Classical Japanese comedy comes to Kyiv
To be precise, kyogen has come to Kyiv. Within the framework of one of the recent festivals Mystetske Berezillia, on the stage of the Franko Theater a troupe of young Japanese actors made the audience merry with their simple yet skillfully performed scenes about an angry mother-in-law, dim- witted monks, and so on. Kyiv’s current guests belonged to an obviously more democratic school, proud of its customs; they went about their business without haste, with conservative meticulousness.
Yorozu Kyogen’s leader, Mr. Mannojo Nomura, is a man of the theater to the marrow. A representative of an ancient actor’s dynasty specializing in kyogen, traditional Japanese farce, he appeared on stage at a very early age. He also tries to perceive his legacy theoretically, by remaining an actively playing actor, teaching history of theatrical masks at Tokyo University, and producing spectacles. The theater brought by the playacting professor is not so much a scenic sight as it is a meticulous practical reconstruction of the ancient style, in a way a theatrical museum with the clear-cut mission of cultural exchange. Indeed, every evening performance was preceded by most detailed lectures delivered by the charming Mannojo-San. From them it was possible to learn that kyogen has existed practically unchanged since the fourteenth century, rooted probably in ancient Greek theater, the traditions of which were brought to Japan via China and India, following the Great Silk Road. A number of Yorozu Kyogen’s props, among them fans, kimonos, bells, and ornaments, date back several hundred years. They have all been carefully handed down by generations of the Manzo family. Accordingly, their performing skill had been improved over centuries. Kyogen, however, does not represent anything like some cloistered theatrical community, and during this century its repertoire has been significantly enriched through such works as Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and even Little Red Riding Hood (interestingly, Mr. Mannojo Nomura acted as the wicked queen in Snow White).
Actually, after such an extended preamble, there were only two performances: The Six Statues and The Snail Both were models of classical kyogen humor, The Six Statues a story about the country bumpkin Taro Kaja who almost bought the sculptor’s living friends, who posed for statues instead of the statues for a village temple; and The Snail about the yamabushi mountain ascetic pretending to be a huge snail, a rare delicacy. All the simple tricks and childish secrets were enacted by the kyogen cast with utmost skill, with every word, every gesture, every intonation carefully rehearsed and honed to perfection, in strict conformity with traditional canons. By and large, the audience received its portion of merry-making. As for the critics, here, most likely, was a case of envy, because the Japanese are fortunate enough to watch their own medieval theater with all its rich traditions and partake of all its scenic sweetmeats, the very taste of which has long been lost in Europe (not to mention its eastern part).
