undō 自由民権運動). It was within this agitprop context that he staged politicised plays and cabaret acts. He continued his theatre activities after political calm was restored by developing a new genre known as shinpa 新派 (new school), which gradually won over Japanese audiences with plays examining contemporary society and performed in a more realist style that was neither truly modern nor clearly modelled on Western theatre. As for his wife Sadayakko (1871‑1946), she was a former high-ranking geisha and talented dancer, but only truly began her acting career with the American tour.

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7 To the great consternation of the traditional masters, these curious individuals were thus to be the ambassadors of Japanese theatre overseas. Having arrived in San Francisco in late May 1899, they travelled across the United States and then to London where they were hired by the dancer-promoter Loie Fuller (1862‑1928)6 to perform at the Exposition Universelle. These were the unexpected circumstances in which the Kawakamis came to embody—somewhat involuntarily—an approximation of Japanese tradition alongside Fuller’s avant-garde experiments.

8 They presented four plays very loosely adapted from the kabuki repertoire (The Geisha and the Knight; Kesa and Morito; Jingoro; and Takanori) and were such a triumph that they eventually stayed at Fuller’s theatre for four months, signing a contract for a lengthy tour (April 1901‑August 1902) that would take them to all the major European stages.

9 Their performances were enthusiastically received and Sadayakko hailed as a triumph by artists and high society. Painters, theatre professionals, writers, critics and essayists all flocked to admire her, showering her with praise and making countless drawings, sketches and photographs of her.7 This textual and iconographic body of work was recently supplemented with two newly discovered documents: a collection of twenty‑nine gramophone records featuring ballads, monologues and melodies performed by members of the Kawakami troupe, and a fragment of film showing a samurai performing martial kata amongst the swirling white dresses of Fuller’s dancers. 8

Hanako: a new Japanese star

10 The following episode confirms both the appetite of theatre enthusiasts for such performances and the blatant commercialism with which they were proposed.

11 Just as with the Kawakamis, the success of this new tour was largely due to the encounter between Loie Fuller and a former geisha who arrived in Europe with an unlikely troupe of music‑hall performers. Thanks to the World Fairs, Japanese fairground artists—jugglers, acrobats, illusionists and dancers—were highly appreciated in the West, encouraging a relatively large number of them to try their luck.9 And so it was that Hanako (Ōta Hisa 太田ひさ, 1868‑1945), 10 an impoverished geisha from Gifu Prefecture, came to be hired as a dancer in a troupe leaving Japan in March 1901. After a series of shows in Copenhagen, she found herself working in a Japanese restaurant in Antwerp and was subsequently hired by a producer of variety shows in Dusseldorf. Performing alongside a small troupe of locally recruited actors, she played the lead female role in a play entitled Bushidō 武士道 (The Way of the Warrior), set in a pleasure quarter. The plot sees two debauched samurais draw their swords after a quarrel and ends with the disgraced loser committing hara‑kiri. The reception in Germany encouraged Hanako to form an independent troupe. She performed first in England, then (having come under Fuller’s management) all around Europe.

12 Rodin discovered Hanako at the Marseilles Colonial Exhibition in 1906, having come to admire the Cambodian dancers, and later made several portraits of her.11 When the troupe disbanded leaving Hanako alone, she hit a slump before once again finding success. She performed throughout the West for over a decade, until the war put a stop

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to her activities in 1916. She then opened a Japanese restaurant in London before permanently returning to Japan in 1921.

13 Whereas the plays performed by the Kawakamis retained links to kabuki, little trace of this stage art remained in Hanako’s shows, invariably designed by Fuller to culminate in murder or suicide, thereby allowing the heroine to shine in scenes of tragic demise. Fuller also concocted a series of eloquently titled Japanese plays—The Martyr, A Drama at Yoshiwara, The Japanese Doll, The Japanese Ophelia, Hara‑Kiri, The Little Japanese Girl, and The Way of the Warrior—all of which, bar of a few comic sketches, featured the same bloody conclusion.

14 Given the language barrier, the plays relied heavily on mime and dance, with the actors essentially contenting themselves with emitting a variety of highly expressive vocalisations such as growls, grunts and laughter. Hanako enthralled new audiences with her undeniable stage presence, classical dance skills, astonishing range of pained facial expressions and incredible ability to switch instantly from cheerful, doll-like warbling to the most tragic of masks. Yet fundamentally, she and her cobbled-together troupe merely adopted the same formula as the Kawakamis. Thus, despite her indisputable talent and charisma, she failed to contribute anything truly new and was even less authentic than her predecessors.

Ichikawa Sadanji in the USSR

15 In 1927, Osanai Kaoru 小山内薫 (1881‑1928), one of the pioneers of modern Japanese theatre, was invited to the Soviet Union to attend celebrations for the tenth anniversary of the October Revolution. Back in Japan, he relayed the Soviets’ desire to host a tour by Ichikawa Sadanji II (1880‑1940) and his troupe. Sadanji was keen to accept and managed to obtain approval from Shōchiku 松竹—the Japanese show business giant—and implicitly, from the government.12 As the eldest son of Sadanji I (the third name in the Dan-Kiku-Sa trio that dominated kabuki during the Meiji period),13 Sadanji II represented both grand tradition and the most successful attempts at modernising the genre. As well as managing a large kabuki troupe, he co-founded with Osanai Kaoru the pioneering shingeki 新劇 group Free Theatre (Jiyū gekijō 自由劇 場), responsible for introducing the likes of Ibsen, Hauptmann, Maeterlinck, Chekhov and Gorky to Japan between 1909 and 1919. Though not an iconoclast, Sadanji headed the progressive, modernising branch of kabuki and was thus ideally placed to lead the first excursion of this dramatic art beyond Japan’s shores,14 proposing a balanced programme of emblematic plays from the classic repertoire and the best of new kabuki (shin-kabuki 新歌舞伎).15

16 The troupe performed at the Moscow Art Theatre II from 1 to17 August before moving to Leningrad to present the same programme at the State Academic Maly Opera Theatre (since restored to its original name, the Mikhailovsky Theatre). It staged two major classics: the legendary historical drama Kanadehon chūshingura 仮名手本忠臣蔵 (The Treasury of Loyal Retainers)16 and Narukami 鳴神, an emblematic play in the bravura or “rough style” (aragoto 荒事) pioneered by the Ichikawa family and featuring a wonderful onnagata 女形 role.17 The other section of the programme alternated three plays by Okamoto Kidō 岡本綺堂 (1872‑1939), one of the few new-kabuki authors whose work is still performed.18 This ensemble was completed with a series of well-known

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danced pieces (shosagoto 所作事) like Musume Dōjōji 娘道成寺 (The Maiden at Dōjō Temple) and Sagi musume 鷺娘 (The Heron Maiden).

17 The tour was carefully prepared in advance through the publication of illustrated brochures featuring synopses of the plays, as well as two booklets on kabuki written by Russian orientalists. Explanations were also provided at the beginning of each performance.

18 The shows were an immense hit: they played to a full house, fascinated both artists and theatre professionals, and inspired Eisenstein’s famous reflections,19 yet their international impact remained limited because the troupe did not perform elsewhere in Europe, though Sadanji visited a few European capitals on his way home, apparently to test the waters in view of organising another tour. In fact, several star vehicles were discussed in the following years, but for a variety of reasons—financial and to a lesser extent political—none came to fruition.

Tsutsui Tokujirō on the world stage

19 Following Ichikawa Sadanji’s venture, official kabuki hung up its touring hat and the task of representing this theatrical art overseas once again fell to actors from the fringes. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that, in contrast to Hanako’s shows, centred entirely on the diminutive dancer’s performances, those presented by Tsutsui featured a professional troupe performing a series of plays taken essentially from the classical repertoire.

20 Little information exists on Tsutsui’s career, hailing as he did from the world of popular theatre, disdained by the establishment and overlooked by historians. The term popular theatre (taishū 大衆 or minshū 民衆 engeki 演劇) refers to the plays performed by small, generally itinerant troupes that resembled the travelling entertainers who roamed Japan during the Edo period performing at shrine and temple festivities. Based in the popular entertainment capitals of Asakusa (Tokyo) and Dōtonbori (Osaka), troupes in the 1910s and 1920s performed a simplified kabuki in the modernised style of Kansai, marked by shinpa modernity and a nostalgic attachment on behalf of the public for old Edo.

21 Tsutsui himself had established a solid reputation in kengeki 剣劇20 swordplay dramas. The popularity of this subgenre in the 1920s and 1930s was such that it gave rise to a variant combining eroticism and martial exploits: onna kengeki 女剣劇, performed, as the name suggests, by women.21

22 Back to Tsutsui, significantly his name is absent from seminal theatrical histories and even Mukai Sōya, a specialist in Japanese popular theatre, merely includes him in a simple list of kengeki actors performing at Asakusa.22 In fact, it was only very recently that a Japanese scholar, originally specialising in German literature, began to conduct research on Tsutsui’s lengthy Western tour.23

23 Tsutsui Tokujirō (1881‑1953), an Osaka native, is known to have begun his career at the age of nineteen performing with a small shinpa troupe under a variety of stage names. The troupe was led by Fukui Mohei 福井茂兵衛 (1860‑1930), a fairly well‑known actor who, after performing with Kawakami Otojirō, was based essentially in Osaka. In 1919, following a series of tours in Japan’s colonies, Tsutsui adopted the name Tsutsui Tokujirō and performed notably at the Benten‑za, a popular theatre in the

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Dōtonbori area of Osaka. In 1920, he joined a group of actors who had left the Shinkokugeki (New National Theatre 新国劇)24 due to artistic differences with Sawada Shōjirō 沢田正二郎. Together they formed a touring kengeki troupe which, aside from a handful of shows in Asakusa in 1926, performed essentially in the Kansai region and apparently came to represent the genre there.

24 Given Tsutsui’s background, it is easy to see why he would have interested Yasuda 安田, a Japanese-American impresario: though not a star, Tsutsui was a seasoned actor who managed a small, well‑reputed theatre company in the Kansai area and was capable of writing his own plays. Furthermore, he was experienced at touring, both in Japan and the colonies, and as a minor player in the world of show business was available to undertake a lengthy journey. This was not the case for kabuki and shinpa stars, whose contracts with major impresarios prevented them from making prolonged absences. As a specialist in kengeki, Tsutsui was also a versatile actor equally experienced in performing shinpa, grand melodramas—whether Japanese or adaptations of Western plays—and modernised, Kansai‑style kabuki adaptations.

25 After returning to Japan from the West, Tsutsui resumed his tours of the empire presenting kengeki, shinpa and kabuki plays, and like many fellow actors, also worked in the booming film industry.

The American tour

26 Tsutsui Tokujirō gathered together a group of twenty‑three actors, including nine women, and left Yokohama on 14 January 1930 for a tour that, against all expectations, would only see the troupe return to Japan the following spring. They arrived in San Francisco in late January—captured by cinema newsreels—then immediately travelled to Los Angeles where a reception had been planned by the tour’s organiser and featured a kengeki demonstration at the station followed by a rickshaw parade through the city’s streets.25 The US tour was split into two distinct stages, one designed for Japanese immigrants and another for an American audience. It kicked off at Daiwa Hall, located in a predominantly Japanese neighbourhood, and featured a programme heavily focused on the kengeki dramas that were highly popular in Japan. It then continued at the Figueroa Theater on Santa Barbara Boulevard, which had opened in 1925. The programme for this second stage had been specifically put together for American audiences and combined kengeki, kabuki extracts and dance pieces.

27 Forced by financial considerations to abandon the mid‑section of the tour, the troupe travelled directly to New York, arriving on 1 March. It first appeared at the Booth Theater, a famous venue opened in 1913 on West 45th Street, at the heart of the city’s theatre district. Yet response to the performances was mitigated due to competition from the great Beijing Opera star Mei Lanfang, performing on his first Western tour right opposite the Booth! As a result, Tsutsui decided to move to the huge Roxy Theater, no doubt during a gap between performances.26 At any rate, the lukewarm reception meant that the troupe did not linger in the United States and instead set sail for Europe.

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Conquering Europe

28 This tour27 actually consisted of three separate stages, each managed by a different impresario. The first stage, from May to September 1930, was organised by the famous concert producer Arnold Meckel, impresario to Arthur Rubinstein, La Argentina and other international celebrities. The troupe made its European debut in Paris. On 25 April, newspapers announced the arrival at Saint‑Lazare station of the “Tokyo Grand Theatre” troupe, its twenty‑four members having travelled to Paris from New York along with their costumes and scenery ready to present “tragedies, comedies, mime shows and dances from the kabuki repertoire.” In addition to organising receptions and press conferences, the tour’s promoters also enlisted the help of Japanese artists living in Paris, who introduced Tsutsui and his actors to high society and artistic circles, and explained the plays to audiences. Performances were held at Théâtre Pigalle,28 managed at the time by Gabriel Astruc, and presented under the patronage of the Association of Japanese Theatre (Nihon Geki Kyōkai 日本劇協会)29. Two programmes were performed:

First programme

Koi no yozakura “Night of Love and Cherry Blossoms”: opera and dance piece

“Dancing Doll of the Capital”: a single-act mime and dance Kyō ningyō piece

“The Subscription List”: Medieval samurai drama. Scene I: Kanjinchō “Matsubara”; Scene II: “Atakamatsu”.

Kage no chikara “Hidden Providence”: sword‑fighting drama

Second programme

Act 1: “Geki chu no geki Yoshinoyama” (combat among audience members) Banzuiin Chōbei Act 2: “Susugamori” (meeting of Chōbei and Gonpachi) (Medieval samurai drama on the Act 3: “Chōbei no uchi” (at Banzuiin Chōbei’s home) character of the same name). Act 4: “Mizuno tei” (at the home of Mizuno, a samurai serving the shogun) Act 5: “Mizuno tei adauchi” (the tragic revenge of Mizuno)

29 The performances, held between 2 and 15 May, were a huge popular and critical success, inspiring, as we shall see, abundant commentary from theatre specialists.30

30 In June, the troupe travelled to Belgium where it performed in Liège, Antwerp and Brussels before moving onto Holland and Germany. It then set sail for Scandinavia, performing in Oslo, Stockholm and Copenhagen. The following section of the tour took Tsutsui and his troupe to London, where they performed at the Globe Theatre.31 They returned to the continent in early July, passing rapidly through France to perform in Barcelona, then moving back to Paris where they appeared from 18 August to 8 September at the Apollo, a large music-hall theatre on Rue de Clichy. This first part of

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the tour concluded in Switzerland, with performances given at the Casino‑Théâtre in Geneva and then at the Schauspielhaus in Zurich.

31 Faced with the tour’s success and the invitations extended by various European venues, Tsutsui modified his original plan to return home via the United States and instead remained in Europe before travelling directly back to Japan. This second stage of the tour (October 1930 to January 1931) was entrusted to a new promoter, a certain Dr. L. Leonidoff. It began in Berlin, where the highly successful performances were admired by the leading lights in German theatre, particularly Bertolt Brecht, Herbert Ihering, Max Reinhardt and Erwin Piscator. The troupe then appeared in Frankfurt, Augsburg and Chemnitz before reaching Prague, Vienna and, after a brief detour in Holland (The Hague), Italy, where it performed in Milan, Turin, Florence, Rome, Genoa and San Remo.

32 The final stage, managed by the impresario Bruni Dudeck, spanned the winter of 1931 and focused on the Baltic States and Eastern Europe.32 The troupe spent Christmas and New Year in Berlin, losing its young star Kikuchi Taisuke33 菊池靖祐 to a bout of pneumonia caused by the exceptionally cold weather. The tour kicked off in Poland, where the troupe performed in Warsaw and other cities such as Danzig (Gdansk), Poznan and Krakow. After touring the Baltic States and Finland, the group then bypassed the USSR—although a stop here seems to have been considered briefly—, travelling directly to Romania and Yugoslavia (to perform in Belgrade, Zagreb and Ljubljana) before finally ending the tour in Trieste in late March 1931. From there, Tsutsui travelled to Moscow to catch the Trans-Siberian Railway; the rest of the troupe crossed Italy to Naples and boarded a boat bound for Japan in late April.

The repertoire presented to Western audiences

33 The plays chosen by Tsutsui for this tour hailed mainly from the kabuki repertoire but were reformatted to appeal to Western tastes and take into account certain constraints, namely time (the performances could not exceed two hours) and language (since the plays were performed in Japanese). Synopses were included in the programmes in order to facilitate audiences’ understanding of the plays, and local figures provided explanations before the curtains went up.

34 When devising his programme, Tsutsui took advice from fellow Japanese with extensive experience in Western theatre. These included Itō Michio 伊藤道郎,34 a pioneer in modern dance who had been based in the United States for well over a decade and acted as general manager of the tour, and Tsubouchi Shikō 坪内士行,35 one of the rare Japanese professionals to support Tsutsui’s work. He also took inspiration from the Kawakamis, effectively borrowing two of their hit plays (The Geisha and the Knight, and Jingoro), something that can hardly be considered a coincidence.

35 Tsutsui brought with him sixteen plays (including four performed only to Japanese residents of Los Angeles, absent from the European programme) presented generically as kabuki, although some of them hailed directly from the kengeki repertoire.36

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Kanjinchō 勧進帳 (The Subscription List. Presented in Paris as Crossing the Border [Le Passage de la frontière])

36 Adapted from the noh drama Ataka 安宅, written by Namiki Gohei 並木五瓶 III, this play had been staged in 1840 by Ichikawa Danjūrō VII (1791‑1859). As one of the Kabuki Jūhachiban 歌舞伎十八番, the eighteen plays most representative of the Ichikawa family line, Kanjinchō has become one of the great classics of the kabuki repertoire. 37 The basic storyline was essentially conserved, despite Tsutsui’s modifications to show Yoshitsune 義経, his female companion, his loyal retainer Benkei 弁慶 and the other warriors changing into their monks’ disguises mid‑play, providing the opportunity for one of the spectacular onstage costume changes associated with kabuki. This modification was a curious nod to the original noh drama, which included a monogi 物 着 (onstage costume change) by Yoshitsune. Another difference consisted, for some obscure reason, in allocating the role of the enemy to the Heike 平家instead of Yoshitsune’s half‑brother Yoritomo 頼朝. Finally, the play was performed entirely in the vernacular. According to both the programme and Parisian reviews, the plot was as follows:

37 Scene I: “Matsubara,” a village near the sea. Yoshitsune from the Genji clan has fled to northern Japan to escape the Heike troops bent on revenge. He is preparing to return south but when the group makes enquiries at a village near a checkpoint, Yoshitsune learns that the Heike have stepped up their surveillance. Benkei decides on the group’s disguise and they change onstage before continuing on their way.

38 Scene II: “Atakamatsu,” the border control. Discussions are held with the officer on guard who informs them that the mountain pass is closed. Benkei flies into a rage and turns on his porter, insulting and striking him. The officer guesses that the porter is Yoshitsune and understands the reasons for Benkei’s behaviour. Admiring his courage, he lets the group pass.

Koi no yozakura 恋の夜桜 (Night of Love and Cherry Blossoms)

39 This play, or rather the brief episode that remains of it, depicts a pair of samurai in love with the same courtesan; they quarrel and fight before being separated by the lady herself. The story merely served as a pretext to show geishas in all their finery and samurai engaged in a sword fight. It also replicated almost exactly the first part of The Geisha and the Knight, the flagship drama presented thirty years earlier by the Kawakamis to much acclaim.

40 The original play is a historical drama—a jidaimono 時代物—depicting the love rivalry between two famous kabukimono 歌舞伎者, Nagoya Sanzaburō 名古屋山三郎 and Fuwa Banzaemon 不破伴左衛門, a more or less legendary story that had already been staged in the 1670s. Many versions exist, including one created by the dramatist Tsuruya Nanboku 鶴屋南北 at the Ichimura‑za 市村座 in Edo in 1823, still occasionally staged today. In fact, the play was presented to Japanese residents in California as Fuwa to Nagoya no saya’ate 不破と名古屋の鞘当. With the original play reduced to the samurais’ quarrel, Tsutsui, like Kawakami Otojirō before him, decided to pad out the threadbare storyline by combining it with another tale. But whereas his predecessor had chosen Dōjōji, the story of a female dancer, Tsutsui opted for another well‑known series of danced pieces (shosagoto)—Kyō ningyō, presenting them sometimes as a

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continuation of the first part of the show, sometimes separately, depending on circumstances.

Kyō ningyō 京人形 (Dancing Doll of the Capital)

41 This shosagoto tells the story of the famous sculptor Hidari Jingorō 左甚五郎 (1594‑1651), who creates a statue of a famous courtesan named Koguruma 小車. In the first part of the play, the statue comes to life and dances with her creator, first as a puppet, then as a real woman after holding a mirror belonging to the courtesan. The second part sees a group of enemies burst into the room in search of a princess; the statue is decapitated instead of the princess, who is able to evade her enemies thanks to the sculptor’s protection. The play ends with a mimed fight scene or tachimawari 立回 り. Many variants exist, including one written in 1847 by Sakurada Jisuke 桜田治助 III and featuring Nakamura Utaemon 中村歌右衛門 IV and Ichimura Uzaemon 市村羽左 衛門 XII, which borrows from and expands on earlier plays from the early eighteenth century.

42 International enthusiasm38 for the theme of a doll coming to life most likely influenced this choice, for Kawakami had already presented a variant (entitled Jingoro) at the Exposition Universelle, and Hanako (or rather Fuller) clearly used it as inspiration for some of her acts. Tsutsui initially combined Kyō ningyō with Koi no yozakura by making Jingorō an impoverished sculptor in love with the geisha and who, having witnessed the confrontation between the two samurai, picks up the mirror the geisha has dropped. In the second act, the sculptor has finished his statue of the geisha and playfully puts a few drops of rice wine on her lips. The statue comes to life; her movements remain hesitant but she begins to dance with infinite grace once he places the mirror on her chest. The play concludes with the couple dancing under the cherry blossoms accompanied by other young girls.

43 After leaving Paris, Tsutsui altered his approach and separated the two stories, although they continued to be presented one after the other. In this new version, Jingorō no longer witnesses the two samurai fighting. The second play opens directly in his studio with him sculpting a beautiful woman with whom he falls in love. He drinks and then gives some to the statue, which comes to life and awkwardly imitates his gestures. He remembers that mirrors represent a woman’s soul and places one in the neckline of her kimono, at which point she begins to move with the elegance and grace of a real woman. The play concludes in front of the ornate façade of Tōshōgū Shrine (東 照宮) in Nikkō, with the doll dancing surrounded by local girls.

Mitsuhide 光秀

44 This play is none other than “Amagasaki no ba 尼ヶ崎の場”, the tenth act (and only one still performed today) of a thirteen-act jidaimono entitled Ehon Taikōki 絵本太功記, written by Chikamatsu Yanagi 近松柳, Chikamatsu Kosuiken 近松湖水軒 and Chikamatsu Sen’yōken 近松千葉軒. Ehon Taikōki was first performed in 1799 by the puppet troupe of the Wakadayū‑za 若太夫座 (Osaka) and subsequently adapted for kabuki in 1800 at the Kado‑za 角座. Inspired by the novel of the same name, it presents one of the most famous episodes of the conflicts preceding the unification of Japan and the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate. It covers the thirteen‑day period—each

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with its own act—between the death of Oda Nobunaga 織田信長 and that of his assassin, Akechi Mitsuhide 明智光秀. In the original, the episode in question shows Mitsuhide’s mother criticising her son for his actions and encouraging her grandson to marry his fiancée before leaving to fight a desperate battle. Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀 吉, Nobunaga’s successor, is determined to avenge his master personally. He disguises himself as a priest in order to enter the home of Mitsuhide’s mother. Mitsuhide, although aware that the priest is really his enemy, accidently kills his own mother. The son returns from battle mortally wounded and informs his weeping father of the defeat. When the enemies arrive, they allow Mitsuhide to leave, telling him that they will meet again on the battlefield (he dies in combat during the final act).

45 This play, absent from the Parisian programmes, was apparently a great success elsewhere, particularly in Germany. Tsutsui generally remained faithful to the original story, apart from the ending which, as demanded by Western audiences, saw Mitsuhide perform hara‑kiri.

Banzuiin Chōbei 幡随院長兵衛

46 This appears to have been a montage of various episodes from a series of plays following the adventures of Banzuiin Chōbei and Shirai Gonpachi 白井権八, two famous otokodate 男伊達 (fighters for justice and virtual outlaws who defended ordinary citizens against arrogant warriors) often presented as lovers. The first act seems to have been a simple variation of Saya’ate; however, the second act, in which Chōbei encounters the handsome young Gonpachi demonstrating his fighting skills against a group of assailants, is very famous and features in all versions of the play.

Kage no chikara 陰の力 (The Shadow Man. French title: Hidden Providence [La Providence cachée])

47 Occasionally presented as Nikkō no Enzō 日光円蔵, this kengeki drama depicted one of the adventures of Kunisada Chūji 国定忠次 (1810‑1850), a gambler and outlaw executed by the government and the hero of many stories, ballades, plays, films and made-for- television movies. The oldest version of the play was written by Kawatake Shinshichi 河 竹新七 III and staged in 1884 by Onoe Kikugorō and Kataoka Gadō 片岡我童at the Ichimura‑za in Tokyo. Practically every theatrical genre explored this theme during the Taishō and Shōwa periods, in particular the kengeki dramas developed by the New National Theatre (Shinkokugeki) founded by Sawada Shōjirō, who in 1919 triumphed in the title role. Variations were also presented by shinpa stars like Ii Yōhō 伊井蓉峰 (at the Imperial Theatre), then by new kabuki, with a version written by Mayama Seika 真 山青果 and staged by Ichikawa Sadanji in 1932. Another version of the story, this time given a political slant, was written by the proletarian playwright Murayama Tomoyoshi 村山知義, who staged the play himself at the Geijutsu‑za 芸術座 in 1957. Tsutsui proposed a fairly non‑traditional version that seems to have resembled the kengeki play Maboroshi no gizoku 幻の義賊 (The Illusory Honourable Thief), which he presented at the Asakusa Kōen Gekijō in September 1926. Press reviews describe the play as having three parts:

48 Act I: “The Pass Inn.” Kunisada’s father is a self-sacrificing peasant willing to make a direct complaint to his local lord in order to save the peasantry from starvation.39 He

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asks his friend Enzō to protect his son and pass on his sword to him at a later date. Kunisada is with his fiancée Tsuyu つゆ, the innkeeper’s daughter. The lord arrives with his retinue and wants to acquire the girl for himself but she refuses. During the ensuing commotion, the father arrives to make his request. The lord becomes angry and orders his men to kill the father and conceal his body. Shortly after, Kunisada, seeing his fiancée captured, begs the lord’s second-in-command to intervene. Enraged by the man’s refusal, Kunisada violently overturns a table and discovers his father’s body. He wants to take revenge immediately but Enzō intervenes and refuse to reveal the name of the murderer, believing Kunisada incapable of facing him at that time. Having sworn to become a master swordsman, the young Kunisada is given his father’s weapon.

49 Act II: “The forest near Sōja-mura.” Kunisada, now an accomplished swordsman, heads a formidable gang of otokodate (chivalrous men who defended commoners). Having come across a family battling a group of bandits, the hero defeats and captures the men before freeing the young girl. Instead of killing his captives, he lectures them and gives them money to begin an honest life. Enzō, seeing Kunisada’s maturity both as a man and a warrior, reveals the name of his father’s assassin.

50 Act III: “The Lord’s Residence.” Tsuyu refuses to become the lord’s concubine despite being a captive. In frustration, he prepares to kill her when Kunisada suddenly appears. The young man puts up a valiant fight but is outnumbered and captured. The lord offers an exchange: he will spare the prisoner if the girl submits to him. The two lovers decide to die together and are about to be executed when Enzō appears, attacks the bad guys, defeats them and allows the wounded Kunisada to kill his father’s murderer and thus exact his revenge. In doing so he violates a law forbidding anyone from raising a hand to their superior. He decides to commit suicide but is prevented by Enzō, who claims the crime for himself, reunites the two fiancés and commits hara-kiri!40

Bushidō (The Way of the Warrior)

51 A kengeki drama (source unknown) and variation on the theme of giri-ninjō, or the conflict between duty and feelings. According to the Berlin programme, the play unfolded as follows:

52 Act I: A great lord holds a sword-fighting tournament at his residence. The winner of the final battle, Watanabe 渡辺, is named sword-master-in-chief and receives a magnificent sword, while the loser, Isogai 磯貝, demands a revenge match but is refused. He leaves vowing to avenge himself.

53 Act II: Watanabe returns home with fellow warrior Soeda 添田 after celebrating his victory. He is ambushed and killed by Isogai, who flees with his family but leaves behind evidence proving his guilt.

54 Act III: One year later, Isogai is living in a village at the foot of Mount Fuji, consumed with regret. As he lies on his deathbed, he asks his wife to educate their son in the way of the warrior so that he will be ready to fight the son of his enemy should he come looking for revenge.

55 Act IV: Seventeen years later, Kazuma 一馬, Isogai’s son, is alone with his fiancée; his mother is away on a pilgrimage. They take in a sick young warrior who has arrived in the village with his man-at-arms. They nurse him, obtain medicine and offer their

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hospitality. The two young men immediately become friends and pledge their allegiance to one another. Meanwhile, Kazuma’s mother returns home and is recognised by Soeda, the man-at-arms, who reveals her identity to his master: Kazuma is none other than the son of his father’s murderer! Although Isogai died long ago, the son is duty-bound to fight Kazuma. Elsewhere, Kazuma’s mother has a similar discussion with her son. With heavy hearts, the two young men cross swords. Kazuma is killed and his mother presents the victor with a new set of clothing that her son will never wear. Soeda is so moved that he commits hara-kiri in offering to the deceased.41

56 As is customary in kabuki, Tsutsui chose to present a handful of shosagoto to accompany these melodramas and provide a counterbalance to their bloody endings. Performed by virtuoso dancers, these danced pieces enrich kabuki programmes with their lively energy, melodies and magnificent costumes.

Matsuri 祭

57 This appears to have been a combination of two highly popular shosagoto from the late Edo period: Kioi-jishi 勢獅子 (The Impetuous Lion), written by Segawa Jokō 瀬川如皐 III and staged in 1851, and Kanda matsuri 神田祭 (The Kanda Festival), written by Mimasuya Nisōji 三升屋二三治 and first staged in 1839. The story, set during the festivities of Edo’s old town, includes a series of popular dances (tekomai 手古舞, kappore かっぽれ, etc.), a geisha parade, Edo‑era firefighter songs (kiyari-uta 木遣歌), and parodies. It concluded with a general dance.

Haru no odori 春の踊り (Spring Dances)

58 A buyō traditional dance. One Berlin newspaper review describes three women dancing slowly and being replaced by two men dancing at a faster pace while making vigorous movements. The costumes are colourful verging on garish and the men’s dance ends with an onstage costume change. Photos exist of the troupe’s actresses, Okada Sumako 岡田須磨子 and Chigusa Momoyo 千草桃代, dancing Chitose 千歳 and Sanbasō 三番叟 respectively. Since this performance took place at the beginning of the New Year, we can suppose that it included a variation of Sanbasō, with Ueno Kazue 上野一枝 (the third woman mentioned in the article) playing Okina 翁, the character who appears onstage first.42

Men odori 面踊り (The Dance of Masks)

59 A variation on the lion dances (shishi-mai 獅子舞) seen at most popular festivals. In kabuki, these dances appear either as street dances or folk performances incorporated into the body of the play, or as shosagoto in which the elegant and timid young girl of the first part transforms into a wild lion, as in the spectacular Kagami jishi 鏡獅子 (The Mirror Lion). Depending on circumstances, this act was either performed as a stand- alone piece or incorporated into other shosagoto.

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Kitsune Tadanobu 狐忠信 (Tadanobu the Fox)

60 Initially this was a road song (michiyuki 道行) taken from Yoshitsune senbonzakura 義経 千本桜 (Yoshitsune and the Thousand Cherry Trees), 43 one of the finest plays in the classical repertoire, written by Takeda Izumo 竹田出雲 II, Namiki Sōsuke 並木宗輔 and Miyoshi Shōraku 三好松落, and first performed as a puppet drama at the Takemoto‑za 竹本座 in 1747. This episode, centring on a dance performed by the beautiful Shizuka and her samurai-bodyguard, later became a stand-alone shosagoto composed by Segawa Jōkō II and entitled Yoshinoyama 吉野山 (or sometimes Tadanobu), staged at the Ichimura‑za in Edo in 1808.

Genroku hanami odori 元禄花見踊り (Genroku Cherry Blossom Dance)

61 A performance of buyō 舞踊 dance and naga’uta 長唄 melodies by the biggest stars of the day at the inauguration of Tokyo’s first modern theatre, the Shintomi‑za 新富座, in 1878. The first section features a series of characters representative of the Genroku era (1688‑1704) who dance under the cherry blossoms wearing magnificent costumes. The second part is a variation on shakkyō-mono 石橋物 (stone‑bridge plays), a spectacular dance performed by a lion excited by some peonies fluttering in front of the titular stone bridge. In the early 1910s, one particular adaptation, used notably as publicity by the Mitsukoshi department stores, was a huge hit.

62 These plays and shosagoto thus made up the repertoire presented by Tsutsui. The performances varied from one city to another, with Tsutsui sometimes alternating two programmes, as he did in Paris, or combining more or less interchangeable dance numbers according to circumstances.

63 For information purposes, what follows is a summary of the plays presented at Daiwa Hall in Los Angeles. These plays were reserved for Japanese residents of California and thus had no influence on Western audiences.

Kondō Isami 近藤勇

64 Most likely a kengeki drama celebrating the exploits of Kondō Isami (1834‑1868), fervent supporter of the Tokugawa regime and leader of the famous Shinsengumi 新撰組, a group of young die‑hards who fought to defend the Shogunate.

Nogi shōgun 乃木将軍

65 A drama devoted to General Nogi Maresuke 乃木希典 (1849‑1912), hero of the Russo‑Japanese War, who went down in history for committing ritual suicide following the death of Emperor Meiji. This may be the first section of a play by Mayama Seika, staged in 1929 by the Shinkokugeki troupe, whose work Tsutsui knew and appreciated. Mayama later added a second and third section, staged as new‑kabuki dramas by Sadanji at the Meiji‑za in 1932.

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Kaijōmae no Ōishi 開場前の大石

66 An extract from Chūshingura 忠臣蔵 (The Treasury of Loyal Retainers) centring on Ōishi Kuranosuke 大石内蔵之助, leader of the valiant avengers.

Utsu mono to utaruru mono 討つ者と討たるる者 (Those Who Attack and Those Who Are Attacked)

67 No information on this play exists; however, given the title, one can suppose it was a kengeki drama.

Public and critical reception

68 Just like the Kawakamis before him, Tsutsui’s work was given a frosty reception by certain Japanese spectators, who protested that it was a “disgrace to the nation”! Although he counted a few prestigious supporters among expatriate Japanese artists like Fujita Tsuguharu 藤田嗣治, who presented Tsutsui’s shows in Paris, and Kikou Yamata,44 who wrote a positive review in the Figaro on 4 May 1930, the vast majority of Japanese, particularly those studying theatre in Europe, were highly contemptuous. The playwright Iwata Toyo’o (1893‑1969), for example, took issue with French stage directors who admired Tsutsui’s work, while Senda Koreya (1904‑1994),45 residing in Berlin at the time, described Tsutsui’s troupe as low‑class showmen and expressed indignation at the admiration shown by Edwin Piscator, who described the performances as the highlight of the season! It is amusing to see these ardent proponents of modern theatre, who in Japan were fighting against tradition, rush to defend it when its orthodoxy was tarnished. No doubt at work was the same arrogant elitism that led them, in the name of their progressive ambitions, to disparage the small itinerant troupes performing taishū engeki (popular theatre).

69 This contemptuous attitude was more or less shared by certain Westerners proud of their knowledge of the Far East, the so-called Old Japan Hands. These individuals were quick to caution against mixing the wheat with the chaff and pointed out that Tsutsui was not presenting “authentic kabuki,” though they were less radical in their criticism. Fritz Rumpft,46 for example, a long-term resident of Tokyo highly knowledgeable on traditional theatre, described Tsutsui as a “sword-fighting specialist performing at the Kinryūkan in Asakusa Park” (which was not strictly speaking true), and deemed his shows to be Japanisches Theater, aber kein Kabuki.

70 The public did not share such reserves and warmly welcomed Tsutsui’s troupe. Press reviews were positive, though the reasons for this varied. While some critics expressed nostalgia for Sadayakko, others were particularly interested in the traditional aspects of the performances: In any case, it is precisely the “traditional” themes and techniques, the legacies of the past, in short, the “style,” that I found delightful and fascinating in this extraordinary show. These noble virtues, for me the most precious contribution of our Japanese guests, are most visible in the dances, but also in the musical ceremonies and, above all, in the splendidly gripping combats.47

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71 Most articles based their summaries on the programmes, focusing in particular on two dramatic plays—Kanjinchō and Kage no chikara—, not unreasonably seeing Koi no yozakura and Kyō no ningyō as charming but ultimately trifling little things, mere animated prints. As usual, however, it was the actors’ performances that most impressed—their technical prowess and ability to switch from dazed despair to wild rage; from innocent smiles to the utmost ferocity.

72 The actors’ art seeks to attain the most intense expression. The contrast [with the beauty of the costumes, scenery and accessories] creates a striking effect. Behind these performances is a meticulous copy of reality. Through long-pursued study, the resemblance ultimately loses all trace of realism. What remains is the residue of an analysis, a series of deconstructed imitative gestures in which each variation in appearance is imbued with tremendous reflective power. The actor’s model is no longer a living being but rather an image that has already been interpreted, studied and determined with precision.48

73 Although flowery language marked by Japonism continued to predominate, more modern, technical commentary also appeared that freed itself from the exotic seduction of the geisha-dolls embodied by Sadayakko and Hanako, charming curios tragically destroyed by the savagery of merciless samurais.

74 In part, this evolution reflected the quality of Tsutsui’s shows, which were indisputably more consequential and closer to kabuki than those of his predecessors, but also the passing of time. Indeed, with three decades having passed since the Kawakamis’ tour, Tsutsui encountered better informed critics who were intrigued by the originality and inventiveness of the theatrical approaches on display. This is visible in critical responses to the musical accompaniment. While in 1900, the Japanese sonorities were roundly criticised, even by a Sadayakko fan like Judith Gautier, the critics of 1930 proved to be more capable of appreciation. André Rouveyre, for example, gave the following description:49 Stylised imitation of the sounds of nature or terse, high‑pitched and subtle accompaniment of some intense psychological aspect. Sounds mainly appear when emotions or passions are at their height. At times a gentle, plaintive bitterness provides a foreboding contrast during an otherwise cheerful passage; at times the joyful trill of a nightingale pierces a scene of the most intense and intimate pain. A thin, reedy chirping accompanies a master armourer as he longingly examines the calibre and quality of a blade… The sounds are invariably surprising and quintuple whatever emotion is being portrayed… All the women play the shamisen, a long, lightweight instrument with three fairly loose strings on which the hand nonchalantly strums a widely flaring plectrum. The neck, stretching out from a fragile body, terminates in a head bearing three pegs that resemble in miniature the decorative combs seen in the hair. The notes and chords of this instrument quiver in a moving, plaintive sound in which one can perceive the slow flight of birds amongst the whirring of insects and the buzzing of bees.

The reaction of Western theatre people

75 European specialists were fascinated by this foreign theatrical art that proposed novel or forgotten techniques potentially applicable to their own theatrical practices. They cared little whether Tsutsui’s work represented the grand tradition or whether it was authentic kabuki. What mattered was the artistic stimulus it provided, the possibilities these new techniques held. Accordingly, when Iwata criticised Copeau and Dullin for

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their enthusiasm for Tsutsui’s troupe, declaring that “These are village festival shows— fit only for workers who have emigrated to the United States. This isn’t kabuki, it’s nothing at all!” Charles Dullin retorted curtly that: “The troupe’s performance was an incomparable revelation. Whether or not it is real kabuki is not my problem! I simply admire their superb and powerful performance.” 50

76 What drew their attention was first and foremost was the actors’ performances, their technical skill and perfect control of their bodies. As Dullin pointed out:51 The way the actors use their body, voice and gestures should be a lesson to us… For them, stylisation is direct, eloquent, and more expressive than reality itself. Each gesture is accentuated by an incisive trait that gives it its full force. If an actor kicks someone, he does not touch his opponent and yet the very execution of the movement is so accurate that it creates an impression of brutality that is even more powerful than reality… The Japanese actor’s body is not only as supple as that of the most skilful dancer; it seems to have been shaped by the theatre, for the theatre… While we have witnessed the triumph of naturalism onstage, for the Japanese actor, the main aim is technical perfection. More than an intellectual, he is first and foremost an instrument whose workings must be constantly perfected… They owe much to puppets and masks. This elevated form of the theatrical art has profoundly marked them and no doubt taught them to use their bodies as a means of expression that is often more eloquent than the face.

77 Rudolf Amendt52 also highlighted the Japanese actors’ expressive gestural technique and ability to pass instantly from emotional outbursts to leaden silences; from immobility to movement and vice versa. He described a scene characteristic of this technique (from Nikkō no Enzō) in a lengthy review published in a Berlin newspaper:53 Then the actor leaves, stumbling as he walks. He has bumped his leg. Staggering, he falls back, crouches on the floor and grabs his painful leg… His rage has vanished; he has forgotten his fiancée’s abduction, as if all his emotion had been absorbed by the pain in his leg… Finally, he stands up and hobbles towards the place where he had stumbled… By rights there should be nothing there. So what is this thing he sees? He checks. It is his father, all huddled over! Astounded, he asks him what he is doing there. There is no reply… His face betrays the first signs of the terror that grips him. He drags his father to a well‑lit area, examines him carefully, then lets go. The father collapses like a sack, dead. Kunisada stands up, remains frozen to the spot, immobile. His flat face is completely expressionless, his dark eyes like empty windows, black holes; he stares ahead. He seethes with anger, as if unable to believe it. Then he collapses in tears; his pain is infinite, bottomless, without bounds. As luck would have it, his older comrade-in-arms appears and helps him gather his wits. Otherwise his lamentations might never have ended. He loads his father’s corpse onto his back and slowly crosses the stage, staggering, bent double under the weight. As he walks, he slowly and gently places his white-powdered face close to that of the deceased.

78 In February 1931, when Meyerhold staged The Last Decisive at the GOSTIM, written by Vsevolod Vishnevsky (1900‑1951), he used kabuki, and specifically this very scene, to explain to his actors what he expected of them.54 Throughout the play we must feel a hint of irony, simplicity and naivety. This is easy for a skilled actor, but very difficult for one who does not have a great technical base. The only troupe in the world to possess this technique in a highly refined, highly sophisticated art is the kabuki theatre troupe. This is the only troupe that has assimilated this technique in such an astonishing manner and possesses it perfectly. When I saw the kabuki troupe in Paris, I found myself thinking it presented an art that I had never seen before that day. I had a theoretical knowledge of kabuki from

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books and images; I was familiar with its techniques. But when I finally saw a performance, it appeared to me that I had read nothing, knew nothing about it at all. What is fundamental in kabuki actors’ technique is that they approach each event with absolute naivety, whether the situation is highly dramatic, tragic or comic. Above all, the actor adopts an attitude or expression that can be understood by any spectator, even the most naïve and least versed in these kinds of niceties. This is this same technique that Chaplin possesses. He too chooses the simplest, most naive and most familiar theatrical effects. He rejects anything that is not accessible to everyone. Kabuki adopts this same approach. However, it adds moments of theatrical rites and rituals when the actors must present masks or characters. They enter the stage and present themselves as participants in the performance… During their theatrical ritual, kabuki actors use solemn actorly gestures, specific rhythmic movements, turn their backs to the audience or show their profile, then when the performance begins, they abandon this technique and begin to act. Furthermore, certain actors are responsible for playing the scenes that move the spectators to tears, others for playing those that make them laugh. When one is familiar with these procedures, one notices that the actors propose to elicit tears and laughter using naive and simple techniques, based on everyday traits that are familiar to the spectator… Just observe how kabuki actors treat such simple subjects. The more naive and simple the subject, the more it must be presented forcefully, inventing myriad little effects. What does Chaplin do? When Chaplin presents an accident, he acts with economy, in an expressive manner; he acts with great tension, gives himself entirely, uses his full technical range. This is how kabuki performers act. Let us take an example. An actor, whose friend has just been killed, arrives and sees the head of his friend poking out of a bush. He is dead. What does the kabuki actor do? One supposes that he says to the audience: “Look! Theatrical moment! I was very attached to this friend; he has been killed and his death pains me. Look! I’m going to perform this scene for you!” And then he performs it.

79 In addition to the physical control they wanted their actors to achieve, Western directors were also fascinated by the techniques employed in Japanese theatre and wondered how they could be adapted to their own work. Brecht set out the issue clearly in a short text, no doubt written shortly after Tsutsui visited Berlin:55 We should try to examine certain elements of foreign performance art for their usefulness. This experiment will be carried out within the very specific situation of our own theatre, where our theatre is not able to fulfil certain tasks (tasks of a new kind)… Now, the above-mentioned foreign technique has long since been in the position to fulfil similar tasks—similar, but not the same ones. The techniques must be separated from those highly essential pre-requisites, transported and subjugated to quite other conditions. In order to begin such an experiment, one must take the viewpoint that there is a kind of technical standard in art, something which is not individual, not already developed, but something one can build on, something transportable. This statement should suffice to show that we are convinced of this. Anyway, this technique cannot be considered to be that “form”… which is only valid in as much as it is the form of its own “content”. Japanese performance technique… can naturally only mean something to us if it is able to recognise our problems. The “Japanese” in it, moreover, its whole “character” or “individual worth” etc., is irrelevant to this discussion.

80 While Brecht by no means sought to imitate kabuki, he discovered in Japanese actors a stylised acting technique based on a system of precise gestures and set poses that flow on from one another, varying in tempo until the actor freezes in one of the highly theatrical poses known as mie. In certain respects, elements of the gestures and diction

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used in kabuki could indeed be adapted to Brecht’s own epic theatre and alienation techniques (Verfremdungseffekt). Thus, when it came to revising his play Mann ist Mann (Man Equals Man) in 1931, Brecht borrowed the onstage costume change employed by Tsutsui in his version of Kanjinchō to portray the transformation of Galy Gay, the docker forcibly enlisted in the army, providing a visual illustration of his metamorphosis from civilian to soldier.56

81 It seems clear that the shows presented by Tsutsui fascinated theatre directors through the quality of the acting and the theatrical techniques employed. The most daring of these individuals did not hesitate to take inspiration and attempt, with varying degrees of success, to adapt them to dramatic compositions with entirely different objectives, such as in the work of Meyerhold and Brecht. In this sense, Tsutsui’s tour was instrumental in the process of exchange and reciprocal influences that was taking place at that time, a process that tends to blur the boundaries in what Levinson defined as a conflict between European and Asian theatre techniques:57 The conflict between the artificial, autonomous and self‑sufficient “theatrical theatre” and the interpretive theatre that imitates life; between form and content, between the human hyper‑marionette that developed from real puppets in Asian theatre and the actor inspired by a great text, between obligation and freedom. This eternal debate, which just half a century earlier still contrasted the decorative, conventional art of the Far East with Western realism, entered a paradoxical period in which the two became blurred; the former softened and tended towards European methods, while the latter, at least in the work of certain theatre directors, aspired to the oriental principal of transposing and completely reconstructing life using the techniques of the acting trade.

Conclusion

82 In reality, the four tours organised between 1900 and 1930 can scarcely be compared, for they took place under different circumstances and with very different objectives in mind. In terms of introducing new audiences to traditional Japanese theatre, only the first and final tours truly played an important role.

83 Although the Kawakamis presented simplified plays, these nonetheless retained links to kabuki and were performed by an experienced troupe capable of showcasing the remarkable dancing and acting talents of Sadayakko and the sword-fighting skills of Otojirō. The couple’s flamboyant personalities, which captivated the press, high society, artistic circles and the world of fashion, enabled their shows to tap into the still-thriving Japonism and embody an emblematic moment in the theatrical life of the period. Nevertheless, one can reasonably suppose that Tsutsui’s work, which went beyond mere exoticism, played a greater role in introducing foreign audiences to kabuki. But to what extent was his work faithful to the original art form and how much did it deviate?

84 With his simplified versions of the classics, his repertoire clearly retained the spirit of kabuki, though sometimes with a heavy focus on kengeki. Furthermore, by systematically including shosagoto, with all their musical and choreographic elements, Tsutsui drew attention to one of the core, and historically founding, aspects of kabuki.

85 In contrast to the Kawakamis, who were driven to represent tradition by circumstances rather than desire, Tsutsui set out on his endeavour with the specific aim of presenting kabuki, albeit in a form adapted to Western audiences. With this in mind, he greatly

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simplified the plots, focused on gestures rather than text, and presented a series of scenes in the style of a revue, alternating dance and combats before the inevitable hara-kiri. He also added—irregardless of the plot—visually attractive scenes featuring parades of geisha in all their finery, as well as sketches mimed by colourful characters. Examples include a blind masseur lashing out at an imaginary dog, a fortune-teller, and a drunk performing an act. However, it must be remembered that all these techniques —blending of genres, combining of excerpts from different plays, inserting of elements purely for entertainment purposes, et cetera—existed in Edo‑period kabuki. In fact, this liberal, free-handed approach to kabuki focusing on its “revue‑style” dimensions, in contrast to the tendency in modern times to remain rigidly bound to a more or less authentic tradition, was also championed by Kobayashi Ichizō 小林一三, founder of the famous all-female Takarazuka theatre troupe, and in particular by his artistic director Tsubouchi Shikō, who told Tsutsui that:58 Even if you give Shizuka’s dance less prominence during the Shizuka‑Tadanobu scene or remove it entirely in order to showcase the dance of Tadanobu the fox, or if you replace the guards pursuing them with young girls, I think it would be effective and achieve its goal. It would also be fine if, in Mitsuhide, you start by introducing the entire family and replace the recitative (jōruri 浄瑠璃) with dialogues spoken in everyday language.

86 He believed that this was the only way to attract both Western audiences and a Japanese youth ignorant of tradition, adding that this approach was necessary for the creation of a truly modern national theatre. In fact, a few years later in 1937, when plans for a Western tour by the kabuki star Onoe Kikugorō VI had just fallen through, Shikō insisted that such a plan had been nonsensical and contrasted it with Tsutsui’s endeavour, in his eyes exemplary. This stance, developed in various articles, mirrored the views of Kobayashi, who sent his all‑girl troupe on a tour of Europe (1938) and the United States (1939).59 Ultimately, the success of the post‑war tours presenting traditional kabuki proved Shikō’s analysis to be incorrect, yet in the context of the 1930s, it was not entirely unjustified.

87 Nonetheless, it was above all onstage, and in particular in the realm of performance techniques, that Tsutsui made an important contribution. Few details are known about the stage design itself; however, the troupe would clearly have had to make do with the standard equipment and facilities provided by Western theatres, with neither hanamachi nor revolving stage, and with different proportions to the great kabuki stages. Still, this undoubtedly posed no problem to a travelling troupe like Tsutsui’s, accustomed to performing in small, poorly equipped venues or even makeshift theatres.

88 Incidentally, a curious misunderstanding exists concerning the sets used during Tsutsui’s tour, particularly in the writings of the highly respected dance specialist Levinson and Dullin:60 It is highly regrettable that the Japanese actors did not perform with a traditional Japanese theatre set. Was it to please the Americans? Was it through fear of disconcerting French audiences? I could not help but notice during the full‑dress rehearsal that those around me took the greatest delight in the scenery, which would not have looked out of place at the pre-war Châtelet theatre. In reality, the contrast between the actors’ remarkable performances and these painted canvasses was disastrous. Whereas the performances demonstrated the actors’ many resources, the scenery seemed designed to illustrate just how

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anti‑theatrical naturalism is and was marred by the total absence of the very virtue it sought to portray: truth.

89 Just what did Dullin mean by “a traditional set”? The austere stages of noh? Perhaps, but in any case, such backdrops had long been standard in kabuki. Even painted in trompe‑l'œil, their aim was clearly not to be realist. Instead they flaunted their artifice and brash colours for the visual delight of the audience.

90 Tsutsui seems to have retained many of kabuki’s musical elements, with the musicians seated either in the wings or onstage, in full view of the audience (particularly for the shosagoto). The use of clappers (hyōshigi 拍子木 and tsuke 付け) to announce dramatic moments was also mentioned in certain articles; however, the troupe does not appear to have employed a narrator (tayū 太夫), who would usually accompany plays from the puppet theatre repertoire. This absence is understandable given that the use of texts was intentionally kept to a strict minimum.

91 Unanimously praised for their skill, the actors were, if not stars, experienced professionals, and their leader, Tsutsui Tokujirō, reputed to be a versatile artist capable of adapting to any performance style. According to one actor who worked with him in Manchuria and was trained in traditional kabuki, he was also sufficiently well versed in this theatrical art to stage a perfectly respectable Kanjinchō. Technically speaking, Tsutsui’s troupe performed in a style derived from Kansai-style kabuki and which gave a fairly good idea of the kabuki actor’s art (except for pure aragoto in the Edo tradition). As for the emphasis on kengeki, this decision seems to have paid dividends, for the press was full of praise for the fight scenes: The sword‑fighting scenes are remarkably and finely tuned. The Japanese actors show truly acrobatic dexterity as they shout, strike blows and leap around. These fearsome swordsmen never cease to fight even as they roll on the floor, gasping for breath. The fight scenes alone are worth seeing.61

92 The major break with tradition of course was the presence of actresses, which in the realm of shinpa and taishūgeki no longer shocked people by this point in time. In any case, the programme had been devised accordingly using plays devoid of major onnagata roles. In fact, any female roles were minor and the troupe’s young women (who were dancers rather than actresses) performed essentially in shosagoto. From this point of view, Tsutsui’s shows contrasted starkly with those of Sadayakko and Hanako, centred entirely on their skills as tragediennes. Critics thus contented themselves with commenting that “these actresses are charming but their roles remain somewhat secondary,”62 and reserved their most effusive praise for the actors.

93 It is difficult to evaluate Tsutsui’s work based on a handful of photographs, programmes, press cuttings and subjective accounts. His approach, while not exactly kabuki, hailed from a popular theatre derived directly from it, and was in its own way authentic, having retained the fundamental aspects of this performing art. The introduction of one of the major forms of traditional Japanese theatre—the two others, noh and bunraku, did not venture onto foreign stages until the 1950s—was, during this same period, accompanied by the publication of two remarkable works written by theatre connoisseurs who were familiar with Japan from having frequented its theatre halls and rubbed shoulders with its actors: Kabuki, the Popular Stage of Japan by Zoe Kinkaid (1925) and Le Théâtre japonais, le Kabuki by Serge Elisséeff (1933). Conversely, in contrast to noh, few translations of the kabuki‑jōruri repertoire have

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been made, particularly into French, though a collection of Chikamatsu plays (translated from English) was published.

94 Nevertheless, when combined with the translations, general reference books and specialist studies published in English and German, Tsutsui Tokujirō’s tour gave a relatively accurate idea of traditional Japanese theatre during the interwar period. While amateur theatre enthusiasts were able to broaden their horizons, the most innovative professionals of the day went even further by using their discovery of Japanese theatre to inspire stimulating reflections on their own work. Despite the concessions made to the supposed tastes of Western spectators and the clearly commercial motivations of his endeavour, Tsutsui Tokujirō’s tour was nonetheless instrumental in improving Westerners’ knowledge of Japanese theatre.

95 To conclude, I would like to pay tribute to the courageous actors and actresses dragged endlessly from one foreign capital to another by their impresarios. From Kawakami to Tsutsui, it is ultimately thanks to the adventurousness of these unconventional showmen and women, prepared to travel for months through unknown lands to play before foreign audiences, that Western spectators were able to gain a true sense of the theatre that had so intrigued the first visitors to Japan.

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NOTES

1. See for example Siegfried WICHMANN, Japonisme (Paris: Éditions du Chêne, 1982); Lionel LAMBOURNE, Japonisme : échanges culturels entre le Japon et l’Occident [Japonism: Cultural Exchange between Japan and the West] (Paris : Phaïdon, 2007); or the catalogue for the exhibition Le Japonisme, held at the Centre Pompidou in 1988.

2. For more on this subject, see Ury EPPSTEIN, “The Stage Observed. Western Attitudes Toward Japanese Theatre,” in Monumenta Nipponica, vol. 48, no. 2, (1993): 147‑166; Erika FISCHER‑LICHTE, “The Reception of Japanese Theatre by the European Avant‑Garde (1900‑1930),” in Japanese Theatre & the International Stage, ed. S. SCHOLZ‑CIONCA & S. LEITER (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 27‑42; Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN, « La Découverte du théâtre par les voyageurs français dans le Japon de Meiji » [The Discovery of Japanese Theatre by French Visitors to Meiji Japan] in Théâtre/Public (special issue: Scènes françaises, scènes japonaises : aller‑retour), no. 198 ( 2010): 23‑26. 3. For a general presentation of this tradition in French, see Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN, Histoire du théâtre classique japonais [The History of Traditional Japanese Theatre] (Toulouse: Anacharsis, 2011). 4. See in particular Nicola SAVARESE, “La peripezia emblematica di Sada Yacco,” Sipario, no. 406 (1980): 6‑13, and Teatro e spettacolo fra Oriente e Occidente (Roma‑Bari: Laterza, 1992); CHIBA Yoko, “Sada Yacco and Kawakami: Performers of Japonism,” Modern Drama,

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vol. 35, no. 1 (1992): 35‑53; Sophie JACOTOT, “Sada Yacco à l’Exposition universelle de 1900 : l’entrée en scène du corps japonais en Occident,” [Sada Yacco at the Exposition Universelle of 1900: The Japanese Body Enters the Western Stage], La Revue du Musée d’Orsay, no. 20 (2005): 18‑25; Shionoya Kei, Cyrano et les samuraï [Cyrano and the Samurai] (Paris: Publications orientalistes de France, 1986). On the Kamakamis’ entire career, see Jonah SALZ, “Intercultural Pioneers: Otojiro Kawakami and Sada Yakko,” Journal of Intercultural Studies, no. 20 (1993): 25‑74. In Japanese, see for example EGASHIRA Kou 江頭光, Hakata Kawakami Otojirō 博多川上音二郎 [Kawakami Otojirō from Hakata] (Fukuoka: Nishi Nihon shinbun-sha 西日本新聞社, 1996), which includes a good bibliography of previously published works. See also the Kawakamis’ own impressions of their trip in Kawakami Otojirō 川上音二郎, Kawakami Otojirō- Sadayakko man’yūki 川上音二郎・貞奴漫遊記 [The Travel Diary of Kawakami Otojirō and Sadayakko] (Osaka: Kaneo bun’en-dō 金尾文淵堂, 1901), and “Pari miyage” 巴里土 産 [Paris Souvenirs], Engei gahō 演芸画法 [Theatre Illustrated], August-September- December issues, 1908. 5. Western chroniclers generally write her name “Sada Yacco.” 6. On Fuller’s career, see Loïe FULLER, Quinze ans de ma vie [Fifteen Years of My Life] (Paris: Librairie Félix Juven, 1908); Rhonda K. GARELICK, “Electric Salomé: Loie Fuller at the Exposition Universelle of 1900,” in Imperialism and Theatre, ed. Ellen GAINOR (London: Routledge, 1995), 85‑104; Loïe Fuller, danseuse de l’art nouveau [Loie Fuller: the Art Nouveau dancer] (Paris: Éditions de la réunion des musées nationaux, 2002). 7. See the Rondel collection (Richelieu Library, Bibliothèque Nationale de France) which includes all of these documents. A selection of these articles can be found in the works cited in note 4. A detailed presentation of the Kamakamis’ tours and the reactions they generated (in particular American) can be found in Joseph ANDERSON, Enter a Samurai: Kawakami Otojirō and Japanese Theatre in the West (Tucson, Arizona: Wheatmark, 2 vol., 2011), and for German‑speaking countries, Peter PANTZER (ed.), Japanischer Theaterhimmel über Europas Bühnen, Kawakami Otojirō, Sadayakko und ihre Truppe auf Tournee durch Mittel- und Osteuropa 1901‑1902 (Munich: Iudicium Verlag, 2005). 8. These documents were found in the 1990s. The first was presented in 1995 by the Japanese public broadcaster NHK; the second was released in CD format by Toshiba as Yomigaeru Oppekepē: 1900‑nen Pari banpaku no Kawakami Otojirō ichiza 甦るオッペケペー 1900 年パリ万博の川上音二郎一座 (Oppekepē Revived: the Kawakami Theatre Troupe at the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1900), 1997. For the history of these documents, see J. SCOTT, “Dispossessed Melodies: Recordings of the Kawakami Theater Troupe,” Monumenta Nipponica, vol. 53, no. 2 (1998): 225‑235. 9. For more information on this issue, see MIYAOKA Kenji 宮岡謙二, Ikoku henro tabigeinin shimatsusho 異国遍路旅芸人始末書 [Overseas Pilgrimage: a report on itinerant performers] (Tokyo: Chūō kōron, 1971); or KURATA Yoshihiro 倉田善弘, Kaigai kōen kotohajime 海外公演事始 [Early Overseas Shows] (Tokyo: Tōsho sensho 東書選書, 1994). 10. For more information on Hanako, see the special feature devoted to her in Asian Theatre Journal, vol. 5, no. 1 (autumn 1988) and “Hanako,” a text by Donald KEENE, published in his Appreciations of Japanese Culture (Tokyo: Kōdansha International, 1971). The biography written by her adopted grandson, SAWADA Suketarō 澤田助太郎, Chiisai Hanako 小さい花子 (Nagoya: Chūnichi shuppan-sha 中日出版社, 1983), was published

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in English (translator unknown) as Little Hanako (Nagoya: Chūnichi shuppan-sha, 1984). See also SAVARESE, Teatro e spettacolo fra Oriente e Occidente, and SHIONOYA, Cyrano et les Samuraï. 11. On Hanako’s ties to Rodin, see SAWADA Suketarō, Rodan to Hanako ロダンと花 子 [Rodin and Hanako] (Nagoya: Chūnichi shuppan-sha 中日出版社, 1996); Mori Ōgai, “Hanako” 花子, translated into French by Emmanuel LOZERAND in La Nouvelle Revue française, no. 599‑600 (2012): 146‑155. On Rodin’s interest in oriental art see Claudie JUDRIN (ed.), Rodin et l’Extrême-Orient [Rodin and the Far East] (Paris: Éditions du Musée Rodin, 1979). 12. For more information on this tour, see KITAMURA Yukiko & Dany SAVELLI, “L’Exotisme justifié ou la Venue du kabuki en Union soviétique en 1928,” [Justified Exoticism or the Arrival of Kabuki in the Soviet Union in 1928] in Slavica Occitania 33 – Le Japon en Russie : imaginaire, savoir, conflits et voyages, ed. Dany SAVELLI (Toulouse: Association Slavica Occitania, 2011), 215‑252. In Japanese, see ŌSUMI Toshio 大隅俊雄 (ed.), Ichikawa Sadanji Kabuki kikō 市川左団次歌舞伎紀行 [The Kabuki Travel Journal of Ichikawa Sadanji] (Tokyo: Heibon-sha 平凡社, 1929), and MATSUI Tōru 松居桃樓, Ichikawa Sadanji 市川左 団次 (Tokyo: Musashi-shobō 武蔵書房, 1941). 13. ICHIKAWA Danjūrō 市川団十郎 IX (1838‑1903), Onoe Kikugorō 尾上菊五郎 V (1844‑1903), ICHIKAWA Sadanji 市川左団次 I (1842‑1904); see TSCHUDIN, Le Kabuki devant la modernité [Kabuki Confronts Modernity] (Lausanne-Paris: L’Âge d’homme, 1995). 14. Although kabuki and shinpa troupes had toured Korea, Taiwan, Manchuria and Northern China, these regions were directly or indirectly under Japanese control at that time and the performances were specifically put on for the occupiers. Some troupes also performed in Hawaii and California, but once again, only for Japanese immigrants. Such tours can in no way be seen as kabuki leaving the Japanese cultural sphere to brave overseas audiences. 15. This difficult-to-define term refers to the kabuki dramas influenced by Western theatre and written between 1890 and 1950. 16. This play was translated into French by René SIEFFERT in Le Mythe des quarante-sept rōnin [The Myth of the 47 Rōnin] (Paris: Publications Orientalistes de France, 1981); see also OSARAGI Jirō’s novel, Les 47 rōnins, trans. Jacques LALLOZ (Arles: Picquier, 2007), which presents the same story (no English translation exists). 17. Text by TSU’UCHI Hanjūrō 津打半十郎, staged in Osaka in 1742 based on a libretto composed by Danjūrō I in 1684. It features in James BRANDON (trans.), Kabuki: Five Classic Plays (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard University Press, 1975). 18. Banchō sarayashiki 番長皿屋敷 [The Dish Mansion at Banchō], Toribeyama shinjū 鳥辺 山心中 [Double Suicide on Mount Toribe], and Shuzenji monogatari 修禅寺物語 [The History of Shuzenji]. The latter two plays can be found, in French, in Okamoto Kidō, Drames d’amour [Love Dramas], trans. by E. STEINHILBER‑OBERLIN and KUNI Matsuo (Paris: Stock, 1929); Shuzenji monogatari had previously been staged by Firmin Gémier, entitled Masque [Mask], as part of the Festival international d'art dramatique et lyrique [International Festival of Lyric and Dramatic Art] held in Paris in 1927. 19. See Georges BANU, “Eisenstein, le Japon et quelques techniques de montage” [Eisenstein, Japan and a Few Montage Techniques] in Collage et Montage au théâtre et dans les autres arts (Lausanne: L’Âge d’Homme, 1978), 135‑143; for the filmmaker’s texts,

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see Sergei EISENSTEIN, Le Film : sa forme/son sens (Paris: Christian Bourgois, 1976), published in English as two books, Film Form and The Film Sense (San Diego: Harcourt, 1969). 20. Literally meaning “sword theatre,” kengeki is the stage equivalent of the samurai film or chanbara eiga ちゃんばら映画.

21. ŌE Michiko 大江美智子, Onna no hanamichi 女の花道 [Women on Stage] (Tokyo: Kōdansha 講談社, 1982). 22. MUKAI Sōya 向井爽也, Nippon minshū engeki shi 日本民衆演劇史 [History of Japanese Popular Theatre] (Tokyo: NHK, 1977), 239. 23. The scholar in question is TANAKA Tokuichi 田中徳一, who since the early 2000s has regularly published articles on this tour, particularly in Studies in International Relations, the journal published by his university, Nihon Daigaku. For a full list of his articles, see his page on the Nihon Daigaku website: http://kenkyu-web.cin.nihon-u.ac.jp/Profiles/ 38/0003786/prof_e.html. 24. Troupe founded in 1917, performing a mixture of shingeki, shinpa, kabuki and kengeki. See Brian Powell, “Le Shinkokugeki: un théâtre populaire un demi‑pas en avant,” [ Shinkokugeki: a popular theatre half a step ahead] in La Modernité à l’horizon, ed. J.‑J. TSCHUDIN, C. HAMON (Arles: Philippe Picquier, 2004), 151‑168. 25. For more information on the American tour, see TANAKA Tokuichi, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza no Ōbei jungyō ryotei” 筒井徳二郎一座の欧米巡業旅程 [Itinerary of the Tsutsui Tokujirō Troupe’s European and American Tour] in Kokusai kankei kenkyū 国際関係研究 [Research in International Relations], vol. 20, no. 2 (1999): 17‑39; “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza no Beikoku e no shōhei to sono keii” 筒井徳二郎一座の 米国への招聘とその経 緯 [Background to the Invitation of Tsutsui Tokujirō’s Troupe to the United States], in Kokusai kankei kenkyū, vol. 23, no. 3 (2002): 155‑193. 26. This was the largest theatre in New York at the time with a capacity of 6,000. Opened in 1927 and located close to Times Square, it presented films and music-hall shows featuring its 200 chorus girls, the famous Roxyettes. The theatre was closed and then demolished in 1960. 27. For more information on the entire tour, see Tanaka, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza no Ōbei jungyō ryotei.” 28. Founded by Baron Henri de Rothschild, the Théâtre Pigalle was initially under the artistic direction of André Antoine, then Gaston Baty, with Gabriel Astruc as manager. This large, modern theatre with a capacity of 1,100 opened on 20 June 1929 with a play by Sacha Guitry. In addition to Tsutsui Tokujirō, it staged many foreign productions, notably by Reinhardt, Meyerhold and the Kamerny Theatre founded by Alexander Tairov. It closed its doors in 1948. 29. The Parisian programme is ambiguous in its use of this name: does it refer to the association organising the production or to the name of the troupe? I have found no other references to the activities of this “Nihon Geki Kyōkai” and the name features neither on the posters I examined (Paris, Berlin, London, New York) nor in the reviews of the day. 30. To view the programmes, press cuttings and other documents on the Parisian performances, see the Auguste Rondel collection at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France (ref. Re 2407).

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31. Founded in 1906, this 970‑seat theatre adopted this name in 1919 before being renamed the Gielgud Theatre after the rebuilding of Shakespeare’s Globe in 1994. 32. For more information on this third stage of the tour, see TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza Ōbei jungyō no keiro to nittei – Baruto engan – Tōō shokoku o chūshin to shite” 筒井徳二郎一座欧米巡業の経路と日程バルト沿岸・東欧諸国を中心として [Programme and Itinerary of the American and European Tour of the Tsutsui Tokujirō Troupe, Essentially in the Baltic Countries and Eastern Europe], in Kokusai kankei kenkyū, vol. 26, no. 2 (2005): 201‑219. 33. This is the name that appeared on the Parisian programme, but the normal pronunciation of her given name is Seisuke. 34. Itō Michio (1892‑1961) studied song and dance in Europe, notably at the Institut Jaques‑Dalcroze in Hellerau, Germany. Then in London, in April 1916, he performed in and helped stage At the Hawk’s Well, a play written by W. B. Yeats under the influence of noh theatre, recently discovered by Yeats thanks to Ezra Pound. Itō next moved to the United States where he enjoyed a successful career as a dancer and choreographer whose work blended oriental and Western arts. He was deported by the Americans during the Pacific War. He was the brother of the renowned theatre‑set designer Itō Kisaku 伊藤熹朔 and Senda Koreya 千田是也, one of the main leaders of the shingeki movement during the Shōwa era. 35. Tsubouchi Shikō (1887‑1986) was the nephew and adopted son of Tsubouchi Shōyō 坪内逍遥. After studying English literature, he undertook a lengthy stay in England and the United States. In addition to being a well‑known actor, playwright and author of books on theatre, he enjoyed an active career as an artistic director, working, among others, for the Takarazuka Kagekidan 宝塚歌劇団 and for the drama section of the Tōhō Company 東宝. For more information, see the paper by Claude Michel‑Lesne in this issue of Cipango in English. 36. For more information on this repertoire, see TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza kaigai jungyō no repātorī ni tsuite” 筒井徳二郎一座海外巡業のレパートリーについて [On the Repertoire of the Tsutsui Tokujirō Troupe’s International Tour], in Kokusai kankei kenkyū, vol. 21, no. 4 (2001), 223‑248. 37. Translation/adaptation available in J. BRANDON, T. NIWA, Kabuki Plays: ‘Kanjinchō’ and ‘The Zen Substitute’ (New York: Samuel French, 1966). The Men Who Tread on the Tiger's Tail (Tora no o fumu otokotachi, 虎の尾を踏む男達, 1945), a film by Kurosawa Akira 黒澤 明, was partly based on this play. 38. This was already a popular theme in the 18th century, for example Jean‑Philippe Rameau’s Pygmalion (1748) and J.‑J. Rousseau’s work of the same name (1771); other examples include E.T.A. Hoffmann’s The Sandman (Der Sandmann) and Léo Delibes’ ballet Coppélia, ou la Fille aux yeux d’émail (1870, English title: Coppélia: The Girl with the Enamel Eyes), not to mention George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, staged in 1914. 39. The play was thus a gimin-mono 義民物, a story in which the hero sacrifices himself for the collective good—usually his village—by denouncing the abuses committed by a cruel administrator directly to the local lord. The hero’s request may be favourably received but is paid for with the complainant’s life for having broken the law imposing respect for the hierarchy. 40. TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza kaigai jungyō,” 233-235.

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41. TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza kaigai jungyō,” 242‑243. 42. A kabuki version of the ritual dances performed by Okina, presented on special occasions; many variations exist, most of them centred on the comic character Sanbasō, and often adapted for onnagata. 43. See the English-language translation by Stanleigh JONES, Yoshitsune and the Thousand Cherry Trees (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991). 44. The painter Fujita Tsuguharu (1886-1968) arrived in France in 1913. He lived in Paris until the early 1930s and quickly became a great success. Having returned to Japan during the war, he moved to France permanently in 1950, converting to Catholicism and taking the name Léonard. Kikou Yamata (1897‑1975) was born in Lyon to a French mother and a Japanese diplomat father who worked with the French art collector Emile Guimet. Perfectly bilingual, she was seen in French high society and literary circles as the elegant “Parisian Japanese woman.” She published many texts (novels, essays and poems) and translations, including a partial translation of the Genji Monogatari. Her article is included in the Rondel collection (Re 2407). 45. Iwata Toyo’o 岩田豊雄 (1893‑1969), a well-known playwright and novelist, studied in Paris (1922‑1925) and regularly visited the Théâtre du Vieux Colombier. Senda Koreya (1904‑1994), an actor who trained with the theatre company Tsukiji Shōgekijō 築地小劇場, lived in Berlin (1927‑1931) and worked with several agitprop troupes. He introduced Brecht’s work to Japan and founded the Haiyū‑za 俳優 座, a leading post-war shingeki troupe. 46. Rumpf, Yamato (1930: 251‑253), quoted by TANAKA “Tsutsui Tokujirō no kaigai kōen to Seiyō engekijin no hannō” 筒井徳二郎の海外公演と西洋演劇人の反応 [The Reactions of Western Theatre People to the Overseas Performances of Tsutsui Tokujirō], in Engeki gakuron shū 演劇学論集 kiyō 紀要 [Theatre Studies], no. 42 (Tokyo: Nihon engeki gakkai 日本演劇学会 [Japanese Society of Theatre Studies], 2004), 90. 47. André LEVINSON, “Compte-rendu du spectacle de Tsutsui,” [Review of Tsutsui’s Show] in Comœdia, 22 May 1930. 48. Pierre BRISSON, “Spectacle japonais au Théâtre Pigalle,” [Japanese Show at Théâtre Pigalle] in Le Temps, 5 May 1930. 49. André ROUVEYRE, “Compte-rendu du spectacle de Tsutsui,” in Le Mercure de France, 1 June 1930, 383‑384. 50. Iwata, quoted by TANAKA, in “Tsutsui Tokujirō no kaigai kōen”, 99.

51. Charles DULLIN, “Acteurs japonais” [Japanese Actors] in Souvenirs et notes de travail d’un acteur [Memories and Notes on an Actor’s Work] (Paris: Odette Lieuthier, 1946), 60‑61. 52. Rudolf Amendt (1895‑1987) was a German actor who later moved to Hollywood and enjoyed a successful career (adopting the American stage name Robert Davis during the war), appearing, among others, in Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. 53. Quoted in TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō no kaigai kōen”, 112. 54. Vsevolod MEYERHOLD, Écrits sur le théâtre [Writings on Theatre] (Lausanne‑Paris: L’Âge d’homme, 1992), vol. 4, 98‑104. 55. Quoted (in German) in Antony TATLOW, The Mask of Evil. Brecht’s Response to the Poetry, Theatre and Thought of China and Japan (Bern: Peter Lang, 1977), 231. Translation taken

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from Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN, “The French Discovery of Traditional Japanese Theatre,” in Japanese Theatre and the International Stage, ed. Stanca SCHOLZ‑CIONCA and Samuel L. LEITER (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2000), 42. 56. Two versions of this play exist: one written in 1925, one revised in 1938 after the triumph of Nazism. 57. André LEVINSON, Les Visages de la danse [The Faces of Dance] (Paris: Grasset, 1933), 252. 58. Quoted in TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō ichiza kaigai jungyō,” 246. 59. TANAKA, “Tsutsui Tokujirō kaigai jungyō no hyōka to Takarazuka ni okeru kokumingeki kōsō” 筒井徳二郎海外巡業の評価と宝塚における国民劇構想 [Evaluation of the Overseas Tour of Tokujirō and the Takarazuka Concept of “Popular Theatre”], Kokusai kankei kenkyū, vol. 27, no 2 (2006): 110‑139. 60. The original quotes hail respectively from LEVINSON, Les Visages de la danse, 252, and DULLIN “Acteurs japonais,” 59.

61. Jean‑Pierre LIANSU, “Compte rendu du spectacle de Tsutsui” [Review of Tsutsui’s Show], Comœdia, 2 May 1930. 62. Fortunat STROWSKI, “La Troupe japonaise” [The Japanese Troupe], Paris-Midi, 2 May 1930.

ABSTRACTS

The discovery of Japanese theatre by Western theatrical buffs was very gradual, starting with the impressions of the first travellers and foreign residents who landed in Japan in the 1860‑1870’s, and slowly progressing with the essays and translations of the pioneers of Japanese studies. But, on the other hand, the opportunities to watch the real thing were extremely few: from the early Meiji up to the 1950’s, only four companies tried to present on foreign stages productions claiming, rightly or wrongly, to belong to the art of kabuki. After a brief sketch of Kawakami, Hanako and Sadanji’s European ventures, this essay examines in detail the long journey of Tsutsui Tokujirō’s company (January 1930-April 1931), which triumphs in practicaly all the Western capitals. Neglected by the Japanese historians, Tsutsui’s work had nonetheless a profound influence on the European stage directors with productions relatively faithfull to the spirit of genuine kabuki.

Les amateurs occidentaux ne découvrent que progressivement le théâtre japonais, d’abord par les témoignages des premiers voyageurs et des résidents étrangers qui arrivent au Japon dans les années 1860‑1870, puis, peu à peu, par les travaux et traductions des pionniers des études japonaises. En revanche, les occasions d’en voir réellement restent rarissimes : de l’ouverture de Meiji aux années 1950, seules quatre troupes s’aventurent sur les scènes étrangères avec des spectacles se réclamant, à plus ou moins juste titre, du kabuki. Après un bref rappel des productions de Kawakami, de Hanako et de Sadanji, cet article se concentre sur la longue (janvier 1930-avril 1931) tournée de Tsutsui Tokujirō qui rencontra un grand succès dans pratiquement toutes les capitales européennes. Négligé par les historiens japonais, le travail de

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Tsutsui exerça pourtant une influence considérable sur les metteurs en scène européens avec des spectacles relativement proches de l’esprit du kabuki authentique.

INDEX

Mots-clés: Tsutsui Tokujirō, kanuki, théâtre japonais, tournées à l'étranger, découverte de la culture japonaise, arts du spectacle Keywords: Tsutsui Tokujirō, kanuki, theatre of Japan, western stages, discovery of Japanese culture

AUTHORS

JEAN‑JACQUES TSCHUDIN Université Paris Diderot – Paris 7

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Gagaku, Music of the Empire: Tanabe Hisao and musical heritage as national identity

Seiko Suzuki Translation : Karen Grimwade

Original release: Seiko Suzuki, « Le gagaku, musique de l’Empire : Tanabe Hisao et le patrimoine musical comme identité nationale », Cipango, 20, 2013, 95‑139, mis en ligne le 18 avril 2015. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/cipango/1999 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.1999

1 At the beginning of the twentieth century Tanabe Hisao 田邊尚雄 (1883‑1984), an acoustician and musicologist, the first ethnomusicologist in Japan and first chairman of the Society for Research in Asiatic Music (Tōyō Ongaku Gakkai 東洋音楽学会), put forward an epoch‑making history of Japanese and Asian music. It presented gagaku as an original genre which, while undeniably part of Japan’s musical heritage, was also representative of a culture shared by all Asian countries. Tanabe’s theories were instrumental in the Ministry of Education’s decision to designate gagaku as an Important Intangible Cultural Property of Japan (jūyō mukei bunkazai 重要無形文化財) on 12 May 1955.1 His studies established gagaku as Japan’s oldest musical genre, one that had remained unchanged over the centuries, illustrating the permanence and immutability of the cultural identity of the Japanese people.2 Although a variety of private gagaku groups exists today, the Ministry of Education’s Committee for the Protection of Cultural Properties considers that only the Music Department of the Imperial Household Agency “preserves an authentic gagaku for future generations and is able to stage artistic performances”.3 In other words, it is the continuity and invariability of this court institution that ensures the authenticity of gagaku. However, as the guardian of a cultural heritage that extends beyond Japan’s shores, gagaku was also presented by Tanabe as the most “universal” music. Here it is helpful to remember that Tanabe developed his definition of gagaku in a context of imperialism and Japanese colonialism, which, in the early 1940s, gave rise to the concept of a “Greater East Asian Music” (Daitōa ongaku 大東亜音楽), as Japan tried to establish itself as the heart of a unified bloc of Asian nations.

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2 It is precisely these postulates of immutability, identity, universality, and, ultimately, the concept of “cultural property” and “heritage”, that this article seeks to explore. To do so I propose to adopt a historical perspective to study the definition of gagaku as a specific musical repertoire, and analyse the process by which this music ascended to the rank of Important Intangible Cultural Property in Japan. Particular attention will be paid to Tanabe Hisao’s role in constructing this image.

Early modern gagaku

3 The current label of gagaku thus refers strictly to the repertoire performed by the twenty‑five musicians from the Music Department of the Imperial Household Agency’s Board of Ceremonies (Kunaichō Shikibushoku Gakubu 宮内庁式部職楽部). Generally speaking, this repertoire can be divided into three categories: • 1. Kokufū kabu 国風歌舞 (national-style [i.e. Japanese] vocal pieces and dances) • 2. Gairai gakubu 外来楽舞 (instrumental music and dances imported from overseas) • 3. Utaimono 歌物 (vocal pieces)4

4 There are two basic occasions on which gagaku is performed: 1) ritual and secular ceremonies reserved for the imperial court, 2) public performances given in concert halls. Such is the definition of gagaku given in the dictionaries and encyclopaedias of Japanese music published over the past thirty years.5 In actual fact, these reference works all draw on the contemporary definition of gagaku that was developed by Tanabe, notably in an article on the subject published in the Dictionary of Music in 1955.6 And this definition has been generally accepted by the academic community ever since. Nevertheless, it would seem useful to remind ourselves what the term gagaku referred to before Tanabe’s time.

5 Ga-gaku literally means “refined” or “legitimate” (ga 雅) “music” (gaku 楽); in other words, music designed to be played during court rites.7 The term appeared for the first time in the Analects of Confucius.8 Indeed, Confucian thought upholds the idea that a monarch should rule through “ritual and music” (in Japanese, reigaku 礼楽) rather than through “punishment and coercion” (keisei 刑政).9 According to these ideas stressing the importance of rites and music as instruments of political morality, the ideal music was gagaku, the ritual music of the imperial court.10 In this way, gagaku did not refer to a particular genre of music but was the common name given to all ritual music played at court. It was used in this sense by successive Chinese dynasties and in countries that fell within the Chinese cultural sphere. The term thus designated a content that differed by region and by period.11

6 In fifth-century Japan, cultural exchange with mainland China and the Three Kingdoms of Korea facilitated the introduction of various types of music from Asia. These were incorporated into court ritual and the rites conducted at Buddhist temples, giving them the hallmark of a refined and official music. The word gagaku is first known to have been used in Japan in 701, in a passage written about the Imperial Music Bureau (Gagaku-ryō 雅楽寮, literally the “Government Department of Gagaku”). This bureau was overseen by the Ministry of Ceremonies (Jibushō 治部省), itself part of the Council of State (Daijōkan太政官).12 Having been established by the Taihō Code (Taihō‑ryō 大宝 令), the Imperial Music Bureau was a school responsible for training the singers and dancers who would perform at court. Consequently, between the eighth century and

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the early tenth century, the term gagaku referred either to the Imperial Music Bureau itself or collectively to the musical styles institutionalised by the Taihō Code and performed by the bureau’s members.13 These included on the one hand “Japanese music” (yamato‑gaku 倭楽), or in any case, compositions seen as belonging to a musical heritage little influenced by the arts of mainland Asia, and on the other “Tang music” (tō‑gaku 唐楽), music from the Three Kingdoms of Korea—“Goguryeo music” (kōrai‑gaku 高麗楽), “Silla music” (shiragi‑gaku 新羅楽), “Baekje music” (kudara‑gaku 百 済楽)—and music and dance known to have come from the Asian continent.14

7 During the Heian period (794‑1182) gagaku prospered within Japan’s imperial culture, not only as a ceremonial music but also as a form of entertainment. The emperor himself was a member of the gagaku musical ensemble. In order to satisfy the demand for gagaku performances and oversee musical entertainment, new departments were created and placed under the control of the Chamberlain’s Office (Kurōdodokoro 蔵人 所). They included the Bureau of Song (Ō‑utadokoro 大歌所) and the Music Office (Gakusho 楽 所).15 From the ninth century onwards the Bureau of Song was responsible for performing the “Japanese” vocal pieces and dances that had previously been the responsibility of the Imperial Music Bureau. Henceforth, the Imperial Music Bureau mainly performed “foreign” music, which was reorganised into two divisions—“Tang music”16 and “Goguryeo music” 17—during the ninth century. However, in the tenth century the Music Office was established and took over the role of performing this “foreign” music from the Imperial Music Bureau. Links between the Imperial Music Bureau, the Bureau of Song and the Music Office appear to have been virtually nil,18 although their members were all high‑ranking dignitaries and court officials.19 These members also included a few families of low-ranking officials, the Ōno 多 and Koma 狛 families for example, who held positions within the Music Office. Some of these families performed kagura, a genre considered at the time to be specific to Japan. Formalized in 1002 during the reign of Emperor Ichijō and henceforth performed regularly before the Inner Sanctum of the Imperial Palace (Naishidokoro 内侍所), this musical ritual, which was intended to be entertainment for the gods, was one of the most important rites at the imperial court. Following the decline of the Taihō system and the ossification of the Imperial Music Bureau in the twelfth century,20 the term gagaku began to refer more narrowly to “Tang music” and “Goguryeo music”.21

8 Although gagaku briefly withstood the arrival of a new military ruling class in the fourteenth century, the Ōnin civil war in the late fifteenth century saw the hereditary guilds of gagaku musicians forced to leave the ruined imperial capital, leading gagaku to virtually disappear. At the end of the sixteenth century the emperor summoned the hereditary guilds that had survived at the temples of Kōfuku-ji 興福寺 in Nara and Shitennō‑ji 四天王寺in Osaka to gather at the imperial court in Kyoto and perform at official ceremonies. This led to the reconstruction of the Music Office in the three cities of Kyoto, Nara and Osaka.22

9 The Tokugawa shogunate is known to have encouraged Neo-Confucian studies during the Edo period, and significantly, Confucianism attaches considerable importance to gagaku.23 At the same time, the shogunate preserved the arts and culture of the court in the imperial capital, though within the limits of the laws it had enacted. It provided financial patronage to the hereditary guilds of gagaku musicians and summoned some of them to move to Edo, the administrative capital, and perform rites at the mausoleum of Tokugawa Ieyasu (Tōshōgū 東照宮) in Nikkō and at Momijiyama, located within the

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precincts of Edo Castle.24 These hereditary guilds primarily performed “Tang music” and “Goguryeo music”.

10 During the second half of the Edo period, as part of the move to restore imperial ceremony to the court, a succession of emperors requested that certain long-extinct genres of “Japanese” vocal music and dance be revived. These included azuma‑asobi 東 遊 (entertainment from the eastern provinces), yamato‑mai 倭舞 (dance from the Yamato region), and kume‑mai 久米舞 (dance of the Kume clan),25 which would become the gagaku of the Meiji era. The majority of the compositions known as gagaku during the modern period are thus revivals from the Edo period. Nevertheless, this evolution was not without its opponents: Matsudaira Sadanobu, third lord of the Shirakawa Domain, mounted a resistance against the hereditary guilds in 1829 and sought to restore the original meaning of gagaku as a “legitimate” or “ritual” music. He believed that the term gagaku could refer only to kagura and azuma‑asobi, the only legitimate genres of ritual court music (due to being “specifically Japanese”).26

Gagaku as “national music” during the Meiji period

11 With the Meiji Restoration of 1868, the emperor and the seat of national government left Kyoto and moved permanently to Tokyo—the eastern capital—in May 1869. On 7 November 1869, the imperial government began to summon musicians from the three gagaku hereditary guilds in Kyoto, Nara and Osaka to the new capital in Tokyo.27 There, they were primarily required to perform kagura—the most important form of dance at the imperial court—, other “Japanese” vocal and dance pieces (revivals from the Edo period), “Tang music” and “Goguryeo music”. Together these repertoires formed part of the imperial rites and ceremonies that were restored at the new court in Tokyo.28 In a move intended to revive the Imperial Music Bureau of the eighth‑century imperial court, a Music Department (Gagaku‑kyoku 雅楽局) was established within the Council of State in November 1870. In 1871 the reform of Japan’s administrative organisations saw the Music Department become a Music Section (Gagaku‑ka 雅楽課), which was subsequently placed under the responsibility of the Imperial Household Ministry in 1889.29 In contrast to Japan’s other traditional performing arts, gagaku was the only music performed before the emperor and institutionalised once again by the Government of Japan, and this no sooner had it been reformed.30 Thus, gagaku found itself defined administratively, just as it had been in the eighth century, as any music performed by the Music Section of the imperial court, regardless of whether this consisted of “music specific to our country” (wagakuni koyū no gaku 我邦固有ノ楽) or “music originating from Goguryeo or the Tang Dynasty” (tō kōrai den no gaku 唐高麗伝 ノ楽).31

12 Another important point to note is that beginning in 1874, gagaku musicians were also obliged to perform Western music at certain imperial ceremonies that had been inspired by the West.32 Music thereby provided a means for Japan to affirm its modernity and also reflected its desire to rival—if not surpass—Western levels of cultural development. Accordingly, musicians from the Music Section established the first Western orchestra in Japan. A certain number of them also carried out research on Japanese music and taught Western music at the Ministry of Education’s Music Research Institute (Ongaku Torishirabe Gakari 音楽取調掛).33

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13 The fate of gagaku during the Meiji period was heavily influenced by the concept of “national music” (kokugaku 国楽), which played a central role in the “creation of national identities in Europe”.34 In Europe, musical nationalism, which already existed in the late eighteenth century, truly emerged in the mid‑nineteenth century during the formation of the nation-states.35 In Japan, “national music” often played a similar role to ritual music in Confucian thought.36 Indeed, during this period national music and ritual music shared the same edifying and moral character.37 They came together for the first time on September 12, 1872, at the opening ceremony for Japan’s first railway line. Two pieces of “Tang music” were played by the Music Section as the national flag was raised before Emperor Meiji: Manzai‑raku 万歳楽 at Shimbashi Station and Keiun‑raku 慶雲楽 at Yokohama Station. Gagaku was thus truly considered a “national music”.38

14 The move to restore imperial rule to Japan and create a State Shintō also led palace rituals—and thus the music performed at them—to be redefined.39 The most dominant among these genres was kagura, a ritual music and dance rooted in Japanese myth and thus seen as having divine origins, and the number of kagura performances increased spectacularly.40 In parallel, Japan’s participation at the Exposition Universelle de Paris in 1878 obliged the court’s gagaku musicians to define themselves as performers of “Japanese music”.41 This is an important point to make because their attendance at the world fair led them to write scores as well as a presentation of their art, in what was one of the first summary texts on gagaku.42 In it they explained that kagura was considered to be the most elevated form of gagaku due to it being “specifically Japanese”. What is more, an official document recommended that if musical instruments were to be displayed, those used to perform kagura should be placed at the front.43

15 However, more than the musicians themselves, the discourse on “national music” was primarily shaped by officials at the new government’s Ministry of Education, such as Megata Tanetarō 目賀田種太郎 (1853‑1926) and Isawa Shūji 伊沢修二 (1851‑1917). Their concept of “national music” was inspired by the elementary school curriculum used in the United States, developed in Boston in 1838 based on the theories of the Swiss educator Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (1746‑1827). In fact, given the political context of nation building in a country with a growing immigrant population, the main objective of music instruction in the United States at that time was to teach non- English-speaking children authentic language and pronunciation through song, which was part of the “national music” curriculum.44 Building a modern nation through “national music” was exactly what Megata and Isawa hoped to achieve, and they were duly sent to Boston to study the city’s primary school education system by the Japanese Ministry of Education in 1875.

16 Despite this, Megata and Isawa were far from placing gagaku at the heart of their reflections. Upon their return from the United States they suggested creating a “national music” repertoire that drew on a wide variety of sources:45 National music must consist of national songs and melodies that can be sung or played by any member of the Japanese people, whether they be an aristocrat or a commoner, with no distinction made between the sophisticated and the common. For this we must draw on high quality musical works—past and present—that are peculiar to our country, but also, if necessary, on European works.

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国学（＝楽）トハ我国古今固有ノ詞歌曲調ノ善良ナルモノヲ尚研究シ、其ノ足 ラザルハ西洋ニ取リ、貴賤ニ関ハラズ又雅俗ノ別ナク誰ニテモ何レノ節ニテモ 日本ノ国民トシテ歌フベキ国歌、奏ヅベキ国調ヲ興スヲ言フ

17 In short, the authors saw “national music” as referring to a repertoire that had to be defined by the Japanese people of the time and not to a refined gagaku from the country’s imperial past; nor for that matter to popular or European music. Instead this “national music” had to be created by taking the best elements from each of these genres. This ideal is visible in the three volumes of the Collection of Primary School Songs (Shōgaku shōka shū 小学唱歌集), published between 1881 and 1884 by the Ministry of Education’s Music Research Institute. Note that this collection was published to teach children the heptachord, the seven-note scale used in the West. It drew on exercises taken from the Primary of First National Music Reader written by the Boston music educator Luther Whiting Mason (1828‑1896), who was invited to Japan by Isawa, the then director of the Music Research Institute.46 In fact, the activity report produced by this institute stressed the similarity between the heptachord used in gagaku (a “specifically Japanese” music) and that used in ancient Greek music (a “European music”).47 This illustrates the educational role expected to be played by the repertoire of a musical genre involved in the emergence of a new nation.

18 Furthermore, despite the Music Section’s desire to establish its art as a “national music”, the definition of gagaku as a music originating in China and Korea (which was the generally-accepted definition until the Edo period) largely survived. This is the case, for example, in the Nihon jisho genkai 日本辞書言海, a famous dictionary compiled in 1879 by Ōtsuki Fumihiko 大槻文彦, whose definition was used in almost all Meiji‑period dictionaries. The idea of gagaku being a national music also attracted staunch opposition. An anonymous article entitled “The Gagaku Association and the Establishment of a National Music,” published in the literary journal of Tokyo Imperial University, gave three damning reasons why gagaku should not be Japan’s “national music”:48 first, it was a musical genre imported from overseas and enjoyed only by high society; second, it was only performed in cities; and third, it was far from having been the only musical genre in Japan’s history, the Japanese people having taken an interest in many others. As we can see then, the idea that gagaku was a “national music” was not universally accepted; some wanted the concept of “national music” to be based on more than gagaku’s long history.

19 Particular attention must be paid to what could be described as a Romantic logic characterised by a high regard for the notions of people and tradition: namely, that no music not performed by the entire nation could be considered a national music. This line of thought, which consisted in idealising a lost past supposedly belonging to the entire national community, mirrored the beliefs held by those who took an interest in “folk songs” during this era.

20 In fact, within Japan there was a literary movement inspired by German Romanticism which aimed to collect popular songs from around the country and compose new ones. Supporters of this movement wanted to strengthen national identity using songs that were bound up in the local, regional identity.49 The Japanese term min’yō 民謡 (folk song), coined by Mori Ōgai to translate the German word Volkslied,50 was definitively adopted after being employed by Ueda Bin 上田敏 (1874‑1916), a poet, translator and scholar of English literature.51 The interest shown in folk songs by these two individuals

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underlines the importance of min’yō as a subject of reflection for the intellectuals driving Japanese modernity.

21 At the beginning of the twentieth century, having defeated “Great Russia” in the Russo‑Japanese War (1904‑1905), Japan began to reassess its belief in the primacy of “Western‑style” modernisation and set about searching for a specifically Japanese modernity. In this context, in a continuation of the discourse on national music, the debate on folk songs spread to early twentieth‑century musical thought. Folk songs also became an important subject in the National Literature department at Tokyo Imperial University, where Shida Yoshihide 志田義秀 (1876‑1946), a student of Japanese literature,52 published a series of articles promoting them as part of the Romantic spirit.53

22 His work, which grouped together all “specifically Japanese” songs such as the saibara pieces considered since the ninth century to be the songs of stable hands,54 allowed musicians from the Music Section to argue that the “specifically Japanese” songs that made up part of their repertoire should be considered “folk music”, in other words specific to the Japanese people. In doing so they refuted the argument that gagaku was a foreign music, performed only for and by an aristocratic elite, and therefore ineligible as a “national music”.

23 Shiba Fujitsune 芝葛鎮 (1849‑1918), head of the court gagaku musicians during the late Meiji period, wrote a new definition of gagaku in the Great Dictionary of National History. In it he distinguished between “vocal pieces” (utaimono or utamono 歌物) and “instrumental pieces” (kangen 管絃), placing folk songs in the category of utaimono.55 This definition was regularly re‑employed, for example by Tōgi Tetteki 東儀鉄笛 (1869‑1925), a former court musician and teacher of Western music at Waseda University, in the published version of his lectures given at that university.56

Tanabe Hisao: from acoustician to musicologist

24 While in the Meiji period it was essentially musicians who defined gagaku as a “national” or “Japanese” music, in the Taishō period (1912‑1925) this role was taken up by academics, notably under the influence of Tanabe Hisao.

25 Tanabe Hisao was born in Tokyo on 16 August 1883. He was adopted by a relative— Tanabe Teikichi 田辺貞吉, managing director of the Sumitomo Bank—following the death of his mother in 1892. Having received a Suzuki violin from his adoptive father, Tanabe was able to study music as soon as he began to show an interest in this instrument during a secondary-school music class. He continued to study the violin as an undergraduate student in the Faculty of Science and Technology at the First Higher School (Ichikō 一高) in Tokyo. It was here that he discovered books on German music theory thanks to meeting eminent specialists in the field such as Otsukotsu Saburō 乙 骨三郎 (1881‑1934), who taught the aesthetics and history of music at Tokyo Music School, and Ishikura Kosaburō 石倉小三郎 (1881‑1965), author of the first History of Western Music (Seiyō ongaku shi 西洋音楽史) published in Japan.57

26 Tanabe’s family environment significantly influenced his education: very early on he had access to a collection of entry‑level music books published in the United States, such as How to Listen to Music: Hints and Suggestions to Untaught Lovers of the Art (1897) by Henry Edward Krehbiel, and How Music Developed: A Critical and Explanatory Account of the

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Growth of Modern Music (1898) by William James Henderson.58 He also possessed a gramophone along with a considerable collection of Japanese and Western music records, which he shared with his adoptive father. This no doubt contributed to his success. Having been accepted at the prestigious Tokyo Imperial University, Tanabe graduated top of his class from the Physics Department in 1907. His final-year dissertation, entitled Acoustic Studies on Wind Instruments (Kangakki no onkyōgaku teki kenkyū 管楽器の音響学的研究, 1907), examined the 1863 book On the Sensations of Tone as a Physiological Basis for the Theory of Music, written by the German physician and physicist Hermann von Helmholtz (1821‑1894).59

27 At the time when Tanabe was beginning his studies on music, a certain number of Japanese physicists were already working in the field. One such example is Tanaka Shōhei 田中正平 (1862‑1945), an acoustician and Doctor of Science who travelled to Germany in 1884 at the behest of the Ministry of Education and studied under Helmholtz for approximately fifteen years at the University of Berlin. Upon his return to Japan in 1899, he was inspired by the advice he had received from Helmholtz to found the Institute for Research on National Music (Hōgaku Kenkyū‑jo 邦楽研究所) in 1905, the aim being to study “Japanese music” by transcribing it using a Western system of notation.60 Tanabe joined this institute in 1907, during his first year as a PhD student at Tokyo Imperial University, and began to study Japanese music under Tanaka. It was here that he began his career in research. Note that under the impetus of the Meiji government many researchers and academics from Tanaka’s generation went to study in Europe and the United States, whereas Tanabe, like many other scholars of his age, studied and spent his entire career conducting research in Japan.

The history of Japanese music from an evolutionist perspective

28 Under the influence of Helmholtz, Tanabe’s study of Japanese music drew heavily on an approach borrowed from the physical and natural sciences. In this sense, Tanabe’s studies appear to be a variant of early twentieth‑century European musicology, which was also heavily influenced by Helmholtz’s work. Beginning in 1909, Tanabe published several articles in the Journal of Oriental Art and Science (Tōyō gakugei zasshi 東洋学芸雑 誌) on the subject of Chinese harmony and scale as the origins of gagaku. He continued this research by comparing Western, Chinese and Japanese scales in a book entitled The Principles of Music Studied from the Perspective of Modern Science (Saikin kagakujō yori mitaru ongaku no genri 最近科学上より見たる音楽の原理), published by Uchida Rōkaku Ho 内 田老鶴圃in 1916.

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Figure 1. Tanabe Hisao 田辺尚雄

http://22982298.blog.fc2.com/blog-category-29.html (25 May 2014).

29 Nevertheless, the dominant view of Japanese music history in Japan at the time made it particularly difficult to adapt Western musicology. Japanese music, with its lack of fixed score, reduced focus on harmony, and relative invariability throughout its history, was seen as incapable of being incorporated into the evolutionist view of music history that prevailed in Helmholtz’s work and in the West in general. Thus, Japanese arts like gagaku, Noh and Kabuki, seen as “national” arts because they were presented as having passed through the ages unchanged, could not be the end result of a long historical evolution. They stood as a kind of counterexample of evolutionist thought. While it is certainly possible to categorise music chronologically according to historical sources, as Konakamura Kiyonori 小中村清矩 (1821‑1895) did in 1888 in his pioneering study of Japanese music history,61 his failure to establish a connection between the different genres made it impossible to follow the example of European history by describing music as a phenomenon that had evolved from time immemorial to the present day. Tanabe thus faced a challenge: namely, how to champion a view of music as being necessarily fixed and unchanging if it is to be considered national, while simultaneously incorporating music into an evolutionist perspective in line with the scientific conventions of his time? He attempted to resolve this paradox in Lectures on Japanese Music (Nihon ongaku kōwa 日本音楽講話), his first book on the history of Japanese music considered from an evolutionist point of view, published by Iwanami Shoten in 1919. In contrast to earlier studies, for example the previously cited work by Konakamura, which simply juxtaposed various types of music according to descriptions of them in historical sources, Tanabe proposed to consider the history of Japanese music as an evolutionary process in which cultivated music imported from overseas had been gradually “Japanized”. In this approach, he stressed the coexistence

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of two contradictory types of kagura: an “underdeveloped” (mikaiteki 未開的), “primitive” (genshiteki 原始的) kagura dating back to the mythical origins of Japan, before the importation of foreign gagaku; and a more “formal” (keishikiteki 形式的), “artistic” (geijutsuteki 芸術的) kagura recreated during the Middles Ages based on foreign gagaku but with a “specifically Japanese spirit” (nihon koyū no seishin 日本固有 の精神).

30 At the same time as Tanabe, and despite being unable to find traces of it having been performed before the Middle Ages (Heian period), the Music Section of the imperial court stressed that the kagura it performed was directly linked to ancient times. This unsubstantiated claim did not satisfy Tanabe’s scientific aspirations. According to his evolutionist perspective, the noblest form of gagaku was not to be sought in primitive expressions of this music, but rather in those derived from foreign importations revisited by the Japanese spirit during the Middle Ages: Kagura from the Middle Ages is completely different to kagura from ancient times; it is a new art totally recreated during the second third of the Heian period, with a Chinese form and a Japanese spirit. 後世の神楽は平安朝の中期に至つて支那の形式を参考し之れに日本の精神を加 へて全く新たに制定した新芸術であつて上世の神楽とは全然別ものである。62

31 In his eyes, it was this addition of a “specifically Japanese spirit” that had allowed “cultivated” Chinese music to be assimilated and transformed into a “Japanese” music, echoing the process of borrowing and assimilating Western music that had taken place during the Meiji period. And it was by asserting this process and this Japanese spirit that it became possible to speak of a truly national music capable of rivalling Western music. However, despite this being his stated objective, Tanabe came to the conclusion that the state of gagaku at that time did not make such an equivalence possible. Although it could be seen as the result of a long evolutionary process, Japanese music lacked one final characteristic: Japanese music cannot possibly match Western music in terms of rationality. It is infinitely less methodical than the music of Beethoven. However, this in no way diminishes the value of Japanese music. 理性的に於ては日本音楽は到底西洋音楽に及ばない。日本音楽は如何に之を弁 護せんとしても其組織に於て到底ベートーフェンの音楽に比肩されるものはな い。然しその事は少しも日本音楽の価値を下げるものではない。63

32 This comment illustrates what for Tanabe could be a potential “rational” weakness in Japanese music compared to Western music, namely, the absence of a fixed score, its relative harmonic simplicity, for example. But at the same time, he asserted the value of this Japanese music, stressing that it was a national music created by a “specifically Japanese spirit”.

Preserving gagaku via sound recordings

33 Tanabe’s evolutionist theories found a notable application with the creation of a gagaku compilation called the Heian Court Music Records (Heian-chō ongaku rekōdo 平安朝音楽レ コード) or the Gagaku Records (Gagaku rekōdo 雅楽レコード. Recorded in July 1920, it featured an accompanying booklet that sought to put forward a new theory on gagaku.64

34 The instrumental role played by records in shaping both Tanabe’s career and his views on music should not be underestimated. Indeed, Japan mirrored Western countries in its introduction and increasingly wide distribution of the talking machine, beginning

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with the invention of the sound recording in 1877 and followed by the Edison-type wax cylinder phonograph in 1878 and Émile Berliner’s flat disc gramophone in 1887.65 In 1920, Tanabe was already famous for his unparalleled knowledge of all things gramophone and record related. In fact he gave a series of music-themed lectures around Japan in which he played musical recordings on discs, leading him to be nicknamed the “record presenter” (chiku-ben 蓄弁).66 In 1920 he was also named adviser to the editorial committee of the magazine Music and the Gramophone (Ongaku to chikuonki 音楽と蓄音器)67, then in 1923 he became one of the main members of the Ministry of Education’s Record Selection Committee. He wrote a number of highly successful guides to records, such as Music and the Contemporary Lifestyle (Gendaijin no seikatsu to ongaku 現代人の生活と音楽, 1924) and Essential Music to be Enjoyed at Home (Katei de ajiwau beki rekōdo meikyoku kaisetsu 家庭で味ふべきレコード名曲解説, 1925), which were published with the aim of educating the musical tastes of the urban middle class that had formed during the Japanese “Belle Époque” in the 1910s and 1920s.

35 The gagaku record compilation came about at the initiative of Machida Kashō 町田佳聲 (1888‑1981), a collector of folk music recordings and head of the Association for the Preservation of [Japanese] Classical Music (Kokyoku Hozon Kai 古曲保存会). It was he who asked Tanabe to produce the gagaku records and write the accompanying booklet. To aid him in his task, Tanabe enlisted the Music Section of the imperial court, where he gave lessons on music theory and the history of Western music.68 According to Tanabe, eight musicians willingly accepted his request. The conditions stipulated by Tanabe and Machida were as follows: each musician would play three two-hour sets per day in return for a daily sum of ten yen.69 The selected pieces of music were recorded onto twenty discs in an order that reflected Tanabe’s evolutionist chronology: • 1. Ancient music peculiar to Japan (nihon koyū no jōko ongaku 日本固有の上古音楽): two discs • 2. Music from Goguryeo (koma-gaku 高麗楽): two discs plus one side • 3. Music from China (shina no ongaku 支那の音楽): four discs plus one side • 4. Music from the barbarians of Western China (shina seibu no igaku 支那西部の夷楽): one disc plus one side • 5. Music from India and Central Asia (indo oyobi chūō ajia no ongaku 印度及中央アジアの音 楽): five discs • 6. Compositions almost completely recreated in Japan (nihon de daibubun kaisakushita gakkyoku 日本で大部分改作した楽曲): one disc plus one side • 7. Saibara (催馬楽 “poems sung in Japanese”): two discs • 8. Rōei (朗詠 “Chinese poems sung in a Japanese style”): one disc.70

36 In this way, Tanabe was able to set out his evolutionist theory by recording gagaku onto discs in a sequence that reflected its “evolutionary order”.71 The records physically presented gagaku according to a fixed evolutionary order, constructing in the process a historical linearity and geographic unity: • 1. From antiquity to the Suiko period (named after the empress who reigned from 593 to 628)—music peculiar to Japan: kagura, kume-uta, kishi-mai 吉志舞, azuma-asobi, yamato-mai, and so on. • 2. From the Suiko period to the first third of the Heian period (794‑1185)—music imported from other Asian countries: chōsen-gaku 朝鮮楽 (Korean music), shina-gaku 支那楽 (Chinese music), indo-gaku 印度楽 (Indian music), and nihon de maneta gaku 日本で真似た楽 (music created in Japan but imitating styles imported from Asia).

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• 3. From the second third to the end of the Heian period—music blending the Japanese repertoire with a style imported from elsewhere: saibara, rōei and imayō 今様.72

37 He thus categorised gagaku into three genres seen as representing three stages in its evolution and as being capable of legitimising gagaku as the original Japanese music, in line with the imperial ideology of the time. Tanabe’s stance also mirrored the opinion of musicians within the Music Section, who held “specifically Japanese” kagura to be the highest form of gagaku (despite Tanabe’s previously noted disagreement with these musicians over the relationship of ancient kagura with newer forms). By referring to the beginning of Japanese history in this way, Tanabe’s theory established gagaku as a symbol both of Japan’s specificity and of its evolution.

38 The gagaku record compilation also clearly illustrates the influence of discs on Tanabe’s musicological views and the importance he saw in this medium as a tool for educating the population73 and establishing Japan’s musical heritage.

From national music to “Greater East Asian” music

39 In January 1920 Tanabe received funding from the Keimei Foundation (Keimei-kai啓明 会) for his “scientific research on the theory of oriental music”.74 Having initially situated court gagaku at the beginning of Japanese history, Tanabe now placed it at the beginning of world history. In November 1920, while studying the musical instruments conserved at the Imperial Treasure House (Shōsō‑in 正倉院) in Nara, he put forward the idea that the kugo 箜篌, a harp used in ancient gagaku, might date back as far as the Old Assyrian Empire.75 This musical instrument allowed Tanabe to widen his field of study both chronologically and geographically.

40 His early studies on “oriental music,”76 carried out in April 1921 in Colonial Korea, aimed partly to verify his hypothesis on the kugo’s origins and partly to preserve the gagaku belonging to the ancient court of the Joseon Dynasty (1392‑1910).77 The initiative fell to the Government-General of Korea (and thus Japan), which asked the Music Section of the Japanese court to save the Gagaku Department of the ancient court of Korea. Ue Sanemichi 上眞行 (1851‑1937), head of the Music Section and a teacher at Tokyo Music School, passed the request on to Tanabe, who quickly left for Korea, taking with him his recently released gagaku compilation. During his time in Korea, Tanabe gave several lectures on Japanese gagaku with the aid of his discs. The colonial government provided everything he needed to work comfortably and conduct his research as he saw fit. Tanabe claimed that his work in Korea, which saw him record, photograph, film and transcribe Korean gagaku using the Western notation system, collect musical instruments, conduct radio broadcasts and inspire Korean research on the subject, helped to safeguard this art as a musical heritage.78 However, at the same time, the Japanese Government-General of Korea manifestly used the safeguarding of Korean gagaku as a form of cultural propaganda designed to justify its annexation of the peninsula and curry favour with the Joseon Court, particularly after the Korean independence movement of 1919, known as San’ichi undo三一運動 (Samil Undong or March First Movement).79 Note that Korea’s role in the Japanese study of gagaku was twofold. Not only did some of the oldest pieces of gagaku hail from Korea, placing the peninsula at the origins of this art in Japan, but in the early twentieth century Korea also provided Japan—now a colonial power—with a laboratory for its best specialists to test the most modern recording techniques and most innovative theories.

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41 Although Korea was first on his list, Tanabe quickly began to conduct his research on “oriental music” in Japan’s other colonial territories or those under Japanese rule. These included Taiwan in the spring of 1922, Okinawa in the summer of 1922, China in the spring of 1923, the Sakhalin peninsula and the Kuril Islands in the summer of 1923, Manchuria in the spring of 1924, the Caroline Islands in the summer of 1934, and Manchuria once again in the autumn of 1940. In China and Manchuria Tanabe’s research focused specifically on ancient gagaku and he gave lectures that were punctuated with excerpts of Japanese gagaku recordings. He saw his work as having clear political implications, commenting that the Chinese protests against Japan on National Humiliation Day,80 on 9 May 1923 in Beijing, were halted thanks to his lecture on “The Value of Chinese Music”. During this lecture given at Beijing University, Tanabe stated that Japan would return gagaku to China, from where it had disappeared, if China thanked the Japanese imperial family for having safeguarded it.81 Tanabe further claimed that this lecture inspired research on “national music” in both China and Korea.82 Tanabe’s reflections on oriental music appeared in his Study of Japanese Music, published in 1926, which provided “a revolutionary interpretation of the history of Japanese music drawing heavily on a comparative study of oriental music”.83 In 1929 his Study of Oriental Music was awarded the Imperial Academy Prize (Teikoku gakushiin shō 帝国学士院賞)84 and the following year he became the first lecturer in Japanese music history at Tokyo Imperial University. He also served as chairman of the Society for Research in Asiatic Music, founded in Tokyo in 1936 by one of his students, the historian of East Asia Kishibe Shigeo 岸辺成雄 (1912‑2005), and Iida Tadasumi 飯田忠 純 (1898‑1936), a historian of Islam.85

42 The framework for carrying out scientific research on “oriental music” was thus in place. Writing in 1937, in the opening article for the first issue of the journal published by the Society for Research in Asiatic Music, Tanabe stressed the importance of Asian music being studied by Asian people themselves.86 Just as the proverb “ex oriente lux” (Out of the East, light) says, the brilliant culture of the modern West was created from elements originally imported from the East, which the West accumulated and developed over a long period before reaping luxuriant flowers and abundant fruits. And yet, since entering the twentieth century this brilliant modern Western culture has begun to show signs of stagnation and decline… The sun that rises in the East is currently setting in the West. Today, the world is once again waiting for a light to come from the East. That is why many Westerners have recently begun to make strenuous efforts to conduct research on oriental culture. However, this research should be carried out by Orientals themselves. It is time that we Japanese, in whom the Orient has placed such hope, take the initiative in studying oriental culture! 『光は東方より』といふ諺があるが、西洋近代の燦然たる文化はもと東洋より 輸入されたもので、それを長年月に捗って蓄積発展せしめた結果、近代に至っ て燗漫たる花を開き、豊熟せる果を実らせたものであつた。 然るに此の燦然たる西洋近代の文化も、今世紀に入って漸く沈滞し、腐敗する の傾向を示すに至った。[…] 東方より出でたる太陽は今や正に西方に没せんと しつゝあ る。 茲に於て今や世界は再び東方よりの光を熱望して居る。斯くして最近多くの西 洋人は多大の努力を東洋文化の研究に致して居る。然しながら東洋の研究は東 洋人の手によってなされなければならぬ。今や東洋の誉望を担ふ我が日本人は 世界に率先して東洋文化の研究に其力を尽さなければならない。

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Figure 2. “The Imperial Treasure House (Shōsō‑in) Kugo” (Shōsō in no kugo 正倉院の箜篌)

“The Imperial Treasure House (Shōsō‑in) Kugo” (Shōsō in no kugo 正倉院の箜篌), a name given by Tanabe; Ue Sanemichi 上眞行, Ōno Tadamoto 多忠基 and Tanabe Hisao, “Shōsō‑in gakki no chōsa hōkoku” 正倉院楽器の調査報告 [Research Report on Musical Instruments Held at the Shōsō‑in], in Teishitsu hakubutsukan gakuhō 帝室博物館学報 [Bulletin of the Imperial Museum], no. 5 (1921): appendix of illustrations).

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Figure 3. “The Assyrian Kugo” (Asshiria no kugo アッシリアの箜篌)

“The Assyrian Kugo” (Asshiria no kugo アッシリアの箜篌), name given by Tanabe; ibid.

43 However, despite Tanabe stating that “Orientals” must undertake research on the Orient themselves, he failed to say how they should go about reclaiming this object of study.87 For both Tanabe and Japanese musicologists alike, the initial task was thus to redefine and specify what the musical sphere of the “Orient” was in relation to the pre‑existing definition established by Western musicology. In fact, the academic study of the Eastern world had been invented by the West and the term “oriental music” always referred to “non‑Western music” indiscriminately, with no account taken of geographical and cultural specificities.

44 Tanabe proposed a first definition in December 1941 by releasing a ten‑disc compilation entitled East Asian Music ( Tōa no ongaku 東亜の音楽) with the record label Columbia‑Nipponophone. This was not the first attempt to establish a compilation of Asian music. In 1928, Erich von Hornbostel (1877‑1935) at the University of Berlin had compiled a twelve-disc collection called Musik des Orients (Music of the Orient), released by Parlophon‑Odeon.88 Tanabe was highly critical of Hornbostel’s collection, which he deemed too “exotic”. Instead he underlined the need for an “authentic compilation of oriental music,”89 meaning an anthology compiled by “Orientals” themselves. The following year, in 1942, Tanabe followed up on his first attempt by compiling a Greater East Asian Music Compilation (Daitōa ongaku shūsei 大東亜音楽集成), a set of thirty‑six 78‑rpm records produced by the Society for Research in Asiatic Music and released by Japan Victor Records, and Music of the South [of Asia] (Nanpō no ongaku 南方の音楽), a set of six 78‑rpm records released by Columbia‑Nipponophone.90The explanations and commentaries that accompanied Tanabe’s work were highly scholarly, bringing to mind the phonographic archives established by the universities of Vienna and Berlin, and by the Musée de l’Homme (Museum of Mankind) in Paris, institutions that had laid

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the foundations for scientific research in the field of comparative musicology (known at the time as ethnomusicology) in the early twentieth century.

45 The most important point to note is that Japanese music is entirely absent from all three of these compilations of Greater East Asian music. And even though it is not explicitly stated by Tanabe, “Japan” refers not only to the archipelago itself but also to Korea and Taiwan, which were considered to be an integral part of the country. In the explanatory booklet he wrote for East Asian Music, Tanabe sets out his reasoning:91 From a geographical point of view our country is part of East Asia. And from a historical point of view, Japanese music is part of the history of oriental music. However, we must look beyond the surface… because Japan lies at the heart of Asia…. All the cultural roads, from ancient times to the present day, have converged upon our country. All of these cultures have been preserved, unified, assimilated and recreated by the Japanese spirit, thereby creating a specifically Japanese culture. Today, Western culture, which has entered Japan, is also helping to shape contemporary Japanese culture. Therefore, Japanese music is by no means one kind of Asian music but rather its culmination; it is the aggregation of world music. 我が日本は地理的に見て東亜の一部であるとも言へる。又た日本音楽は歴史的 に見て東亜音楽の一部である とも言へる。然しその事を表面的に考へてはなら ぬ。[…] 何故かといふに、日本はアジアの中心に位する。[…] 従つて太古より今 日に至るまで此の凡ての文化交通路は我が日本に集まり、従つてその文化は日 本に集まつて集積され、綜合され、消化され、日本人の独創性によつて建設さ れ、斯くして独自なる日本文化が作り上げられたのであつて、今日は欧米の文 化も亦た直ちに日本に入つて現代日本の文化を作りつゝある。従つて日本音楽 は決して東亜音楽の一系ではなくて、一面に於ては東亜音楽の集大成であり、 一面に於ては世界音楽の集成である。

46 The make-up of this “oriental music” was not devoid of incoherence. A correlation can be drawn here with the Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere, which was the Japanese government’s attempt in 1940 to establish an economic hold over the Asian nations it dominated. “Greater East Asian Music” and “Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere” were both the fantasised products of Japanese colonialism and did not correspond to any concreate reality. Accordingly, when Tanabe was required to give meaning to this concept, it was to gagaku that he attributed the role of being the “aggregation of world music” and the “music of Greater East Asia”:92 Gagaku alone can be recognised as the leader of Greater East Asian culture. Having been imported from China, India and the South Pacific, refined and developed in Japan over a thousand years, gagaku is respected by all countries as being the music of Greater East Asia… I believe that no sooner has gagaku been exported to Greater East Asia than it will be instrumental in unifying the music of these countries. たゞ一つ今日直ちに持つて行つて彼等が大東亜文化の指導者として眞に尊敬し 得るものは雅楽があるのみである。雅楽及び舞楽は元来唐や印度や南洋方面か ら輸入されて、而も千年の年月を経て我が国で精錬発達したものであるから、 今日そのまゝ大東亜音楽として萬邦斎しく仰き見るものではある [...]。但し一 旦これが大東亜諸国へ持ち出された暁には、恐らく大東亜音楽の中心はこれに よつて統一されるに至るであらうと信じてゐる。

Gagaku as a national and universal heritage

47 This is clearly the most idealised view of gagaku to have existed throughout its history. Though one might have expected it to disappear after the shock of defeat in 1945, its trace is still visible in postwar discourses, albeit in a different form. Whereas prewar

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gagaku was defined as the “music of Greater East Asia,” postwar gagaku was held up as an “Important Intangible Cultural Property” of Japan:93 Of all our country’s classical music, it is gagaku that is respected the world over as a universal art. 我国の古典楽の中において、そのまま国際的の性質を帯びた芸術として世界の 尊敬を受けて居るものは雅楽である。

48 In short, gagaku found a new way of being universal. From an art capable of uniting several Asian cultures through a shared past and common origins, it now adopted the status of a world heritage recognisable for its singularity and long history.

49 In 1955 Tanabe was one of nineteen jury members responsible for selecting and managing cultural properties in the performing arts section of the Committee for the Protection of Cultural Properties (a position known in Japanese as bunkazai senmon shingi iin 文化財専門審議委員), which was established by the Ministry of Education. Tanabe’s view of gagaku’s history as consisting of three stages (ancient music, imported music, Japanized music) and his belief that gagaku had existed right at the origins of Japan and thus the world, is perfectly recognizable in the anonymous commentary that accompanied the decision to honour gagaku94: [Gagaku] is the oldest performing art in the world: it is a fusion of the ancient music of our country with musical genres imported from Asia, which were then Japanized around the Heian period. It has disappeared overseas and now exists only in Japan. It is the source of all the musical genres performed throughout Japan’s history. [...] Only the Music Department at the Imperial Household Agency has preserved this music in its authentic form and is able to perform it artistically. わが国古来の音楽と、アジヤ大陸の諸国から伝来した音楽とが、渾然融合し、 わが国風に大体平安朝頃に改整せられた世界最古の芸能で、外国では滅亡し、 ひとりわが国にのみ伝えられており、各種邦楽の源流をなしている。 [...] 正統に伝え、芸術的に演じ得るのは宮内庁楽部である。

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Figure 4. Booklet accompanying the East Asian Music compilation

Booklet accompanying East Asian Music, the record collection compiled by Tanabe Hisao. Tōa no ongaku 東亜の音楽, (Tokyo: Columbia‑Nipponophone コロムビア・ニッポノフォン, 1941).

Conclusion

50 In this article I sought to conduct a step-by-step exploration of the way gagaku was harnessed as a symbol of the national culture during each of the main chapters in Japan’s modern history. During the Meiji period for example, as Japan sought to establish itself as a nation‑state, we saw that gagaku was redefined as both court music and popular music at the initiative of the Music Section at the imperial court. We then saw how, at the turn of the century, the combined influence of contemporary Western musicology and Tanabe Hisao—one of the individuals responsible for introducing it to Japan—brought about a new view of gagaku as having three distinct registers (ancient native music, imported music, Japanized music). This view made it possible to present gagaku as being at once the oldest music of Japan and the most evolved. By skilfully combining as it did imperial logic—the need for historical validation—with the modernist and scientific ideology that characterised industrialised nations, this view came to dominate during the 1910s and 1920s (the years of the Taishō democracy). A few years later, still under Tanabe’s influence and with Japan in a conquering mood, gagaku found itself defined as the music of Greater East Asia on the basis that it was the most elevated form of a shared musical heritage, an instrument capable of unifying the various territories under Japanese domination. Finally, in a natural progression from its previous definition, we saw how the postwar designation of gagaku as an intangible cultural property came about as Japan attempted to build a national cultural identity that oscillated between the two extremes of nationalism and universalism.

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“Immutable” and “authentic” gagaku was henceforth forever listed as part of Japan’s heritage, thereby contributing to creating the collective memory.

51 Generally speaking, people tend to see an abrupt change as having taken place between prewar and postwar Japanese thought. In reality, however, after its defeat Japan simply shifted to a “cultural nationalism” that replaced the prewar nationalism, and this purportedly in the name of democracy. The reason for this is that under the American occupation (1945‑1953), Japan was forced to seek to rise from its ashes using the principles of “minzoku no fukkō 民族の復興” (rebirth of the nation) and “bunka kokka 文 化国家” (a nation made strong by its culture).95 It is this historical context that spurred the process, beginning in 1950, that led to gagaku being designated as a national cultural property by the Ministry of Education in 1955. Just as other intellectuals among the Taishō elite became conservative forces after the warm,96 Tanabe helped rebuild Japan’s postwar imperial culture and was thereby involved in establishing this “cultural nationalism”. It was also students of his, notably Kishibe Shigeo and Kikkawa Eishi 吉川英史 (1909‑2006), who ensured the development of Japanese music after the war. While it can certainly be argued that they fought to “safeguard” Japanese music and assert its cultural identity as a means of avoiding traditions being abandoned in the new society of American‑occupied Japan, the granting of heritage status to gagaku also allowed Japan to forget its history of musical colonisation and recast it in a more positive light by describing gagaku as a cultural vestige of Asia. The history of modern Japanese music thus reflects the process by which Japan has sought to assert its cultural identity since the end of the nineteenth century.

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Figure 5. Booklet accompanying the Greater East Asian Music compilation

Booklet accompanying the Greater East Asian Music compilation. Tanabe Hisao, Daitōa ken fūzoku shashin shū. Fu: daitōa ongaku no tokusei 大東亜圏風俗写真集: 附: 大東亜音楽の特性 [Photo collection of folklore from the Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere. Appendix: The special characteristics of Greater East Asia], Daitōa ongaku shūsei 大東亜音楽集成 [Greater East Asian Music Compilation] (Tokyo: Japan Victor Records 日本ビクターレコード, 1942).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Selective list of publications by Tanabe Hisao Listed in order of publication, from the earliest to the most recent

Onkyō to ongaku 音響と音楽 ([Acoustics and Music] (Tokyo: Kōdōkan 弘道館, 1908).

Seiyō ongaku kōwa 西洋音楽講話 [Lectures on European Music] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書 店, 1915).

Saikin kagakujō yori mitaru ongaku no genri 最近科学上より見たる音楽の原理 [The Principles of Music Studied from the Perspective of Modern Science] (Tokyo: Uchida Rōkaku Ho 内田老鶴圃, 1916).

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Nihon ongaku kōwa 日本音楽講話 [Lectures on Japanese Music] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書 店, 1919).

Gagaku Tsūkai 雅楽通解 [An Explanation of Gagaku] (Tokyo: Kokyoku Hozon Kai 古曲保存会, 1921).

Chōsen riōke no kogakubu: waga kyūchū no bugaku tono kankei 朝鮮李王家の古楽舞: 我が宮中の舞 楽との関係 [The Ancient Music and Dance of the Court of the Yi (Joseon) Dynasty in Korea: Links with Bugaku from the Japanese Imperial Court], in Keimei kai daigokai kōen-shū 啓明会第五回講演 集 (Tokyo: Keimei‑kai 啓明会, 1921).

Nihon ongaku no kenkyū 日本音楽の研究 [Research on Japanese Music] (Tokyo: Kyōbunsha 京文 社, 1926).

Tōyō ongaku shi 東洋音楽史 [The History of Oriental Music] (Tokyo: Yūzan Kaku 雄山閣, 1930).

Tōyō ongaku no inshō 東洋音楽の印象 [Impressions of Oriental Music] (Tokyo: Jinbun Shoin 人文 書院, 1941).

Daitōa to ongaku 大東亜と音楽 [Music and Greater East Asia] (Tokyo: Monbushō Kyōgaku Kyoku 文部省教学局, 1942).

Daitōa no ongaku 大東亜の音楽 [Greater East Asian Music] (Tokyo: Kyōwa Shobō 協和書房, 1943; reprinted by Tokyo: Ōzorasha大空社 in 2003).

“Koten ongaku no bunka-zai toshite no kachi 古典音楽の文化財としての価値” [The Value of Classical Music as a Cultural Property], Bunkazai geppō 文化財月報 [Monthly Report on Cultural Properties], Bunkazai hogo iinkai 文化財保護委員会 [Committee for the Protection of Cultural Properties], no. 1 (December 1951).

Nanyō Taïwan Okinawa ongaku chōsa kikō 南洋・台湾・沖縄音楽調査紀行 [Travelogue of Music Research Carried Out in the South Pacific, Taiwan and Okinawa] (Tokyo: Ongaku no Tomo Sha 音 楽の友社, 1968).

Chūgoku chōsen ongaku chōsa kikō 中国・朝鮮音楽調査紀行 [Travelogue of Music Research Carried Out in China and Korea] (Tokyo: Ongaku no Tomo Sha 音楽の友社, 1970).

Tanabe Hisao jijoden 田辺尚雄自叙伝 [Autobiography of Tanabe Hisao] (Tokyo: Hōgaku Sha 邦楽 社, 1981).

Zoku Tanabe Hisao jijoden 続田辺尚雄自叙伝 [Sequel to the Autobiography of Tanabe Hisao] (Tokyo: Hōgaku Sha 邦楽社, 1981).

Record compilations by Tanabe

Heian-chō ongaku rekōdo 平安朝音楽レコード [Heian Court Music Records], 20 discs (Heian-chō Records 平安朝レコード and Imperial Records インペリアルレコード, 1921).

Tōa no ongaku 東亜の音楽 [East Asian Music], 10 discs, S6001A-S6010B (Tokyo: Columbia- Nipponophoneコロムビア・ニッポノフォン, 1941; re‑released by Tokyo: Columbia Music Entertainment in 1997, COCG‑14342).

Daitōa ongaku shūsei 大東亜音楽集 成 [Greater East Asian Music Compilation], 36 discs, released in partnership with the Society for Research in Asiatic Music (Tokyo: Japan Victor Records 日本 ビクターレコード, 1942).

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Tanabe Hisao, Kurosawa Takatomo 黒澤隆朝 and Masu Genjirō 桝源次郎, Nanpō no ongaku 南方 の音楽 [Music of the South], 6 discs, S6016‑S6021 (Tokyo: Columbia‑Nipponophone コロムビ ア・ニッポノフォン, 1942).

Related studies

BOILÈS, Charles and Nattiez, Jean‑Jacques, “Petite histoire critique de l’ethnomusicologie” [A Short Critical History of Ethnomusicology], Musique en jeu, no. 28 (1977): 26‑53.

FUJII Kōki 藤井浩基, Ongaku ni miru shokuminchi ki Chōsen to nihon no kankei shi: 1920‑30 nendai no nihonjin no katsudō o chūshin ni 音楽にみる植民地期朝鮮と日本の関係史: 1920‑30年代の日本人 による活動を中心に [History of Relations between Colonial Korea and Japan from a Musical Perspective: On Japanese Practices during the 1920s and 1930s], doctoral thesis in art and culture 芸術文化学 (Osaka: Osaka University of Arts, 2008).

OSA Shizue 長志珠絵, “Kokka to kokugaku no isō 国歌と国楽の位相” [Aspects of the National Hymn and National Music] in Bakumatsu meiji ki no kokumin kokka keisei to bunka henyō 幕末・明治 期の国民国家形成と文化変容 [Creation of the Nation-State and Cultural Transformations during the Late Edo Period and the Meiji Period], ed. Nishikawa Nagao 西川長夫 and Matsumiya Shūji 松宮秀治 (Tokyo: Shin’yōsha 新曜社, 1995), 455‑486.

TERAUCHI Naoko 寺内直子, Gagaku no “kindai” to “gendai”: keishō, fukyū, sōzō no kiseki 雅楽の<近代> と<現代>: 継承・普及・創造の軌跡 [Gagaku during the “Modern Period” and the “Present Day”: The path of transmission, diffusion and creation] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2010).

UEMURA Yukio 植村幸生, “Tanabe Hisao to tōyō ongaku no gainen” 田辺尚雄と「東洋音楽」の 概念 [Tanabe Hisao and the Idea of “Oriental Music”] in Rekishi hyōshō to shiteno higashi ajia 歴史 表象としての東アジア, ed. Asakura Yūko 浅倉有子 and Jōetsu Kyōiku Daigaku Higashi Ajia Kenkyū Kai 上越教育大学東アジア研究会 (Osaka: Seibundō 清文堂, 2002), 225‑239.

UEMURA Yukio 植村幸生, “Nihonjin ni yoru Taiwan shōsū minzoku no kenkyū: Tanabe, Kurosawa, Koizumi no gyōseki o chūshin ni” 日本人による台湾少数民族音楽の研究: 田辺・黒沢・小泉の 業績を中心に [Japanese Research on the Music of Taiwan’s Ethnic Minorities: On the Work of Tanabe, Kurosawa and Koizumi], Jōetsu kyōiku daigaku kiyō 上越教育大学研究紀要, no. 22‑2 (2003), 301‑312.

WATANABE Hiroshi 渡辺裕, Nihon bunka modan rapusodī 日本文化モダンラプソディー [Japanese Culture, Modern Rhapsody] (Tokyo: Shunjūsha 春秋社, 2004).

YAMAZUMI Masami 山住正巳, “Gagaku to ten’nō sei: tokuni shōka kyōiku seiritsu ki o chūshin ni” 雅楽と天皇制：とくに唱歌教育成立期を中心に [Gagaku and the Emperor System: The period of the creation of singing classes at school], Rekishi hyōron 歴史評論, no. 602 (June 2000), 2‑13.

NOTES

1. Kanpō 官報 (Official Gazette), 12 May 1955. Japan was the first country in the world to adopt the designation of Intangible Cultural Property (mukei bunkazai 無形文化財). See Bruno NETTL, The Western Impact on World Music: Change, Adaptation, and Survival (New York: Schirmer Books, 1985). The UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Cultural Heritage, inspired by UNESCO’s Japanese Director-General, Matsuura Kōichirō 松浦晃一郎, was adopted in October 2003 and modelled on the

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Japanese intangible heritage protection system; Mariannick JADÉ, Patrimoine immatériel: Perspectives d’interprétation du concept de patrimoine [Intangible Heritage: Interpretations of the concept of heritage] (Paris: L’Harmattan, 2006), 85‑86. 2. For more information on the history of the creation of modern Japan’s heritage and canons in the field of literature and the arts, see SATŌ Dōshin 佐藤道信, “Nihon bijutsu” tanjō: Kindai Nihon no “kotoba” to senryaku 〈日本美術〉誕生: 近代日本の「ことば」と 戦略 [The Birth of “Japanese Art”: The “language” and strategies of modern Japan], part of the Kōdansha Sensho Mechie series 講談社選書メチエ (Tokyo: Kōdansha 講談 社, 1996); Christophe MARQUET, “Conscience patrimoniale et écriture de l’histoire de l’art national” [Heritage Awareness and the Writing of National Art History] in La Nation en marche [A Nation in Progress], ed. Claude HAMON and Jean-Jacques TSCHUDIN (Arles: Picquier, 1999), 143‑162; Christophe MARQUET, “Le Japon moderne face à son patrimoine artistique” [Modern Japan and its Artistic Heritage], Cipango, special edition, “Mutations de la conscience dans le Japon modern” [The Changing Conscience of Modern Japan] (spring 2002): 243‑304. On the subject of Japanese literature, see HARUO Shirane ハルオ・シラネ and SUZUKI Tomi 鈴木登美 (ed.), Sōzō sareta koten: kanon keisei, kokumin kokka, nihon bungaku 創造された古典: カノン形成・国民国家・日本文 学 [Inventing the Classics: Canon formation, the nation-state and Japanese literature] (Tokyo: Shin’yōsha 新曜社, 1999); Emmanuel LOZERAND, Littérature et génie national: naissance d’une histoire littéraire dans le Japon du XIXe siècle [Literature and National Genius: The birth of a literary history in 19th century Japan] (Paris: Belles Lettres, 2005). 3. 正統に伝え、芸術的に演じ得るのは宮内庁楽部である; Bunkazai Hogo Iinkai 文化 財保護委員会, “Gagaku,” List of Intangible Cultural Properties, Kikan Bunkazai 季刊文化 財 [Quarterly Report of Cultural Properties], vol. 3 (1955): 41. 4. See for example the entry for gagaku 雅楽 in the dictionary Kōjien 広辞苑, 6th edition (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, 2008), 484. 5. See for example Nihon Ongaku Daijiten 日本音楽大事典 [Dictionary of Japanese Music] (Tokyo: Heibonsha 平凡社, 1989); Gagaku Daijiten 雅楽大事典 [Dictionary of Gagaku] (Tokyo: Ongaku no Tomo Sha 音楽の友社, 1989). 6. TANABE Hisao, KIKKAWA Eishi 吉川英士 and HIRAIDE Hisao 平出久雄, “Nihon no gagaku,” 日本の雅楽 [Japanese Gagaku] in Ongaku Jiten 音楽事典 [Dictionary of Music], vol. 2 (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1955), 206‑216. 7. François PICARD, La Musique chinoise [Chinese Music] (Paris: Minerve, 1991), 46 and 80. 8. Analects of Confucius (Lun Yu 論語), chapter 17, paragraph 18.

9. Ibid., chapter 13, paragraph 3. See Véronique ALEXANDRE‑JOURNEAU, “Avant‑propos,” [Foreword] in Yueji 樂記: Le livre de musique de l’Antiquité chinoise [Yueji: The book of ancient Chinese music], trans. Véronique ALEXANDRE‑JOURNEAU (Paris: You‑Feng, 2008), xiii. 10. Analects of Confucius (Lun Yu 論語), chapter 17, paragraph 18. 11. On the history of ancient gagaku, see OGI Mitsuo 荻美津夫, Nihon kodai ongaku shiron 日本古代音楽史論 [Studies on the History of Ancient Japanese Music] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan 吉川弘文館, 1977), 27‑61. 12. Shoku nihon-gi 続日本紀 [Chronicles of Japan, Continued], in the section dated earth‑dog day (tsuchinoe inu), seventh month of the first year of Taihō (701). 13. OGI, Nihon kodai ongaku shiron, 16.

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14. Ibid., 76-77. These musical genres are detailed in a document by the Council of State dated month nine of the year 848. 15. Francine HÉRAIL, La Cour et l’Administration du Japon à l’époque de Heian [The Court and Government of Heian Japan], (Geneva: Droz, 2006), 27 and 663‑666. 16. Musical style that also included “Champa music” (rin’yū-gaku 林邑楽), named after the kingdom located in central Vietnam, as well as Japanese compositions modelled on Tang music. 17. In addition to “Goguryeo music” proper, this included “Silla music,” “Baekje music,” and “Balhae music” (bokkai‑gaku 渤海楽), named after the kingdom that was founded after the fall of Goguryeo. Together these represent the entire range of musical styles from the Korean peninsula. 18. HÉRAIL, La Cour, 664.

19. OGI Mitsuo 荻美津夫, Heian-chō ongaku seidoshi 平安朝音楽制度史 [The History of Heian Japan’s Musical Institutions] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1994), 24‑57 and 137‑228. 20. Ibid., 23. 21. OGI, Nihon kodai ongaku shiron, 17‑21.

22. NISHIYAMA Matsunosuke 西山松之助, Iemoto no kenkyū 家元の研究 [Studies on the Iemoto or Family System within the Arts] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1989), 161‑168. 23. For more information on the gagaku studies carried out during the Edo period, see ŌTSUKI Kunio 大築邦雄, “Kinsei no gagaku kenkyū” 近世の雅楽研究 [Edo Period Gagaku Studies], Ongaku‑gaku 音楽学 (Journal of the Japanese Musicological Society), 10‑3 (1964). 24. On the institutionalisation of gagaku during the Edo period, see OGAWA Tomoko 小川 朝子, “Kinsei no bakufu girei to sanpō gakuso” 近世の幕府儀礼と三方楽所 [Ceremonies of the Tokugawa Shogunate and the Sampō Gakusho during the Edo Period] in Chūkinsei no kokka to shūkyō 中近世の宗教と国家 [Religion and the Early Modern State], ed. IMATANI Akira 今谷明 and Takano Toshihiko 高埜利彦 (Tokyo: Iwata Shoin 岩田書院, 1998), 407‑446; OGAWA Tomoko, “Gakunin” 楽人 [Gagaku Musicians] in Geinō bunka no sekai 芸能文化の世界 [The World of the Performing Arts Culture], ed. Yokota Fuyuhiko 横田冬彦(Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 2000), 19‑53. 25. On the revival and reorganisation of gagaku during the Edo period, see HIRAIDE Hisao 平出久 雄, “Edo jidai no kyūtei ongaku saikō oboegaki,” 江戸時代の宮廷音楽再興覚え 書 [Essay on the Revival of Court Music during the Edo Period], Gakudō 楽道 [The Way of the Arts] vols. 212‑215 (June to September 1959); TSUKAHARA Yasuko 塚原康子, Meiji kokka to gagaku 明治国家と雅楽 [Gagaku and the Meiji State] (Tokyo: Yūshisha 有志舎, 2009), 15‑41. 26. MATSUDAIRA Sadanobu, “Zokugaku mondō 俗楽問答” [Dialogue on Popular Music; 1829] in Rakuō-kō isho 楽翁公遺書 [Posthumous Collection of texts by Rakuō], ed. EMA Seihatsu 江間政発, vol. 2 (Tokyo: Yao Shoten 八尾書店, 1893), 13‑34. 27. TSUKAHARA, Meiji kokka, 47‑51. 28. Ibid., 42‑71. On the invention of imperial traditions, see TAKAGI Hiroshi 高木博志, Kindai tennōsei no bunkashiteki kenkyū: Tennō shūnin girei, nenchū gyōji, bunkazai 近代天皇 制の文化史的研究: 天皇就任儀礼・年中行事・文化財 [Cultural‑Historical Research

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on the Modern Emperor System: Enthronement ceremonies, seasonal rites and cultural heritage] (Tokyo: Azekura Shobō 校倉書房, 1997); François MACÉ, “Le Shintō désenchanteur” [Disenchanting Shintō], Cipango, special edition “Mutation de la conscience dans le Japon Moderne” [The Changing Consciousness of Modern Japan] (spring 2002): 7‑70. 29. TSUKAHARA, Meiji kokka, 195‑196. 30. Emperor Meiji’s attendance at a performance was a prerequisite for asserting the status of an art form. This came about in 1874 for Noh and in 1887 for Kabuki, for example. 31. Ongaku ryakuge 音楽略解 [Brief Notes on Music], 1878. This book can be viewed at the Archives and Mausolea Division of the Imperial Household Agency (Kunai‑chō Shoryō‑bu 宮内庁書陵部). 32. TSUKAHARA, Meiji kokka, 35. 33. Established in 1879, this institute was subsequently renamed the Tokyo Music School (Tōkyō Ongaku Gakkō 東京音楽学校) in 1889 and was the forerunner of the present‑day Music Department at Tokyo National University of the Arts (Tōkyō Geijutsu Daigaku Ongaku Gakubu 東京藝術大学音楽学部), founded in 1946. 34. Anne‑Marie THIESSE, La Création des identités nationales: Europe XVIIIe‑XXe siècle [The Creation of National Identities in Europe: 18th‑20th century] (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1999), 139‑140. The concept of “national music” was first used in Japan by Kanda Kōhei 神田孝平 (1830‑1898) in his paper “Kokugaku o shinkō subeki no setsu” 国楽ヲ振興ス へキノ說 [On the Need to Develop a National Music] Meiroku zasshi 明六雑誌, no. 18 (October 1874): 7‑8. 35. See Benedict ANDERSON, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London and New York: Verso, 1991), 141‑162. See also the work of Jane F. Fulcher, French Cultural Politics and Music: From the Dreyfus Affair to the First World War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). 36. See the earlier section in this paper on the Confucian view of ritual and music. 37. OKUNAKA Yasuto 奥中康人, Kokka to Ongaku 国家と音楽 [Music and the State] (Tokyo: Shūnjūsha 春秋社, 2008), 48‑59. 38. Dajōkan nisshi 太政官日誌 [Official Gazette of the Council of State], no. 75, 5th year of Meiji (1872), new edition (Tōkyō‑dō Shuppan 東京堂出版, 1990), 188. 39. TSUKAHARA, Meiji kokka, 42‑71. 40. Ibid., 79‑83. 41. Gagaku‑roku 雅楽録 [Official Register of Japanese Imperial Court Music], no. 10, 11th year of Meiji (1878). These documents can be consulted at the Archives and Mausolea Division of the Imperial Household Agency. For more information on gagaku at the Exposition Universelle in 1878, see TSUKAHARA, Meiji kokka, 144‑148; Inoue Satsuki 井上さつき, Ongaku o tenji suru: Pari banpaku 音楽を展示する: パリ万博 1855‑1900 (Exhibiting Music: The world fairs in Paris, 1855‑1900) (Tokyo: Hōsei Daigaku Shuppankyoku 法政大学出版局, 2009), 196‑198. 42. Nihon gagaku gaiben 日本雅楽概弁 [A Summary of Japanese Gagaku], 1878. These nine volumes of handwritten scrolls can be consulted at the Archives and Mausolea Division of the Imperial Household Agency.

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43. Gagaku-roku, no. 22, 11th year of Meiji (1878). 44. Sondra WIELAND HOWE, “Music Teaching in the Boston Public Schools, 1864‑1879,” Journal of Research in Music Education 40, no. 4 (Winter 1992): 316 and 326. 45. MEGATA Tanetarō, “Waga kōgaku ni shōka no ka o okosubeki shikata ni tsuite watakushi no mikomi” 我公学ニ唱歌ノ課ヲ與スベキ仕方ニツキ私ノ見込 [My Expectations of How We Should Create a Music Class in Japanese Public Schools], 20 April 1878, reprinted in Tōkyō Geijutsu Daigaku Hyakunen Shi Henshū Iinkai 東京芸 術大学百年史編集委員会 [Editorial Committee for the 100‑year History of Tokyo University of the Arts], Tōkyō geijutsu daigaku hyakunen shi: Tōkyō ongaku gakkō hen 東京 芸術大学百年史: 東京音楽学校篇 [The 100‑year History of Tokyo University of the Arts: Volume on the Tokyo Conservatory of Music], vol. 1 (Tokyo: Ongaku no Tomo Sha, 1987), 15‑17. 46. See OKUNAKA, Kokka to Ongaku, 149‑151. 47. Ongaku torishirabe seiseki shinpō sho 音楽取調成績申報書 [Activity Report of the Music Research Institute] (Music Research Institute, 1884), 67‑79 and 81‑99. 48. “Kokugaku seitei to gagaku kyōkai” 国楽制定と雅楽協会 [The Gagaku Association and the Establishment of a National Music], Teikoku bungaku 帝国文学 [Imperial Literature], 1‑3 (March 1895): General News section (zappō 雑報). 49. See Philip von BOHLMAN, “Landscape-Region-Nation-Reich: German Folk Song in the Nexus of National Identity,” in Music and German National Identity, ed. C. APPLEGATE & P. POTTER (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2002), 105‑27. 50. In his article entitled “Girisha no min’yō 希臘の民謡 (Greek Folk Songs), Shigarami zōshi しらがみ草紙, vol. 35 (August 1892): 4‑5. 51. SHINADA Yoshikazu 品田悦一, Man’yōshū no hatsumei: Kokumin kokka to bunka sōchi to shite no koten 万葉集の発明: 国民国家と文化装置としての古典 [The Invention of the Man’yōshū: The nation-state and classical literature as a cultural device] (Tokyo: Shin’yōsha, 2001), 191‑195. 52. He worked under the supervision of HAGA Yaichi 芳賀矢一 (1867‑1927), who studied philology in Germany. For more information on the Department of National Literature at Tokyo Imperial University and the role played by Haga, see SHINADA Yoshikazu, Man’yōshū no hatsumei, 187‑196 and 210‑218; HANAMORI Shigeyuki 花森重行, “Kokubungaku kenkyū shi ni tsuite no ichikōsatsu: 1890 nendai no Haga Yaichi o megutte” 国文学研究史についての一考察: 1890年代の芳賀矢一をめぐって [An Analysis of the History of Research on National Literature: Haga Yaichi during the 1890s), Ōsaka daigaku nihon gakuhō 大阪大学日本学報, vol. 21 (March 2002): 71‑85. See also the work of Emmanuel LOZERAND in Littérature et génie national.

53. SHIDA Yoshihide, “Nihon min’yō gairon” 日本民謡概論 [An Introduction to Japanese Folk Songs], Teikoku bungaku 帝国文学 [Imperial Literature], 12‑2, 12‑3, 12‑5 and 12‑9 (1906). 54. The literal meaning of the word saibara 催馬楽 is “music” (ra 楽) to “drive” (sai 催) “horses” (ba 馬). 55. Kokushi daijiten 国史大辞典 (Tokyo: YOSHIKAWA Kōbunkan, 1908), 543. Vocal pieces were divided into the following genres: kagura-uta 神楽歌; kume-uta 久米歌, songs from the Kume clan, which at the time Shiga wrote his article were performed to commemorate the enthronement of Emperor Jinmu (kigensetsu 紀元節); azuma-asobi 東

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遊, songs sung on the anniversary of the death of Emperor Jinmu and during the two equinoxes; ta‑uta 田歌, rice‑planting songs sung at the Great Feast of Enthronement (daijō‑e 大嘗会); yamato‑uta 大和歌, songs from the Yamato region which were also sung at the Great Feast of Enthronement; utagaki 歌垣, songs sung between men and women, and for which no mention exists after 770; saibara 催馬楽; rōei 朗詠; fuzoku 風 俗, folk songs from various provinces, also sung at the Great Feast of Enthronement; and kuzubito-uta 国栖人歌, literally “songs from the people of Kuzu,” which are mentioned only in ancient texts like the Kojiki or the Nihonshoki.

56. TŌGI Tetteki 東儀鉄笛, Ongaku nyūmon 音楽入門 [Musical Initiation] (Tokyo: Waseda Daigaku Shuppan-bu 早稲田大学出版部, 1910). 57. TANABE Hisao, Tanabe Hisao jijoden 田辺尚雄自叙伝 [Autobiography of Tanabe Hisao] (Tokyo: Hōgakusha 邦楽社, 1981), 158‑159 and 235‑236. 58. Ibid., 150. 59. Ibid., 215. Studying music from an “objective,” scientific point of view for the first time, this book heavily influenced European musicology during the second half of the nineteenth century. Hermann von HELMHOLTZ, Die Lehre von den Tonempfindungen als physiologische Grundlage für die Theorie der Musik (Braunschweig: Friedrich Vieweg und Sohn, 1863). English translation by Alexander J. Ellis (London: Longman, 1875). Musicology (Musikwissenschaft) was presented for the first time as a discipline modelled on the Newton‑style natural sciences in an article published by the German periodical Allgemeine musikalische Zeitung in Leipzig, entitled “Über Musik als Musikwissenschaft” [On Music as Musicology], in March 1827. This approach to the subject was systematised in the early twentieth century by Guido Adler (1855‑1941)—a musicologist at the University of Vienna and student of Helmholtz Carl Stumpf (1848‑1936)—and Hugo Riemann (1849‑1918). On the birth of musicology in Europe, see John HAINES, “Généalogies musicologiques aux origines d’une science de la musique vers 1900” [Musicological Genealogies: At the Origins of a Science of Music around 1900], Acta musicological 73, no. 1 (2001): 21‑44. 60. On Tanaka’s conception of national music, see HIRATSUKA Tomoko 平塚智子, “‘Hattatsu’ suru nihon ongaku: Tanaka Shōhei no risō to riron o megutte”「発達」す る日本音楽: 田中正平の理想と実践をめぐって [The “Development” of Japanese Music: On the ideas and theories of Tanaka Shōhei), Hikaku bungaku kenkyū 比較文学研 究 [Research on Comparative Literature], no. 71 (1998): 109‑128. 61. KONAKAMURA Kiyonori 小中村清矩, Kabu-ongaku ryakushi 歌舞音楽略史 [A Brief History of Music, Song and Dance] (Tokyo: Yoshikawa Hanshichi 吉川半七, 1888; reprinted in 1928 and 2000 in the Iwanami Bunko series by Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩 波書店). 62. Underlining by TANABE, Nihon ongaku kōwa (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1919), 69.

63. Underlining by TANABE, Nihon ongaku kōwa, 341.

64. TANABE, Gagaku tsūkai 雅楽通解 [An Explanation of Gagaku] (Tokyo: Kokyoku Hozon Kai 古曲保存会, 1921). 65. For more information on the history of the phonograph’s invention, see Philippe TOURNÈS, Du Phonographe au MP3 : Une histoire de la musique enregistrée – XIXe‑XXIe siècle [From the Phonograph to the MP3 Player: A History of Recorded Music from the 19th to the 21st century] (Paris: Autrement, 2008), 11‑18.

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66. TANABE, Meiji ongaku monogatari 明治音楽物語 [A Musical History of the Meiji Period] (Tokyo: Seiasha 青蛙社, 1965), 299‑303. 67. As of August 1922, this publication took over the helm from The World of the Gramophone ( Chikuonki sekai 蓄音器世界), the first magazine devoted to records in Japan, founded in 1915. 68. TANABE, Zoku Tanabe Hisao jijoden 続田辺尚雄自叙伝 [Sequel to the Autobiography of Tanabe Hisao] (Tokyo: Hōgakusha, 1981), 84‑88. 69. Ibid., 86. 70. TANABE, Gagaku Tsūkai, 138‑168. The record sleeves and sound recordings have all been digitised and are available on the website of the Digital Archive of 78 RPM Records (SPレコードデジタルアーカイブ), run by the Research Centre for Traditional Japanese Music at Kyoto City University of Arts (Kyoto Shiritsu Geijutsu Daigaku Nihon Dentō Ongaku Kenkyū Sentā 京都市立芸術大学日本伝統音楽研究センター), http:// neptune.kcua.ac.jp/cgi-bin/kyogei/index_sp.cgi (link valid November 2016). 71. Hattatsu no jō kara 発達の上から; TANABE, Gagaku Tsūkai, 15.

72. TANABE, Gagaku Tsūkai, 18. 73. The educational role of the phonograph was explored by Mark Katz, who compared the way American schools used phonographs in the early twentieth century to teach children to listen to and appreciate “real music” or “good music”, and the use of group singing in nineteenth-century musical education; Mark KATZ, Capturing Sound: How Technology Has Changed Music (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005) 61. 74. “Tōyō ongaku riron no kagakuteki kenkyū” 東洋音楽理論の科学的研究; Zaidan hōjin keimei-kai daisankai taishō kyūnendo jigyō hōkokusho 財団法人啓明会第三回大正九年度 事業報告書 [Third Annual Report of the Keimei‑kai Foundation, Taishō 9 (1920)] (Tokyo: Keimei‑kai, 1921), 29‑31. 75. UE Sanemichi 上眞行, ŌNO Tadamoto 多忠基 and TANABE Hisao, “Shōsō‑in gakki no chōsa hōkoku” 正倉院楽器の調査報告 [Research Report on the Musical Instruments Held at the Shōsō‑in], Teishitsu hakubutsukan gakuhō 帝室博物館学報 [Bulletin of the Imperial Museum], no 5 (1921). 76. For a discussion of Tanabe’s musical studies as “ethnomusicology,” see HOSOKAWA Shūhei 細川周平, “In Search of the Sound of Empire: TANABE Hisao and the Foundation of Japanese Ethnomusicology,” Japanese Studies, vol. 18 (May 1998): 5‑19. 77. TANABE, Chōsen riōke no kogakubu: waga kyūchū no bugaku tono kankei 朝鮮李王家の古 楽舞: 我が宮中の舞楽との関係 [The Ancient Music and Dance of the Court of the Yi (Joseon) Dynasty in Korea: Links with Bugaku from the Japanese Imperial Court], in Keimei-kai daigokai kōen-shū 啓明会第五回講演集 [Fifth Collection of Lectures by the Keimei-kai] (September 1921): 2‑6. 78. TANABE, Zoku tanabe hisao jijoden, 120‑121. 79. See UEMURA Yukio 植村幸生, “Shokuminchiki chōsen ni okeru kyūtei ongaku no chōsa o megutte: Tanabe Hisao ‘Chōsen gagaku chōsa’ no seijiteki bunmyaku” 植民地期 朝鮮における宮廷音楽の調査をめぐって: 田辺尚雄『朝鮮雅楽調査』の政治的文脈 [Research on the Court Music of Korea under Japanese Rule: The Political Context of Tanabe Hisao’s ‘Research on Joseon Gagaku’], Chōsen shi kenkyūkai ronbun-shū 朝鮮史研 究会論文集, vol. 35 (1997): 117‑144, in particular 134‑138; YAMAMOTO Hanako 山本華子, Ri ōshoku gagaku bu no kenkyū: shokuminchi jidai chōsen no kyūtei ongaku denshō 李王職雅

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楽部の研究: 植民地時代朝鮮の宮廷音楽伝承 [Research on the Gagaku Department of the Joseon Dynasty: Transmission of Court Musical Tradition under the Japanese Occupation], doctoral thesis in musicology (Tokyo University of the Arts, 2008), 146‑169. 80. Day of protest for the return of Port Arthur and Dairen, which were leased by China to Japan as part of the Twenty-One Demands issued by Tokyo in 1915. 81. TANABE Hisao, “Ongaku kara mita tōa kyōei ken” 音楽から見た東亜共栄圏 [The Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere seen from a Musical Perspective] in Tōyō ongaku no inshō 東洋音楽の印象 [Impressions of Oriental Music] (Tokyo: Jinbun Shoin 人文書 院, 1941), 88‑93. 82. TANABE Hisao, Chūgoku chōsen ongaku chōsa kikō 中国・朝鮮音楽調査紀行 [Travelogue of Music Research Carried Out in China and Korea] (Tokyo: Ongaku no Tomo Sha, 1970), 318‑319. 83. 広く東洋音楽の比較研究に基づき、日本音楽史の上に革命的の解釈を与えたも のである; TANABE, “Introduction,” Nihon ongaku no kenkyū 日本音楽の研究 [Research on Japanese Music] (Tokyo: Kyōbun-sha 京文社, 1926). 84. Nihon gakushiin hachijūnen shi 日本学士院八十年史 [Eighty‑Year History of the Japan Academy] (Tokyo: Nihon Gakushiin 日本学士院, 1963), 278‑280. 85. KISHIBE Shigeo 岸辺成雄, “Tōyō ongaku gakkai sanjū nen shōshi” 東洋音楽学会三十 年小史 [Brief History of the Thirty Years of the Society for Research in Asiatic Music], Tōyō ongaku kenkyū 東洋音楽研究 [Research on Oriental Music], vol. 19 (1966): 63‑80. 86. TANABE Hisao, “Sōkan ni saishite” 創刊に際して [On the Occasion of the Inaugural Issue], Tōyō ongaku kenkyū 東洋音楽研究, 1‑1 (November 1937): 3. 87. Researchers working at the same time as Tanabe, such as Shiratori Kurakichi 白鳥 庫吉 (historian of the Orient and Honorary Chair of the Society for Research in Asiatic Music, 1865-1942) and Watsuji Tetsurō 和辻哲郎 (philosopher, 1889-1960), also responded to the problem of orientalism by calling for “Orientals” to reclaim the subject for themselves. See KAN Sang-jung, Orientarizumu no kanata e オリエンタリズム の彼方へ [Beyond Orientalism], Iwanami Gendai Bunko 岩波現代文庫 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2004), 133-162. 88. Erich Moritz von HORNBOSTEL, Music of the Orient (1928), set of twenty-four 78‑rpm records, re‑released by Folkways Records (part of the Smithsonian Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage in Washington) in 1979. Compilation reference FW04157. 89. TANABE, Tōa no ongaku 東亜の音楽 [East Asian Music], set of ten 78‑rpm records (Tokyo: Columbia‑Nipponophone コロムビア・ニッポノフォン, 1941), pages 1‑2 of the accompanying booklet. 90. These three compilations featured music from the following countries and regions (names are those used during Tanabe’s time): for East Asian Music, Manchuria, China, Mongolia, Java, Bali, Thailand, India, Iran (which Tanabe called “Ancient Persia”); for A Collection of Greater East Asian Music, Manchuria, Mongolia, China, French Indochina, Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, India, Indochina, Southwest Asia; for Music of the South, Thailand, French Indochina, Malaysia, Burma, Sumatra, and Bali. 91. TANABE, Tōa no ongaku, 7‑8 of the accompanying booklet. 92. Daitōa to ongaku 大東亜と音楽 [Music and Greater East Asia], published in March 1942 as part of a collection established by the Educational Affairs Bureau

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(Kyōgaku‑kyoku 教学局), which reported directly to the Ministry of Education. The citation appears on pages 21‑22. 93. This is particularly notable in an article written by Tanabe, entitled “Koten ongaku no bunka‑zai toshite no kachi” 古典音楽の文化財としての価値 [The Value of Classical Music as a Cultural Property], Bunkazai Geppō 文化財月報 [Monthly Report by the Committee for the Protection of Cultural Properties] no. 1 (December 1951): 6. 94. Bunkazai Hogo Iinkai 文化財保護委員会, “ Gagaku,” List of Intangible Cultural Properties, Kikan bunkazai 季刊文化財, vol. 3 (1955): 41. 95. Carol GLUCK, “The Past in the Present,” in Postwar Japan as History, ed. Andrew GORDON (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press, 1993), 66‑95. 96. A group known as the “Old Liberalists”; TSUZUKI Tsutomu 都築勉, Sengo nihon no chishikijin 戦後日本の知識人 [The Intellectuals of Postwar Japan] (Yokohama: SEORI Shobō 世織書房, 1995), 123‑124; OGUMA Eiji 小熊英二, “Minshu” to “aikoku” 「民 主」と「愛国」 [“Democracy” and “Patriotism”] (Tokyo: Shin’yōsha, 2002), 175‑208.

ABSTRACTS

At the beginning of the 20th century, Tanabe Hisao (1883‑1984), the first Japanese musicologist, elaborated a history of Japanese music in which Gagaku was presented as a original music not only of Japan, but also of all countries in Asia. This concept of Gagaku is consistent with the imperial and colonial ideology before World War II, and still remains up to the present day. It is for example the decision of the Ministry of Education of Japan to designate Gagaku performed by the Court musicians of the Music Department of the Imperial Household as an “Important Intangible Cultural Property” on May 12, 1955, that makes Japan forget the history of musical colonization in aid of more positive re-reading. Gagaku is then described as a cultural relic of the “Asian Continent”, a term substituted for that of the “Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere” in the 1940s.

Au début du XXe siècle, Tanabe Hisao (1883‑1984), premier musicologue japonais, a élaboré une histoire de la musique japonaise dans laquelle le gagaku était présenté comme une musique originale non seulement du Japon, mais aussi de tous les pays asiatiques. Cette notion du gagaku s’accorde avec l’idéologie impériale et coloniale avant‑guerre et reste présente jusqu’à nos jours. C’est, par exemple, la décision du ministère japonais de l’Éducation de désigner le gagaku joué par les musiciens de cour du département de Musique de l’Agence impériale comme « bien culturel immatériel important » le 12 mai 1955, qui permet au Japon d’oublier l’histoire de la colonisation musicale au profit d’une relecture plus positive. Le gagaku est alors décrit comme vestige culturel du « continent asiatique », ce dernier terme se substituant à celui très marqué de « Sphère de coprospérité de la Grande Asie orientale » des années 1940.

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INDEX

Keywords: Japan, China, Korea, Taishō period, Meiji period, performing arts, gagaku, kagura, Tanabe Hisao, colonization, patrimony, intangible cultural property of Japan, national music Mots-clés: gagaku, kagura, Tanabe Hisao, musique nationale, colonisation, patrimoine, bien culturel immatériel au Japon, Grande Asie orientale

AUTHORS

SEIKO SUZUKI Paris Diderot University – Paris 7 / University of Tokyo

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Questioning Women’s Prevalence in Takarazuka Theatre: The Interplay of Light and Shadow

Claude Michel‑Lesne Translation : Karen Grimwade

The author would like to thank the stage arts journalist Tsuji Norihiko for his cooperation and for granting permission to reproduce the images that illustrate this article, figures 1‑3 being personal archives obtained by him from former members of Takarazuka’s male section. All photo credits: Tsuji Norihiko/Kōbe Sōgō Shuppan Center. Original release: Claude Michel‑Lesne, « La question de la mixité dans le théâtre Takarazuka : jeux d’ombre et de lumière », Cipango, 20, 2013, 165‑230, mis en ligne le 15 avril 2015. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/cipango/1944 ; DOI : 10.4000/ cipango.1944

1 Although it occupies an extremely marginal position in Japanese stage arts history, the Takarazuka Revue is nowadays famous throughout Japan for its spectacular productions performed by an entirely female cast. Nevertheless, it would be simplistic, not to mention inaccurate, to present this company founded in 1913 by the entrepreneur Kobayashi Ichizō 小林一三 (1873‑1957) solely from the angle of its female cast, and its famous corollary—the specialisation of actresses in male roles (otokoyaku 男役). Right from the outset, the issues raised by Takarazuka went beyond artistic and gender concerns to reveal significant ideological, media, socio-economic and even political strands.

2 This becomes clear if we recall Takarazuka’s strategic position in the business activities of its parent company, the Hankyū Hanshin Tōhō Group. Thanks to its vitality in the rail transportation, retail, real estate and leisure sectors, the Hankyū group is well known to have been one of the driving forces behind “Hanshin modernism” (Hanshin mōdanizumu 阪神モーダニズム),1 a term that refers to the changes in lifestyle and consumption patterns that developed in the Kansai region from the late Taishō period (1912‑1926) through to the 1940s and 1950s. Much more than a simple business, Hankyū was thus influential in economic and cultural spheres, as well as in the urban

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development of the Kansai region. Significantly, Takarazuka’s key role in the business affairs of its parent company was such that it gave rise to the term “Takarazuka strategy” (Takarazuka senryaku 宝塚戦略). For Tsuganesawa Toshihiro 津金沢聡広 (1932‑), the scholar who coined this expression, the business model of Hankyū Hanshin Holdings is rooted in the city of Takarazuka, since the business ideas and strategies that made the group famous emerged during the development phase of the troupe.2 Seen from this perspective, “Hankyū culture” or even “Hanshin culture” is merely an extension of “Takarazuka culture”. Conversely, the public’s affection for the Takarazuka Revue cannot be understood without remembering that Kobayashi Ichizō continues to be widely known and respected in the business world essentially for having founded the Hankyū business empire, a vital component in the region’s economy. He was behind such wide-ranging achievements as the urban development of the north‑east area of Osaka bordering the company’s railway network; the creation of department stores within the terminal stations of these lines; the transformation of Osaka’s Umeda neighbourhood and Tokyo’s Hibiya neighbourhood into urban centres dedicated to entertainment and leisure; and the creation of the Tōhō film company. Strictly speaking, the Takarazuka Revue is just one of Kobayashi’s many successful initiatives. Yet most importantly, it was also the institution he held in the greatest affection until his death, as he himself confessed. The emotional attachment associated with Takarazuka thus stems both from the prestige of the Hankyū group and the aura that continues to surround Kobayashi Ichizō.

3 Backed by this powerful infrastructure, the Takarazuka Revue is unique in the world of theatrical entertainment for being the only company to exert full control over the entire creative and production process. It possesses its own theaters,3 a school for training new recruits, a dedicated orchestra, in-house writers, teams of costume, accessory and set designers, and units dedicated to publication and distribution, all of which forms a sprawling network of sub‑companies working in permanent and close cooperation. Given the company’s sheer size, corporate power, media omnipresence and longevity,4 any academic discussion of Takarazuka necessarily means tackling the subject of a stage giant.

4 The present article will examine the circumstances surrounding the creation of the Takarazuka Revue, highlighting how the decision to employ only women was inextricably linked to the conjunction of a particular set of economic, educational and ideological factors. Takarazuka’s all-female line‑up, by turns ridiculed as a marginalising factor and promoted as its greatest strength, is thus the product of a complex variety of perspectives as to the Revue’s identity: the one offered by its “official” history, as vaunted in promotional literature; or that of a more unofficial theatrical history made of a profusion of aspirations and ideas, generating concrete initiatives that most often ended in disappointment for those driving them. It was in the clash between the convictions of Kobayashi Ichizō and the fierce determination of the actresses and audiences to preserve a female world that the contribution of male actors to the company gradually met with failure. Yet little evidence remains of the various attempts made throughout the troupe’s history, whether written or photographic. This amnesia suggests that the Revue’s management and archivists have little desire to recall these events, since they run counter to what is presented in the official history as the Takarazuka “tradition,” namely, an all‑female theatre.

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5 On a more theoretical level, the issue of mixed-sex casts within the Revue offers a casebook example of the selective way that traditions are constructed via a “heroic” history featuring grand figures and legitimisations. Accordingly, this article seeks to achieve the following objectives: • 1. To break with the image of a “traditionally all-female” troupe by exploring the true objectives of its founder and the difficulties he faced in achieving them. • 2. To show how commercial theatre companies, to a radically greater degree than in any other kind of theatrical endeavour, remain absolutely dependent on the will of the public. • 3. And finally, to reveal little-known chapters in Takarazuka’s history, namely the existence within its ranks of male recruits and the creation of the Kokuminza and Shingeiza mixed troupes.

6 Takarazuka’s plethoric repertoire of plays and lavish revues is a testament to Kobayashi Ichizō’s unfaltering desire to propose new forms of theatre capable of bringing together people from all walks of life. Such was the overriding objective of his “national popular theatre” (kokumingeki 国民劇), an ideal that underpinned all of his artistic endeavours. Yet this initiative was not driven by Marxist aspirations transposed to the realm of entertainment, nor by a belief in the supposed uniqueness or homogeneity of the Japanese, as suggested, for example, in the work of ethnologist Yanagita Kunio 柳田國男 (1875‑1962). Kokumingeki reflected the democratization of consumption, the notion of a capitalist economy, and the dynamic emergence of the concept of “the masses” during the Taishō period (1912‑1926). Kobayashi’s fundamental objective was quite simply to create shows that were entertaining and above all financially viable:5 in his eyes, attracting the widest possible audience, composed of entire families rather than individuals, was in this respect absolutely critical to the success of his initiative. The question was what form this new theatre should take in order to attract essentially urban audiences keen for new leisure activities that reflected their lifestyle. Stage performances needed to become everyday consumer products.

The creation of shōjo kageki

7 Kobayashi Ichizō was severely critical of “old theatre,”6 which he knew from his student days at Keiō Gijuku 慶応義塾 in Tokyo, where he frequently attended plays in the city’s theatrical neighbourhoods. The majority of his criticisms, which unquestionably conditioned his subsequent artistic initiatives, were focused on Kabuki, an art he considered obsolete and doomed to disappear as soon as it could only be understood by a small group of connoisseurs and specialists. Kobayashi recognised the intrinsic value of theatre accompanied by song and dance, as had been practised for several centuries, but vehemently criticised the desire to “shackle popular tastes” by preserving Kabuki as a traditional art. On the contrary, he believed that Kabuki should change with the times in order to avoid becoming fossilised and reduced to nothing more than a “haunted house”.7

8 On the other hand, Kobayashi showed great interest in the potential of Western music, a genre he discovered in the form of opera when the Imperial Theater opened its doors in Tokyo in 1911.8 This institution staged performances of Western opera adapted, with varying degrees of success, to the local audience's tastes.9 Kobayashi saw Western-style instrumentation—which he considered less “obscure” than Kabuki music and therefore

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more capable of appealing to a wider audience—as the necessary future of “musical theatre,” a concept he referred to using the term kageki 歌劇. Despite being regularly categorised as a form of opera or musical, kageki remains ideologically rooted in a rejection of Kabuki. Basing his argument on the example of primary education, where children were familiarised with Western music at a young age through singing children’s songs (shōka 唱歌), Kobayashi concluded that the Japanese would soon have a greater appreciation for European-style melodies than for the vocal music that accompanied Kabuki (nagauta 長唄).10 He also took inspiration from the department store Mitsukoshi (located in Nihonbashi), which created a choir of boy sopranos (Mitsukoshi Shōnen Ongakutai 三越少年音楽隊) to entertain customers with a shōka repertoire. In 1911, an all‑girl version of this choir was launched by Mitsukoshi’s rival, the clothing retailer Shirokiya, before the phenomenon spread to the west of the country the following year: the department stores Matsuzakaya in Nagoya, Mitsukoshi in Osaka, and Daimaru in Kyoto all established choirs in the hope of enticing future customers to pause for a moment before their shop displays. Hoping to use this model to boost his own business, Kobayashi Ichizō published a first advert in July 1913 to recruit girls for a project he planned to call the “Takarazuka Chorus” (Takarazuka Shōkatai 宝塚唱歌隊), quickly renamed the “Takarazuka Girls’ Opera Training Group” (Takarazuka Shōjo Kageki Yōseikai 宝塚少女歌劇養成会).

9 Despite rising rapidly to national fame, the Takarazuka Revue's operational base never left the banks of the River Muko 武庫, nor the eponymous town located some forty kilometres north-west of Osaka. The original idea of creating a chorus of approximately twenty young female dancers and musicians to provide occasional entertainment to customers at the “Takarazuka new hot spring” (Takarazuka Shin’onsen 宝塚新温泉) was closely linked to the town’s geographical location, as well as to the changes then affecting the urban space.11 Having become the liquidator of the Hankaku Railway Company after Japan’s railway network was nationalised in 1907, Kobayashi Ichizō took over the management of a planned branch line from Osaka via his newly created Minoo‑Arima Electric Railway Company (Minoo Arima Denki Kidō 箕面有馬電気軌道, a forerunner of Hankyū). When the Osaka‑Takarazuka line opened in 1910, Kobayashi was faced with the challenge of offering a range of leisure activities and attractions that would draw urban dwellers to the terminus and thus make this section of the line more profitable while simultaneously achieving a better distribution of traffic, since this line was essentially used by workers commuting to Osaka. Beyond the promotional boost this initiative would provide to the entire portfolio of his company’s activities, Kobayashi saw an opportunity to create a concrete structure where he could implement his ideas on music and theatre. Just as aesthetic considerations are often driven by technical constraints, the decision to employ young girls, and only young girls, was essentially commercially motivated: Kobayashi believed that an all‑female troupe would be less expensive to run and provide greater publicity than a group of boys. Before he even thought of transforming his chorus into a musical theatre troupe, Kobayashi set himself the objective of achieving the same level of popularity as the Mitsukoshi Shōnen Ongakutai, with all the associated publicity this would generate. Nevertheless, the idea of a mixed troupe had already been discussed when the group was created thanks to the presence of a figure from the world of opera, Andō Hiromu 安藤弘, a composer and opera singer who had graduated from the Tokyo Music Academy (Tōkyō Ongaku Gakkō), Japan’s leading conservatoire at the time. Andō had

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been hired by Kobayashi as a teacher and coach to prepare the troupe’s young recruits for their first performance in April 1914. The idea of introducing boys into the Takarazuka Revue is nothing new. It was suggested early on by Mr Andō when the troupe was founded. Perhaps if we had decided to train girls and boys together, the alternative art of all-women’s musical theatre, which Takarazuka monopolises, might never have been born. Perhaps we might have created a truly mixed‑sex musical theatre, or perhaps it would have failed before ever seeing the light of day.12 宝塚に男性加入の論は今に始まったことではない。創設当時から早くすでに安 藤先生から主張されたものである。もしその時、男女共習を実行したとせば、 少女歌劇という変則の宝塚専売の芸術が生まれなかったであろう。そして男女 本格的な歌劇が育ち得たかもしれない。あるいは育ち得るまでに至らず挫折し たかもしれない。

10 Arguing that not a single all‑female opera troupe existed in the world, Andō suggested creating a mixed opera company instead.13 Kobayashi refused out of concern for his business activities, which he hoped to expand, convinced that a “girls’ opera” (shōjo kageki 少女歌劇) would provide the best publicity.14 He also feared that bringing together young people of both sexes would pose a moral problem, impeding the recruitment of respectable young girls and contradicting his aim of providing “wholesome” (kenzen 健全) family entertainment. Acutely aware of the image of moral decadence associated with the acting profession for women, Kobayashi insisted that his recruits be considered musicians15 and students rather than “actresses” (joyū 女優): the Takarazuka Revue had to be morally irreproachable. The vocabulary chosen to achieve this goal will be discussed in more detail later.

11 Of the two men, whose relationship was particularly stormy, was it Andō or Kobayashi who decided to dress the girls as boys in order to play the male roles? While it remains historically unclear who was responsible for creating the otokoyaku, everything suggests that it was Andō, with his technical expertise, who came up with the idea as a means of avoiding the problems Kobayashi associated with a mixed troupe. Given Kobayashi’s desire to distance himself from and surpass Kabuki, it seems unlikely that he would have voluntarily decided to “reverse” the cross-dressing seen in this theatrical tradition. Andō, on the other hand, hailing as he did from the world of opera, would have been familiar with the concept of cross‑gender casting, notably the practice of casting female singers as males.16 These “trouser roles” (zubon’yaku ズボン役) were designed to emphasise the youthfulness of the male character—and occasionally his sexual immaturity—through the clear and angelic tones of a mezzo-soprano, thus allowing for greater use of instrumental ornamentation.17 The first cohorts trained by Andō in the art of opera singing had a vocal range that fell between soprano and mezzo-soprano. From a purely musicological standpoint, one can postulate that a direct relationship exists between the trouser roles seen in opera and the first otokoyaku of Takarazuka. This theory seems more plausible than the hypothesis of a “parallel construction” mirroring the emergence of Kabuki in the first decade of the seventeenth century and the male roles performed by Izumo no Okuni (出雲の阿国, ca. 1572‑1613), Kabuki’s founder, and her female dancers. Indeed, Kobayashi never made any mention of Okuni in his texts and referred only to Imperial Theater productions and the popularity of youth choirs as his sources of inspiration. In all likelihood, the origins of cross‑dressing in Takarazuka are thus to be found outside Kabuki.

12 Well before the otokoyaku role evolved and rose in popularity, it was the female roles (musumeyaku 娘役) that garnered the most attention. Takagi Shirō 高木史朗

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(1915‑1985), a regular Takarazuka director, stressed the heavy presence of men in the audiences of the early decades, the ban on co-education in primary and secondary schools at that time being one potential reason for the appeal of an all-female troupe to these spectators.18 Despite the still‑thriving cliché of an overwhelmingly female audience, photographs and written accounts from the first twenty years of Takarazuka reveal extremely mixed audiences, reflecting Kobayashi’s desire to target families rather than individuals. It is generally agreed that the surge in the popularity of otokoyaku came about when the Takarazuka performer Kadota Ashiko 門田芦子 (1907‑1974) suddenly decided to cut her hair short during rehearsals for the 1932 show “Bouquet d’Amour” (Būke damūru ブーケダムール), an act that was immediately copied by the majority of her colleagues. Kadota no doubt took inspiration from the young Mizunoe Takiko 水の江滝子 (1915‑2009), a famous otokoyaku in the Shōchiku troupe,19 known to this day for being the first shōjo kageki performer to have cropped her hair, at the age of fifteen. Until then, it had been customary to hide the performer’s hair under a wig, hat or other props, which probably encouraged the practice of casting actresses alternately in male and female roles.

13 This daring act marked the formal beginning of the theatrical construction of a new masculinity, one idealised through being performed via the female body. It propelled the otokoyaku into the centre of the audience’s attention, something that was not without provoking debate in the public arena. This new conception, associated with the term dansō no reijin (男装の麗人 “a beauty in men’s clothing”), helped to radically eroticise the otokoyaku, until then very childish in appearance. Initially the casting of otokoyaku and musumeyaku had been very fluid, allowing the first cohorts of students to play both male and female roles indifferently. The emergence of the concept of a “beauty in men’s clothing” led performers to specialise in a specific type of role to the near exclusion of the other. For the stage arts critic Kurabayashi Yasushi, the shift from a mixed audience to an essentially female one reflects more a loss of interest by male spectators rather than an increase in the number of female otokoyaku fans: while in the early years many men had been attracted to Takarazuka by the prospect of seeing beautiful young girls on stage, they were deterred by the evolution in the shows’ structure. As productions shifted from innocent collages of songs and dances to melodramatic romances portrayed by masculine-looking young actresses, male audiences lost the object of their fantasies, with musumeyaku now exclusively partnering “a beauty in men’s clothing” in theatricalised love affairs better suited to satisfying the dreams of a “female and adolescent” audience.20

Like tigers and wolves

14 Let us now go back fifteen years to the genesis of the troupe.

15 After a few years of experimentation during which the chorus gradually expanded its area of activity to cover the entire Hanshin region and make its Tokyo debut at the Imperial Theater in the summer of 1918, Kobayashi began to seriously consider the technical limits of an all‑girl troupe. He came to share the opinion of Andō—who five years earlier had suggested temporarily dressing the performers as boys—yet remained convinced that a derivative of opera could not be performed indefinitely without a mixed cast.

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At first, I was satisfied with an all-girl Takarazuka, but after five or six years of watching the shows I inevitably became critical: something was truly missing. Purity, honesty and beauty alone merely produced sweetness, which lacked a stimulating dose of spice and power—hence the idea of introducing boys.21 初めの間は女ばかりの宝塚に満足するけれど、五、六年連続して見物すると、 いかにも物足りない、清く正しく美しくだけではただ甘いものを味わう程度 で、辛さも強さも刺戟的分量が足らないから、どうしても文句が出る。その結 果は男性加入の格論である。

16 Using this metaphor of taste, Kobayashi sought to highlight the absence of a key ingredient necessary for the recipe's success: namely power, a notion empirically associated with the masculine.22 To compensate for the lack of intensity in the troupe’s performances, Kobayashi thus decided to introduce young men into Takarazuka’s ranks. His intention was to bring his musical theatre one step closer to the polished finish of opera, yet without imitating it. The aim was to create a theatre that would be “specifically Japanese,” despite using Western instruments (piano, strings and brass in the place of shamisen, flutes and percussion instruments from the traditional arts). Hence his alternative use of the term Nihon kageki (日本歌歌劇), which in Kobayashi’s mind no doubt meant a theatre adapted to the tastes of a Japanese audience.23

17 This first attempt at mixing genders came about amidst the creation in late 1918 of the Takarazuka School of Music and Musical Theatre (Takarazuka Ongaku Kageki Gakkō 宝 塚音楽歌劇学校) and the disbanding of the girls’ chorus to form the Takarazuka Girls’ Revue (Takarazuka Shōjo Kagekidan 宝塚少女歌劇団), whose members were all graduates of this school. A “special curriculum” (senka 選科) was established in January 1919 to train the male students in the performing arts. Eight boys began studying under Tsubouchi Shikō 坪内士行 (1887‑1986)24 with a view to performing alongside girls at the end of the four‑year course. Another motive for creating this group was that Takarazuka’s young female recruits were maturing, and some were even beginning to feel dissatisfied with performing “girls’ musical theatre”.25 They needed partners with whom they could act in more sophisticated productions.

18 The male recruits received similar training to the girls, focused on ballet, singing techniques, and traditional Japanese dance. Shikō also took the opportunity to introduce his students to reading Shakespeare and modern theatre. Although the boys were trained at Minoo—a city located around ten kilometres from the girls’ school in Takarazuka—, opposition to this planned introduction of boys soon proved to be unanimous. Despite its mere six years of existence, Takarazuka had already come to be rigidly associated in the public’s mind with an “all‑female troupe,” leading to a backlash against the male performers by the girls, their families and audiences: It was a female troupe to the last; a small world that was closed to men. The fact that repulsive and vulgar young males, like tigers and wolves, might share the stage with the troupe was categorically refused by both the girls and their parents, not to mention an even greater number of spectators. There was an incredible air of rebellion.26 あくまで乙女の団体であり、男子禁制の小天地であったので、狼のごとき虎の ごとき、いやらしい汚らわしい男などと同じ舞台に立つことなどは、少女やそ の親たち、さらにそれよりはるかに数の多い見物が断じて許さぬ物凄い雰囲気 があった。

19 Faced with the overwhelming protests from the girls’ families, the boys’ curriculum was suspended in November 1919, after just ten months. Yet it was not the recruits’ social background that posed a problem; some of them were university graduates and

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had been personally selected by Kobayashi and Shikō. Half of this first intake of male recruits would subsequently enjoy fruitful, critically acclaimed careers in the arts. Notable examples of individuals who made their debut as “Takarazuka male students” include Hori Seiki 堀正旗 (1895‑1953) and Shirai Tetsuzō 白井鐵造 (1900‑1980), two of Takarazuka’s most important playwrights and stage directors during its first forty years. Also noteworthy are Aoyama Yoshio 青山圭男 (1903‑1967), a future choreographer for the Shōchiku Revue and the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and Azuma Gosaku 東吾作 (1905‑1989), a young actor who made his mark on the world of popular theatre under the stage name Tatsumi Ryūtarō 辰巳柳太郎27. This attempt to train male actors, singers and dancers to reinforce Takarazuka’s performances nonetheless came about too late in the reception process for fans of the troupe. Shikō, despite being the project’s artistic director, judged the initiative to have been “premature”.28 The antagonistic nature of each party’s position can only be underlined: the failure of this male initiative was not seen by its promotors as a definitive refusal, but rather as a problem of preparing the public, deemed to have been too immature to accept such a change—despite Kobayashi Ichizō having made it clear at the female troupe’s debut that this was merely a first step that in no way possessed the polished, accomplished feel necessary for a major national theatre. The growing popularity of Takarazuka as an all‑girls’ theatre also posed a further problem: namely, how to go beyond shōjo kageki to reach the next stage of the project and bring Kobayashi’s ideal of a “national popular theatre” to life.

Mixing male and female performers in a parallel troupe: the Kokuminza years

20 Kobayashi, relatively satisfied with the success of his Western‑style musical theatre performed by an all‑girl troupe, was convinced it had the potential to be recognised as a national art, should an opportunity arise to perform as a mixed cast.29 In the mid‑1920s, he developed a clearer picture of what his “national popular theatre” should resemble, as well as the orientation to follow in order to successfully create a mixed troupe. Naturally, the simplest solution would have been to introduce male performers directly into the existing troupe, creating a mixed‑sex unit supported by the imposing Takarazuka Daigekijō 宝塚大劇場30, the grand theater Kobayashi had recently had built. However, the failed attempt to introduce boys in 1919, at such an early stage in their training, had challenged the viability of this plan. In 1926, Kobayashi and Shikō thus decided to adopt a new strategy dissociating male recruits from the all‑female revue by establishing a separate group, the Takarazuka Kokuminza (宝塚国民座, “Takarazuka Popular Theatre”), employing experienced performers of both sexes. This project, initially scheduled to run for three years, was housed at the Chūgekijō 中劇場, a medium‑sized theater adjoining the Daigekijō, which remained exclusive to the female troupes.31 By establishing Kokuminza on the same site as Takarazuka, Kobayashi hoped to fend off the attacks on his all‑female theatre, deemed immature by certain critics and limited by its composition. Given the uncertainty surrounding the Kokuminza initiative, the decision to avoid endangering Takarazuka’s success by managing the two groups in parallel appears essentially to have been one of safety. It nonetheless seemed necessary to establish a new venture taking into account the dissatisfactions and hopes of spectators disappointed by “all‑girls’ musical theatre,”

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as well as former Takarasiennes looking for meatier scripts, a more complex theatrical form, and a more serious investment in their art.32

21 A casting call was launched in the March issue of Kageki, Takarazuka’s monthly news magazine, and auditions held to select performers for Kokuminza, mirroring the audition process for the female revue. Of the forty‑one fully trained and in some cases experienced artists who were chosen, two thirds were men. They included: Aoyama Yoshio and the future Tatsumi Ryūtarō,33 both members of Takarazuka’s first male cohort in 1919; Mori Eijirō 森英次郎 and Furukawa Toshitaka 古川利隆, former students at the Centre for Theatre Studies of the “Literary Association” (Bungei Kyōkai 文藝協会) launched by Tsubouchi Shōyō; Yamaji Jun 山路潤, who later became famous playing “supporting roles” (wakiyaku 脇役) in shinpa theatre; and Matsumoto Kōtarō 松 本幸太郎, a specialist in Japanese dance. Among the girls chosen for the Kokuminza troupe were Wakamiya Yoshiko 若宮美子 from the Tsukiji Little Theatre company, founded by shingeki pioneer Osanai Kaoru 小山内薫 (1881‑1928); Miyoshi Eiko 三好栄子 (1896‑1963) from the world of shinkokugeki (new national theatre); and Sekimori Sumako 関守須磨子 and Hatsuse Otowako 初瀬音羽子 (1902‑1993), both former Takarasiennes.34 Thus, the Kokuminza troupe appears to have been a diverse group designed to arouse the audience’s curiosity by offering a colourful range of performance skills.

22 Shikō publicly set out the troupe’s orientations in the first issue of Takarazuka Kokuminza 宝塚国民座, an official publication modelled on Kageki. The idea was not exactly to break with the techniques and contents of the “theatre of the past” (in reference to kyūgeki), nor to create an experimental new art, but rather to propose the theatrical form best suited to the contemporary tastes of a popular audience, in the quantitative sense of the term. To this end, Shikō recommended an eclectic mix of old and new, Japanese and Western, drama and comedy, performance theatre and musical theatre. In this sense, his stance resembled the compromise previously suggested by Kobayashi and his artistic team for the female Takarazuka troupe. Furthermore, he proposed treating actors and actresses as equals, expressing high expectations for a system devoid of hierarchy at a time when the star system was something of a norm in Japanese theatre: few troupes had their own venue and entrepreneurs relied on stars to “sell” their shows. In this context, Kokuminza was intended to introduce harmony and balance between the actors. Shikō also nurtured the hope of bringing together authors working exclusively for the troupe in order to create new libretti in tune with the times, “like Shakespeare at the Elizabethan court or Molière at the court of Louis XIV”. 35 As well as being a common practice in Kabuki, where a theatre company might employ in‑house playwrights, this system was practiced at Takarazuka with a jealous exclusivity. Authors were—and still are—supposed to work exclusively for Takarazuka, the production of material for other troupes or theatre styles being subject to authorisation by the company’s management. The aim was partly to avoid authors working for a direct competitor, in particular the all-female Shōchiku troupe, which had notoriously “head-hunted” certain authors actively employed by Takarazuka during its early years, such as Hisamatsu Issei 久松一声 (1874‑1943).

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The gulf between ideal and reality

23 Kokuminza’s first run of performances in May 1926 faithfully reflected Shikō’s desire for eclecticism, featuring a Western‑style play, a modern social drama and a historical comedy. It received a lukewarm response from critics, who deemed it heavy on theatre and light on music.36 Doubts rapidly arose within Kokuminza and Takarazuka as to the viability of the group. Stung by the criticism of his overly ambitious plans, Shikō wrote a blistering response entitled “True Critics” (Shin no hihyōka 真の批評家) in the third issue of Takarazuka Kokuminza: Ultimately, the true critics are the unprejudiced masses. Our Takarazuka National Popular Theatre is overly criticised, both from within and without. Criticise if you will, but only after a certain amount of time, when you have seen it for yourselves; until then, give us six months to a year. Our aim is to build the foundations of a new Japanese theatre, an entertaining theatre in tune with our times. Nobody objects to that. Our particularity is our desire to do it through music and dance… Why are we being attacked from all sides after barely one or two runs? 37 真の批評家は結局虚心平気な民衆がある。我が宝塚国民座は内外ともにあまり 批判家が多すぎる。時をして、又、一般見物をして批判せしめよ。そのために は、半歳一年の時日をもってせよ。我々の目指すところは新日本劇の樹立であ る。新時代に適した面白い芝居の創生である。これに対しては誰も異議を唱へ るまい。しかもこれを音楽舞踊入りでやらうという所に宝塚国民座の特徴であ る。(中略)第一回・第二回ならずしてすでに四面楚歌の声を聞くとは何事ぞ。

24 Judging by the opinions that were subsequently published, Kokuminza performances continued to receive mixed reviews. The influence of shingeki no doubt complicated Shikō’s task: the Western plays staged by the Kokuminza troupe largely came across as awkward and overly foreign. At the end of the first year, the figures were disastrous: the troupe was struggling to fill the Chūgekijō, attracting on average three to four hundred spectators, although a summer 1927 performance of Hamlet, in which Shikō reprised his breakthrough role from the Imperial Theater, was reasonably successful. To make matters worse, a dispute broke out that August between Kobayashi and Shikō over one of the plays staged by the troupe. Shikō decided to temporarily abandon his activities as Kokuminza’s artistic director and to unwind by travelling around Japan. Although Kobayashi trusted and respected his creative team, Shikō’s ardent and impassioned personality, just like Andō before him, sometimes soured his relationship with the entrepreneur. This conflict between the ideological, economic and artistic priorities of Takarazuka, both past and present, illustrates the fragile balance underpinning a company with such totalising ambitions in creative and commercial terms. It must be stressed just how dependent Takarazuka is on these three tectonic plates, which invariably generate periodic or lasting friction, usually caused by management policies or, more rarely, by the daring decisions of the company’s writer- directors.

25 Having returned in 1928, Shikō turned his attentions to the rise of Italy’s far right in his play Mussolini. The global political situation had begun to impact artistic circles and Shikō was well aware how the context of a period influenced the content of the works being staged. In an article entitled “The Theatrical World Reacts” (Handō no gekikai 反動 の劇界), he noted that Japanese theatre was growing particularly dark due to the great respect shown for authors like Anton Chekhov (1860‑1904) and Henrik Ibsen (1828‑1906), whose influence explained the writing of the many “suicide dramas” (jisatsugeki 自殺劇) staged at that time. Seeing the recent trend for comedies as a

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counterbalance to “Ibsen-style plays,” he suggested that Kokuminza follow in this same vein, possibly using the writings of Okamoto Kidō 岡本綺堂 (1872‑1939). The aim was to create new comedies in tune with the climate of the time—a challenging climate that no doubt created a desire for plays that allowed audiences to unwind yet still explored the major issues of the day. He saw theatre neither as a “place for preaching” (sekkyōba 説教場) nor as pure entertainment. Its true value lay instead in “pleasing audiences while making them think; delighting them while providing an emotional experience”.38

26 The year 1928 was also marked by a Kokuminza performance of one of Tsubouchi Shōyō’s most powerful and inspired plays, The Hermit (En no gyōja 役の行者, 1916), which had already been staged at the Tsukiji Little Theatre by Osanai Kaoru in 1926. Keen to add music and staging in the style of a grand opera, Shikō called on his uncle, who came and spent four days helping him put the play together. As critically acclaimed as Hamlet, The Hermit remains one of Kokuminza’s formal triumphs. In the spring of 1929, just before it began its run of Othello—once again adapted by Shikō—, the troupe travelled to Tokyo to raise money by performing both Hamlet and The Hermit at the Waseda Theatre Museum (Waseda Engeki Hakubutsukan 早稲田演劇博物館).39 Nevertheless, despite their intellectual prestige, neither Shōyō nor Kobayashi were able to ensure the survival of the Kokuminza troupe: viewed in retrospect, the Tokyo performances resemble a final display of fireworks before the group’s inevitable dissolution. In between these two isolated successes, the group was forced to perform alongside other troupes in order to ensure a full house. In dire straits, it gradually became a touring theatre troupe as a means of surviving. The content of its programmes was modified and henceforth consisted essentially of short one-act plays known as “varieties.”

27 While Kokuminza was struggling to win over audiences, Takarazuka was enjoying renewed popularity by introducing the revue form to Japan via the staggering success of Mon Paris (モン巴里, 1927), penned and directed by Kishida Tatsuya 岸田辰彌 (1892‑1944), younger brother of the painter Kishida Ryūsei 岸田劉生 (1891‑1929). The novelty of the revue genre, centred on the vitality of its music and dance, provided a stark contrast to the “fairy‑tale operas” (otogi kageki お伽歌劇) and “historical dramas” (jidai‑mono 時代物) that had previously formed the basis of Takarazuka’s repertoire. It clearly determined the direction of subsequent productions, pushing them towards dynamism and the cult of magnificence. In an effort to make its performances profitable by harnessing the stars of the moment, the Kokuminza troupe toured Kyūshū in May 1930 with a play by Kishida, bolstering its cast with a number of Takarazuka stars.40 However, with Parisette パリゼット in August 1930, Shirai Tetsuzō took Takarazuka and the revue genre to the height of their popularity, to the detriment of Kokuminza. Shikō made one last‑ditch attempt to save the company by introducing a unified ticket price of fifty sen in September 1930, but the impact was limited and he ultimately had to resign himself to disbanding the moribund troupe in November that year. How can we explain this failure after four and a half years of existence, and despite a promising cast and strong ideological convictions? Shikō gave two main reasons: his own powerlessness and, more prosaically, the closeness of the Chūgekijō to the Daigekijō. Contrary to expectations, Kokuminza suffered undeniably from its proximity to Takarazuka, the competition from which rendered any other initiative practically invisible.41 Despite drawing visitors from Osaka and Kobe with plays like

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Hamlet and The Hermit, the troupe was unable to survive in the shadow of the all-girl revue.

28 In a similar vein, the disastrous experience of the Takarazuka Variety 宝塚バラエ ティー performances staged at the Chūgekijō in 1932 is also worthy of mention. The idea was to break with the romantic-dramatic style of Takarazuka productions (with the exception of revues) and propose comedy shows pairing Takarasiennes with male artists specially invited for the occasion, such as Mon Paris director Kishida Tatsuya, actor and singer Yamano Ichirō 山野一郎 (1899‑1958), and well-known comedian Furukawa Roppa 古川緑波 (1903‑1961).42 However, Takarazuka’s group strength seemed to be compromised by incorporating headline elements from outside the troupe. Unable to unite audiences, the Takarazuka Variety experiment was terminated in August 1932 after just two shows.

29 The lukewarm public response to Kokuminza and Takarazuka Variety did not shake Kobayashi’s desire to create a mixed Takarazuka-style troupe that would be famous throughout Japan. In an article published in the Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun on 3 June 1939, he reiterated his ideas on the future that Western instruments held for Japanese music, and firmly stressed his intention to train young men once again the following spring, his aim being to expand the range of his all-female opera and even elevate it to higher standards. Despite being thwarted initially by the outbreak of World War II, this desire generated concrete initiatives during the postwar period, spurred by a demobilised young soldier whose actions hastened the creation of Kobayashi Ichizō’s long-desired male section.

A second chance?

30 In the autumn of 1945, Kobayashi received a letter from a stranger named Jōkin Fumio 上金文雄 (1923‑2005), who described himself as a long‑standing admirer of Takarazuka. He had seen Mon Paris as a four-year-old and retained vivid memories of it. Now a singer himself, he expressed his desire to join the troupe as a performer and suggested that Takarazuka stage musicals using a mixed cast. Jōkin entertained few illusions about getting a reply, so it was with great surprise that he found himself receiving a postcard from Kobayashi inviting him to contact his “right-hand man” at the Revue, the administrative director Hikita Ichirō 引田一郎. The speed of Kobayashi’s response demonstrates that, as he had expressed in 1939, he continued to nurture the idea of incorporating male performers into Takarazuka as soon as the company was able to return to normal business at the Daigekijō, then requisitioned by the American occupying forces.43 A casting call was soon placed in the daily press for an audition to be held in the winter of 1945. This was the first of four campaigns held between December 1945 and January 1952 to recruit young men.44 Despite the response generated, few of the candidates interested Kobayashi and Hikita, who had immediately recruited Jōkin due to the young man’s impressive determination.45 Two singers who had graduated from specialist schools and two former members of the Takarazuka orchestra were selected for the first cohort of male students, who began training in a separate rehearsal space to the girls.46 Kobayashi often lamented the difficulty of finding high calibre male performers, in contrast to the plethora of “satisfactory” candidates for the position of female singers and dancers. Well known for his

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conservative views on marriage as the only desirable destiny for a woman, he explained the differing quality of candidates in the following terms:47 When all is said and done, a nineteen‑ or twenty-year-old woman’s decision to devote herself to the stage does not determine her future; it is simply one means of covering part of her wedding expenses before she marries… However, the situation is very different for a young man in his twenties. This is a crucial time when he must choose the path he will walk for the rest of his life. He cannot decide to become a stage actor in such a determined manner. When thinking about one’s future and one’s abilities, it is not possible to make such a decision lightly. 女の方は何といっても、十九、二十位の時に舞台人となるといふことが決して その将来を決定的にするものではない、言はば結婚前には結婚費用の一端を稼 ぐよすがとなる位のものである。[…] ところが、男となると、条件が甚だしく 異なるので、二十代の男といふものは、その将来の進むべき道をここで決定す べき大事な時期にあるわけだから、中々思ひ切って舞台人になるといふふんぎ りもつきかねる。将来のことや自分の才能など反省すると容易に軽々たる行動 が出来かねるというわけだ。

31 He did, however, see an exception to this situation in the way Japan’s traditional performing arts were passed down between the generations: As for Kabuki, acting is a family profession passed down from generation to generation. Those born into an acting family or raised by one as an adopted child are pushed onto the stage at a young age—whether they like it or not—in order to keep the profession alive… Since the greatest actors we have ever known were produced by such an environment, I wonder if it might not be the best way to obtain excellent male performers, and not only in Kabuki.48 歌舞伎劇の方では、俳優といふ職業を一つの家業として、親から子、子から孫 へと伝へてゐる。俳優の家に生まれたもの、或いは養子として貰はれて来たも のは、世襲の家業を継いでゆくといふ意味で、有無を言はせず子供の頃から舞 台に立たされてゐる。[…] 今までの多くの名優がかうして生れ来ったことを思 ふと、歌舞伎劇でなくとも、総じて男の舞台人といふものは、結局かういふ方 法によらざれば、優れたものは生み出し得ないのではないかと思ふ。

32 Kobayashi did not see a vocation for the stage as indispensable for a woman, in the sense that her status as an artist was ideally only to be temporary. On the other hand, men were required to show a level of talent and commitment that went well beyond what was expected of the female recruits. And so it was that many candidates were rejected at the second audition in March 1946, with just three individuals being retained: Inoue Tōru 井上亨 (Koizumi Tetsu 小泉徹), Mugishima Haruo 麦島春夫 (Komatsu Haruo 小松春夫) and Nishino Kōzō 西野皓三.49 Social developments in the spring of 1946 no doubt encouraged Kobayashi’s decision to incorporate men into a structure that had previously been fiercely defended by audiences as exclusively female. Indeed, the promulgation of a new education system that would gradually introduce co‑education to high schools made this a good time to attempt to do the same at Takarazuka, an institution that was itself modelled on school. Furthermore, scriptwriters working for the company also gradually came to support the idea of a mixed troupe. Hori Seiki, who at the time was staging a new version of Carmen for the reopening of the Daigekijō (April 1946), wrote an article in favour of supplementing the troupe with male voices: There was something missing from the all‑female troupe. I myself often considered mixing [male and female] voices, if only using an invisible chorus off stage. Employing only women does not allow the true feel of Carmen, which is currently being staged, to come through and thus limits the choice of operas for an all‑female cast. When we eat the same set‑menu all year round, it is only natural to sometimes

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want to try something à la carte. Of course, just because we suddenly incorporate men does not mean that we can stage real operas… Nevertheless, in the near future we will no doubt need to add male voices, if only as an invisible chorus.50 女ばかり、そこには随分物足りなさがあった。顔の見えない舞台裏のコーラス だけでも混声すればと思ったことも幾度もあった。今演っているカルメンにし ても女だけでは到底その味が出せないし女ばかりとなると自然に題材は限定さ れ、年中定食ばかり食っているといったわけで、やはり時には一品料理もほし いのが人間である。しかし、今急に男が入ったからといって勿論本格的オペラ などやれるわけもない。[…] だが顔の見えないコーラス だけは近く男声を混へ ることになろう。

Figure 1. Some of the trainees from Takarzuka’s male section, 1946

From left to right: Morimoto Yoshimasa, Mugishima Haruo, Jōkin Fumio, Nishino Kōzō, Inoue Tōru, Sakurai Haruo © Tsuji Norihiko/Kōbe Sōgō Shuppan Center

33 Dissatisfied by the technical constraints imposed by an all-female troupe, Hori was the first to suggest the idea of employing a boys’ chorus. However, given Takarazuka’s past attempts, he did not believe it was necessary to have men appear on stage and instead recommended a “two‑part system” (nibusei 二部制), whereby the Revue would continue to perform all‑girls’ musicals while staging operettas as parallel projects involving boys, resembling the duality seen between Takarazuka and Kokuminza. Nevertheless, for Kobayashi, the vocal ensemble was merely a first step towards a more radical change: after adding male voices in the form of invisible choirs or via records,51 his idea was to gradually cast male actors in side productions (such as shingeki-style modern dramas) and then mould performers tailor‑made for the revue genre. For all this, his desire for a mixed‑sex Takarazuka did not mean doing away with the otokoyaku. He wrote that: I must stress that adding [actors] does not mean having them replace the otokoyaku. As long as the revue stage remains a world of “beauty and dreams,” I have no intention of abandoning the beauty of women dressed as men. Just like the onnagata in shinpa, otokoyaku have a beauty and role that are all their own…52

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然しそれはあくまでも「加入」であって男役に置きかわるものではない。レ ヴィユゥの舞台が「美と夢の世界」である限り「男装の美しさ」は捨てたくは ない。新派の女形の於ける如くレヴィユゥの舞台には「男役」でなくては出せ ない美しさや役があるのだから･･･。

34 The comparison with shinpa theatre is significant in more ways than one: although this theatrical form had brought about a complete break with classical theatre by encouraging the appearance of female performers, it nonetheless featured highly hybrid casts blending actresses and onnagata, despite their antinomic positions.53 Although it was an isolated case, the nervous breakdown suffered by Mizutani Yaeko 水 谷八重子 (1905‑1979) after she appeared in a mixed cast alongside the onnagata Hanayagi Shōtarō 花柳章太郎 (1864‑1955), due to his performance being more authentic, feminine and convincing than hers, illustrates just how difficult it was to reconcile the presence on stage of actors of both sexes playing the same gender, whether masculine or feminine. In the case of Takarazuka, the problem was slightly different in that—and this distinguished Takarazuka from Kabuki in particular—the otokoyaku were not required to portray a true masculinity that audiences could emulate off stage. What was desired was an alternative, idealised masculinity that worked particularly well in the dreamlike world of the revue: in short, a masculinity that was inaccessible to male performers. More prosaically, as long as the otokoyaku remained an object of fascination that ensured seats were filled, it would have been a misstep for Kobayashi, as a businessman and strategist, to replace them with male actors. Based on previous attempts, it seemed even less likely that the omnipotent public would accept such a change, indeed such a revolution.

35 Despite Kobayashi’s grand declarations on the gradual incorporation of men, the company’s male recruits were forced to bide their time. Aside from a brief appearance by the first cohort at a gala variety performance in Nishinomiya in December 1945, the male section had no opportunity to perform on stage, even in an “invisible” capacity. The section’s members nonetheless persisted with their training in the hopes of one day being able to perform before thousands of spectators at the Daigekijō. Yet for the entire year of 1947 they had to content themselves with just two days of performances at the Chūgekijō in December, at the company’s free annual show for readers of Kageki. And even then, they appeared in just two plays within the copious five-part programme.54 Watching in the audience was the mangaka Tezuka Osamu 手塚治虫 (1928‑1989), a native of Takarazuka city and well‑known aficionado of the troupe. This remarkable mixed‑cast performance aroused very different feelings in him from the Revue’s usual shows and left a lasting impression, which he described in the following terms: [The male recruits] appeared on stage just once, as an experiment, in an operetta. The men and women thus performed in a Tōhō‑style musical. When the girls came on stage I was struck for the first time by their femininity. When they were cast alone, the girls were not an object of desire. But for the first time I found them sexy: performing alongside men highlighted their eroticism.55 彼らが一種のテストケースとして舞台に立って一度だけオペレッタをやった。 つまり男と女が東宝ミュージカルのようなものをやった。そのとき女が出てき たとき、あああれは女だなと初めて思った。つまり、女だけ見ていても性の対 象にならない。男が出てきて女が色っぽいと、初めてセクシーだなという感じ がした。

36 As Tezuka points out, the eroticism of the female body, until then “erased” by the all‑girl cast, was suddenly revealed by the presence on stage of “biological” males. The

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concerns as to the benefit of introducing men are thus easy to understand. When Kobayashi first set out to create a “national theatre,” he had insisted on the need to offer wholesome, family‑friendly shows that could be watched by any kind of audience, and staunchly rejected nudity and eroticism on the grounds that they were artistically unnecessary.56 In fact, this niche was already occupied by the all‑female Shōchiku Revue, historically Takarazuka’s greatest rival, which offered a more sensual and mature style of performance that was sometimes nicknamed “Takarazuka for adults”.57 The vocabulary chosen to describe Takarazuka’s performers also helped to infantilise them, since they were officially referred to as “students” rather than “actresses,” considered a morally disreputable profession for women in Japan from the late nineteenth century to the early decades of the twentieth century58. Similarly, in contrast to the term “man’s role” (otokoyaku), there was no such thing as a “woman’s role” (onnayaku), since Kobayashi had preferred the term “girl’s role” (musumeyaku) for its connotations of purity and naivety. Despite adopting a line of conduct on stage that excluded any improper scenes, the risk of the musumeyaku being suddenly eroticised, and consequently, of Takarazuka’s identity being radically challenged, perhaps explains in part why the male section was kept indefinitely out of sight. It seems unlikely, however, that the idealised masculinity of the otokoyaku could have been eliminated by the virile presence of male actors. Based on iconographic documents from the day, the physical style of the male performers seems to have remarkably resembled the androgynous dandies beloved by fans of the otokoyaku, featuring heavy make-up and a particular focus on elegance. In fact, the male recruits reported having learned stage make-up techniques from their female colleagues, which explains the uniform aesthetic. Nevertheless, despite this apparent solidarity, actors and Takarasiennes viewed each other in much more complex terms.

The Takarasienne perspective on male performers

37 Although they sat at different tables in the canteen and trained in separate rooms, students of both sexes would often cross paths on the company’s premises. Officially, male and female performers were on quite friendly terms. Crushes even developed between students, involving sugary love letters and romantic rendezvous. Jōkin himself recalled having sent a love letter to Yachigusa Kaoru 八千草薫 (1931‑), admired at the time by all the Takarazuka boys. He was sharply reprimanded by the troupe’s manager Hikita, who summoned him along with several of his fellow performers and gave them the following lecture: “It’s a bit early for that; you are still in training! Consider yourselves to be big brothers and little sisters, and concentrate on your studies.”59 Following this dressing down, relations between girls and boys were closely supervised and it was absolutely forbidden for them to speak to one another, even if they were to bump into each other outside Takarazuka. The school had to remain a place for learning and not serve as an introduction to sensuality.

38 Just as in 1919, the presence of young men at Takarazuka was far from being unanimously approved by the Takarasiennes. The actress Ai Michiko 阿井美千子 (1930‑), who joined the Revue in 1946 before being lured to cinema and the Tōei film company in 1954, confirms the girls’ staunch opinions on the “intruders”: They were always there whenever we went on stage, but the performing students, just like the audience, pretended not to see them. We felt sorry for them. Almost all of the students were against the presence of boys: some of the girls had joined

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[Takarazuka] because they thought it would be a “garden of women,” so there was resistance to the very idea of males intruding in it.60 私たちが舞台に立っていると、すぐそばに(男子研究生の)顔があったんですけ ど、出演している生徒もお客さまもあえて見ないようにしているという感じで したね。私らはかわいそうやと思いました。生徒の中では、『女の園』やと 思って入ってきたのに、男の人がいてはったというので抵抗感もあって、ほと んどの生徒が男の人が いるのに反対でした。

39 Following the first two intakes of male students, a survey was conducted in the May 1946 issue of Kageki among twenty‑three star Takarasiennes of the day. They were asked for their opinions on, among other things, the inclusion of males at Takarazuka. Just as Ai Michiko reported, there was widespread opposition among the Takarasiennes. With the exception of Kamiyo Nishiki and Yūhi Akane, everyone expressed their objection to the idea, with some qualifying their stance by suggesting that the presence of males should be reserved for an alternative, Kokuminza‑style venture. I’m against it. There might currently be a great need in Japan for mixed-sex musicals, but we want to preserve the purity, honesty and beauty for which Takarazuka stands. (Koshiji Fubuki 越路吹雪, 1924‑1980) 反対です。男性加入に依る歌劇は現在の日本に大いに望ましい事ですが、私た ちは宝塚歌劇のモットーたる「 清く、正しく、美しく」を保ちたいと思いま す。 If male performers are incorporated into the troupe, the unique feel of Takarazuka would disappear… We want to keep Takarazuka as it is today, make it better through our own strength, and keep the idea of adding males forever at bay. (Otowa Nobuko 乙羽信子, 1924‑1994) 今もし男性加入が実行されれば、今までの宝塚特有の雰囲気は消滅するでしょ う。[…] 永久に男性加入という言葉は私たちから縁遠いものとして今のままの 歌劇団を私たちの力でよきものにしてゆきたい気持ちいっぱいです。 Since the dreamlike atmosphere that characterises Takarazuka’s shows is preserved by its all‑female cast, I am against the introduction of boys into the troupe today. However, I would support the idea if actresses are chosen to perform with them in a completely separate troupe, under a different name. (Kasugano Yachiyo 春日野八 千代, 1915‑2012) 宝塚歌劇の持つ夢の様な雰囲気は女性ばかりの劇団に於てこそ保たれるものと 思いますから今の「宝塚」に男性を加入させる事は反対です。しかし、全然別 のものとして劇団の名前も新しく付け、共演する女優も新たに選ぶのなら賛成 します。 I support the introduction of boys in that it would allow us to stage real operas and grand shows. (Kamiyo Nishiki 神代錦, 1917‑1989) オペラ、グランドショウ等を男性加入により本格的にやるのは賛成です。 I agree with the idea of incorporating boys and would like us to stage more and more authentic operas. I believe that Japan is capable of producing shows as good as anything in the West.61. (Yūhi Akane 夕映あかね, dates unknown) 男性加入結構です。そして、どんどんと本格的なオペラを上演して欲しいと思 います。日本でも外国に負けない位なものが出来る様になると信じます。

40 The handful of opinions expressed in favour of a mixed troupe echo Kobayashi’s main criticism regarding the limits of an all‑female opera. This argument had fuelled copious debate in Kageki right from its first issue in 1918: while an all‑girl troupe was a wonderful publicity generator, artistically it had a certain “immaturity” (mijukusei 未熟 性) and imperfection, which could nonetheless be offset by a mixed cast. The ultimate objective was to achieve the “genuine” (honkakuteki 本格的) feel of a real opera performance. Unsurprisingly, these same terms appear in the opinions expressed by Takarasiennes in support of adding males. No doubt they themselves sought to add

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greater depth to their performances (in fact, in his notes Kobayashi Ichizō openly admitted to finding some of his former female recruits superior in mixed-sex productions). Yet the troupe had found fame as an all‑female outfit, however immature and imperfect it might be. The majority of actresses and fans were attached to this form and feared that altering the foundations of Takarazuka would shatter its “characteristic” harmony. Everything thus hung on popular demand. A similar survey was conducted among the general public in September 1946 in the form of a round‑table discussion at which anonymous individuals could give their opinion on a mixed‑sex Takarazuka. Advancing essentially the same arguments as the Takarasiennes, the audience came out unanimously against such a change. Although frustrated by this outcome, Kobayashi was conscious that the public could not be forced to accept new conventions that it neither wanted nor needed: When should boys be added [to Takarazuka]? This question should not be answered by theatrical theory nor by management lines but rather by popular desire. Such a desire will necessarily emerge the day audiences are no longer satisfied with an all‑female theatre, when they have accumulated a certain amount of knowledge on world theatre. Only then can a mixed troupe become a reality for the first time. In the meantime, I see this as a preparatory phase, a training phase… I had to resolve myself to concluding that, even with the best actors, a mixed-sex theatre was, for the Japanese sensibility of the day, less interesting than an all‑female theatre.62 いつ男性を加入すべきか―との問題を解決するのは演劇理論や経営方針が決定 するのではなく、民衆の要求が決定すべき問題です。民衆が女性だけの演劇に 飽き足らなくなった日、民衆が世界演劇の水準に達する教養を積んだ日に必然 的に起きる要求によって、その時初めて男性加入を実現すべきで、それまでは まず準備期であり、訓練期であると存じます。[…] 男性が加入したら、相当い い俳優を使ったにもかかわらず、遥かに女性だけの方が、現在の日本人の感覚 では面白く感じるという結論に満足せねばなりませんでした。

Voices in the shadows

41 Following this “preparatory” phase, the boys gradually came to have a concrete role during performances; as long as Takarazuka audiences refused their presence on stage, their contribution would be limited, as initially suggest by Hori, to being a “shadow chorus” (kage chorus 陰コーラス) designed to give greater depth to the vocal score. Hidden from spectators and Takarasiennes in a booth located stage right, the boys were to read short lines of text at strategic moments in the script and sing parts whose register, ranging from tenor to baritone (defined by some music encyclopaedias as baritenor), was too low to be properly mastered by the otokoyaku. In 1934, the introduction of microphones on stands to Japan had led the otokoyaku to abandon the soprano register that characterised Takarazuka singing, independently of the specialisation of roles, and to accentuate the middle and lower-middle registers in order to create a contrast with the timbre of the musumeyaku. The use of audio amplifiers was instrumental in bringing about this evolution in vocal technique. In terms of tessitura, otokoyaku always sing—with varying degrees of ease—in the contralto range with a deep and full vocal quality, one octave above baritone. Nevertheless, their chest voice remains forced and breathy, and cannot objectively be compared with the power and amplitude that characterise opera singing. It thus seemed wise to add consonance via a “shadow chorus,” or occasionally a “front-stage chorus” (omote chorus 表コーラス) when the boys sang from the orchestra pit, which in those days was shallower. Nevertheless, these front‑stage choruses seem to have been

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used less frequently than their booth‑bound counterparts, and in any case, the boys did not gain in visibility.63 At most, audiences could see the top of the singers’ heads, who could easily be mistaken for orchestra members.

42 One play made a particular impression on audiences and the members of the male section who “participated” in the project: Yu the Beautiful (Gubijin 虞美人, 1951), a tale adapted and directed by Shirai Tetsuzō from the novel Xiang Yu and Liu Bang (Kōu to Ryūhō 項羽と劉邦, 1917) by Nagayo Yoshirō 長與善郎 (1888‑1961). Set in Ancient China, this sweeping epic recounts the turbulent end of the Qin Dynasty in a visual and dramatic crescendo. The dramatic storyline reaches a climax in the war that raged from 206 to 202 BCE between the Chu, led by Xiang Yu (in Japanese, Kōu), and the Han, led by Liu Bang (Ryūhō). Shirai took the innovative decision of presenting the play as a stand-alone show (ippondate 一本立て). Comprised of thirty‑two scenes, Gubijin was Takarazuka’s first long-format play. It lasted four hours and allowed for unprecedented plot development. Despite the numerous side stories, these were woven together by the play’s simple main theme: namely, the love of Xiang Yu, Hegemon‑Prince of the Chu, for his young wife Yu Ji, said to be greater than his love for his kingdom. The vocal contributions of the male section were greater and more precisely calculated than ever, with Shirai counting on this new resource to raise the intensity of the dramatic material to heights never reached by the all-female troupe. Photographs and publications from the day all bear witness to the enthusiastic response garnered from the public.64 In some ways, Gubijin represented the high point of “national popular theatre.” It extended beyond Takarazuka’s usual fan base to reach a wide audience and was heavily commented on in the media for its elaborate stage design and intense, spectacular style. The writer Sakaguchi Ango 坂口安吾 (1906‑1955) published a piquant essay of his first experience watching Takarazuka in the October 1951 issue of Bungei Shunjū 文藝春秋. Having seen Gubijin, he described the performance as “very grown‑up” (suggesting that Takarazuka’s reputation as an all‑girl theatre was still very much alive) and lauded Shirai as a “great author, one of the few that exist in Japan.” 65 However, he made no mention of the use of boys’ voices, designed to elevate the show to a new level, and essentially stressed the “quality of the otokoyaku, which exceeded [his] expectations,” as well as the gracefulness of the two generals played by Kasugano Yachiyo and Kamiyo Nishiki, who seemed in the novelist's eyes to be “giants” on their horses.

43 For his part, Ueda Shinji 植田紳爾 (1933‑), who penned Takarazuka’s adaptations of The Rose of Versailles (Berusaiyu no Bara ベルサイユのばら, first staged in 1974) and Gone with the Wind (Kaze to tomo ni sarinu 風と共に去りぬ, first staged in 1977), provided a description of the show that included these “off‑stage” males and underlined the chorus’ impact during the final scene. In the famous scene depicting the Battle of Gaixia, which ended with the founding of the Han dynasty, Liu Bang’s soldiers surround Xiang Yu’s surviving troupes and attempt to break their spirit by singing a Chu song (shimen soka 四面楚歌). At the sound of a song from his home country, Xiang Yu becomes convinced that his people have switched allegiances to the Han; he surrenders and joins Yu Ji in death. In his production plan, Shirai decided to cast the boys in the invisible but crucial role of Han soldiers, which according to Ueda worked perfectly well from a dramatic standpoint but encountered much opposition from Takarazuka aficionados who resisted the addition of male harmonies.66 Even worse, despite playing a key role, the boys’ names were omitted from the programme.67 They were thus doubly

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invisible, made to bear a bitter supporting role with no public recognition, something acerbically pointed out in a column published in the Sunday Mainichi サンデー毎日 on 19 July 1953: While the female students who joined [the Takarazuka Music School] with them had all made their Daigekijō debut and were steadily ascending to stardom, the boys were scornfully mocked as they pursued their training without ever seeing the light of day, and one by one, left for other troupes. The vanishing male student: this is truly the kingdom of women.68 同時に入学した女生徒がみんな大劇場で初舞台をふみ、ぐんぐんスターへの道 を進んでいるとき、陽の目をみない稽古に「なんやねん、男のくせして」と冷 笑され、転向組が相次いで出る有様となった。「消えてゆく男生徒」さすが女 人王国である。

For the emergence of a new popular art

44 Mirroring the suggestion made by Hori (see earlier in this article), Kobayashi decided to bypass the public’s reticence by incorporating males into the Revue as part of a new, “subsidiary” troupe that ideally would allow the company to explore new theatrical territory. The result was Takarazuka Shingeiza, or “Takarazuka New Art Theatre.” This situation was not without echoes of the circumstances leading to the creation of Kokuminza. This continual shifting of males from a central to a marginal role confirms just how difficult it was to permanently incorporate men into what was seen by the public as a sanctuary for women and vigorously defended as such by the artists themselves.69

45 This new theatrical group was officially created in the autumn of 1950 and given the name Takarazuka Shingeiza Dōjō 宝塚新芸座道場. The word dōjō, whose reference to the martial arts should be understood as referring to a “place for training for the challenges of the stage,” was removed from the troupe’s name in early 1952. Yet this connotation of an apprenticeship or even amateurism had been intentional, since the contrast between Shingeiza’s smaller-scale, less polished productions and Takarazuka’s Daigekijō shows made the latter appear even grander. The Shingeiza productions, which initially could be watched free of charge, were purposely scheduled for late morning, just before Takarazuka shows. Indeed, Kobayashi feared that the departure of the company’s big names (Koshiji Fubuki, Otowa Nobuko, Awashima Chikage and Kuji Asami) for film and singing careers might severely test the female troupes’ popularity. What was needed was a means of “ensnaring” the public by offering a varied range of shows at the same venue.70 The vast Takarazuka entertainment complex, located on the banks of the Muko River, offered the perfect place for implementing this “one‑set” (integrated service) system. While Takarazuka’s female troupes occupied the “Grand Theater” (Daigekijō, which in 1950 had a capacity of approximately 3,000 seats) all year round, the “Medium Theater” (Chūgekijō 中劇場, 1,300 seats) was converted into a cinema. Renamed the “Takarazuka Cinema Theater” (Takarazuka Eiga Gekijō 宝塚映画劇場), it mainly screened films produced by the company’s own studios, Takarazuka Eiga 宝塚映画. Finally, the “Little Theater” (Shōgekijō 小劇場, 400 seats) was to house Shingeiza activities, a strategic decision based on the lessons learned from the failure of Kokuminza: by housing a large troupe in a theatre it was unable to fill, Kobayashi and Shikō had clearly been overambitious and perhaps undermined Kokuminza’s chances of success right from the outset. Shingeiza was thus to start out more modestly with a small troupe, recreating the

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atmosphere of a modern yose 寄席71, the intimate little show houses used since the Edo period for oral and storytelling arts such as rakugo 落語, kōdan 講談, and later on, manzai 漫才.

46 The first Shingeiza performances, in November 1950, provided seven members of the boys’ section (Jōkin, Mugishima, Suzuki, Enami, Taji, Yamaguchi and Yokoyama) with the opportunity to make their first real stage debut, the revue-style scenes finally allowing them to showcase the fruits of their intensive dance training. The female roles were entrusted to Takarasiennes, some of whom were veteran performers like Asaji Shinobu 浅茅しのぶ (1925‑), whose career was entering its thirteenth year and who occasionally starred in films produced by Takarazuka Eiga. Despite its cast of experienced artists, Shingeiza sought to develop a performance style that was fundamentally different to Takarazuka.72 Its programmes resolutely leaned towards variety and diversity, incorporating a wide range of elements. The introduction in 1951 of young manzai duos performing comic sketches between scenes (Yumeji Itoshi and Kimi Koishi 夢路いとし・喜味こいし, Akita A‑Suke and B‑Suke 秋田Aす け・Bすけ) saw Shingeiza develop a theatrical style that was midway between music hall and yose.

47 Following a five-year break, Takarazuka’s fourth—and last—male recruitment drive was held in 1952, yielding a crop of twelve new students.73 This higher-than-usual intake can be interpreted in two ways: it may partially have been intended to compensate for the loss of male Takarazuka performers, since several had already left in search of more concrete artistic opportunities (the others had found a way to overcome the dearth of on‑stage roles in the Shingeiza troupe); or perhaps this recruitment was intended essentially to boost Shingeiza’s numbers rather than Takarazuka’s. In fact, the boys recruited in January 1952 made their stage debut with the Shingeiza troupe as early as the following month.74 The sheer quantity of notes written about this troupe by Kobayashi in the early 1950s, in the pages of Kageki, the monthly magazine dedicated to Takarazuka, leaves no doubt as to the attention this group received. His desire to expand the new troupe was also visible in the use of various media, a tactic that had already proved successful with Takarazuka. In February 1952, Shingeiza obtained its own weekly radio show on the airwaves of Shin Nippon Hōsō 新日本放送 (now MBS). Entitled Takarazuka Shingeiza Parade 宝塚新芸座パラード, it gave artists the chance to sing extracts from the repertoire performed on stage and promote the troupe’s activities. The Shingeiza troupe gradually began to extend its activities beyond the Kansai region, performing in Tokyo and touring Kyushu with its dedicated orchestra of a dozen members. Only after it had proven its ability to fill entire venues was its operational base moved to the former Chūgekijō (then the Takarazuka Cinema Theater) in 1953, the troupe’s management taking great care not to repeat the mistakes made with Kokuminza. This venue was entirely given over to Shingeiza activities and renamed the Takarazuka Shingei Gekijō 宝塚新芸劇場, remaining, until its closure in 1972, the “stamping ground” of the boys catapulted into this troupe (see figure 2). By this point, there were only fifteen members still under contract with Takarazuka.

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Figure 2: Some of the male recruits in 1953

From left to right: Inoue Tōru, Enami Takayoshi, Suzuki Shigeo, Taji Keiji, Fukushima Wataru, Yamaguchi Akihiko, Jōkin Fumio, Mugishima Haruo © Tsuji Norihiko/Kōbe Sōgō Shuppan Center

48 In contrast to the homages paid to Takarasiennes when they retire from the company, Takarazuka’s male section was abruptly disbanded in March 1954 without any kind of farewell tribute (see figure 3). It no longer had any reason to exist now that a home for the boys’ activities had been found with Shingeiza: despite Kobayashi’s dreams and grand ideals, both the public and the actresses remained invariably attached to an all‑female Takarazuka, no matter how artistically “weak” it could appear in the eyes of its founder and mastermind. Some of the male recruits were transferred to the Shingeiza troupe as permanent members. Those who had specialised in dance decided to join the group of dancers at the Kitano Theater in Osaka (also known as the Kitano Gekijō Dancing Team 北野劇場ダンシングチーム).75 The Shingeiza troupe later gave several performances at the Kitano Theater, providing the opportunity for an emotional reunion between former members of the male section. In 1956 the group’s repertoire was expanded with special performances of “Shingeiza kabuki,” for which a certain number of Kabuki actors temporarily joined the troupe’s permanent members: Arashi San’emon XI (十一代目嵐三右衛門; 1906‑1980), Kataoka Nizaemon XIII (十三代 目片岡仁左衛門; 1903‑1994) and Ichikawa Enjūrō III (三代目市川猿十郎; 1915‑1991), also known as Iwai Kisaburō II (二代目岩井貴三郎). This initiative enabled a highly enriching artistic exchange between actors from the worlds of Takarazuka and Kabuki. It was also unquestionably a return to the origins of Kobayashi’s initial idea to develop a new Kabuki using Western music. Ueda Shinji, who directed the troupe in the 1960s, recalls a family atmosphere despite the troupe being composed of highly professional artists.76 After Ichizō’s death in 1957, his third‑born son Kobayashi Yonezō 小林米三 (1909‑1969) worked to protect the interests of Takarazuka and Shingeiza. The latter

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moved towards performing “pure,” non‑musical theatre, presenting a resolutely different image to its “revue years.” When it lost its dedicated venue in 1972, rebuilt as Bow Hall to house more intimate Takarazuka performances, Shingeiza changed its vocation to become a production company for those of its artists continuing a career in theatre, film and television. It began to seriously run out of steam in the 1980s and definitively ceased its activities in March 1988.

Figure 3. 26 March 1954, last day of the male section

On the spur of the moment, the members decided to pose for a photographer not far from the Daigekijō before going their separate ways. From left to right, front row: Enami Takayoshi, Jōkin Fumio, Suzuki Shigeo, and Yasunaga Jun’ichi. Middle row: Takada Jitsuo and Inoue Tōru. Back row: Yamaguchi Akihiko, Fukushima Wataru, Nagano Yoshinari, Mugishima Haruo, and Taji Keiji © Tsuji Norihiko/Kōbe Sōgō Shuppan Center

49 For the Revue’s founder, by then in his eighties, the end of the boys’ adventure in 1954 was the final nail in the coffin of his plan to incorporate males. It was time to accept that the Revue could only function as an all‑female outfit and that the limits associated with the troupe’s composition ultimately had the same suggestive potential that had made the Kabuki onnagata a success. Attempts were occasionally made to incorporate women into Kabuki, on account of the unnaturalness of onnagata, but ultimately it is the onnagata that make Kabuki what it is. In the same way, adding boys to Takarazuka seems even less indispensable. In the eyes of women, the otokoyaku are much more than men; and it is women who know male beauty best. The male roles adapted and performed by women are seen from a female point of view as much more seductive than the real thing. And the Takarazuka otokoyaku particularly shine in this practice. The onnagata from Kabuki also represent an idealised woman in the eyes of men. In their character, style and conduct they are in every way the archetype of the ideal woman. In this respect, the onnagata are more sensual than real women; they are more of a woman than a woman. Just as Kabuki prospered through the sensuality of the onnagata, which would be impossible for a real woman to recreate, the

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Takarazuka otokoyaku are more charming than real men. For this reason, I think that Takarazuka will forever remain as it is.77 歌舞伎の女形は不自然だから、女を入れなければいかんというて、ときどき実 行するけれども、結局、あれは女形あっての歌舞伎なのだ。同じように宝塚の 歌劇も、男を入れてやる必要はさらにない。なぜなれば、女から見た男役とい うものは男以上のものである。いわゆる男 性美を一番よく知っている者は女で ある。その女が工夫して演ずる男役は、女から見たら実物以上の惚れ惚れある 男性が演ぜられているわけだ。そこが宝塚の男役の非常に輝くところである。 歌舞伎の女形も、男の見る一番いい女である。性格なり、スタイルなり、行動 なり、すべてにおいて一番いい女の典型なのである。だから歌舞伎の女形はほ んとうの女以上に色気があり、それこそ女以上の女なんだ。そういう一つの、 女ではできない女形の色気で歌舞伎が成り立っていると同じように、宝塚歌劇 の男役も男以上の魅力を持った男性なのである。だからこれは永久に、このま まの姿で行くものではないかと思う。

50 Recognising that the attraction of onnagata and otokoyaku lay in a process of sublimation rather than mimesis, Kobayashi’s final instruction for the development of the troupe was that the emphasis on otokoyaku, which had begun gradually in the 1930s, should become a constant fixture, in the writing of the plays, their staging, and the publicity surrounding Takarazuka. This is still the state of affairs today. A letter written to Yonezō by a female fan in the early 1960s asked for confirmation, via a reply in Kageki, that boys would never again be incorporated into the Revue. More than the success of the otokoyaku, who symbolise an art in which Takarazuka has established a hegemonic position, it was “popular” hostility (more specifically, from “seasoned” fans, whose deep and heart-felt attachment fundamentally changes the reception process) that progressively stifled the possibility of creating a mixed troupe.

Conclusion: the memory of the Takarazuka boys

51 The disbanding of Takarazuka’s male section signalled the end of an eight-year adventure during which the young recruits received the same training in singing, dancing and acting as their female counterparts, in the hope of one day becoming stars. Yet not only did they never appear openly on the Daigekijō stage, their very existence was gradually forgotten as the female stars garnered all the public’s attention.

52 In December 1998, a ceremony was organised for former Takarazuka recruits to mark the reconstruction of the music school where students received their artistic training before joining the troupe. Although this was also the place where the boys had been trained, none of them were contacted: Inoue Tōru (from the March 1946 intake) learned in a newspaper that the school where he had studied as a young man was to be demolished. He travelled to Takarazuka to immortalise the place by taking photographs, and attempted to join the farewell ceremony. At first they tried to stop me entering, but when I explained that I was a former graduate [of the Takarazuka troupe], they finally let me in. Even journalists weren’t allowed inside; I was the only man. In the Japanese dance studio I could picture myself as if it were yesterday, dancing awkwardly as a young soldier back from the front. Having heard that a strange former student had come, the school’s current female recruits surrounded me, eyeing me with curiosity as if I were a prehistoric man.78 いったんは止められたんやけど、『僕も(歌劇団の)卒業生や』というたら、中 にいれてくれました。新聞記者も中には入れなくて男は僕ひとり。日舞教室で は兵隊帰りの自分の不器用な踊りの姿が昨日のように目に浮かんできました。

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『珍しい卒業生が来た』ということで、在校生たちが私を囲んで、まるで原始 人が来たみたいに好奇心いっぱいの目で見られましたわ。

53 Adamic men: it seemed unbelievable to the young recruits that such an initiative had ever existed, so strongly is the Revue associated in the public mind with its all‑female line-up. Inoue Tōru’s experience is not an isolated example. The private Takarazuka Friends’ Association (Hōyūkai 宝友会), which occasionally organises ceremonies to commemorate deceased former members of Takarazuka or its orchestra, never makes any mention of the male recruits (according to their widows). Similarly, while some 1,500 former Takarasiennes were invited to the events commemorating the 100th anniversary of the Revue in April 2014, not a single member of the male section was asked to attend. Their names were also absent from the publications printed for the occasion.79 The existence of these male performers has quite simply been erased from Takarazuka’s “official” history.

54 Nevertheless, a number of recent initiatives have helped restore the memory of this short-lived experiment. One is the book by Tsuji Norihiko, the most pertinent excerpts from which appear in this article; another, more curious example is a play inspired by Tsuji’s book, Takarazuka Boys 宝塚ボーイズ, originally staged in 2007 as a Tōhō production with a small cast of nine artists.80 Written by Nakajima Atsuhiko 中島淳彦 (1961‑) and directed by Suzuki Yūmi 鈴木裕美 (1961‑), this high‑quality play provides a fictionalised account of the dreams and setbacks encountered by the second male section (1945‑1954), supported in its search for theatrical perfection by one woman, Kimihara Yoshie, who looks after the boys’ dormitory.81 Since this was intended to be a straight play and not a fully‑fledged musical, the use of music and dance is particularly calculated. Only the last twenty minutes of this two-hour-and-forty-minute show take the form of an imaginary revue featuring classic pre‑war Takarazuka melodies, giving a fictionalised depiction of what a real show by the male section might have resembled. Finally, it is worth noting that the play was presented with the help of Takarazuka’s management, and that a few survivors of the male section were even invited to watch a performance (see figure 4). The impact of Tsuji Norihiko’s work in bringing about this belated visibility cannot be overstated.

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Figure 4: Yoshii Takaaki, Fukushima Wataru, Sakai Shōichi And Suzuki Shigeo

Yoshii Takaaki, Fukushima Wataru, Sakai Shōichi and Suzuki Shigeo in front of the Creation Theater (Tokyo) after a performance of Takarazuka Boys, August 2008

55 These days the troupe never misses an occasion to celebrate and perpetuate the nostalgic memory of its history by holding various jubilees, such as Revue Day (rebyū kinenbi レビュー記念日, held every 1 September to commemorate the first performance of Mon Paris in 1927), as well as the avalanche of special events, publicity and media partnerships that accompanied the company’s 100th anniversary. The company’s aim is nonetheless to retain only its most glorious episodes. This strategy is most likely intended to confer on the Revue a level of prestige close to that of Kabuki, as the company openly manoeuvres to achieve recognition for the now 100-year-old Takarazuka as a “traditional” performing art. Posing the troupe’s legitimacy as being achieved through the length of its history is nonetheless problematic for two reasons. Firstly, it raises the issue of the criteria used to determine what constitutes a theatrical form. Can Takarazuka legitimately be considered a theatrical genre? Strictly speaking, it was founded by Kobayashi Ichizō as a means of developing the kageki form, whether it was qualified as all‑female (shōjo kageki) or Japanese (nihon kageki). Furthermore, Takarazuka was never the sole and empirical representative of the now moribund “girls’ opera” movement. While it may have been the pioneer, it eventually broke with “shōjo” culture in order to enter into direct competition with the rest of the modern theatre world, in particular in the realm of musicals. More than a theatrical genre, the Takarazuka Revue is first and foremost a troupe, despite the many special rules and rich “folklore” that guarantee its unique identity and cultural specificity.

56 Secondly, there is the important issue of how a tradition—in this case a theatrical one— can be created via the more or less deceptive manipulation of discourses and history. In this regard, the troupe provides a rich case study, which has been explored in these pages from just one of the many possible angles. Deliberately reinterpreting theatre history in order to adopt the reassuring—yet entirely fabricated—label of “traditional” art is clearly part of a carefully devised strategy by Takarazuka’s current management, which hopes to maintain the troupe’s brand image both in Japan and overseas, as well

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as to accrue enough prestige to ensure the troupe’s long-term future and the viability of any future initiatives. In actual fact, despite Hankyū nurturing a belief that Takarazuka is famous around the world, a claim that is essentially intended to impress the Japanese public, the Revue is largely unknown on the international scene outside a circle of specialists in Japanese theatre and a small number of connoisseurs. Structural factors are no doubt responsible for this situation: the fact that Takarazuka is owned by a private company which exclusively—and jealously—controls its own image means that Japan’s cultural organisations are theoretically not responsible for promoting it overseas, nor for providing assistance in organising events. In recent years, the sending of artistic teams to Europe or the United States in order to prepare Japanese adaptations of foreign works has taken place in utmost secret. Similarly, the inviting of foreign artists to collaborate with Takarazuka appears to follow two main principles: firstly, guests must be particularly famous in their field in order to reflect their prestige on the Revue—or, in marketing terms, to consolidate and boost the troupe’s brand image; secondly, this collaboration must be for a limited time only. Thus, the majority of foreign guest authors, composers, costume designers and choreographers are “tolerated” within the Takarazuka system for a single production. To this author’s knowledge, none of the permanent members of the technical crew, management or artistic team are of foreign origin:82 despite the management’s purported desire to make the company more international, as expressed regularly in the Japanese press over the past few years, the Revue’s productions continue to be “made by Japanese, for Japanese audiences.”83

57 Ultimately, the theoretical framework used by the company to establish, circulate and regulate its own tradition—a word used abundantly by Takarazuka for “the pleasant nostalgia it evokes and the prestigious future it guarantees”84—must be treated with the utmost scepticism. In his authoritative work The Invention of Tradition, Eric Hobsbawm identifies invariance85 as the most salient characteristic of “tradition,” for example in the case of fixed cultural practices continually passed down from generation to generation. Despite the fact that Takarazuka’s plethoric variety of shows share certain main themes, the issue of invariance remains complex in a structure whose repertoire, influences and techniques are constantly evolving. Much more than a commercial imperative, meeting the challenges of the era appears to be an ideological credo for Takarazuka, one that underpinned its creation. Offering a modern theatre fully capable of adapting and transforming meant a promise to never become “fixed” or “fossilised,” something for which Kobayashi vehemently reproached what are now considered to be wholly “traditional” arts. The Takarazuka Revue’s claimed continuity between its past and its present is thus widely fictitious, as evidenced by the silence surrounding the episodes that deviated from its supposedly “invariant” principles, in this case the compromising of the troupe’s all‑female character by the presence of males.

58 Nevertheless, between mystification and reality, discursive manipulation and historical authenticity, it would be difficult to claim that the attempt to create a mixed troupe at Takarazuka was entirely in vain, or even that it has no relevance to audiences today. It notably helped to construct the Revue’s all-female identity, a feature that was intended by its creators to be temporary but was rapidly taken for granted by the public and is now promoted by its management as an unshakeable truth. While Kobayashi’s successive attempts to innovate may have clashed with the audience’s desires, they can be seen as tracing an entire chapter in theatrical reception history, whereby the

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audience’s ardent embrace or rejection of the propositions made on stage gradually forged the “tradition” of a troupe.

59 Although the use of male actors shifted to the Tōhō theatre troupe or Shingeiza, these groups played no lesser role than Takarazuka in the construction of Kobayashi’s national popular theatre.86 Kobayashi often wrote of his hopes of one day achieving recognition for what he called the “Takara‑za” たから座, a cluster or guild of artists overseen by the same parent company, Hankyū, forming a network of bridges between the worlds of film (the Takarazuka and Tōhō film companies) and theatre (with the Takarazuka Revue, Shingeiza and Tōhō Theatrical Company): such a system would enable actors and actresses to work in all areas of what was envisaged until the end as a popular performing art. In 1956, the year before he died and at the age of eighty‑four, Kobayashi launched what was to be his last project by opening two identical venues in Osaka (Umeda) and Tokyo (Shinjuku), the Koma Theaters コマ劇場, with the stated aim of creating a place where his “national popular theatre” could at last be developed. This statement curiously echoes the views he expressed on the inauguration of the Takarazuka Grand Theater in 1924 and its younger sibling, the Tokyo Takarazuka Theater, in 1934. Ultimately, Kobayashi’s many attempts, statements, dreams and contradictions suggest a permanently unfulfilled search for a theatrical ideal.

60 The notion of “national popular theatre” almost seems to be a bitter failure in twenty‑first century Takarazuka. Its main challenge now is to rid itself of its reputation as a theatre for “the devout” and once again attract a wide audience. Only then will it be able to claim the title of “popular theatre,” which perhaps represents its true tradition, beyond the “gendered” composition of its troupe or the content of its shows. Nevertheless, its history has illustrated more than once the omnipotence of the public, and in particular its fans. In trying to win over popular audiences again, the Revue cannot allow itself to betray the demands of its increasingly devoted fans, whose presence remains indispensable to the company’s financial health.87 The influence of these fans brings to mind the peragoro ペラゴロ associated with Asakusa Opera and the renjū 連中 of Kabuki, the former referring to groups of fervent admirers devoted to a particular female singer, and the latter to a particular male actor. Echoing the Takarazuka practice of promoting and spotlighting particular artists—irrespective of their talent or length of experience within the Revue—, theatre directors (za-gashira 座 頭) in the late nineteenth century judged the popularity of an actor by the number of fans he had and took this into account when putting together a cast. Ironically, this early star system was criticised by Kobayashi for interfering with theatre reception at a wider level. It was nonetheless this very system that prevented him from creating the mixed-sex national popular theatre of his dreams and which, after his death, gradually led the Revue to deviate from its founder’s original intentions. With its promise of financial gain, the star system subsequently came to drive the company’s strategy. In the most diverse and dissimilar of theatrical manifestations, theatre history truly reveals many hidden similarities.

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HÉRITIER, Françoise. Masculin/Féminin (Male/Female). Vol. 1: La Pensée de la différence (The Thought Process of Difference). Paris: Odile Jacob, 1996. Vol. 2: Dissoudre la hiérarchie (Dissolving the Hierarchy).

HOBSBAWM, Eric and RANGER Terence (eds). The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

JOUVET, Louis. Témoignages sur le theatre (Theatre Testimonials). Paris: Flammarion, 1952.

KAMURA Kikuo 香村菊雄. Itoshi no Takarazuka e 愛しの宝塚へ (To My Beloved Takarazuka). Kobe: Kōbe Shinbun Shuppan Center 神戸新聞出版センター, 1984.

KAWASAKI Kenko 川崎賢子. Takarazuka to iu yūtopia 宝塚というユートピア (A Utopia Named Takarazuka). Tokyo, Iwanami Shinsho 岩波新書, 2005.

KOBAYASHI Ichizō 小林一三. Itsuō jijoden 逸翁自叙伝 (Autobiography of an Old Man). Tokyo: Nihon Tosho Center 日本図書センター, 1953 (1997).

KOBAYASHI Ichizō 小林一三. Omoitsuki おもひつ記 (Thoughts). Tokyo: Hankyū Communications 阪 急コミュニケーションズ, 2008. Compilation of columns published in Kageki from 1946 to 1957.

KOBAYASHI Ichizō 小林一三. Shibai zange 芝居ざんげ (Theatrical Confessions), 1942. In Kobayashi Ichizō Zenshū 小林一三全集 (The Collected Works of Kobayashi Ichizō), 7 vols., 2: 205‑439. Tokyo: Daiyamondo-sha ダイヤモンド社, 1961.

KOBAYASHI Ichizō 小林一三. Takarazuka manpitsu 宝塚漫筆 (Notes on Takarazuka), 1955. In Kobayashi Ichizō Zenshū 小林一三全集 (The Collected Works of Kobayashi Ichizō), 7 vols., 2: 441‑575. Tokyo: Daiyamondo‑sha ダイヤモンド社, 1961.

KUNISAKI Aya 國﨑彩. “Taishōki no Takarazuka shōjo kagekidan no buyō katsudō ni tsuite no kōsatsu” 大正期の寶塚少女歌劇團の舞踊活動についての考察 (Reflections on the Taishō- Period Dance Activities of the Takarazuka Troupe). In Waseda daigaku engeki kenkyū center kiyō 早 稲田大学演劇研究センター紀要 (Annals of the Waseda University Institute for Theatre Research), vol. 8 (2007): 311‑329.

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KURABAYASHI Yasushi 倉林靖. “Opera no yume, Takarazuka no yume” オペラの夢、宝塚の夢 (The Opera Dream, the Takarazuka Dream). In Takarazuka no yūwaku 宝塚の誘惑 (The Takarazuka Temptation), edited by Kawasaki Kenko 川崎賢子, 213‑218. Tokyo: Seishisha 青弓社, 1991.

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SAKAGUCHI Ango 坂口安吾. “Ango no shin Nihon chiri – Takarazuka joshi senryōgun, Hanshin no maki” 安吾の新日本地理–宝塚女子占領軍–阪神の巻 (Sakaguchi Ango’s New Geography of Japan—the Hanshin volume: Takarazuka’s female occupation army), 1951. In Sakaguchi Ango Zenshū 坂口安吾全集 (The Collected Works of Sakaguchi Ango), 18 vols., vol. 11. Tokyo: Chikuma Shōbō 筑摩書房, 1998. Available online: www.aozora.gr.jp/cards/001095/files/ 45908_37864.html (accessed March 2017).

TAKAGI Shirō 高木史郎. “Hane ōgi o motta chōchōtachi” 羽根扇を持った蝶々たち (Butterflies with Feathered Fans). In Oh Takarazuka rokujūnen – ‘Domburako’ kara ‘Berubara’ madeおお宝塚６０ 年－「ドンブラコ」から「ベルばら」まで (Sixtieth Anniversary of the Takarazuka Revue: From Donburako to the Rose of Versailles), 74‑79. Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha 朝日新聞社, 1976.

TAKARAZUKA Kagekidan 宝塚歌劇団 (ed.). Takarazuka kageki gojūnen-shi 宝 塚歌劇５０年史 (The Fifty‑Year History of the Takarazuka Revue), 2 vols. Takarazuka: Takarazuka Kagekidan, 1964.

TŌHŌ Engekibu 東宝演劇部 (ed.). Teigeki Wonderland – Teikoku gekijō kaijō hyakushūnen kinen dokuhon 帝劇ワンダーランド―帝国劇場開場１００周年記念読本 (Teigeki Wonderland: Commemorative Book for the 100th Anniversary of the Imperial Theater]). Tokyo: Pia ぴあ, 2011.

TSUBOUCHI Shikō 坪内士行. Koshikata kyūjūnen 越し方九十年 (How I Have Lived these 90 Years). Tokyo: Seiabō 青蛙房, 1977.

TSUGANESAWA Toshihiro 津金澤聡廣. Takarazuka senryaku – Kobayashi Ichizō no seikatsu bunkaron 宝 塚戦略―小林一三の生活文化論 (The Takarazuka Strategy: Kobayashi Ichizō’s theories on culture and daily life). Tokyo: Kōdansha Gendai Shinsho 講談社現代新書, 1991.

TSUJI Norihiko 辻則彦. Otokotachi no Takarazuka – yume o otta kenkyūsei no hanseiki 男たちの宝塚― 夢を追った研究生の半世紀 (Boys’ Takarazuka: Half a century of chasing their dreams). Kobe: Kōbe Shinbun Sōgō Shuppan Center 神戸新聞総合出版センター, 2004.

VLASTOS, Stephen (ed.). Mirror of Modernity: Invented Traditions of Modern Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998.

WATANABE Hiroshi 渡辺裕. Takarazuka kageki no hen’yō to nihon kindai 宝塚歌劇の変容と日本近代 (Japanese Modernity and the Changes in Takarazuka Theatre). Tokyo: Shinshokan 新書館, 1999.

Video documents (graciously loaned by Tsuji Norihiko)

Takarazuka Boys タカラヅカボーイズ, theatrical play. Tokyo: Tōhō Geinō 東宝芸能, THG107003, 2010, 160 minutes.

Takarazuka danshibu – “onna no sono” no mō hitotsu no monogatari タカラヅカ男子部―「女の園」 のもうひとつの物語 (The Takarazuka Male Section: Another Story from the “Garden of Women”). Osaka: TV Osaka テレビ大阪, first broadcast on 13 August 2005, 47 minutes.

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NOTES

1. The term Hanshin 阪神, which refers to a thirty-kilometre stretch of the Kansai region between Osaka and Kobe, is a contraction of the characters used to write these two toponyms (大阪–神戸). Although a straight line from Osaka to Kobe would only pass directly through Amagasaki 尼崎, Ashiya 芦屋 and Nishinomiya 西宮, the Hanshin area also includes the municipalities of Takarazuka 宝塚, Kawanishi 川西, Sanda 三田 and Inagawa 猪名川to the north. The Hanshin Electric Railway Company, wholly owned by Hankyū since 2006, takes its name from this toponym.

2. TSUGANESAWA Toshihiro 津金沢聡広, Takarazuka senryaku – Kobayashi Ichizō no seikatsu bunkaron 宝塚戦略―小林一三の生活文化論 [The Takarazuka Strategy: Kobayashi Ichizō’s theories on culture and daily life] (Tokyo: Kōdansha Gendai Shinsho 講談社現代新書, 1991). 3. Translator’s note: in accordance with the author’s wishes, a distinction is made throughout the present article between “theatre” as an art form and “theater” as a physical venue. 4. Although it is not the oldest musical theatre company in Japan, the Takarazuka Revue is nonetheless the “troupe” (gekidan 劇団) with the longest uninterrupted history still in activity. The use of the Western-derived term gekidan—and its operatic counterpart kagekidan 歌劇団—to refer to a theatre troupe emerged gradually during the late Meiji period (1868‑1912) with the first productions of Western theatre. Previously, groups of performers had been organised into za 座 according to the system of “guilds” specialising in a particular trade or artistic activity. 5. Harnessing the synergy between the different business sectors of the Hankyū group, audiences would ideally travel to the venue on one of the company’s railway lines, stopping en route to shop at the Hankyū stores located in the station terminuses: this is the “one-set” (ワンセット) or “integrated service” principle, which maximises profits for the entire company by having one branch stimulate business for all the others. 6. Kyūgeki 旧劇 is a generic term for all the theatrical forms that appeared before the Meiji Restoration (1868), as opposed to forms established in the late 19th and early 20th century such as shinpa 新派 (“new style,” a modern school of theatre derived from Kabuki which made abundant use of melodrama and was characterised by the presence of actresses after a ban of almost 250 years) and shingeki 新劇 (“new theatre,” a more realistic performance style inspired by Western theatre, drawing on a wide literary repertoire encompassing authors such as Shakespeare, Ibsen, Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Gorky). The term “old theatre” thus generally refers to Noh and Kabuki. 7. KOBAYASHI Ichizō, “Hozon shiubekarazaru kabukigeki” 保存し得べからざる歌舞伎劇 [“The Kabuki theatre that should not be conserved”], Kageki 歌劇 (July 1924): 4. Should we see this idea as reflecting the influence of the Meiji-period attempts to radically reform theatre and the debates that abounded at that time on the future of the performing arts? For more information on this subject, see Catherine HENNION, La Naissance du théâtre moderne à Tokyo (1842‑1924): du kabuki de la fin d’Edo au petit théâtre de Tsukiji [The Birth of Modern Theatre in Tokyo: From late‑Edo-period Kabuki to Tsukiji Little Theatre] (Paris: L’Entretemps, 2009). 8. With its Viennese architecture and opulent interior, the Imperial Theater (Teikoku Gekijō 帝国劇場) rapidly established itself as Tokyo’s premier Western‑style

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performance venue (opera, dance and theatre) before being taken over by Tōhō (owned by Kobayashi Ichizō) in 1940. It subsequently became a Mecca for musicals in the 1960s. For a complete overview of the Imperial Theater’s history, see TŌHŌ Engekibu 東宝演劇 部, Teigeki Wonderland – Teikoku gekijō kaijō hyakushūnen kinen dokuhon 帝劇ワンダーラ ンド―帝国劇場開場１００周年記念読本 [Teigeki Wonderland: Commemorative Book for the 100th Anniversary of the Imperial Theater] (Tokyo: Pia ぴあ, 2011). 9. During the first five years of staging operas, “adaptations” consisted in most cases in removing full sections of the original work. Although entire librettos were performed, programmes consisting of a single act were also often staged, as was the case for Faust (1859) by Charles Gounod (1818‑1893), the first opera performed in Japan by an amateur foreign troupe (Yokohama, November 1894). The reasons for this compromise were twofold: to assist a Japanese public unaccustomed to the pace of operas and operettas, and to overcome the technical limitations of the performers, who had only recently been trained in what was a particularly demanding style of singing. KURABAYASHI Yasushi 倉林靖, “Opera no yume, Takarazuka no yume” オペラの夢、宝 塚の夢 [The Opera Dream, the Takarazuka Dream], in Takarazuka no Yūwaku 宝塚の誘 惑 [The Takarazuka Temptation], ed. KAWASAKI Kenko 川崎賢子 (Tokyo: Seishisha 青弓 社, 1991), 217. 10. WATANABE Hiroshi 渡辺裕, Takarazuka kageki no hen’yō to nihon kindai 宝塚歌劇の変 容と日本近代 [Japanese Modernity and the Changes in Takarazuka Theatre] (Tokyo: Shinshokan 新書館, 1999), 23‑26. Watanabe notes, however, that most ordinary people at the time were much more familiar with Kabuki than with Western music and theatre. Kobayashi Ichizō thus based his initiative on a pure supposition. 11. Another of Kobayashi’s motives in choosing to create a troupe of young girls was no doubt to retain the wealthy male clientele that formed the majority of hot spring visitors. Although he clearly aimed to provide family entertainment, he could not realistically allow himself to lose the support of his patrons. 12. KOBAYASHI Ichizō, Itsuō jijoden 逸翁自叙伝 [Autobiography of an Old Man], 1953, in Otokotachi no Takarazuka – yume o otta kenkyūsei no hanseiki男たちの宝塚―夢を追った 研究生の半世紀 [Boys’ Takarazuka: Half a century of chasing their dreams], ed. TSUJI Norihiko (Kobe: Kōbe Shinbun Sōgō Shuppan Center 神戸新聞総合出版センター, 2004), 27. 13. KUNISAKI Aya 國﨑彩, “Taishōki no Takarazuka shōjo kagekidan no buyō katsudō ni tsuite no kōsatsu” 大正期の寶塚少女歌劇團の舞踊活動についての考察 [Reflections on the Taishō‑Period Dance Activities of the Takarazuka Troupe], in Waseda daigaku engeki kenkyū center kiyō 早稲田大学演劇研究センター紀要 [Annals of the Waseda University Institute for Theatre Research], vol. 8 (2007): 312. 14. The term “young girl” (shōjo 少女), which was abundantly used in social and artistic spheres during the Taishō period, was abandoned by the troupe in 1940. Although there are many theories as to the reason for this change, the 10 May 1946 edition of the Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun carried an article stating that given the intensification of World War II, the frivolous connotations of the word were deemed inappropriate. 15. Or more precisely, as players of Western instruments like the piano or violin. This decision allowed Takarazuka to distance itself from Kabuki and other traditional performing arts, notably the geisha profession, whose repertoire always featured classical Japanese instruments. In fact, Kobayashi had a scene involving a shamisen

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removed from the troupe’s first performance, deeming it improper due to the artistic heritage from which it hailed. 16. From the 17th to the early 20th century there was a relatively large repertoire of roles performed en travesti. A few of the many possible examples are: Cherubino in The Marriage of Figaro (Mozart, 1786), Sesto and Annio in The Clemency of Titus (Mozart, 1791), Romeo in The Capulets and the Montagues (Bellini, 1830), and Octavian in The Knight of the Rose (Richard Strauss, 1911). 17. Denise P. GALLO, Opera: The Basics (New York: Routledge, 2005), 82. See also Corinne E. BLACKMER and Patricia Juliana SMITH (ed.), En Travesti: Women, Gender Subversion, Opera (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995). Note that the practice of casting women as sexually immature males exists in contemporary Takarazuka, since young boys are always played by musumeyaku (actresses playing female roles) due to their smaller size and higher pitch. In fact, this is the only male role that a musumeyaku can play, adult roles being the exclusive domain of the otokoyaku. 18. TAKAGI Shirō 高木史郎, “Hane ōgi o motta chōchōtachi” 羽根扇を持った蝶々たち [Butterflies with Feathered Fans], in Oh Takarazuka rokujūnen – ‘Donburako’ kara ‘Berubara’ made おお宝塚６０年－「ドンブラコ」から「ベルばら」まで [Sixtieth Anniversary of the Takarazuka Revue: From Donburako to the Rose of Versailles] (Tokyo: Asahi Shinbunsha, 1976), 76. 19. Founded as a replica of the Takarazuka Revue in 1922 by Shirai Matsujirō 白井松次 郎 (1877‑1951), head of the Shōchiku theatrical and film production company, this all‑female troupe made its debut at the Ōsaka Shōchikuza as the Shōchiku Gakugekibu (松竹楽劇部, “Shōchiku Musical Theatre Division”). It was renamed Ōsaka Shōchiku Shōjo Kagekidan (大阪松竹少女歌劇団, OSSK, “Osaka Shōchiku Girls’ Revue”) in 1934 when it moved to the Ōsaka Gekijō, a major theater. It subsequently retired the term shōjo in 1943, three years after Takarazuka, which likely confirms WWII’s influence on these troupes' onomastics. It adopted its current name of OSK Nippon Kagekidan (OSK 日本歌劇団, “OSK Japanese Revue”) in 1970, since the acronym OSK (for Ōsaka Shōchiku Kagekidan 大阪松竹歌劇団, “Ōsaka Shōchiku Revue”) continued to be familiar to the audiences. Despite serious financial difficulties, scant media coverage and a gradual reduction in the size of its venues, OSK continues to perform, albeit in very small-scale productions. Its uninterrupted existence in the 21st century nevertheless challenges the idea that Takarazuka completely dominates the world of all-female musical theatre. 20. KURABAYASHI, “Opera no yume,” 227.

21. KOBAYASHI Ichizō, 7 June 1946, in his monthly column for the magazine Kageki. Reprinted in Omoitsuki おもひつ記 [Thoughts] (Tokyo: Hankyū Communications 阪急 コミュニケーションズ, 2008), 42. 22. On the universal nature of this association, see Françoise HÉRITIER, Masculin/Féminin [Male/Female] (Paris: Odile Jacob, vol. 1: La Pensée de la différence [The Thought Process of Difference], 1996; vol. 2: Dissoudre la hiérarchie [Dissolving the Hierarchy], 2003). 23. This issue merits greater discussion. In fact, Kobayashi was not very explicit about what he meant when referring to this genre as “Nihon kageki,” which is one of the limits of his theory. Remember that “raw” performances (without any kind of adaptation) of Western operas at the Imperial Theater between 1911 and 1916, or even of Noh experimentally sung in the style of Western opera, made few allowances for the habits

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and sensibility of Japanese audiences, and most often met with incomprehension at best. On occasions, a performance might even take place amidst the jeers of an audience that had no qualms about openly yawning or leaving the theater mid-show. An account of one of these disastrous performances can be found in KOBAYASHI Ichizō, Takarazuka manpitsu 宝塚漫筆 [Notes on Takarazuka], June 1955, in Kobayashi Ichizō Zenshū 小林一三全集 [The Collected Works of Kobayashi Ichizō], 7 vols. (Tokyo: Daiyamondo-sha ダイヤモンド社, 1961), 2:448. 24. Nephew of the playwright and shingeki pioneer Tsubouchi Shōyō 坪内逍遥 (1859‑1935), Shikō was adopted by his uncle at the age of six and received an artistic education heavily centred on musical composition and Japanese dance. After perfecting his training as an actor in the United States and England from 1909 to 1911, he gave a critically acclaimed performance of Hamlet at the Imperial Theater in 1918. It was at this time that Kobayashi hired him as a drama instructor at his school. To avoid any confusion with his uncle Tsubouchi Shōyō, Shikō will henceforth be referred to by his given name. 25. TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 30.

26. TSUBOUCHI Shikō, Koshikata kyūjūnen 越し方九十年 [How I Have Lived these 90 Years] (Tokyo: Seiabō 青蛙房, 1977), reprinted in HASHIMOTO Masao 橋本雅夫, Sa se Takarazuka サ･セ･宝塚 [Ça c’est Takarazuka / That’s Takarazuka] (Tokyo: Yomiuri Shinbunsha 読 売新聞社, 1988), 15. 27. List based on TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 29‑30.

28. Kageki, January 1920 issue, cited by WATANABE, Takarazuka kageki no hen’yō, 82. 29. Ibid., 114. 30. This “Grand Theater,” with its unprecedented proportions (3,500 seats, the combined capacity of major venues such as the Imperial Theater and the Kabukiza), was perceived by Kobayashi as indispensable to the creation of a national popular theatre. It was built in Takarazuka in 1924 as a replacement for the Kōkaidō, the company’s previous venue damaged in a fire. 31. In order to increase the number of performances and spectators, Takarazuka’s members were divided in 1921 into two troupes that performed alternately (the “Moon Troupe”, Tsukigumi 月組, and the “Flower Troupe,” Hanagumi 花組). The opening of the Daigekijō saw the creation of a third group named the “Snow Troupe” (Yukigumi 雪組). The current five-troupe system came about through the creation in 1934 of the “Star Troupe” (Hoshigumi 星組), and much later, the “Cosmos Troupe” (Soragumi 宙 組), created in 1998.

32. CHŌRAKU Michiyo 長楽美智代, “Tsubouchi Shikō to Takarazuka Kokuminza” 坪内士 行と宝塚国民座 [Tsubouchi Shikō and the Takarazuka Kokuminza], in Takarazuka beru epokku タカラヅカ・ベルエポック [The Takarazuka Belle Époque], eds. TSUGANESAWA Toshihiro 津金沢聡広 and NATORI Chisato 名取千里 (Kobe: Kōbe Shinbun Shuppan Center 神戸新聞出版センター, 1997), 113. 33. Kokuminza was the first fixed troupe for Tatsumi, who had previously performed only with touring theatre groups. Nevertheless, a feeling of artistic discomfort caused him to leave the group a year later, when he joined the world of popular theatre thanks to the help of Shikō, who was, since his days at Waseda University, an acquaintance of Sawada Shōjirō 沢田正二郎 (1892‑1929), the founding father of shinkokugeki 新国劇 (“new national theatre,” a complex and composite style blending elements from

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shingeki, Kabuki and taishū engeki [theatre for the masses]). Putting his fencing skills to good use in “sword fighting dramas” (kengeki 剣劇), Tatsumi became one of Sawada’s last disciples and remained one of the troupe’s cornerstones until it was disbanded in 1987. See Sepp LINHART, “Le Shinkokugeki: un théâtre populaire un demi‑pas en avant” (Shinkokugeki: A popular theatre half a step ahead), in La Modernité à l’horizon, ed. Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN and Claude HAMON (Arles: Philippe Picquier, 2004), 151‑166. 34. List based on TSUBOUCHI Shikō, Koshikata kyūjūnen, 117. Hatsuse Otowako subsequently made a career for herself in the world of shinkokugeki under the stage name Hatsuse Otowa 初瀬乙羽.

35. Takarazuka Kokuminza, no. 1 (May 1926): 1‑4, in CHŌRAKU Michiyo, “Tsubouchi Shikō to Takarazuka Kokuminza,” 114‑116. 36. This can be seen as a consequence of Shikō being less concerned with music than Kobayashi; Watanabe, Takarazuka kageki no hen’yō, 84‑86. 37. Text reprinted in CHŌRAKU Michiyo, “Tsubouchi Shikō to Takarazuka Kokuminza,” 117.

38. Takarazuka Kokuminza no. 16 (January 1928): 32‑33, in CHŌRAKU Michiyo, “Tsubouchi Shikō to Takarazuka Kokuminza,” 121. 39. The performance was a sell-out, with Tsubouchi Shōyō’s play once again making an enormous impression. At the end of his life, Shikō confessed that he had never been able to forget Kobayashi’s look of satisfaction at seeing such a success (Koshikata kyūjūnen, 128). 40. Students who had left Takarazuka (by choice or by order?) in an attempt to save Kokuminza were given the possibility of re‑joining the ranks of the all-female troupes after Kokuminza was disbanded. Although any decision to leave Takarazuka is final and irrevocable, 1930 and 1931 were notable exceptions, since a number of former Takarasiennes were re‑integrated into the Takarazuka troupes after Kokuminza’s demise. This movement back and forth between Takarazuka and Kokuminza did not go unnoticed by spectators: an inflamed letter criticising the incoherence of this practice appeared in Kageki in December 1930 (p. 83). 41. TSUBOUCHI Shikō, Koshikata kyūjūnen, 121. 42. Quoting the example of the Edo-period actors paid one thousand ryō per season (千 両役者 senryō yakusha), Furukawa demanded the sum of one thousand yen for appearing with Takarazuka Variety. This was a staggering amount of money at a time when a bank clerk earned a monthly salary of around seventy yen; Tsuji, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 35. 43. On 29 February 1944 the Japanese government issued a “First Emergency Measures Ordinance” (daiichiji kessen hijō sochihō 第一次決戦非常措置法) ordering the closure of nineteen so‑called “high class entertainment venues” (kōkyū kōgyōjō 高級興行場), including both of Takarazuka’s theaters: the Grand Theater and the Tokyo Theater. The Daigekijō was first requisitioned by the Japanese Navy and then by the United States Army following Japan’s defeat. On 5 February 1946, the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers authorised the theater to resume its commercial activities. 44. Curiously, little mention is made in Takarazuka’s official chronicles of this final attempt to introduce men. This suggests a desire to uphold the public perception of an exclusively female and ideologically irreproachable revue. See Takarazuka kageki

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gojūnen-shi 宝塚歌劇５０年史 [The Fifty‑Year History of the Takarazuka Revue], 2 vols. (Takarazuka: Takarazuka Kagekidan, 1964). Note that this encyclopaedic compilation was put together after Kobayashi’s death in 1957, at a time when there were no longer any officials within the company who openly championed the “necessity” of a mixed troupe. Nevertheless, brief mention is made of the 1919 attempt to incorporate young men in the chronicles celebrating the 20th‑anniversary of Takarazuka (1934), which emphasise the backlash that rapidly put an end to this endeavour. 45. All of these recruitment campaigns generated a considerable response, attracting between 170 and 200 applications each time; TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 3, 14 and 65. However, it is not clear if the flood of applications was due to Takarazuka’s artistic prestige or the promise of an essentially female work environment. 46. In alphabetical order, this first cohort consisted of Jōkin Fumio (Kanbara Kunio 神 原邦夫), Morimoto Yoshimasa 森本義正, Naruo Hirohiko 成尾博彦, Sakurai Haruo 桜 井春夫 and Tomiyama Nobuo 富山信夫. The names provided in brackets are the stage names used by each individual during their career with Takarazuka and Shingeiza. This use of stage names was not systematic, since some of the recruits decided to pursue other avenues using their birth names. 47. A passionate defender of the ryōsai kenbo 良妻賢母 ideology (“good wife, wise mother”) that had been encouraged since the Meiji Civil Code of 1898, Kobayashi urged his young female recruits to end their artistic career as soon as possible in order to marry. This resulted in the Takarazuka School of Music and Musical Theatre being nicknamed the “School for Future Brides” (hanayome gakkō 花嫁学校). 48. These two excerpts are taken from KOBAYASHI Ichizō, Shibai zange 芝居ざんげ [Theatrical Confessions], originally published in 1942, reprinted in Kobayashi Ichizō Zenshū, 2: 437. 49. A specialist in ballet, Nishino Kōzō taught Takarazuka’s female recruits and choreographed several shows before leaving Takarazuka in 1949 to found his own ballet company, the Nishino Kōzō Barēdan 西野皓三バレエ団. 50. Ōsaka Mainichi Shinbun, 10 May 1946, cited in TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 50. 51. In a note written in December 1947, Kobayashi revealed that he had contacted the “Asahi Chorus” (Asahi kōrasu-dan 朝日コーラス団) with a view to using their musical recordings at Takarazuka, “whose biggest flaw is the lack of male voices”; KOBAYASHI, Omoitsuki, 92. 52. 12 January 1947, in ibid., 55‑56. 53. HENNION, La Naissance du théâtre moderne à Tokyo, 182. 54. The official title of these performances, “The Takarazuka Music School Students’ Christmas Show” (Takarazuka ongaku gakkō kurisumasu gakugeikai 宝塚音楽学校クリス マス学芸会), suggested something of an amateur production. This small‑scale gala was thus not a commercial production intended for the main Takarazuka stage but a sort of bonus offered to the public, and a small consolation for the male section. The five new recruits from the third intake of students (April 1947) were given small walk-on parts: namely, Enami Takayoshi 江並高美 (Enami Takashi 江並隆), Suzuki Shigeo 鈴木繫男 (Nakata Mitsuhiko 中田光彦), Taji Keiji 田地啓二 (Akitsu Hajime 秋津肇), Yamaguchi Akihiko 山口明彦 (Mizuno Haruhiko 水野春彦) and Yokoyama Saburō 横山 三郎 (Tachibana Ichirō 橘一郎); Tsuji, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 65.

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55. TEZUKA Osamu, Kisō Tengai 奇想天外 [Bizarre Ideas], October 1977 issue, in Tsuji, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 73. 56. KOBAYASHI Ichizō, Shibai zange, 326‑328. While the introduction of the revue genre had led to a revelation of the performers’ bodies, hitherto concealed under the layers of Japanese‑style costumes, the shows themselves were a far cry from the sensational nudity on offer at the Casino de Paris, where the artists descended a grand staircase topless. Shirai Tetsuzō even recalled that when staging his revues in Tokyo in the early 1930s, government censors would arrive to scrupulously measure the dancers’ costumes backstage and ensure that no offense had been made to public decency. An order issued by the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department stipulated that “revue dancers’ bloomers should cover at least ten centimetres of their thighs” (rebyū no odoriko no zurōsu wa momoshita sanzun ijō レビューの踊り子のズロースは股下三寸以 上); cited by KAMURA Kikuo 香村菊雄, Itoshi no Takarazuka e 愛しの宝塚へ [To My Beloved Takarazuka] (Kobe: Kōbe Shinbun Shuppan Center 神戸新聞出版センター, 1984), 54. 57. KAWASAKI Kenko 川崎賢子, Takarazuka to iu yūtopia 宝塚というユートピア [A Utopia Named Takarazuka] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho 岩波新書, 2005), 131. 58. In 1930 Shirai attempted to sidestep the problem by introducing a novel term for Takarazuka’s female performers. He chose the neutral “Takarasienne” (takarajennuタカ ラジェンヌ), based on the French word “Parisienne.” The decision to refer to male recruits as “boys” in this paper reflects the typology in Anglo‑Saxon revues, where “boys” and “girls” are the standard terms for actors playing supporting roles, in opposition to the show’s stars. Both of these terms suggest an artist whose training is incomplete. Ultimately, this supporting role best sums up the contribution of male performers to Takarazuka. 59. Kimira wa shugyō no mi dakara mada hayai! Ani to imōto to omotte benkyō shinasai. 君らは修業の身だからまだ早い！兄と妹と思って勉強しなさい; TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 75. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid., 76‑77. 62. KOBAYASHI, May 1948, Omoitsuki, 102‑103. 63. The technique of using a kage chorus in a booth still exists today. Actresses located off stage add their voices to the score to give a fuller sound. 64. During the entire month of August 1951, the troupe performed at a Daigekijō filled beyond capacity despite the stifling heat. The play’s run was twice extended to reach three consecutive months of performances; Takarazuka kageki gojūnen-shi, 1: 182. This run might seem derisory compared to the extraordinary length of some Broadway and West End shows, but is highly unusual for Takarazuka, where shows are generally performed for one month before giving way to the next production, the aim being to keep audiences interested and cash in on the sense of novelty. 65. SAKAGUCHI Ango, “Ango no shin nihon chiri – Takarazuka joshi senryōgun – Hanshin no maki” 安吾の新日本地理–宝塚女子占領軍–阪神の巻 [Sakaguchi Ango’s New Geography of Japan—the Hanshin volume: Takarazuka’s female occupation army], 1951, reprinted in Sakaguchi Ango zenshū 坂口安吾全集 [The Collected Works of Sakaguchi Ango], 18 vols. (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō 筑摩書房, 1998) vol. 11. Text

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available online at http://www.aozora.gr.jp/cards/001095/files/45908_37864.html (accessed March 2016). 66. TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 181‑182. 67. Booklet Takarazuka kageki jūgatsu hanagumi kōen – kaisetsu to haiyaku 寶塚歌劇十月 花組公演―解説と配役 [October Performance by the Flower Troupe: Commentary and cast] (Takarazuka: Takarazuka Kagekidan 寶塚歌劇團, October 1951). 68. TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 111. In fact, Tsuji reports that this “invisibility” occurred on another somewhat surprising occasion. Although the boys never appeared openly on stage, some of them were given degrading roles as extras in several Daigekijō productions. They had the unusual “opportunity” of playing the part of a horse, then of a giant monkey, wearing roughly put together animal costumes. 69. Note that the company’s management and artistic direction were carried out exclusively by men, leaving one to wonder if this does not reveal—in contrast to the somewhat idyllic portrayal of an all-female Takarazuka—a gender hierarchy that was clearly unfavourable to the Takarasiennes, who were restricted to the role of simple performers. 70. Remember that the Takarazuka troupe was originally intended as an attraction designed to boost profits on the new train line. Somewhat ironically, Shingeiza now took on this same role of attracting audiences to Takarazuka. 71. HIKITA Ichirō, “Shingeiza dōjō no yuku michi” 新芸座道場の行く道 [The Path Walked by Shingeiza Dōjō], Kageki, October 1952, in TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 114. 72. To save money, however, the troupe re-used tailcoats and accessories borrowed from the Revue, lending the boys an appearance that closely resembled the otokoyaku and ensuring a visual identity similar to the mother troupe. 73. Fukushima Wataru 福島亘 (Katsu’ura Yutaka 勝浦豊), Honme Masaaki 本目雅昭 (Honme Mitsugu 本目貢), Nagano Yoshinari 永野喜也 (Fujinami Tatsunari 富士波達 也), Ōhashi Tetsurō 大橋徹郎, Sakai Shōichi 酒井尚一, Shibuya Tatsuo 渋谷辰夫 (Shibuya Enshō 渋谷延笑), Takada Jitsuo 高田実男 (Takada Enshō 高田延昇), Yamaoka Keishirō 山岡敬四郎, Yanagibara Orihiro 柳原折弘, Yasunaga Jun’ichi 安永純一 (Kasuga Jun 春日純), Yokota Jirō 横田二郎, and Yoshii Takaaki 吉井孝明 (Yoshii Yūkai 吉井裕海); TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 85. 74. The account given by Fukushima Wataru supports the second hypothesis. He recalls that his contract with Takarazuka explicitly mentioned the possibility of being allocated to the Shingeiza troupe; TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 115. As for Takarazuka performances, Nagano Yoshinari appeared dressed as a giant monkey in Sarutobi Sasuke 猿飛佐助 at the Daigekijō (see footnote 67). Sumi Hanayo 寿美花代 (1932-), who played the lead role of Sasuke, explained during a televised report on the male section that this role was purely decorative, a polite way of saying “completely pointless”; Takarazuka danshibu — “onna no sono” no mō hitotsu no monogatari タカラヅカ男子部 — 「女の園」のもうひとつの物語 [The Takarazuka Male Section: Another story of the “garden of women”], TV Osaka テレビ大阪, 2005. 75. This 2,500‑seat theater staged large-scale revues, known as “Kitano Shows,” as well as performances by famous singers such as Eri Chiemi 江利チエミ (1937‑1982) in 1955 and Misora Hibari 美空ひばり (1937‑1989) in 1956. This was a happy time for the male dancers who, although restricted to simply filling the space behind the singers, were finally able to perform on a major stage, something that had been refused to them at

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Takarazuka. Nevertheless, the Kitano Theater closed down in 1959 and was converted into a cinema. 76. TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 182.

77. KOBAYASHI Ichizō, Takarazuka manpitsu, in Kobayashi Ichizō Zenshū, 2: 467‑468.

78. TSUJI, Otokotachi no Takarazuka, 154. 79. Yoshii Takaaki commented with resignation that “It can’t be helped. Men shouldn’t have entered a dream world belonging to women alone” (仕方がない。女性だけの夢 の世界に、男が入るべきではなかったんや); Tōkyō Shinbun, 13 May 2014, http:// www.tokyo-np.co.jp/article/national/news/CK2014051302000257.html. 80. The play was a critical and popular success. It won the 10th Senda Korenari Award (Senda Korenari‑shō 千田是也賞), the 33rd Kikuta Kazuo Drama Award (Kikuta Kazuo engeki-shō 菊田一夫演劇賞) and the 15th Yomiuri Grand Prize (Yomiuri engeki taishō enshutsuka-shō 読売演劇大賞演出家賞) for its stage direction. Takarazuka Boys was also staged in 2008, 2010 and 2013 with a run of performances in Tokyo, Nagoya, Kobe, Yokohama, Niigata and Chiba. 81. Although the boys’ roles have been played by different actors, the character of Kimihara Yoshie continues to be portrayed by legendary Takarazuka actress Hatsukaze Jun初風諄 (1941‑), forever known as the original—and for many spectators, the best—Marie‑Antoinette in The Rose of Versailles (1974). 82. With the exception of a handful of half-Japanese Takarasiennes. 83. At the risk of offending sensibilities through an exotic—not to mention heavy‑handed and incoherent—treatment of the history of the Western nations where most of the stories are set, the opinions and reception of foreign spectators are not, in most cases, taken into account. The “Japanese-style plays” (nihon-mono 日本物), in which Japanese history is given the same “Takarazuka treatment,” appear to be less cliché ridden but still approximative, as the quest for realism has never been part of Takarazuka’s theatrical conventions. 84. Louis JOUVET, Témoignages sur le théâtre [Theatre Testimonials] (Paris: Flammarion, 1952), 164. 85. Eric HOBSBAWM and Terence RANGER (eds), The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 2. For a cross‑disciplinary study of the phenomenon in a Japanese context, see Stephen VLASTOS (ed.), Mirror of Modernity: Invented Traditions of Modern Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 86. In August 1932, Kobayashi Ichizō founded the Tokyo Takarazuka Theater Corporation (Kabushiki‑gaisha Tōkyō Takarazuka Gekijō 株式会社東京宝塚劇場) with the aim of extending his hold over the entertainment industry to the capital (Tōhō being a contraction of the characters for Tokyo‑Takarazuka). The Tōhō Theatrical Company (Tōhō Gekidan 東宝劇団), which now specialises mostly in American and European hit musicals, was launched in 1934, the same year that the Tokyo Takarazuka Theater opened. This venue had two purposes, namely to serve as a regular theater for Takarazuka’s Tokyo‑based activities, since the company had previously rented the theaters where it performed, and to provide a dedicated venue for the Tōhō troupe. Boosted by the success of all-girl revues, the Tokyo Takarazuka Theater soon came to be used exclusively by Takarazuka, and Tōhō artists were moved to the Imperial Theater, which had been purchased by the company in 1940. Due to the corporate links between Tōhō and Takarazuka, the group is also known for welcoming many former

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revue stars who choose to continue their career in theatre, this time almost exclusively in female roles. 87. In its financial statement for the 2013 fiscal year, Hankyū declared revenues of 28,235 million yen (approximately 200 million euros) for operations in the stage business. This included income from the three Takarazuka theaters (Takarazuka Grand Theater, Tokyo Takarazuka Theater and Bow Hall), the two Osaka venues (Umeda Arts Theater and Theater Drama City), and money made from its tours around Japan and a tour of Taiwan in May 2013. Nevertheless, these are gross figures and thus potentially misleading in that they reveal nothing about the huge production, promotion and running costs associated with staging twenty or so shows each year (around 450 performances annually in the two main theaters alone), nor the cost of paying its employees: around 400 performers, two 35‑member orchestras, in addition to technical crews, management, theater staff, and creative and commercial teams. The real (net) profits generated by Takarazuka thus remain a sensitive subject and a well‑kept secret. For comparative purposes, the theatrical branch at Tōhō, which owns only the Imperial Theater in Tokyo and has a relatively small workforce compared to the Takarazuka “machine,” declared a total profit of 14,511 million yen (around 100 million euro) for the 2013 fiscal year. See Hankyū’s annual report for 2013: 52 (http://www.hankyu- hanshin.co.jp/file_sys/irRelatedInfo/2.pdf, viewed March 2016) and Tōhō’s 2013 fact book: 44 (http://contents.xj-storage.jp/xcontents/AS05040/27b2743f/ 5be1/4a91/9d43/229f04b85cbd/140120130415017184.pdf, viewed 29 April 2017).

ABSTRACTS

This article offers an insight of a little‑known aspect of Takarazuka Revue’s history, which counters the official discourse of the eponymous theatre company, promoting the all-female nature of their troupes. By analyzing the accidental origins of male roles (otokoyaku) being embodied by young girls, as well as troupe’s founder Kobayashi Ichizō’s statements in favor of a mixed cast and various attempts of achieving this goal (ephemeral integration of male actors, creation of the Takarazuka-affiliated troupes of Kokuminza and Shingeiza), we will determine precisely how and why casts became exclusively all‑female after World War II, with a special focus on the 1946‑1954 male section (danshibu). The study of the company’s schizophrenic relationship to their history ultimately reveals their misappropriation of the concept of “tradition” in order to showcase their singularity and keep their hegemonic position in the world of all‑female theatre. We hereby call into question the integrity and legitimacy of current discourses about Takarazuka—discourses widely spread by Japanese media.

Le présent article propose d’explorer un pan méconnu de l’histoire de la revue Takarazuka, sensiblement en contradiction avec le discours officiel de la compagnie théâtrale faisant la promotion d’une composition exclusivement féminine de ses troupes. L’analyse des origines accidentelles de l’interprétation des rôles masculins (otokoyaku) par des jeunes filles, ainsi que des déclarations du fondateur de la troupe Kobayashi Ichizō en faveur de la mixité et des diverses tentatives en ce sens (intégration éphémère d’acteurs, création des troupes affiliées du Kokuminza et du Shingeiza) nous permettra de cerner précisément comment et pourquoi la

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distribution des pièces est définitivement devenue non-mixte après la seconde guerre mondiale, avec une attention toute particulière portée à la section masculine (danshibu) de 1946‑1954. Le rapport schizophrène de la compagnie à son histoire révèle ultimement le détournement du concept de « tradition » opéré par celle-ci afin de mettre en valeur sa singularité et de conserver sa position hégémonique dans le monde du théâtre féminin. Nous interrogerons donc ici l’intégrité et la légitimité des discours actuels – largement relayés par les médias japonais – à propos du Takarazuka.

INDEX

Keywords: male actors, stage arts, Takarazuka Kokuminza, Takarazuka Revue, Takarazuka Shingeiza, theatre history, tradition, diversity Mots-clés: acteurs, histoire théâtrale, revue Takarazuka, Takarazuka Kokuminza, Takarazuka Shingeiza, tradition, mixité

AUTHORS

CLAUDE MICHEL‑LESNE Inalco-CEJ

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A history of Japanese striptease

Éric Dumont and Vincent Manigot Translation : Karen Grimwade

We are sincerely grateful to Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市, Moriyama Daidō 森山大道, Moriyama Sōhei 森山想平, and the estate of Hirooka Keiichi 広岡敬一 for allowing us to reproduce the images in this article for free. Original release: Éric Dumont et Vincent Manigot, « Une histoire du striptease japonais », Cipango, 21, 2014, 133‑185, mis en ligne le 26 septembre 2016. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/cipango/2230 ; DOI : 10.4000/cipango.2230

1 On the face of it, defining striptease does not appear to pose a problem: it is an erotic spectacle in which a performer disrobes. A dancer undresses in public, gradually revealing her naked body on stage. The faces of the watching crowd become animated, registering delight for some, disillusionment or even outrage for others. The distribution of roles within the practice—with women on stage and men in the audience—is intuitively suggested by our everyday experience of life in a phallocratic society and by the place the female body occupies in the erotic imagination. The only remaining question would thus seem to be how the act is perceived, whether or not it is considered art. Which in turn raises the issue of the normative stance taken towards what, for the sake of convenience, we will call “pornography.” In other words, is the society in question for or against it, and above all, to what extent? Any merit there is in studying striptease would thus seem to lie in what it may tell us about the attitude— permissive or intolerant—of a given society in terms of erotic mores. Nevertheless, we believe there is also merit in exploring the forms that striptease has taken throughout its history. Contrary to popular belief, formal variation appears to have been much greater than one might think. While this evolution in form is intimately linked to the evolution in mores, and thus to changing perceptions of striptease, the growing inventiveness of these performances makes them a valid object of study from an artistic point of view.

2 It would seem logical to assume that the act of stripping is as old as clothing itself. The Kojiki reports that as far back as the Age of the Gods, Ame no Uzume 天宇受賣 removed her clothing during a dance, provoking general hilarity among the assembled gods and enticing the sun goddess out of her hiding place. Yet it would clearly be anachronistic

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to claim Ame no Uzume as a pioneer of striptease, whether in Japan or the world at large.

3 The term “striptease” most likely appeared in the early 1930s, or even slightly before according to some sources;1 however, erotic shows that in retrospect could be given such a label no doubt existed earlier. Despite this, little information exists on the advent of the practice, whether in Japan or elsewhere. Although striptease certainly has a prehistory, in this paper we have preferred to focus on its history in order to avoid any confusion over its genealogy.2 The early history of striptease was characterised by the assertion that this was a public performance, in other words, one not confined to a small group of initiates. To our mind, it is the appearance of openly advertised shows and more or less specialist venues accessible to anyone willing to pay that marks the advent of striptease. In this sense, the origins of the practice can be dated back to the late nineteenth century, when stripping emerged for the first time in its established, theatricalised form that was accessible to the widest audience possible. Although it would not be particularly helpful to pinpoint a specific date or event as officially marking its birth, striptease can be said to have emerged in a fairly similar manner in France and the United States, as part of cabaret shows.3 In Japan, the practice appeared only after World War II4 and soon adopted such a variety of forms that it would be extremely difficult to establish one single, definitive definition. Indeed, the term “striptease” refers as much to a set of techniques, a type of act or a genre of show than to specific material conditions, venues, people or professions. It thus encompasses practices and elements that go beyond merely “undressing on stage,” hence the need to describe and problematize its formal manifestations.

4 Having appeared in Japan shortly after the end of World War II, striptease underwent a number of transformations until the 1970s. This paper proposes to look back at these evolutions, which have been divided into three periods. The first covers the appearance of striptease during the tumultuous postwar period and the attempts made to introduce movement; the second focuses on the transition to a more theatrical model at the cusp of the 1950s, which was accompanied by the creation of venues specialising in striptease; finally, the third period encompasses the various changes undergone by striptease during the 1960s, when the notion of pleasure came to the fore. This schematic periodisation should not be interpreted as suggesting that the 1970s sounded the death knell for the history of striptease. Shows are still being performed in specialist venues to this day.5 Nevertheless, for the moment at least, formal evolution within the industry seems to have reached a limit at the beginning of the 1970s, with no significant changes having been seen since.

5 Statistical data concerning the number of venues, their owners, attendance rates and the revenue generated would no doubt have been extremely enlightening; unfortunately it proved impossible to obtain any reliable figures. The disreputable nature of this type of industry is not conducive to the production, much less the official publication, of such documents. Figures relating to striptease dancers—such as their average wage, life expectancy and career length—would also have been of the greatest interest. But here again, aside from a few sporadic anecdotes6 and biographies that often verge on hagiographies, we were unable to locate sufficient data to make any generalisations.

6 Based on these figures, or rather the lack of them, a number of hypotheses can be made. First, that striptease may not yet have truly captured the attention of

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researchers in the social sciences. Second, that many dancers changed their name several times and that the nature of the world in which they worked (or still work) does not encourage transparency of information. Third, that after turning their backs on the stage many dancers simply returned to “normal” society and anonymity. Given the absence of documentation, we are unable to provide any useful discussion of the general living conditions of striptease dancers. Instead we will present the history of a performing art that cannot be reduced to statistical data, though we are conscious of the limits this places on our discussion. As we will see, many artists—some of whom were famous outside Japan—enjoyed close links with the world of striptease. Regardless of the famous names that gravitated around the industry, and despite its status as a popular art, striptease undeniably counts as one of the first theatrical forms to have explored the body in movement in postwar Japan, long before the ballets of Jikken Kōbō 実験工房 or the Butoh 舞踏 of Hijikata Tatsumi 土方巽. In fact, Hijikata took a close interest in striptease, even choreographing shows during the 1960s.7 Generally speaking, striptease has constantly faced concrete production difficulties and other less technical issues relating to desire and eroticism. The history of striptease thus tells us as much about the history of mores as it does about the history of the performing arts.

The early days of striptease in Japan (1945‑1948)

A novel use of the body: tableaux vivants

7 The immediate postwar period in Japan saw a rapid and massive influx of art forms that used the body in novel ways, raising new questions about corporeality that contrasted with the hygienism that had prevailed until 1945.8 The Americans planted the seeds of an entire popular culture that was epitomised by the magazines known as kasutori zasshi カストリ雑誌. 9 These publications were modelled on the pulp magazines that had circulated in the United States for several years. Life magazine, for example, created a scandal in 1937 by trying to boost its sales via an article that would serve as a benchmark for its competitors. Entitled “How to Undress for Your Husband,” it offered a step-by-step guide to undressing for any housewife keen to please her husband.10 Just like the American publications on which they were modelled, kasutori zasshi regularly featured cover pictures of sensual women. In 1946, the magazine Aka to kuro 赤と黒 (The Red and the Black) published a photograph of a semi‑naked woman.11 That same year also saw the first kiss in the history of Japanese film, giving birth to what would soon be known as the seppun eiga 接吻映画 (kissing film). 12 By the following year, drawings and paintings of naked or semi‑naked women had become commonplace in such publications. In fact, in the United States in particular, but also in France, photojournalism and pulp magazines merely followed in the wake of Hollywood films, sunbathing (which was increasingly popular) and beauty contests, all of which had banalised certain aspects of nudity. Japan followed a similar path by launching the first Western‑style beauty contest, Miss Ginza, in 1947.

8 However, 1947 was above all the year that saw the birth of what would later be known as “striptease.” In early January, in a small club on the fifth floor of the Teito‑za 帝都 座, a theatre affiliated to the Tōhō group, customers could pay twenty yen to watch a new kind of show: the gakubuchi nu◌̄do sho◌̄ 額縁ヌードショー (picture-frame nude

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show),13 in which a young woman, scantily dressed rather than actually naked, struck poses in a composition designed to create a kind of tableau vivant (living picture). One such example was Nakamura Emiko 中村笑子, who posed as Botticelli’s Venus, her bosom modestly covered with a cloth. In fact, this particular performance, entitled Vi◌̄nasu no tanjo◌̄ ヴィーナスの誕生 (The Birth of Venus), took its name from Botticelli’s famous painting, suggesting the importance accorded to this act by its producers. Note that the decision to choose the name The Birth of Venus established a curious link between Renaissance eroticism and the naked performances to come.14 On closer inspection, the relationship between early striptease shows and classical art— notably via tableaux vivants—is fairly evident. Aside from the frame surrounding someone who could not yet be called a stripper, it is perhaps man’s absence from the stage that links these two art forms. Man’s absence, just like the woman’s nudity, was in fact incomplete, since his presence was suggested: he was present via the imagination. On the subject of Renaissance art—although this reflection could easily be applied to striptease—the art historian Daniela Hammer‑Tugendhat points out that: It may seem unbelievable but art has achieved the feat of making man completely invisible in the sexual act. During the Renaissance, on the rare occasions that the sexual act was represented it was always inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses. This poem recounts an entire series of myths in which a god, in this case Zeus, the king of the gods, takes a mortal lover. To do so, he systematically transforms. With Danae, he takes the form of a golden shower; with Io, a cloud; with Leda, a swan; and with Europa, a bull. In short, everything you can imagine, but he is never himself. In art, this implies a sexual act. It is even the main theme of the artwork, but in fact all we see is a female nude because the man has disappeared in the metamorphosis. The woman embodies, as it were, the sexuality and materiality of the body, while man is associated with the spiritual.15 9 The gakubuchi nu ◌̄do was the brainchild of Hata Toyokichi 秦豊吉 (1892‑1956). A graduate of Tokyo Imperial University, he worked for Mitsubishi in Berlin between 1917 and 1926. He resigned from his position after returning to Japan and joined the Tōkyō Takarazuka Gekijō 東京宝塚劇場, becoming its manager in 1940. 16 Hata continued to work at Tōhō after Japan’s defeat. Despite the difficulties created by the occupation, he saw it as an opportunity to stage a long-standing project: a show inspired by American-style musicals and his memories of the Berlin cabarets of 1918. The Birth of Venus thus contained several elements: dances, songs, conjuring tricks, sketches, and a touch of the erotic in the form of the gakubuchi nu◌̄do. Despite lasting barely a minute, it was just enough time for the audience to notice that the “picture” was breathing. The fact that critics of the era focused entirely on this part of the show, to the exclusion of all else, gives some idea of the considerable impact the nu◌̄do ヌー ド (nude) made when she arrived on stage, as well as the predominant place this performance would soon occupy.

10 In February 1947, a nineteen-year-old dancer named Kai Miwa 甲斐美和 replaced Nakamura on stage at the Teito‑za. She appeared entirely naked from the waist up in Ru Panteon ル・パンテオン (Le Pantheon), boosting the already considerable success of this show,17 whose run was extended into the following year. The theatre critic Hashimoto Yoshio 橋本与志夫 recalled the event in the following terms: It was a scene in a show choreographed by Masuda Takashi. When the curtains went up, a cobalt blue projector illuminated an area of the stage where a dancer was posing inside a large frame. Her wonderfully proportioned body, with hips barely covered by a wisp of cloth and ample bosom generously on display, was lit by a pink light which, blending with the cobalt background, created a pale green

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shadow that extended from the chest to the abdomen. At the sight of this beauty the audience was momentarily struck dumb. The moment lasted for a mere fourteen or fifteen seconds. Four or five for some, thirty for others; the stage returned to darkness in the blink of an eye. 益田隆振り付けによるレビューの中の一景だった。幕があがると、コバルトブ ルーのライトが舞台一面を照らし、中央の大きな額縁の中で踊り子がポーズを とっている。 わずかに腰のあたりを薄ものでおおっただけで、豊満な乳房をお しげもなくさらした均整のとれた裸体にピンクの照明があたって、バックのコ バルトにとけ、乳房から腹部にかけて淡いグリーンの翳をつくっていた。その 美しさに一瞬客席は静まりかえった。この間、わずか十四、五秒もあったろう か。四、五秒という人から三十秒はあったという人までいるが、それこそあっ という間に舞台を暗転した。18

11 Note that while the nudity in these performances was frontal, it was above all stationary and thus respectable. Indeed, in many countries immobility was an obligatory phase in the transition towards moving nudes.19 Tableaux vivants derived their legitimacy from the illustrious artworks they imitated. The model’s immobility was required for the imitation to be successful, and simultaneously provided an effective buffer against censorship. This strategy paid off in the sense that GHQ authorised these “tableaux,”20 but also in the sense that theatres began to present nudes in ever greater numbers.21

The quest to introduce movement

12 The main problem facing striptease during this period was thus the obligation to remain still. At this point in time there were no thoughts of undressing the dancer completely. Lingerie could thus be interpreted as a sign of nudity. In other words, the nudes on stage wore underwear. However, the appeal of seeing a dancer in the flesh, as opposed to a woman in a picture, lay necessarily in her being a living, breathing person and thus required a certain form of movement. Accordingly, models were told to breathe in a conspicuous manner that emphasised the stomach and shoulders, all the while remaining immobile. One of the most inventive solutions came from Masakuni Otsuhiko 正邦乙彦, who devised the buranko sho◌̄ ブランコ・ショー, or “swing show,” as a way to make the dancer “move without actually moving”: a dancer would pose inside a frame placed on a kind of large swing that was pushed by someone else. The young woman would thus be moving and yet stationary at the same time.22 Note that in such circumstances the stripper’s role consisted more in appealing physically to the audience rather than actually seducing them. Dance and striptease were combined on stage, but in a disconnected manner for the moment.

13 In May 1947, the writer and essayist Tanaka Komimasa 田中小実昌, employed at the time at Tōkyō Forīzu 東京フォリーズ (Tokyo Follies) in Shibuya, hid behind the curtain during a performance by his colleague Ranā Ōsaka ラナー多坂 and unhooked her bra.23 Although the event may have been planned, the enthusiastic reaction it garnered from the public encouraged a repeat performance. While Tanaka’s act may seem trivial, and it matters little, ultimately, if he was the first person to create the impression of a girl undressing on stage, this incident represented a landmark in the history of Japanese striptease. Indeed, stripping is merely the transition from one state to another, so that each state becomes almost transitory in the sense that another, even more desirable one is potentially forthcoming. This transition from the static “state” of

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the early nude shows to the succession of “steps” associated with stripping marked the appearance of a dramatic tension, which itself opened up a world of expectations.

14 Popular theatre quickly followed suit. In August 1947 the Kūki‑za 空気座 staged an adaptation of Tamura Taijirō’s 田村泰次郎 novel Nikutai no mon 肉体の門 (Gate of Flesh), which follows a group of prostitutes in the ruins of postwar Japan.24 At one point during the play, a protagonist provokes the wrath of her companions for violating the group’s rules and finds herself bound, stripped and whipped at the end of a sham trial. While the nudity seen in Gate of Flesh was not frontal, it was nonetheless real. What is more, it was part of a sequence and included movement. The theme explored on stage foreshadowed the future popularity of sadomasochistic shows. The play was a great success, performed over a thousand times according to Watanabe Akio,25 and was added to the repertoires of several theatres specialising in striptease during the 1950s.

15 Striptease thus arrived in Japan with the Americans and the circumstances surrounding its emergence strikingly resemble those that heralded the birth of the first striptease shows in the United States a century earlier, between the 1820s and the 1860s, during the migration westwards,26 long before it reached the cities in its theatricalised form.27 Various Japanese authors stress the role of striptease, or rather the venues devoted to it, as a “neutral” freedom zone, abolishing disparities and differences in social status. These shows and the venues that staged them provided a place, a moment, where people could escape the worries of the time, as suggested by the term commonly used to refer to them, riberaru sho◌̄ リベラル・ショー (liberal shows).28 Consequently, while the erotic nature of these shows is undeniable—and whatever motivated the Americans’ hands-off approach to them—it is probable, as notes Denys Chevalier, that striptease reflected as much “the vague desire of most people to regain a normal social life”29 as it did a simple night of bawdy fun. It is no doubt in this sense that we should interpret the following comment by Ozawa Shōichi 小沢昭一: Now that over twenty years have passed since the war ended, to the question of how striptease has influenced us I can reply that it allowed us—we whose homes had been destroyed by air raids and who lived day and night in shelters—to have a taste of freedom, at least at its beginnings. 戦後、二十数年、ストリップがわれわれに与えてくれた影響というか、と にかく、空襲で家がやかれ、明けても暮れても防空壕に入って暮らしてい たぼくらに、素晴らしい開放感を味わわせてくれたんですからね、当初は 30。

16 We might add that in contrast to the war years, when sex education and erotic publications were virtually non‑existent,31 the immediate postwar period saw eroticism spread and became more democratic.32

The golden age of striptease (late 1940s and the 1950s)

The appearance of strip clubs

17 In 1948 it became possible to speak of striptease thanks to the creation of specialised venues, known as sutorippu gekijo◌̄ ストリップ劇場 (striptease theatres), like the Tokiwa‑za 常盤座 and Rokku‑za ロック座 in Asakusa.33 Having previously been rather isolated in number, nude shows grew exponentially and began to attract spectators

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from a variety of backgrounds, quickly transforming striptease from a curiosity into a phenomenon.34 Interestingly, striptease soon drew the attention of leading artists like the printmaker Munakata Shikō 棟方志功 and the writer Nagai Kafū 永井荷風. Nagai wrote the following in his diary on 1 June 1948: This afternoon: backstage at the Daito‑za in Asakusa park. There was a rumour that nude dance shows would be temporarily banned, but they merely grew in popularity and now three theatres—Tokiwa‑za, Rokku‑za and Daito‑za—are in competition. Today at the Daito‑za I watched a woman in a kimono take off her red belt and even her nagajuban [garment worn under the kimono] while dancing. 午後浅草公園大都座楽屋。裸体舞踊一時禁止の噂ありしがその後ますます盛 にて常磐座ロック座大都座の三座競ひてこれを演じつつあり。今日見たる大 都座にては日本服きたる女踊りながら赤きしごきを解き長襦袢をぬぐと ころまで見せる。35

18 The opening of such theatres marks an important step in the history of striptease. Previously, the gakubuchi sho◌̄ had merely been an offshoot of music hall, the preserve of establishments that had existed since the 1930s and trained both dancers and theatre directors. The shift to smaller venues enabled music shows to evolve towards burlesque, thereby popularising the genre. Between 1948 and 1951 striptease theatres opened around Japan, including the famous Ōsaka Kujō OS Gekijō 大阪九条OS劇場 in Osaka36 and the Asakusa Furansu‑za 浅草フランス座 in Tokyo, both of which have since closed. In Tokyo alone, fourteen striptease establishments existed during this period37.

19 With new stages came new faces. The late 1940s and early 1950s coincided with a sharp increase in the success of striptease shows and the appearance of a host of stars within the genre: Heren (Helen) Taki ヘレン滝, Hirose Motomi ヒロセ元美, Jipushī Rōzu ジ プシー・ローズ (Gypsy Rose), and Hanī Roi ハニー・ロイ, to name but a few. Certain dancers saw their fame reach beyond the theatre doors and a few even enjoyed international careers. Two such examples are Fujiwara Midori 藤 原 み ど り, who starred in a Hollywood film with John Wayne,38 and Sono Harumi 園はるみ, who made a name for herself as a singer in the United States before continuing her career in Japan.39 Striptease also gained recognition from the world of art. Nagai Kafū 永井荷 風 married Merī Matsubara メリー松原 and Munakata Shikō liked to say that Gypsy Rose had “the body of a goddess”40. Let us not overestimate, however, the benefits such recognition had for the stripper’s career. Although striptease did not exist in a vacuum, dancers clearly made a name for themselves within the limits of this sphere, through their onstage performances. Their names were frequently associated with a specific technique or a unique type of performance they alone offered. In some ways strippers were inseparable from their art; they were identified with it. Any mention of Hirose Motomi, for example, was regularly accompanied by a reference to her famous fan dance (ファンダンス), described by Tanaka in the following terms: In the early days of striptease, the fan dance performed by Hirose Motomi—said to have recently returned from Shanghai—was very sexy. She would wave large, feather‑adorned fans up and down in front of her body. A fan would glide over her, revealing increasing amounts of skin below the navel, and just as we were about to glimpse between her thighs, another fan would arrive to slowly cover her. In those days strippers were not completely naked from the waist down; they wore butterflies [triangular underwear] or pants. But with her large fans she concealed herself while providing furtive glimpses, so that she truly appeared to be naked. ストリップの初期のころの上海がえりといわれたヒロセ元美のファンダ ンスは、まことに色っぽかった。大きな羽根かざりのついた扇を、から

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だの前で相互にゆらゆら、上下にうごかす。ひとつの扇がからだの 上をすべって、素肌が大きくひろがっていき、おヘソの下、太腿のあそ こがのぞきかけた瞬間、べつの扇がゆっくりかぶさってくる。その ころのストリッパーは、下はすっぽんのボトムレスではなく、バタ フライかパンティをはいていたが、大きな扇で、ちらちらじらしな がらかくしてると、まるで、あそこになんにもはいていてないみたい だった41。

A striptease icon: Gypsy Rose

20 Let us focus for a moment on the career of Gypsy Rose, probably the most emblematic of Japan’s nude dancers. Born Shimizu Toshiko 志水敏子 in Fukuoka Prefecture in 1934,42 she arrived in Tokyo with a travelling theatre company providing entertainment for American servicemen. Masakuni Otsuhiko worked at the Tokiwa‑za at the time and was looking for a dancer to replace Helen Taki, the theatre’s star, whose penchant for alcohol was jeopardizing the theatre’s shows. When Masakuni discovered Shimizu she was just sixteen years old. She danced on stage at the Tokiwa‑za for the first time in June 1950, dressed in school uniform. Masakuni, who by this time was her agent, suggested she take the stage name Gypsy Rose, no doubt in tribute to the famous American burlesque dancer, Gypsy Rose Lee. She soon became famous as Japan’s top performer of the grind (a suggestive circular movement of the hips). She became a household name in 1952 when police banned the grind she performed in Arabian Naito アラビアン・ナイト (The Arabian Nights) on the grounds that it “aroused too much excitement”!43

21 The exotic charm of Gypsy Rose and scandalous reputation of her grinding led to her signing a two-year contract with the Nichigeki Myūjikku Hōru 日劇ミュージック ホール (Nichigeki Music Hall). She sank into alcoholism at the end of her contract and continued to perform on a freelance basis. She then turned her back on stripping permanently in 1965 and opened a snack‑bar in Yamaguchi Prefecture with Masakuni. She died two years later at the age of thirty‑two. Few strippers achieved such levels of fame, but many experienced a similarly tragic demise44 due to the difficult working conditions associated with the profession. Tanaka Komimasa 田中小実昌 reported, for example, that strippers often ate poorly and infrequently, worked extensively (three or four performances per day) and virtually all year round. They almost never left their place of work, which doubled as their home, and they lived an isolated existence cut off from the world.45 Their life expectancy was seriously curtailed by such conditions.

Theatre management

22 How exactly were Japanese striptease theatres run? Asakusa offers an interesting window onto the question. As the historical entertainment district of Tokyo, boasting an amusement park, temples, cinemas, theatres, restaurants and bars, Asakusa had no less than five striptease theatres during the late 1940s and 1950s, and competition between them was fierce.46 The proximity of Asakusa to the pleasure district Yoshiwara 吉原 ensured a relatively stable number of visitors to the area until Yoshiwara was dismantled in 1958. Strip shows in those days lasted for about two hours, which consisted of one hour of sketches and one hour of stripping. Of course, the shows could alternate between the two elements, but generally speaking comedy preceded stripping, just as in American burlesque. On average, the theatres presented three

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shows a day, 365 days of the year. According to Inoue Hisashi 井上ひさし, the Furansu‑za had over fifty employees in 1956,47 including twenty‑four female dancers, two male dancers, six musicians, ten or so comics and a technical crew of just under ten. The paltry basic wage and lack of health insurance made for harsh employment conditions. This is particularly true given the stringent qualification requirements, with most of the dancers having been trained at the Shōchiku Kageki Dan 松竹歌劇団 (SKD), one of Japan’s most important revue companies.48 Within the Furansu‑za the girls were divided into three categories: those who showed nothing—the normal dancers (futsu◌̄ no odoriko 普通の踊り子); those who were topless—the semi‑nudes (semi‑nu◌̄do セミ・ ヌード); and finally the nudes (nu◌̄do ヌード), whose salary, as Inoue liked to say, was “as high as their underwear is far from the navel.”49 The nude dancer’s uniform in the 1950s consisted of a butterfly (batafurai バタフライ) and spangles (supanko◌̄ru スパンコール) worn on her breasts to conceal the nipple, just as in American burlesque.

23 When striptease moved from large music hall‑type venues to the more modest, light entertainment theatres, a change occurred in working conditions, notably in recruitment practices. Whereas previously many dancers had been employed directly by the company, striptease-theatre girls tended to use an intermediary agent or himo 紐. This allowed the theatres to change their headline acts more often and enabled strippers to perform for different audiences, thereby potentially increasing their renown. Using an intermediary obviously represented extra costs for the dancer but it also gave her a certain amount of security. Note incidentally that the dancer’s agent was often, as in the case of Gypsy Rose, her lover.50

24 The 1950s also saw shifts in terminology. The terms nu◌̄do ヌード (nude) and sutorippa◌̄ ストリッパー (stripper) definitively replaced the previously used hadaka‑san 裸さん (naked girl) and odoriko 踊 り 子 (dancing girl). A similar pattern was observed in the titles given to shows. The 1952 programme for the Nichigeki featured titles—most of them derived from English—that seem to have been plucked directly from an American film: To◌̄kyo◌̄ no Ivu 東京のイヴ (Tokyo Eve), Rabu ha◌̄ba◌̄ ラ ブ・ ハーバー (Love Harbor), Janguru ravu ジャングルラヴ (Jungle Love), Randebu◌̄ ランデブー (Rendez‑vous), and Sanma◌̄ sukyandaru サンマースキャン ダル (Summer Scandal), to name but a few.51 This penchant for exoticism and foreign‑sounding titles was also visible in the names of dancers, for example Helen Taki, Grace Matsubara, Marie Shinjū, and Pearl Hamada. Everything suggests that this was a trend specific to the period, itself characterised by a sense of freedom and by the American occupation. It culminated in the appearance in 1953 of the gaijin nu◌̄do sho◌̄ 外人ヌードショー (foreigner nude shows), performed by actual Westerners, and kinpatsu sutorippu 金髪ストリップ (blond striptease), performed by Japanese girls wearing blond wigs.52

Scenic innovations

25 One of the most notable innovations to occur in striptease was the appearance of bathing shows (nyu◌̄yoku sho◌̄ 入浴ショー), which had been a huge hit in the West at the beginning of the century53. A bath (or simple tub) was placed on stage and filled with warm water, whereby a young woman would undress and take a bath. Part of the popularity of these performances stemmed from their familiar, banal and yet erotic

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nature, in that they heightened the sense of intimacy between the stripper and the audience. The nyu◌̄yoku sho◌̄ were a first step towards shows in which customers were no longer just passive spectators but took a more active role in their own pleasure. Aside from the fun that could be had with bubbles, this type of show also enabled a certain form of interaction, since spectators could pay extra to soap the bather’s back or heat up the water by blowing on the embers and thus observe the actress at closer quarters.54 In July 1951 the Asakusa‑za 浅草座 and the Bijin‑za 美人座, both located in Asakusa, developed competing shows featuring a Japanese bathtub for one and a Western bath for the other.

26 Another new type of act was the rittai sutorippu 立体ストリップ (or “raised striptease”), involving a curved ladder placed over the audience. Spectators had to look up to watch the dancers climbing and striking poses that provided glimpses of select parts of their anatomy.55

27 Having been created in the mid‑1950s, it was essentially towards the end of this decade that bed shows (beddo sho◌̄ ベッド・ショー) became an established presence. Requiring nothing more than a bed and a stripper on stage, the rudimentary nature of this show partly explains why it became so widespread. The stripper would get into bed and then—and herein lay the show’s novelty—openly take great pleasure in being there. Despite the apparent simplicity of the basic framework, it enabled infinite variations. The performer could pretend to touch herself under the sheets, feign making love with a pillow, use props, or call on a male or female partner. The popularity of bed shows no doubt stemmed from their racy nature and their transgression of previously taboo limits. However, it is also significant that dancers became more easily interchangeable: the choreography for a bed show was much simpler than for a solo dance and the number of performances could be increased. The appearance of the bed show marked a shift from a “non‑figurative” or suggestive style of dance to one that was overtly mimetic. The dancer became an actress. Striptease shows evolved in the 1960s to place increasing emphasis on the simulation of sex. This contrasted with the playfully seductive stripping that had previously been the norm and also marked the beginning of what those nostalgic for the early days consider the decline of striptease. Henceforth, other more sexually explicit acts would appear.

From pleasing spectacle to spectacular pleasure: stripping and sex shows (1960s and 1970s)

From burlesque to sex shows

28 The gradual disappearance of comics from the striptease theatres of Asakusa in the late 1950s can be explained by the “unfair competition” they faced from dancers. And the imbalance this caused in the structure of striptease shows can be interpreted as a trend towards greater licentiousness. Nevertheless, competition came from another source in the form of television, which by 1958 was already a standard fixture in the average Japanese home. The comic Atsumi Kiyoshi 渥美清, for example, who made a name for himself at the Furansu‑za in 1955, moved to NHK in 1961 before trying his hand at film and becoming, in 1969, Tora‑san 寅さん, the well-known hero of the film series Otoko wa tsurai yo 男はつらいよ (It’s Tough Being a Man). The booming television market absorbed a large number of comics from the world of striptease, offering them

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a more comfortable situation with higher wages and the potential to reach incomparable levels of fame. Given the unstable working conditions in striptease theatres, as described by Kitano Takeshi 北野武 in his autobiographical novel Asakusa Kid,56 television was clearly an upward move for comics.

29 The changes taking place on the striptease‑theatre scene coincided with a slow decline in Asakusa’s popularity. This period also saw the closure of the Yoshiwara pleasure district on 31 March 1958. While this event, alongside other factors linked to urbanisation, undeniably affected the number of visitors to Asakusa, it does not seem to have had any notable impact on the evolution of striptease shows. Although the skin trade was not the only lucrative activity in Yoshiwara, its closure seems to us to be indisputably part of a wider backlash against prostitution.57 However, this movement spared striptease theatres. It is important to note here that, despite its disreputable nature and close proximity to Yoshiwara, striptease was not associated at the time with prostitution. Certainly, detailed descriptions of strippers’ living conditions are few and far between, inviting all kinds of hypotheses. We have already mentioned the agent’s role and the isolated existence the girls led. Were the lives of strippers any more enviable than those of prostitutes? Whatever the truth may be, there is a fundamental difference between the two, namely the staged nature of striptease. Aside from its voyeuristic dimension, there is a difference in the way that desire is satisfied. Unlike prostitution, which is performative in the sense that the sexual act is consumed, a striptease show is merely a theatrical pretence. Chevalier remarks that: Considered solely from an erotological point of view, the eroticism of the striptease act is absolutely independent of its two phases: undressing and sexual pantomime. Consequently, nudity is less an erotic expression per se as it is an opening to an erotic eventuality… Incidentally, by denying the offer made, or rather its consequences, the stripper increases the value of her initial proposition. In this sense she perfectly embodies the traditional notion of eroticism, and not prostitution, where there is no retraction of the offer.58

30 Although Chevalier sees striptease as an expression of the male desire to dominate women, he also states that for men it is nothing more than a pious hope. The novelist Michèle Perrein goes as far as seeing striptease as a triumph for women: I do not consider striptease demeaning for women because it magnifies their sole moment of triumph, where they exert their sheer power over men, without ever letting them become the master.59

31 Nevertheless, the boundaries between striptease and prostitution would become increasingly blurred. In fact, since the late 1950s we have seen a pervasion—a trivialisation some might say—of sex‑related issues. Films and magazines present ever more risqué images and this trend was merely confirmed in the mid‑1960s by the appearance of pinku eiga ピンク映画 (pink films). 60 Although this phenomenon is indissociably linked to the commodification of sex by the mass media, it is also closely connected to the rise of an anti-establishment sentiment. One of the pioneers in this matter, the theatre director Takechi Tetsuji 武智鉄二, collaborated with the world of striptease and even staged a nude Noh performance at the Nichigeki in 1956. Takechi was convinced at the time of the subversive power of the obscene and its ability to overturn the bourgeois order. It was with this in mind that he decided to film Hakujitsumu 白日夢 (Daydream), released by Shōchiku in 1964. 61 Filmmakers such as Imamura Shōhei 今村昌平, Ōshima Nagisa 大島渚 and Wakamatsu Kōji 若松孝二 frequently explored the themes of desire, eroticism and sex in their work. As for the

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major film studios, essentially Tōei and Nikkatsu, they waited until the 1970s before taking the plunge.

32 Just like the film industry, striptease was confronted with the challenge of defying the censors, although the issue of ideology was less present. Indeed, while desire is born of prohibition—or rather the nonsensical nature of prohibition62—the definition of what was prohibited was constantly being challenged, inciting strip clubs in particular to engage in a race to push the boundaries. The early 1960s saw Kansai sutorippu 関西スト リップ (striptease from the Kansai region) flourish, with the name suggesting that shows in this region had taken on some kind of idiosyncratic local colour. The subject is poorly documented and the only account we were able to find dates from 1964 and appeared in the French periodical Arts. In this article, which provides readers in search of exoticism with a whole host of insulting and racist clichés—not to mention a hint of misogyny—Jean‑Clarence Lambert describes the striptease shows and toruko he witnessed in the Kansai region: [It was] a “turku,” meaning a Turkish bath… My operator appeared… She was devoid of physical charm, just like the majority of her compatriots. No ankles, short legs and barely any waist. And her breasts? Where do these girls hide their breasts? And that “pâtes-la-Lune”63 face, almost eyeless and with no eyebrows or nose… I must also mention the “skin‑shows” and “nude‑shows” that can be seen in Kyoto (Kyoto—traditionally the most refined city in Yamato!)… These are cheap strip shows that end with the young woman (usually ugly and without charm) completely exposing herself. The final pose is struck in the middle of the stage, the body thrust back, legs spread wide, “worse than naked.” From the front row it feels like a lesson in internal anatomy.64

33 The expression Kansai sutorippu itself seems only to have been used in the Tokyo region, and in fact, the term was rapidly rivalled by zen-suto 全スト (full strip), which featured nudity that would be considered complete even by current standards. It was then replaced by the term tokudashi 特出し, an abbreviation of tokubetsu shutsuen 特別出演 (special performance). Originally performed by a guest stripper, hence the term “special,” these shows soon came to involve the systematic exhibiting of the strippers’ genitals, removing any doubt as to the meaning we should attribute to this “special performance.”65

34 Few theatres openly advertised such shows, which brings us to the thorny issue of where striptease stands with regards the Japanese penal code, in particular articles 174 and 175. Article 174 applies to strippers and penalises public indecency, while article 175 prohibits the distribution and sale of obscene material and targets venue owners. Accordingly, in order to take action the law must prove that something actually is obscene. Unfortunately audience members, theatre owners and strippers are not always cooperative and evidence often has to be obtained through police infiltration. With a few rare exceptions, the only official trace we found of tokudashi is limited to indictments, trials and sentences. The case of Ichijō Sayuri 一条さゆり (1929/1937‑1997)66 is one relatively well-documented example. 67 She was accused of public indecency on nine occasions between 1963 and 1971, and was finally taken in for questioning by Osaka police during her farewell tour in 1972. Sentenced to four months in prison, she appealed but her sentence was upheld by the Osaka court. Ichijō subsequently took her case to the Supreme Court and in January 1975 was handed a six‑month mandatory jail term. Her entanglements with the law attracted the support and sympathy of diverse political groups, notably feminists.68 Indeed, the line of

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defence she adopted set her apart from other strippers. Instead of pleading an accident or a careless mistake, Ichijō argued for freedom of expression and her trial followed in the illustrious tradition of those who have pitted the world of art against censorship. Certainly, when a performance is sanctioned with a prison sentence, the question of freedom of expression necessarily arises. Yet this argument had never been used before in the world of striptease, where such blatant transgression contrasted with the previously adopted tactic of seeking loopholes, as symbolised by Masahiko’s swing.

From theatricalised seduction to seductive artifice

35 As performers evolved from dancers into actresses, marking the end of the golden age of striptease, a change occurred in the way that shows were devised: instead of the theatricalised seduction of the early days there was a shift towards performances that actively sought to seduce, towards a seductive artifice presented as entertainment. Attraction and seduction, to borrow Baudrillard’s terms, are born not of “a signified desire, but [of] the beauty of an artifice”.69 Creating an appearance of naivety and nonchalance was crucial if the act was to seduce and fascinate. Generalising somewhat, we could say that the equilibrium of these shows depended largely on this feigned ingenuousness. The success of the nyu◌̄yoku sho◌̄ lay in their naive banality. During the 1950s, props such as bubble bath, fans and balloons served mainly as a means of playfully concealing what the performer wished to leave to the imagination. This brings to mind the well‑known story of the first Parisian striptease being caused by a flea, when a dancer on stage inadvertently removed all her clothing in her zeal to find it. In other words, artifice that is overly obvious leaves less room for the imagination. Beginning in the 1960s, the nature of nude shows changed as the seduction they offered went from being merely suggested to being handed to audiences on a plate. As an example, Hirooka wrote the following description of a performance by Ichijō Sayuri in Funabashi in 1971: She undressed to music then waved the flames of a bunch of candles over her naked body. Drops of melted wax trickled down onto her skin, making it look as though she was really burning it. Holding her breath to withstand the heat, her expression soon changed from one of torture to one of joy. Feeling her way down between her thighs with one finger, she rubbed the joint between her exposed folds and transparent drops began to flow; her entire body shook violently and her sharp cries pierced the air. 曲に合わせながら衣装を脱ぐと、束ねた百目蝋燭の炎で裸をあぶる。 溶けた蝋が雫になって肌に滴り落ち、そのあたりの肌を焦がすかのよう。 息を詰めながら熱さに耐える彼女の表情は、やがて地獄の責め苦から喜悦 に変わった。片手の指が股のあいだを探り、剥き出しの襞の合わせ目に蠢 かすと、その場所から透明な雫が溢れ、全身を細かく激しい振動が襲っ て、鋭い悲鳴が彼女の喉からほとばしる。

36 Generally speaking, striptease theatres diverged from burlesque in the 1960s by eliminating the comedy acts and intensifying the sexual nature of the nude performances. Strip shows came to involve exposing the genitals in some way on stage, with bed shows giving way to so‑called Tengu beddo 天狗ベッド, where the nose of a Tengu70 mask served as a sex toy. The majority of solo acts featured some form of masturbation and the vagina took on a pivotal role. Before long there were performances offering customers the opportunity to actually auscultate the female genitals.71 Known as furu o◌̄pun フル・オープン (“full open” in reference to the

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spreading of the legs), these shows were a novelty in that they were less about voyeurism (in the sense of a surreptitious glance or stolen look at a forbidden image) than about diving into someone else’s body, even going so far as to employ gynaecological instruments in acts where the eye went beyond the limits of the real to examine a hyperrealist sexual organ.72 Note, however, that the use of instruments allowing more detailed observation was not in itself an innovation.73 The novelty of furu o◌̄pun lay in their overtly exhibitionist nature. The stripper showed more than she concealed.

37 The growing importance of showing the genitals on stage, whether in an anatomical or a masturbatory form, coincided with the transformation of striptease into sex shows, which in turn led to the appearance of shows involving multiple partners. While it is difficult to establish a timeline, it seems that the sadomasochistic shows (zankoku sho◌̄ 残酷ショー, “cruel shows”) that were popular during the 1960s played a pioneering role. As for shows staging sexual relations, “lesbian shows” (resubian sho◌̄ レスビア ン・ショー) preceded their heterosexual counterparts, the shirokuro sho◌̄ 白黒ショー (“black and white shows”). In 1972, performances of the sexual act became increasingly participatory as audience members were invited up on stage to use various props during namaita sho◌̄ ナマ板ショー74. Just like the bed show, sexuality on stage can take any number of forms. Throughout the 1970s, for example, strip clubs introduced daburu shirokuro sho◌̄ W白黒ショー featuring four people, and gaijin manaita sho◌̄ 外人マナ板 ショー performed by foreigners. Since then there have been no notable evolutions in striptease and documentation on the subject becomes increasingly scarce as we approach the 1990s.

Conclusion: elements for a stripology

38 Tableaux vivants, liberal shows, striptease theatres, bed shows, “special performances” and namaita: the multiple transformations of Japanese striptease throughout its history have provoked diverse reactions from commentators, notably nostalgia and a tendency to predict the decline of this performing art.75 Certainly, in most cases the changes have proved permanent and in principle nude shows never return to the well‑worn models of the past. The burlesque shows of Asakusa, the gakubuchi, nyu◌̄yoku, and kinpatsu nu◌̄do have all truly been consigned to the pages of history. In a sense, striptease theatres saw their musicians, comics and librettists disappear as the performances became more sexually explicit. Nevertheless, it seems erroneous to view these changes merely as subtractions motivated by profit or brought about by “moral decadence.” Indeed, the shift towards sex shows has not meant a paring down of striptease acts, in the sense that exhibiting the vulva and caressing or touching the body are actually extras: these elements are performed in addition to stripping. Regardless, the obsolescence of trends and refusal to return to outmoded forms ultimately appears to have suffocated the industry’s drive to innovate. In retrospect, the constant search for novelty seems to have run out of steam shortly after the appearance of namaita, with the industry struggling to find new ideas ever since.

39 Nevertheless, this lack of formal innovation did not sound the death knell for striptease and the industry was still thriving in the early 1980s.76 This period saw the appearance of the first peep show booths77 and, more significantly, the emergence and stunning growth of the adult video market (known as AV for short).78 In terms of content, the

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images proposed bore an undeniable resemblance to the striptease acts from the 1970s. However, the circumstances in which they are viewed differ markedly. Indeed, unlike strip clubs, where even in the smallest venues79 spectators are isolated only by the relative darkness that envelops them, peep shows provide a genuinely private space. Alone in the privacy of their booth, customers can watch the show as it is being performed, but in a separate space. Videos, on the other hand, provide an experience to be enjoyed in non‑real time. Since the viewer only has access to pre‑recorded images (just like at the cinema), the distance between watcher and watched becomes irreducible: videos substitute the person being watched with a machine, thereby abolishing any possibility of exchange and interaction. On the other hand, home video players provide interactions with the machine that in principal are not available to viewers at a cinema. A person viewing a video in their home is able to control the flow of images. In other words, the object of desire is available on command. Furthermore, to a certain extent video relieves viewers of their social self, since images are blind and non‑judgmental. Using a machine intensifies the intimacy of the performances and invites viewers to plunge into anonymity, quench their voyeuristic desires and enjoy this withdrawal from the world. In contrast, spectators at a striptease show experience time in a manner that resembles physical time, experienced collectively. This illustrates the eminently social dimension of striptease, which technological progress now encourages us to view as an integral part of the striptease experience. Consequently, the adult video industry is not truly in competition with striptease, since their respective modes of expression differ considerably. Striptease as a performing art still exists today.80 The growth of the AV market in the second half of the 1980s and simultaneous closure of many striptease clubs seems to corroborate the theory that the two are rivals; yet the repeated appearance of porn stars on striptease stages indicates a certain complicity that could be said to mark recent shows.81

40 Despite being clearly distinct,82 striptease, pornography and prostitution all share a similarly louche reputation in the public mind, so much so that striptease—and more generally nude dancing—usually receives bad press, in Japan as elsewhere. Aside from the nudity it presents, the world that striptease evokes—the venues, neighbourhoods, but also people and mores—evidently has something to do with the opprobrium it attracts. The nude Noh staged by Takechi Tetsuji 武智鉄二 in 1956 would no doubt have attracted the same virulent criticisms had the performers been “properly” clothed. Nevertheless, comparing various accounts of striptease from the three cultural areas in which it is most popular reveals that public reception differs markedly. In the United States, striptease continues to be highly popular. In fact, in 1991 the United States Supreme Court recognised nude dancing as a form of expression subject to protection by the First Amendment, almost a century after the first performances in American theatres.83 The late twentieth century also saw the publication of serious studies on American burlesque.84 The situation is somewhat different in Europe, where this performing art is often held in contempt by intellectual circles. Only a handful of publications have been devoted to the subject over the past fifty years, although these include, alongside a small number of specialised (and not always very inspired) books, works by reputed intellectuals like Barthes, Eco and even Breton’s surrealist group. It seems clear, however, that these individuals had no desire to view striptease as a genuine object of study and their essays oscillate between friendly, complicit amusement,85 caution tinged with incomprehension, 86 and virulent aversion. 87 In contrast, the situation in Japan differs markedly. Although there has been much

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negative criticism here too, many artists and intellectuals were fairly quick to explore the theme of striptease in their work. This was also the case for players from the world of nude performances, and for many photographers, who documented the evolution in striptease practices through their photographic collections. There is thus an extensive bibliography of Japanese-language works devoted to striptease, and this has been the case since the late 1940s.88 Furthermore, from an early date periodicals on the subject were published89 and television programmes produced.90

41 Striptease is a performing art, and as we saw, “nudity” is not an objective, an end in itself (or at least, it was not at one time). Just as in the theatre, and perhaps even more so, adornments like costumes and jewellery play a key role. For Jean Baudrillard, the absence of adornments is only relative, since it is never complete.91 The sociologist Ueno Chizuko 上野千鶴子 offers the following more nuanced view: The stripper’s butterfly exists only to be taken off at the end. Until then, it merely indicates the location of the genitals. If it didn’t hide merely to reveal, the butterfly would be meaningless. ストリッパーのバタフライは、ただ最後にそれを取り去るためだけに ある。それを取り去る前に、性器がそこにあることを、誇示するためだけ にある。あらわすために隠すのでなければ、バタフライには何の意味も ない92。

42 While she does not dismiss the idea of “total” nudity, Ueno nonetheless echoes Baudrillard when she writes that: “What the butterfly signifies is not a functionality but a symbol.”93 In other words, the initial role of this adornment is replaced by an ornamental and signifying role. The psychoanalyst Béla Grunberger even suggests that: “The essence of striptease seems to reside in the successive ‘stripping off’ of various penile symbols worn by the woman (long black gloves, black stockings, boots or high heeled shoes, corset, etc.), as if the significance of the act lay not in the woman’s wearing of a penis or being naked but in her gradual and repeated castration.”94

43 More pragmatically, “nudity” is a concept whose meaning and acceptability vary to say the least. While nudity is indisputably a major selling point for striptease, as evidenced by the number of shows promising “nakedness,” the “nudity” on offer is much more than a promotional ploy. Strippers do not feign undressing but successively remove layers until they reach the limits of whatever constitutes “nudity” at the time. Similarly, it is interesting to note that topless dancing ceased to be considered striptease in 1977.95

44 The decline of striptease that began in the early 1980s has merely become established ever since. Yet striptease continues to have a real—albeit marginal—presence in Japan. Many of the roles it has played—from the “neutral zone” of the immediate postwar period to the voyeuristic extremes of the 1970s—have since found expression in other places or through other means, raising the question of why striptease has enjoyed such longevity. Striptease has passed through the ages, managing to carve out its own place in society. And as we saw, it no longer seems keen to pursue its policy of constantly pushing boundaries, a battle that in any case was lost long ago.

45 Hidden away from the world and untouched by time—the present time at least— striptease now appears to be looking backwards. Having left behind the innovations of its past, far from the excesses of the 1970s, striptease has ultimately come full circle to recapture the essence of its heyday, finding expression in a simple form that long seemed too obvious: stripping. Bathed in light, the dancer rhythmically peels away her clothes before striking a final pose in the centre of the stage. While nostalgia may not

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be synonymous with creativity, it is effective. Despite the formal return to something resembling the staged seductions of the 1950s and 1960s, and although not all of these shows are haunted by the memory of the past, one need only visit a striptease theatre to be convinced that Japanese striptease today plays unashamedly on nostalgia for the Shōwa period, particularly in its use of costumes and music that are redolent of the postwar years. Even the impossibly outdated props recall the randomly put together shows from a time when the country was rebuilding in the aftermath of war. The veiled attempts to appeal to the younger generations—through the use of modern music, porn stars and even discounts for senior citizens, students and couples!—resemble half‑hearted attempts to ensure the long‑term future of stripping, a stance that is reflected in the elevated average age of the spectators. And indeed, their demise may very well signal the end of Japanese striptease.

Figure 1

Gakubuchi sho◌̄ on the fifth floor of the Teito‑̄ za in Tokyo, April 1947. The performer is most likely Kataoka Mari 片岡マリ. Source: anonymous author, Enpaku collection, Waseda

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Figure 2

“Asakusa no sutorippu gekijō ni okeru nyūyoku-shō” 浅草のストリップ劇場における入浴ショー (Nyu◌̄yoku sho◌̄ at a striptease theatre in Asakusa), between 1951 and 1955. Source: Hirooka Keiichi 広岡敬一

Figure 3

46 Finale of a show at a striptease theatre in Kanagawa, 1966. Source: Moriyama Daidō 森 山大道

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Figure 4

Dancers’ dressing room at a striptease theatre, 1977. A poster indicates the four performance times, from 12.30 PM to 11.15 PM, as well as the in‑house rules to be respected. Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳 市

Figure 5

A sign outside a club specialising in gaijin nu◌̄do sho◌̄, the DX Ōmiya Gekijo ̄ DX大宮劇場 (Saitama Prefecture). Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市

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Figure 6

Advert for the Modan Āto モダンアート (Modern Art), a striptease theatre located in Shinjuku in the 1970s. Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市

Figure 7

Front of the Shinjuku Myūjikku Gekijō 新宿ミュージック劇場 in the 1970s detailing the different shows offered by the club: gaijin manaita and shirokuro. Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市

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Figure 8

Finale of a show at the Asakusa Rokku‑za 浅草ロック座 in the 1990s. Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市

Figure 9

Finale of a show at the Asakusa Rokku‑za 浅草ロック座 in the 1990s. Source: Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市

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NOTES

1. Rachel SHTEIR, Striptease: The Untold History of the Girlie Show (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 90‑91. The Merriam‑Webster Dictionary puts the date at 1932. 2. In Japan, the history of striptease is clearly interlinked with that of music halls, Asakusa Opera and popular theatre. See O◌̄ZASA Yoshio 大笹吉雄, “Sannin no dansā ni yoru odoriko tsūshi” 三人のダンサーによる踊り子通史 [General History of Dancers by Three Dancers], in Asakusa Furansu-za no jikan 浅草フランス座の時間 [The Asakusa Furansu-za Era], INOUE Hisashi 井上ひさし (Tokyo: Bunshun Nesuko 文春ネスコ, 2001), 99‑125. See also Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN, “L’Opéra-Asakusa: le drame lyrique à la conquête du public populaire” [Asakusa Opera: Musical drama seeks to win over popular audiences] in La Modernité à l’horizon, ed. Jean‑Jacques TSCHUDIN, Claude HAMON (Arles: Philippe Picquier, 2004), 169‑190. 3. Although sources have difficulty agreeing on a date, it seems likely that the first shows of this type appeared in France in the 1880s‑1890s, and a little later in the United States; François DES AULNOYES, Histoire et philosophie du striptease: essai sur l’érotisme au music-hall [History and Philosophy of Striptease: An essay on music-hall eroticism] (Paris: Pensée moderne, 1957), 28; Richard WORTLEY, A Pictorial History of Striptease (London: Octopus, 1976), 31 and 55‑56; Don B. WILMETH, The Cambridge Guide to American Theater (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 487. There were no doubt others before, but a performance by a certain Mona (or Manon) at the “Bal des Quat’z‑Arts” on 9 February 1893 at the Moulin Rouge caused a sensation and is often presented as the birth of striptease; Martin BANHAM, The Cambridge Guide to Theater (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 802; see the article devoted to the subject in the French daily Le Matin on 21 March 1893, and the account of the dancer’s subsequent trial for “outrage to public decency (indecent exposure)” in the same newspaper on 24 June 1893 (see the bibliography). 4. See in particular OZAWA Shōichi 小沢昭一, FUKAI Toshihiko 深井俊彦 and NAKATANI Akira 中谷陽, “Kieru hi, Moeru honō – Sengo sutorippu shi” 消える灯 燃える 炎―戦後ストリップ史 [Vanishing Light, Burning Flame: The history of postwar striptease], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu 新劇―特集ストリップ [Shingeki: striptease special], no. 9 (1973): 94‑109. The Asahi shinbun first covered the subject of striptease on page 4 of its morning edition on 18 June 1950. 5. For example in Tokyo, the Asakusa Rokku‑za 浅草ロック座 (Asakusa Rock‑za), Shiatā Ueno シアター上野 (Ueno Theatre) and a few other venues are still active.

6. SATO◌̄ Makoto 佐藤信, for example, claims to have watched a show featuring a 63- year-old female stripper, in “Gankyū shaburi – Odoriko-ron nōto” 眼球しゃぶり―踊 り子論ノー ト [Eyeball Licking: Notes for a theory of dancers], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 56. The photographer Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市 also revealed to us that a 69‑year-old female dancer still performs at Ōgon Gekijō 黄金劇場, a striptease theatre in Yokohama. However, this venue appears to have closed down in 2012. 7. See the Tsubouchi Memorial Theater Museum Digital Archives Collection. 8. We do not deny the existence of suggestive—or even explicit—graphic material before 1945. Photographs which could easily be classed as “pornographic” even by

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current standards date back, for the earliest among them, to the Meiji period; SHIMOKAWA Kōshi 下川耿史, Nihon eroshashin‑shi 日本エロ写真史 [History of Japanese Erotic Photos] (Tokyo: Chikuma Bunko ちくま文庫, 2003). We suggest, however, that such material existed on a significantly different scale to the postwar period. 9. Named after kasutori sho◌̄chu◌̄ カストリ焼酎, an alcoholic beverage of varying quality—at best mediocre—that was common in the immediate aftermath of the war. With its high alcohol content and occasionally dangerous ingredients, kasutori sho◌̄chu◌̄ was said to render the drinker unconscious after three glasses (san go◌̄ 三 合). And since many of these publications went under by their third issue (san go◌̄ 三 号), the identical pronunciation led to the name kasutori zasshi. It is thought that more than 700 erotic magazines were created in the two years following the emergence of the genre in 1946. For a discussion of the subject, see Sho◌̄wa nimannichi no zenkiroku, Dai 7 kan – Haikyo kara no shuppatsu, Sho◌̄wa 20 nen-21 nen 昭和 二万日の全記録・第7巻 ―廃墟からの出発・昭和20年~21年 [Record of the 20,000 Days of the Shōwa Period, volume 7: The departure from ruins, 1945‑1946] (Tokyo: Kōdansha 講談社, 1989), 192 and 275, (henceforth SNNZ, 19 vols); John W. DOWER, Embracing Defeat: Japan in the Wake of World War II (New York: W. W. Norton & Co. – The New Press, 1999), 148‑154; Mark MCLELLAND, “‘Kissing is a Symbol of Democracy!’ Dating, Democracy, and Romance in Occupied Japan, 1945‑1952,” Journal of the History of Sexuality, vol. 19, no. 3 (2010): 523; KAWAMOTO Kōji 川本耕次, Poruno zasshi no sho◌̄wa-shi ポルノ雑誌の昭和史 [History of the Shōwa Period through Porn Magazines] (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō 筑摩書房, “Chikuma Shinsho” 筑摩新書, 2011), 12‑16. 10. The analogy between this type of photo series and striptease is interesting: many others followed, particularly in Life, introducing many of the elements found in striptease such as scenes of bathing and undressing, but also alluring outfits and suggestive poses. Note that the magazine Playboy appeared in 1953; Dolores FLAMIANO, “The (Nearly) Naked Truth: Gender, Race, and Nudity in Life, 1937,” Journalism History, vol. 28, no. 3 (2002): 121‑136. 11. DOWER, Embracing Defeat, 149. 12. The film in question was Sasaki Yasushi’s Hatachi no seishun は た ち の 青 春 [Twenty-year-old Youth], which caused a sensation at the time. See in particular SNNZ, 7:257; MCLELLAND, “Kissing is a Symbol of Democracy,” 530; TSURUMI Shunsuke 鶴見俊輔, SATO◌̄ Tadao 佐藤忠男 and KITA Morio 北杜夫 (eds.), Manga sengoshi 漫画戦後史 [History of Postwar Manga], no. 2 (Tokyo: Chikuma Shobō 筑摩書房, “Gendai manga” 現代漫画, 1970), 46. It is interesting to note that the appearance of kissing in film was concurrent with the birth of modern striptease, both in Japan and the United States: in 1896, the year after the Lumière Brothers presented their invention, the American William Heise released the appropriately named The Kiss. 13. The young woman was literally “framed,” just as a painting would be. She posed in the space usually occupied by the painter’s canvas and was presented as if behind a window. 14. The gakubuchi nu◌̄do sho◌̄ can be compared to the tableaux vivants used in particular in 18th‑century Paris as a means of intensifying the presentation of sexual acts in risqué plays (these were not striptease shows); Laurence SENELICK, “The Word Made Flesh: Staging Pornography in Eighteenth‑Century Paris,” Theatre Research International, vol. 33, no. 2 (2008): 191‑203.

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15. Herbert EISENSCHENK (director), Le Nu absolu [documentary film] (Austria–France: Arte–Vermeer Film/ORF, 2010), 29‑30 mins. 16. SNNZ, 8: 38‑39. 17. Several hundred people are said to have crowded around the ticket office daily in order to watch the show; SNNZ, 8: 38.

18. Quoted in ŌZASA Yoshio 大笹吉雄, Nihon gendai engeki-shi – Shōwa sengo-hen 日本 現代演劇史―昭和戦後篇 [History of Japanese Contemporary Theatre: The postwar Shōwa period], vol. 1 (Tokyo: Hakusuisha 白水社, 1998), 337-338. 19. François DES AULNOYES, Histoire et philosophie du striptease, 30‑31; A. Owen ALDRIDGE, “American Burlesque at Home and Abroad: Together with the Etymology of Go‑Go Girl,” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 5, no. 3 (1971): 572. 20. It is interesting to note that the occupation authorities had no intention of intervening on this matter. With regards the press, the 1945 Press Code for Japan specified that only three types of publication were prohibited: any criticism of the Allied authorities, any kind of propaganda, and any reference to everyday problems (such as food shortages). Obscenity (salacious or immoral content), whether in the press or elsewhere, was not covered by the code and responsibility for interpreting such material—and for censuring it—was left to the Japanese police. Nevertheless, the occupation authorities would tolerate no reference to “fraternisation” between American servicemen and Japanese women, or any comments implying loose morals on behalf of American women. In 1949, for example, the Americans banned the publication of a magazine showing two naked Caucasian women on the grounds that it constituted “criticism of Allied Powers”; MCLELLAND, “Kissing is a Symbol of Democracy,” 521‑522. 21. A similar situation existed in England in the 1930s. The Lord Chamberlain authorised tableaux, which he considered capable of being as beautiful as classical paintings, on the condition that they remained perfectly still, just like “real” paintings; ALDRIDGE, “American Burlesque at Home and Abroad,” 571‑572. 22. HARA Yoshiichi 原芳市, Sutorippu no aru machi – ekizotikku sho◌̄ no sekai wo tanoshimu ストリップのある街―エキゾティック・ショーの世界を楽しむ [Striptease Neighbourhoods: Enjoying the world of exotic shows] (Tokyo: Jiyū Kokuminsha 自由国 民社, 1999), 84. 23. TANAKA Komimasa 田中小実昌, “Sutorippu yōgo shishi” ストリップ用語私史 [My History of Striptease Vocabulary], in Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 90‑93. 24. See ŌZASA, Nihon gendai engeki‑shi, 343. 25. WATANABE Akio 渡辺昭夫, “Teito‑za gokai gekijō no ichinen kyūkagetsu” 帝都座五 階劇場の一年九ヵ月 [One Year and Nine Months on the 5th‑Floor Theatre of the Teito‑za], in INOUE, Asakusa Furansu-za no jikan, 144. 26. Denys CHEVALIER, Métaphysique du striptease (Paris: J.‑J. Pauvert, 1960), 57‑60. 27. In both cases there was a high number of fragmented families, populations in which women outnumbered men and more generally, difficult living conditions characterised by insecurity and instability; DOWER, Embracing Defeat, 45, 51 and 54. 28. “Taidan – Nosaka Akiyuki/Wakamatsu Kōji, Sutorippā, yasashisa, Kaihōku” 対談― 野 坂昭如・若松孝二ストリッパー・やさしさ解放区 [Interview: Nosaka Akiyuki/ Wakamatsu Kōji, strippers, kindness, liberated zones], in Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu,

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62‑71. The name “liberal shows” is derived from that of a pulp magazine called Riberaru りべらる (Liberal); HARA, Sutorippu no aru machi, 83.

29. CHEVALIER, Métaphysique du striptease, 57. 30. OZAWA Shōichi 小沢昭一, “Misōde misenai no ga ōgi – Ōnen no mei-sutorippā, Hirose Motomi san” 見そうで見せないのが奥義―往年の名ストリッパー・広 瀬モトミさん [The Art of Showing without Showing: Hirose Motomi, One of the first great strippers], in Ozawa Sho◌̄ichi zadan 1 – Jinruigaku nyu◌̄mon – Oasobi to gei to 小沢昭 一座談 1―人類学入門 ― お遊びと芸と [A Conversation with Ozawa Shōichi, 1: Introduction to anthropology: entertainment and art] (Tokyo: Shōbunsha 晶文社, 2007), 52‑53. 31. With the exception of certain ero guro (erotic grotesque) magazines from the 1920s‑1930s that were still available on the secondhand market; MCLELLAND, “Kissing is a Symbol of Democracy,” 520. 32. Mark McLelland states that after the war the government strongly encouraged the three “s”—sport, screen, sex—to the extent that at the time it was much easier to discuss sex‑related issues in the Japanese media than in the United States; MCLELLAND, “Kissing is a Symbol of Democracy,” 520‑523. 33. The term “strip show” (sutorippu sho◌̄ ストリップ・ショウ) was used for the first time in 1948 by Masakuni Otsuhiko; HARA, Sutorippu no aru machi, 127. 34. Striptease was so popular that it was used in a variety of occasions, some of them quite unexpected. In an article entitled “Japan: Occupational Hazards,” published on 12 June 1950, Time reported that during the 1950 elections a candidate succeeded in persuading one of her young female supporters to do a striptease in order to secure more votes. Stripteases also seem to have been performed at temple and shrine festivals, even within the grounds of these religious buildings, nestled among the other entertainment stands; A. W. SADLER, “The Form and Meaning of the Festival,” Asian Folklore Studies, vol. 28, no. 1 (1969): 10. 35. NAGAI Kafū 永 井 荷 風, Dancho◌̄tei nichijo◌̄ 断 腸 亭 日 乗 [Danchōtei Diary] (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten 岩波書店, Iwanami Bunko imprint 岩波文庫, 1987), 322. 36. OS is an abbreviation of O◌̄saka sutorippu 大阪ストリップ (Osaka strip). 37. OZAWA, FUKAI and NAKATANI, “Kieru hi, Moeru honō,” 99. 38. John Huston’s 1958 film The Barbarian and the Geisha, in which Fujiwara starred under her real name, Andō Eiko 安藤永子. 39. HASHIMOTO Yoshio 橋本与志夫, “Natsukashi no sutā tachi” 懐かしのスターたち [The Stars of Yesteryear], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 28‑35. 40. Kami no yo◌̄ na nikutai da 神のような肉体だ; SNNZ, 8:38. 41. TANAKA Komimasa 田 中 小 実 昌, Vi◌̄nasu no ekubo – Tanaka Komimasa sakuhinshu◌̄ ヴィーナスのえくぼ―田中小実昌作品集 [Venus’ Dimples: The collected works of Tanaka Komimasa], vol. 1 (Tokyo: Shakai Shisōsha 社会思想社, 1990), 280. 42. Alongside Osaka and Tokyo, Fukuoka is one of the three “historical cities” for striptease in Japan; OZAWA, FUKAI and NAKATANI, “Kieru hi, Moeru honō,” 104. 43. Amari ni mo shigekiteki dearu あまりにも刺激的である; SNNZ, 8:39. 44. ARAMATA Hiroshi 荒俣宏 notes several cases of suicide or premature death through overdose, alcohol abuse or illness before the 1960s, in Banpaku to sutorippu 万博とスト

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リップ [Striptease and the World Fairs] (Tokyo: Shūeisha Shinsho 集英社新書, 2000), 218‑220. 45. He provides the notable example of a girl who did not leave her workplace for a single day in three years. He also mentions the total absence of any type of newspaper, meaning that dancers could be completely ignorant of the outside world; TANAKA Komimasa 田中小実昌, “Gohan no obake” ゴハンのオバケ [The Meal Ghost], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 24‑27. ŌKUBO Katsuhiko 大久保克彦 adds that what little time off dancers were able to take was not paid, which hardly encouraged them to rest; see “Tokudashi to shimin seikatsu” 特出しと市民生活 [Tokudashi and Civic Life], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 49. 46. Note that most of these establishments were very modest in size. The Japanese illustrator and essayist SENO◌̄ Kappa 妹尾河童 provides an interesting overview in “Kappa ga nozoita sutorippu gekijō” 河童が覗いたストリップ劇場 [Striptease Theatres as Glimpsed by Kappa], Geino◌̄ to◌̄zai – Sutorippu dai tokushu◌̄ 藝能東西―ス ト リップ大特集 [Geino◌̄ to◌̄zai: Bumper Issue on Striptease] (1977): 58‑63. 47. INOUE Hisashi 井上ひさし, “Asakusa Furansu‑za wa kigeki no gakkō data” 浅草フラ ンス座は喜劇の学校だった [Asakusa Furansu‑za Was a School for Comedy], Asakusa Furansu-za no jikan, 12. 48. Generally speaking, the majority of girls coming to striptease already had a solid background in dance. Many of them came from ballet; others from acrobatic dance. For some of them the decision to take up stripping was less a choice than a way out, because more prestigious forms of theatre were not—or no longer—accessible; HASHIMOTO, “Natsukashi no sutā tachi,” Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 28‑35. 49. INOUE, Asakusa Furansu-za no jikan, 13. 50. The term himo is evocative since in the world of prostitution it can also refer to a pimp. 51. See the Tsubouchi Memorial Theater Museum Digital Archives Collection. We are grateful to Jonathan Bollen, a performing arts professor at Flinders University (Australia), for this information. 52. Recall that in the West too, particularly in literature and striptease, eroticism often went hand in hand with exoticism, hence the popularity of portraying odalisques for example. In Japan at the time, this “exoticism” consisted of what could be described as “Westernism”. 53. The various sources disagree on the date but it would seem that these shows appeared in Japan between the late 1940s and the early 1950s. 54. HIROOKA Keiichi 広岡敬一, Sutorippu bojo◌̄ – Asakusa, Yoshiwara romanesuku ストリッ プ慕情―浅草・吉原ロマネスク [Nostalgia for Striptease: Asakusa, Yoshiwara Romanesque] (Tokyo: Kōdansha 講談社, “Kōdansha Bunko” 講談社文庫, 1993), 24‑25. 55. Ibid. 56. KITANO Takeshi 北野武, Asakusa Kid (Paris: Le Serpent à Plumes, “Motifs” collection, 2001). 57. In the fight against prostitution the closure of Yoshiwara turned out to be incomplete: it was only a matter of months before the first toruko トルコ opened in the neighbourhood in July. Turkish baths (toruko buro トルコ風呂), which appeared in Japan in the mid‑1950s, functioned as brothels and subsequently became known

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as so◌̄pu rando ソープランド (soap land); KOYANO Atsushi 小谷野敦, Nihon no baishunshi – yu◌̄ko◌̄ jofu kara so ◌̄pu rando made日本の売春史―遊行女婦からソー プランドまで [History of Prostitution in Japan: From wandering prostitutes to soap land] (Tokyo: Shinchōsha 新潮社, 2007), 181‑187. 58. CHEVALIER, Métaphysique du striptease, 107‑108. 59. Quoted in “Une enquête sur le striptease,” [An Investigation into Striptease] in Le Surréalisme, même, ed. André BRETON, 5 vols (Paris: J.‑J. Pauvert, 1958), 4:63.

60. Jasper SHARP, Behind the Pink Curtain: The Complete History of Japanese Sex Cinema (Godalming: FAB Press, 2008), 51‑122. 61. TAKECHI Tetsuji 武智鉄二, “Sutorippu no kachi tankan” ストリップの価値転換 [Changes in the Value of Striptease], Shingeki – tokushu◌̄ sutorippu, 72‑77. 62. Jean BAUDRILLARD, Seduction, trans. Brian SINGER (Montreal: New World Perspectives, 2001), 75. 63. N.D.T. Pâtes-la-Lune was a brand of pasta whose mascot was a moon‑like character with a flat and round yellow face. 64. Jean‑Clarence LAMBERT, “Images choisies d’un Japon sordide et magnifique” [Selected Images from a Sordid and Magnificent Japan], ARTS : lettres, spectacles, musique, no. 972 (1964): 39. 65. SHIOTA Masaru 塩 田 勝 (ed.), Ryu◌̄ko◌̄go ingo jiten 流行語 ・ 隠語辞典 [Dictionary of Popular Speech and Slang] (Tokyo: San’ichi shobō 三一書房, 1981), 215. 66. A mystery surrounds Ichijō Sayuri’s birth. Depending on the sources, she is said to have been born in 1929 or 1937, either in Niigata or Saitama; ISHIKAWA Hiroyoshi 石川弘 義 (ed.), Taishu◌̄ bunka jiten 大衆文化辞典 [Encyclopaedia of Popular Culture] (Tokyo: Kōbundō 弘文堂, 1991), 51. 67. SUGIURA Seiken 杉浦正健, “Ichijō Sayuri igo no Ichijō Sayuri – Saiban kiroku wo moto ni kangaeru” 一条さゆり以後の一条さゆり―裁判記録をもとに考える [Ichijō Sayuri after Ichijō Sayuri: Reflexions Based on the Records of Court Proceedings], in Geino◌̄ to◌̄zai – Sutorippu dai tokushu◌̄, 208‑233. 68. OGURA Takayasu 小倉孝保, Shodai Ichijo◌̄ Sayuri densetsu – Kamagasaki ni chitta bara 初代一条さゆり伝説―釡ヶ崎に散ったバラ [The Legend of Ichijō Sayuri the First: The rose that withered in Kamagasaki] (Osaka: Yōbunkan Shuppan 葉文館出版, 1999), 133. 69. Jean BAUDRILLARD, Seduction, 76. 70. Tengu are a type of legendary creature with long, erect noses that had phallic connotations long before striptease. 71. The illustrator ONOZAWA San’ichi おのざわさんいち provides an interesting overview in “E de miru sutorippu-shi” 絵で見るストリップ史 [The History of Striptease as Seen through Pictures], Geino◌̄ to◌̄zai – Sutorippu dai tokushu◌̄, 4‑15. 72. These shows bring to mind the short story by Alphonse Allais in which a bored raja asks a young girl to dance and undress for him. Once she is completely naked he exclaims, “Again!” and his servants strip off her skin; Alphonse ALLAIS, “Un rajah qui s’embête: conte d’Extrême‑Orient” [A Bored Raja: A tale from the Far East], Rose et Vert- Pomme (œuvres anthumes) (Paris: Paul Ollendorff, 1894), 269‑274.

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73. This practice had already been used during certain nyu◌̄yoku sho◌̄. Audience members who had soaped the girl’s back might be given a bamboo tube allowing them to look into the bath water and have the opportunity of seeing—or at least attempting to see, and this uncertainty was key—her body through the bubbles; HIROOKA, Sutorippu bojo◌̄, 25. 74. The word comes from inverting the syllables of mana ita まな板, meaning chopping board. The inversion nama ita could be a play on words since nama 生 (meaning “raw” or “fresh”) could also mean “live” on stage. 75. OZAWA, FUKAI, NAKATANI, “Kieru hi, Moeru honō – Sengo sutorippu-shi,” 102. In France, just before the beginning of the 1960s, Nelly KAPLAN predicted that: “‘When the infinite serfdom of women is brought to an end,’ striptease as a public spectacle will surely disappear of its own accord,” citation taken from “Le Striptease: fin de l’enquête” [Striptease: End of the Investigation] in BRETON, Le Surréalisme, même, 5: 58. 76. The number of establishments offering nude shows peaked in 1985 at 675 (roughly half of which were striptease theatres) and declined steadily thereafter; KADOKURA Takashi 門倉貴史, Bakuhatsu suru chika bijinesu 爆発する地下ビジネス [The Explosion of the Underground Industry] (Tokyo: PHP Kenkyūjo, PHP研究所, 2007), 123. During our interview with Hara Yoshiichi 原 芳 市, he stated that at the time of speaking there were approximately 40 strip clubs in Japan, around half a dozen of them in Tokyo. 77. According to Hirooka Keiichi 広岡敬一, the first nozokibeya 覗き部屋 (peep‑show) opened its doors in Osaka in February 1981; HIROOKA Keiichi 広岡敬一, Sengo seifu◌̄zoku taikei 戦後性風俗大系 [Survey of Postwar Sexual Mores] (Tokyo: Shōgakukan 小学館, “Shōgakukan bunko” 小学館文庫, 2007), 314. 78. Videos, more than cinema, were instrumental in distributing Japanese porn films; FUJIKI TDC 藤木TDC, Adaruto bideo kakumei-shi アダルトビデオ革命史 [History of the Adult Video Revolution] (Tokyo: GS Gentōsha Shinsho GS幻冬舎新書, 2009), 39‑66. 79. Nu◌̄do sutajio ヌ ー ド ス タ ジ オ (nude studios) were booths where customers were given cameras (sometimes with no film inside) to “photograph” scantily clad young women. They were known for being tiny. 80. The photo collections by Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市, Za sutorippa◌̄, provide a fairly accurate idea of modern Japanese striptease. 81. The Rokku‑za, for example, hosted two well‑known porn stars in autumn 2011: Ayumu あゆむ and Ozawa Maria 小澤マリア. 82. There are various categories in the definition and management of the sex industry in Japan. Striptease theatres, nu◌̄do sutajio, peep‑shows and video booths all belong to the category of sex‑related businesses of the third category (seifu◌̄zoku kanren tokushu eigyo◌̄ sango ◌̄ eigyo ◌̄ 性風俗関連特殊営業・3号営業), and are thus clearly distinguished under Japanese law from other businesses such as soap lands and sex shops (respectively first and fifth categories); MANAKA Toshimitsu 間中利光, KIJIMA Yasuo 木島 康雄, Hosuto kurabu kyabakura kaiten kaigyo◌̄ tetsuzuki kanzen gaido – zukai to shinsei shorui kisairei tsuki ホストクラブ・キャバクラ開店・開業手続き完全ガイド — 図解と申請書類記載例付き [Complete Guide to Opening a Host Club or Cabaret: Illustrations and Examples of Business Permit Application Forms Included] (Tokyo: Sanshūsha 三修社, 2008), 10‑13.

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83. Clinton P. HANSEN, “To Strip or Not to Strip: The Demise of Nude Dancing and Erotic Expression through Cumulative Regulations,” Valparaiso University Law Review, vol. 35, no. 3, (2001): 562. 84. These studies are extremely diverse, not always complimentary, and at times surprising to say the least. For example, a report written by Fulton County Police Department (Georgia, United States), which studied the links between alcohol consumption, strip clubs and delinquency over a two year period, came to a damning conclusion: establishments offering alcoholic beverages to customers (bars, etc.) but no striptease saw higher levels of crime and public order disturbances than those combining stripping and alcohol (note, however, that the study was based on the number of telephone complaints received by the police and not on the actual number of offences). The study was cited in 2001 during a court case between Fulton County and several businesses offering such services. See Judith Lynne HANNA, “Dance under the Censorship Watch,” Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society, vol. 31, no. 4 (2002): 308 and 316. 85. Umberto ECO, “Platon au Crazy Horse,” [Plato at the Crazy Horse] in Pastiches et postiches (Paris: 10/18, 1996), 55‑59. 86. Roland BARTHES, “Striptease,” in Mythologies (Paris: Seuil, “Points – Essais,” 2007), 137‑140. 87. “Une enquête sur le striptease,” in BRETON, Le Surréalisme, même, 4: 56‑63; “Le Striptease: fin de l’enquête,” in BRETON, Le Surréalisme, même, 5:56‑60; Gérard LEGRAND, “La philosophie dans le saloon”, ibid., 5: 60‑62. Other, more nuanced opinions exist, however, most of them written by women. 88. On the other hand, the daily press seems to have completely lost interest in the subject. Take the example of the Asahi shinbun, which has published few articles on this industry since 1945 and often focusing on aspects like urban planning and public safety (a striptease theatre being established near a school, for example, or a fire in a club). 89. Examples include the magazines Nu◌̄do interijensu ヌード・インテリジェンス (Nude Intelligence), Play Ana, Pussy プッシー, Striptease de Japon, etc. However, these publications are hard to locate and we have been unable to consult them. Although the above publications have disappeared, the magazine Shu◌̄kan taishu◌̄ 週刊大衆 printed a weekly column on stripping until a few years ago; “Maihime densetsu” 舞姫伝説 [Dancing Girl Legends], written by Hara Yoshiichi 原芳市. 90. In 1955, for example, the television channel now known as TBS broadcast a programme on music halls which focused heavily on striptease; ARAMATA, Banpaku to sutorippu, 217‑218. 91. Indeed, whatever degree of nudity the stripper reaches, she is never strictly “naked”: she always retains an accessory or an item of clothing such as her shoes, a piece of jewellery, a wig, or even her makeup. This is characteristic of the affirmation of sex, and even of seduction, as Baudrillard reminds us: “Seduction, however, never belongs to the order of nature, but that of artifice—never to the order of energy, but that of signs and rituals” (BAUDRILLARD, Seduction, 2). He further adds that: “In order for sex to exist, signs must reduplicate biological being,” and this observation is even more applicable in the case of striptease (ibid., 12). On a lighter note, in the late 19th century the French humour magazine Le Rire carried a front page illustration of an artist visiting an editor to propose his work. Upon seeing the picture, the editor exclaims:

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“Come now sir, in what universe have you seen naked women without stockings?!”; illustration by J.‑L. FORAIN, Le Rire – Journal humoristique paraissant le samedi, no. 157 (6 November 1897): 1 (we thank Yves Riquet for having brought this illustration to our attention). 92. UENO Chizuko 上野千鶴子, Suka◌̄to no shita no gekijo◌̄ スカートの下の劇場 [Theatre beneath the Skirt] (Tokyo: Kawade Shobō Shinsha 河出書房新社, “Kawade bunko” 河出文庫, 1992), 17. 93. バタフライが意味しているものは、機能性ではなく、シンボル性で す; ibid., 42. 94. Béla GRUNBERGER, “De l’image phallique” [On the Phallic Image], Revue française de psychanalyse, volume XXVIII, no. 1 (1964): 224. 95. OKA Yōichi 丘陽一, “’77 Kantō sutorippu hakusho” ’77関東ストリップ白書 [1977 White Paper on Kantō Striptease], Geino◌̄ to◌̄zai – Sutorippu dai tokushu◌̄, 52‑57.

ABSTRACTS

Nudity is a cultural phenomenon. If nude bodies were displayed before 1945, shows and entertainment exploiting female nudity as such only appeared under the American Occupation. The analysis of actual and concrete forms of such performances and their evolutions brings out three distinct periods. During the postwar period, representations eroticizing the female body spread widely. From 1947, the displaying of nudity, in the form of tableau vivant, increased in revue shows. It is around the turn of the 1950s that this kind of practice became widespread, with the appearance of theaters devoted to strip shows, especially in Asakusa. These institutions led to a “golden age” of striptease characterized by unbridled creativity, scenic innovations and the establishment of a star system. Initiated in the 1960s, the third period is marked by an intensification of the sexual content and aspects of the performances.

La nudité est un phénomène culturel. S’il existait indiscutablement des corps nus au Japon avant la défaite, c’est pendant l’occupation américaine que virent le jour des spectacles exploitant la nudité féminine. L’analyse des formes concrètes de ces performances et de leurs évolutions permet de dégager trois périodes distinctes. L’après guerre connaît une diffusion massive de représentations visant à érotiser le corps féminin. Dès 1947, l’insertion de « nus » sous forme de tableaux vivants dans les spectacles de revue se multiplie. C’est néanmoins à la charnière des années 1950 que la pratique se généralise avec l’apparition, à Asakusa notamment, de théâtres consacrés au striptease. Ces établissements conduisent à un « âge d’or » de l’effeuillage marqué par une inventivité, des innovations scéniques pétulantes et la consécration de vedettes. Amorcée dans les années 1960, la troisième période est quant à elle caractérisée par une intensification du contenu sexuel des performances.

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INDEX

Keywords: Striptease, Nudity, tableau vivant, Sex Show, Asakusa, Eroticism, Popular Culture, Shōwa Mots-clés: striptease, nudité, tableau vivant, sex show, Asakusa, érotisme, culture populaire, Shōwa

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