Hot Ticket: Kabuki : Classic theatrical art is chic again, drawing old and young in Tokyo

The pre-curtain announcement, in utterly polite but firmly worded Japanese, came over the public address system.

“Welcome to the theater. Please do not take any photos or make any recordings. And please turn off your cellular phones.”

As I was discovering, in Japan--where an estimated one-fifth of the population possesses cellular phones, pagers or some such device--theater managers are imploring audiences to turn the things off. Heaven knows, you cannot walk down the street or ride a train in Tokyo without hearing beeps and rings emanating every few minutes from someone’s pocket, purse or briefcase.

Not to belabor a metaphor, but Japanese audiences are not only connected to each other over the airwaves, but also, to judge from the full houses at theater performances, to their classical stage arts, especially Kabuki.

Kabuki is Japan’s over-the-top theatrical experience, going back to the early 1600s. The actors transform themselves through words, action and all the trappings of costumes, makeup and props into a spectacular array of characters. Valiant heroes, faces painted with blood-red lines of makeup denoting status and strength, emerge from Japanese history and legend to clash thunderously with their enemies. Doomed lovers--sometimes modestly, sometimes lavishly attired--come to life in order to enact the heart-rending moments that are a prelude to their departure together from this world.

Kabuki is currently enjoying a boom--which is the very word used in Japanese. The audiences are made up not only of scores of Kabuki-loving middle-age patrons, but also of young people, for whom Kabuki has a trendy, retro appeal. And I was surprised at how many women, from those in their 20s to seniors, come to the theater in kimonos--a relatively rare sight in Japan these days.

On this trip last month, I was in Tokyo for several weeks to do research for a book I’m writing on Japanese theater. Staying at a friend’s house in the city, I split my time between libraries and theaters--in particular the National Theater (Kokuritsu Gekijo) and the Kabuki-za theater, which are the main places to see Kabuki in Japan today.

The National Theater, which occupies a high-profile location across from the grounds of the Imperial Palace, just celebrated its 30th anniversary. In addition to a 1,750-seat Kabuki theater, the National Theater complex has two smaller stages used mainly for storytelling arts and bunraku plays, in which nearly life-size puppets are operated by puppeteers in full view of the audience. The Kabuki-za, which can accommodate an audience of more than 2,500, is not far away in Tokyo’s world-famous Ginza shopping district. Opened in 1889, it was almost destroyed during the war and was rebuilt in 1951.

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As often as I’ve been to the theater in Tokyo, this time I still got the same case of box-office sticker shock. Kabuki tickets especially can be breathtakingly expensive. The best seats at the Kabuki-za cost about $125. A seat way in the back of the third-floor balcony, from which it is nearly impossible to see the action on the hanamichi--the actors’ walkway that runs from the stage to the back of the theater--is a more modest $20. (It also is possible to spend less money and buy a ticket for a single act at the Kabuki-za. However, holders of such tickets must go to a special fourth-floor section that is reached by a separate stairway and allows no access to the main lobbies of the theater.) At the National Theater, prices range from a high of $75 to about $12. At both theaters, add to these expenses perhaps $8 for a printed program and $5 or so for an earphone guide.

My first encounter with Kabuki was at the National Theater in Tokyo. As a graduate student learning Japanese and studying the culture, I was lucky enough to be able to rent a room in a house not far from the theater. At the time, the dollar was relatively strong, tickets were relatively cheap, and I quickly became a regular theatergoer.

The very first Kabuki play I saw immediately sold me on the extraordinary nature of this theatrical art. Sukeroku, the hero of the play that goes by the same name, is an 18th century man about town, with a big ego but a lot of style too. The woman he loves is Agemaki, a grand courtesan. All professional Kabuki actors today are men, and Agemaki is a showcase role for an onnagata actor who specializes in female characters. Aficionados of Kabuki often observe that the fascination with onnagata actors stems from their ability to portray the very essence of femininity. To play Agemaki, an actor must spend hours donning thick, opaque makeup, a huge, perfectly coiffed wig and layers of richly dyed silk kimono robes. He carefully walks in high wooden clogs and speaks in a perfectly pitched falsetto as a storm of rivalry builds between the swashbuckling Sukeroku and the dangerous Ikyu.

As a student I did not even have to leave my room to see and hear Kabuki: The home and studio of a Kabuki dance teacher were right next door. A steady stream of professional actors and amateurs alike would come for their lessons. When the weather was warm and the studio windows were open, it was easy to catch glimpses of dancers wearing kimonos and holding fans, moving in time to the plucked strings of the samisen, the soft beat of the hand drum and the high-pitched notes of the flute. Frequently I could hear a narrator’s voice as well, chanting a tale as an accompaniment to a dance.

As visually exciting as “Sukeroku” and many other plays are, I needed a lot of help at the beginning to bridge the cultural and linguistic gulf that separates not only foreign visitors but also Japanese audiences from plays written long ago. I read books about Kabuki history, stagecraft and plays. At the theater I bought the printed programs. Both Japanese and English editions are available, and they contain detailed information on the plays being performed and the actors in them.

I am happy to report that these days technology is being used. At the National Theater and the Kabuki-za, Walkman-size rental earphones provide clear, perfectly timed explanations--in a choice of Japanese or English--of the action on stage.

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For anyone not used to spending more than two or three hours a time at the theater, Kabuki shows are marathon events--usually lasting about 4 1/2 to five hours. But you get your money’s worth! The Kabuki-za and National Theater buildings are well appointed, and the pleasures of an evening’s performance are definitely augmented by what is available offstage.

Whether a matinee or evening show, there are bound to be two or three intermissions. During them, I usually join fellow theatergoers heading for the lobbies and the festive array of souvenir shops, snack stands, even full-service restaurants. The Kabuki-za, especially, is a food-lovers’ paradise. The choices run from sushi, sandwiches and bowls of noodles to ice cream, hot and cold drinks and traditional sweet bean cakes, guaranteed to be fresh because they’re made on the spot. (The smell of the crepe-like batter being grilled makes an irresistibly appetizing aroma.)

Kabuki comes in a mix of styles. There are dance pieces, domestic dramas and plays based on historical or legendary incidents. Within months of my introduction to Kabuki, I had a chance to see “Chushingura,” the epic story of 47 samurai who exact revenge on the enemy of their deceased lord. Based on an event that occurred in 1703, it is one of the art form’s most compelling and enduringly popular works. “Chushingura” is also in the repertory of the bunraku theater and the subject of a number of film adaptations.

Another well-known historical play, and a guaranteed box-office draw, is “Yoshitsune and the Thousand Cherry Trees.” It takes its inspiration from tales about a great 12th century military hero. I am partial to the portrayal of Tadanobu, a devoted and loyal retainer of the hero Yoshitsune.

Kabuki is filled with instances of double identities, and the role of Tadanobu is a famous example. Using the guise of the man Tadanobu, a fox spirit accompanies and protects Yoshitsune’s lover just as the real Tadanobu would have done when, during a famous scene in the play, she travels to join Yoshitsune in the place he has taken refuge. The climax comes when the actor appearing as Tadanobu gradually transforms himself on stage through costume and physical movement from man into fox and enacts the moving story of the fox’s past life.

In contrast to stories about samurai and aristocrats, domestic dramas depict the lives and loves of townspeople. Characters run the gamut from tragic lovers to audacious thieves to the ghosts of murder victims. Double-suicide plays are a popular genre that explores the highly charged conflicts that arise when individuals’ emotions and desires run counter to social convention and duty. The great playwright Chikamatsu (1653 to 1724) is especially famed for his double-suicide plays, such as “Sonezaki Shinju.” In it, the trusting Tokubei lends money that is not his own to an erstwhile friend who refuses to pay back the loan. Compounding Tokubei’s troubles is his unwillingness to marry someone his family has selected for him. At the end, Tokubei and Ohatsu, the woman he loves, decide to end their lives in this world in the hope of rebirth together in the future.

There are dozens of dance pieces in the Kabuki repertory, presented with musical and, often, narrative accompaniment. “Musume Dojoji,” which takes about an hour to perform, is a staple of this category. In it, a beautiful young woman arrives at Dojoji Temple on the day a new bell is to be dedicated. As the dance proceeds, the maiden undergoes nine amazingly quick costume changes, culminating in her being revealed as a vengeful serpent in disguise. “Musume Dojoji” was adapted from noh, an even older form of theater than Kabuki.

Even though all professional Kabuki actors today are men, the person credited with founding the art form four centuries ago was a woman named Okuni. By the 1630s women had been banned from the stage by Japan’s feudal authorities, who feared threats to social stability. The women on stage were being immoral, they claimed. Indeed, early Kabuki was very racy for its time. Thus, since the 17th century, all roles have been played by male actors. The all-male tradition prevailed in Kabuki even when women were allowed back on stage toward the end of the 19th century.

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When I first started going to Kabuki, the handsome actor Ichikawa Somegoro had achieved matinee idol status. Kabuki actors traditionally learn their craft from their fathers and may appear on stage for the first time when they are children no older than 4. For a person lucky enough to possess the right lineage and sufficient ability, the day arrives when a young actor is permitted to assume the historic name of his forebears and the starring roles. Kabuki actors today include superstar celebrities whose talents also are tapped for television dramas, movies and Western-style theater, including musicals.

Ichikawa Somegoro, who succeeded to the name Matsumoto Koshiro, as he is now known, is at 55 a preeminent man-for-all-mediums. Whether playing a Kabuki hero or starring in “Man of La Mancha” or “Macbeth,” he brings extraordinary skill and charisma to the roles. These days, Koshiro’s 24-year-old son, the new Somegoro, is proving to be as much of a box-office draw as his father. Another actor who attracts crowds of admiring fans, including myself, is Bando Tamasaburo, who was born in 1950. His exquisite portrayal of female characters on the Kabuki stage is enough to secure his fame, although he also has won high accolades for different types of dramatic and film roles.

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In 1985 there were great celebrations in the Kabuki world. That was the year the then 39-year-old actor Ichikawa Ebizo was deemed ready to become the 12th Ichikawa Danjuro. Arguably the single most important and prestigious name in Kabuki, Ichikawa Danjuro represents an acting dynasty that began in the 17th century. In many respects the history of Kabuki is the history of the Ichikawa Danjuro line. The actors bearing the name created and virtually own a number of the best leading-male roles in the repertory.

Every actor has an “acting house name.” Narita-ya, for example, is Ichikawa Danjuro’s. It’s a thrill to hear fans call out the house name when an actor appears on stage for the first time during a performance or at an important moment in a play. Those who yell out are well practiced. Their shouts are welcomed and expected, and are precisely timed to the action on stage. The voices of these superfans energize not only the actors but fellow audience members as well.

Both the National Theater and the Kabuki-za draw from the same pool of 250 or so actors. Fearing a future shortage of performers, especially those willing and able to play supporting roles, the National Theater in the early 1970s instituted a training program that recruits young men from outside the hereditary families. Those accepted undergo a rigorous two-year program in which they are coached by professional actors. Kabuki’s future seems secure for now.

Even though it is a classical form, Kabuki is far from static. Plays not seen onstage for decades or longer are periodically revived, and there is the occasional new play. An actor such as Ichikawa Ennosuke, who is famed for rigging up wires so that he can thrill viewers with his flying entrances and exits, brings fresh and daring interpretations to major roles. His very showiness is firmly in the Kabuki tradition.

In Kabuki, what’s new is old and is continually made new again.

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GUIDEBOOK: Kabuki Backstage

Getting there: Delta, JAL, All Nippon Airways, United, Northwest, Singapore Airlines, Korean Air and Varig fly nonstop from LAX to Tokyo. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at $1,365.

Theaters: The easiest way to obtain Kabuki tickets is at theaters’ box offices. Materials about performances are sometimes available in English, and seating charts also are available.

Kabuki-za, 4-12-15 Ginza, Chuo-ku, Tokyo (nearest subway station: Higashi Ginza); local telephone 3541-3131. Tickets for the fourth-floor section are only sold 15 minutes before performances begin.

National Theater (Kokuritsu Gekijo), 4-1 Hayabusa-cho, Chiyoda-ku, Tokyo subway station: Hanzomonand Nagatacho); local tel. 3265-7411.

In Tokyo, Kabuki also can be seen on occasion at the Shinbashi Enbujo theater (6-18-2 Ginza, Chuo-ku, Tokyo; tel. 3541-2211 or 3541-2600).

For more information: Japan National Tourist Organization, 624 S. Grand Ave., Suite 1611, Los Angeles, CA 90017; tel. (213) 623-1952, fax (213) 623-6301.

--B.E.T.