Kyoto performance reviews

Passing of my hero Sennojo SHigeyama, a great teacher, actor, and director passed away today. He was 88, and had last performed Oct 8th at the Shigeyama annual recital as a 99 year-old lecherous but cute old man. He will be missed. Sennojo was a child prodigy, making his stage debut at three years old, then performing at many events at department stores and festivals with his older brother,Senaku, still going, if not so strongly, at 91. But as the second son, he was not planning on a full-time kyogen career during pre-War Japan, so went to a commercial college, then learned to do accounting for Comfort Women stations and other facilities in Manchuria. On his return, he began his lifelong incredulity with the authorities and the press, who had lied so long and well about Japanese military successes abroad. While performing on weekends, he entered the black-market, then one day discovered a fox mask in an antique store, which led him back to kyogen full-time. His brother and he became kn

Yume kara sameta yume Dream after dream Feb 4 2009 Much as I usually find too much to dislike about the ubiquitous Shiki Theatre Company—the canned music, hammy acting, conservative choreography, too-perfect smiles, cutesy girls and macho-elegant boys—they are at their best when creating their own works. Beauty & the Beast and Evita, while thrillingly live in NYC or London, appear energetic re-treads here, lacking stars or the rough magic that seeps through the professional polish. Shiki’s (re)productions of Disney or Rice always gleam with slick staging and sound and light, but at least to my mind they leave little after-taste. The Two Lottes, Yuta and the Funny Wind, and Ann of Green Gables were, however, inventive, original, musicals taking full advantage of the child-like wonderland that is Shiki’s special corner of the musical market. So my anticipation was happily rewarded with Yume kara sameta yume (From dream to waking dream), less Lorca than Lerner & Lowe. The story

Cinema Kabuki: Rakuda/Renjishi The idea is a great one: to capture on HD video the excitement of live performance, then broadcast it in surrond-sound multiplex theatres around the country. The Metropolitan Opera continues its Met Live series, which include backstage interviews, shots of actors in close-up, and (in delayed broadcasts abroad) subtitled versions and (in DVDs released later) bonus track. But when it comes to Cinema Kabuki, something is not quite right. The curtain and chatty audience is captured just before opening, but after that there is no sense of the live spectators watching from varied angles around the auditorium (mind you, the three Met broadcasts I’ve seen similarly dismiss the audience as necessary clutter—or perhaps there are legal issues of including so many “extras”?). Kakegoe claque calls come from the “back”, while sporadic oohs, ahs, and laughter are heard. But except for the infrequent shots of the hanamichi (and adjoining patrons), the spectators themselv

Why can’t Western instruments and noh work together? Why do Western-trained actors have trouble sharing the stage with Japanese noh-kyogen actors? And why oh why do producers seeking publicity, frisson, and doling civic funds equitably seek to marry the two in under-rehearsed, one-time experiments? Three reasons spring to mind: 1/ On a basic level of dramaturgy, the two are self-contained and other-rejecting. Noh’s frontal declamation style and stylized expression of emotion demands focus; Western “cheating” diagonals and detailed facial expression pulls focus from the stage picture to the individual portrait. Vocal energy and melodic chant, coiled taut and loosened strategically through MA pauses and accents in conjunction with drum/flute accompaniment are potently precise; Western vocal energy is emotionally, not musically based. It follows the flow of breath swept up in the surge of passion and concrete logic of debate. The trained actor’s voice itself is the instrument, needing no

Bassara Kyogen, Takutaku Livehouse, Kyoto Dec 16 2008-12-16 This is a an “upsidedown” or “sarcastic” kyogen produced by Sennojo Shigeyama, senior terrible of the kyogen world in the middle of his 80s. Three generations of his peculiarly-placed family performed a solo experiment. A one-time only gig, it brought out old family friends (Miho) and researchers (Gondo, me), and newbies. The place was full, standing room only—120 people? All ages, mostly middleaged fans of the Shigeyamas, but some young people too. Selling calendars and books,a s with other Shigeyama shows. Doji opened with a solo dance (!), to Miles Davis’ Spanish Fly, loud on the speakers. He was alone, against a wall, lonely, wondering what it was all about. Gradually he rose, moved out in butoh-like lunges, to the diagonals. Then discovering something, joyously reaching out into the corners of the stage. Turning his back, he reached behind him to tug something, released, he folded his arms across his chest, feminine. Move

Chilsu and Mansu http://www.beyondhollywood.com/chilsu-and-mansu-1994-movie-review/ This Easy Rider-esque journey thru politically charged Korea by two losers was a fine human drama. Chilsu is a loner, a big wolf in sheepskin jean jacket, picking up a girl at an air defence drill. Following her into pinball (imagining driving next to her in Hawaiian shirts in a convertible!), then to Burger King, where he draws her picture. Threatening to draw her nude if she doesn’t give him her number, he storms out, returning the next day and does so. She trades him a coffee for the picture: he says he’s an art student, going to Miami Beach soon to join his brother. The American dream. Actually, he’s a movie poster painter whose lateness gets a scolding: he paints a moustache on an idol and leaves, then finds a painter Mansu to buddy up with. He ends up staying at Mansu’s place, borrowing money, even getting him to pretend to be a just returned artist from Paris, complete with beret and pipe, to dou

Mikado, London Coliseum, Jonathan Miller, original director Feb 27 2008 Tradition is a funny thing. Although “only” 120 years old, the Mikado’s tradition of coy and pretty 3 girls, kimonos and large fans, scraping and kow-towing, and general simpering and mewing is dispensed with in this Mikado. Instead, “we are gentleman of Japan” is sung and actors squeeze their eyes into a slant—but they are dressed in formal 1920s tuxes and maid/bellboy uniforms of some grand, country hotel. Leads saunter in with lacrosse and tennis rackets, billiard cues and golf clubs, drink whiskey-and-waters, and furiously dust everything in sight. A cello, a grand piano, circular sofa, and large palm fronds—all in bone- white or yellow are framed by huge doors and windows. This is England in the ‘20s, not Japan in the 17th century, yet Titipu, yumyum and all the other odd names and dialogue remain the same. The effect is to have yet another layer of parody: England’s post-Imperial pomposity and corruption seen