Today was a bit unusual. For the first time, I got to see a
rakugo performance in person, carried out on the stage below.
Someone came from elsewhere and demonstrated for us here in this city. The rakugo master, clad in vibrant purple, sat himself down on a maroon pillow. Of course, a microphone planted by his feet. However, he hardly needed the microphone, as evidenced by his exuberant activity throughout. Afterwards, there was a Q&A session where we learned all about how he approaches the art of rakugo. It was a fantastic hour and a half altogether.
First up was the chief organizer who thanked all of us for coming. Then another person gave us a reminder of the history of
rakugo, including its state as a form of comedy. She herself was a disciple of
the rakugo master, which lent an intimacy to the evening. To prepare us, the
master shared a couple short stories to introduce the basic concept of rakugo.
One he called “the Monkey” where he depicted a monkey (apparently) crashing a
car on a mountain, highlighting a tremendous vocal range.
Because of the prestige of rakugo, I almost expected a solemn act. Perhaps
something not unlike the series Descending Stories, a beloved drama that exists
in drawn and animated form. By contrast, Joshiraku is an exaggerated comedic
take on rakugo. Today it finally stuck in my mind that rakugo can be performed
as a bona fide comedy routine. I mean, he made monkey sounds, which is clearly
one such element of comedic gold.
Today’s performance was split into two pieces: 1) The Grim
Reaper and 2) The Goblin’s Temptation. The first was in English (though adapted
from a Japanese piece) and the second in Japanese. Given that this master is
much more confident in his Japanese, it was impressive that he took this
approach. From the Q&A section, it became clear that he saw potential in
the international reach of rakugo, even though he came from a traditional
rakugo background. That allowed him to twist the performance and shock and
inspire the audience.
The first story highlighted the value of props and voices as a narrative
throughline. In the Grim Reaper, the master alternated between a character filled
to the brim with hubris (a fake doctor in Depression-era New York) and a Grim
Reaper (Shinigami as he was also named) that bore a deep, sinister voice. As
the Grim Reaper, the master took on a mischievous grin, alerting us to a supernatural
presence in the room. When the fan was used as a little stand, and the voice
changed, the mild terror of death pierced the air. At the conclusion, the fan went
from the Shinigami’s emblem to the man with excessive pride, to a mark of the
man with a candle trying to add fire back to his life. This prop exposed the disconnect
between the man’s real situation – on the verge of death – and his belief that
he was far removed from the Grim Reaper.
In the second story, there was a steadier stream of
characters, which highlighted the power of vocal expression and body language. Without
my familiarity in English, I listened closely for the ways in which characters
expressed their feelings. Subtitles were thoughtfully provided on the big screen,
but the dynamic performance offered a challenge. Relying just on the words was
no longer a possibility when subtitles were occasionally behind. Much of the
humor of this piece came from the character insisting that he was not dreaming
in various levels of exasperation. Through acting, the master convinced us of
the character dreaming of his life within an enclosed dream. A sinister low
voice – akin to the Grim Reaper – emerged in the voice of the Tengu (goblin)
who wielded an unfurled fan, highlighting the danger of this dream-within-a-dream.
From this emphasis, the character’s disarray upon waking up felt quite
immersive.
There were some mistakes in places. The master before us was clearly taken
aback when the electronic screens began suddenly climbing towards the ceiling. But
the interruption provided him a way to slip back into character. Another time,
for the story set in 1930s New York, he would sometimes insert a more modern
reference – like Kanye West’s current state of mind, or the fast food joint
Five Guys. Some of these seemed even accidental, but the way he brought us back
to the moment was impressive. Perhaps the flexibility on display was the most
admirable trait of the rakugo master before us.
As I mentioned earlier, the rakugo master showed a great interest in the global
space for his art. This actually came out in the Q&A session. Naturally,
many of us asked our questions in English. He did his best to answer in
English, often taking pauses to respond. That said, every answer was
elaborated. A big surprise was when he elected to give his answer entirely in
Japanese and ask someone to translate for him. This happened at the time
someone asked about the history behind rakugo authorship, which ended up providing
a complex answer.
There was much to enjoy and appreciate in his performance. One of the most poignant moments for me was his discussion of the strict rakugo standards in Japan. Through seeing him today, I realized that rakugo could lean fully into a comedic routine, and be simultaneously touching and funny. This reminded me of my favorite standup comedy performance – Hasan Minhaj’s Homecoming King back in 2016 (thereabouts at least). Every joke told fit the larger story of trying to find acceptance in America just after the horrifying events of 9/11. Now, this rakugo performance did not address the same level of despair. Still it captured that same great aspect of comedy to uplift through stories, not just jokes.
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