• 杉本文楽:女殺油地獄 (Sugimoto Bunraku: The Oil Hell Murder)

8/13/17 (Sun), Tokyo

This was a second crack at modernized Bunraku by the renowned photographer and artist Hiroshi Sugimoto. The first, which I saw almost exactly six years ago, was a fuller-than-usual version of the ever-popular Love Suicide at Sonezaki. That show incorporated scenes that hadn’t been performed in centuries, juggled the usual placement of singers and musicians on stage, and experimented with lighting and (naturally) photographic and video projections, among other innovations. Unfortunately, it fell victim to a hall far too large for a puppet drama, chosen presumably to pay for all that elaborate staging; Sugimoto’s many fans got their money’s worth, but Bunraku fans were left short changed. Still, the staid world of Bunraku can stand some shaking up, and the production had some worthwhile ideas. So I was looking forward to what he would do this time, especially in this smaller, more puppet-friendly theater. He chose another of Chikamatsu Monzaemon’s big hits, which centers on the brutal murder of a young woman by a heavily indebted youth.

The results were rather mixed. In contrast with last time, when the drama was front and center, this show had four distinct scenes: an introduction by “the author” (a puppet Chikamatsu voiced by Sugimoto), a pure musical interlude by three shamisen players, a recitation by a chanter (a superb Chitose-dayu) sans puppets, and finally the climactic murder in the only actual puppet scene from the drama itself. In other words, Sugimoto gave each part of Bunraku its due: the author, the music and the narration, and only then the puppets. Fair enough. In theory.

The introduction was presumably included to give background to Sugimoto fans in the audience who may not know much about Bunraku – but that’s what programs are for. No one would think of offering a pre-show explanation of Carmen or West Side Story, say; it makes the evening feel like an academic exercise. It’s an excellent way to turn off an audience. Viewers would learn a lot more by watching the drama itself. The puppeteers were also reduced to manipulating the Chikamatsu puppet into overly cute poses in an effort to enliven the dull dialogue. Hopefully this part will be jettisoned next time.

The shamisen section was led by Living National Treasure Seiji Tsuruzawa, who composed new music for the occasion. There was no indication of what scene the music was written for, making it impossible to evaluate in dramatic terms. But it was fine on its own, a surprisingly modern work given the age of the composer. I would be interested in hearing this in the context of the show. As for the singing, Chitose-dayu gave his usual animated performance, but Chikamatsu’s poetic language is difficult to follow without subtitles, and the lights were too low to read the script sold in the lobby. That made this part feel longer than it should, probably boring anyone who wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of the story to that point. A shame given the quality of the performance.

The puppets, albeit only two of them, then made their appearance. As with last time, the stage did not feature the typical platform hiding the lower part of the puppeteers’ bodies; the puppeteers moved freely across the stage in full view at all times. That made it more three dimensional than the traditional boxed-in version and allowed the puppets to be brought closer to the audience, which was dramatically effective. However, that platform serves as the floor from the perspective of the characters, giving them a place to walk and sit. Here they were flailing their legs in mid-air. The openness was also unfortunately distracting for actions normally performed out of view, as when the hooded kurogo had to crawl in clumsily to pick up discarded props, and the set was significantly pared back with scenery concentrated in the back and nothing at all downstage. It was an interesting variation that might be worth exploring in future shows, but here it mainly served to highlight the brilliance of the usual staging.

That said, the puppets were expertly brought to life by Yoshida Kosuke as the killer Yohei and especially Yoshida Ichisuke as the oil shop proprietress Okichi. The murder sequence in particular was movingly re-imagined without the usual slipping and sliding on the spilled oil. In addition, there were evocative lighting effects designed by Sugimoto that beautifully enhanced the drama.

The show made much use of atypical offstage instruments like cymbals. Invisible instruments like bells and sound effects are often used in Bunraku but very sparingly for specific moments. The arrangement here was more frequent and less focused. I much prefer the austerity of the typical orchestrations, mainly just a single shamisen, which conversely makes the occasional appearance of other instruments more powerful. The new music here did not serve the story.

The chanters and musicians, normally reserved for stage left, were placed variously on each side of the stage in a stereo effect. Having separate chanters for only two puppets takes part of the fun away, and the arrangement may not be appropriate for normal shows in any case since stage right is where characters generally enter and exit. But it was a nice experiment. It might be worth trying for more lyrical passages, like michiyuki travel sequences, or scenes with more characters.

Sugimoto’s previous effort was a wholly reconceived work covering the entire range of the story. The puppet section this time was so brief and out of the blue, a single scene plucked out of a long drama, that it’s impossible to know how the various sound and light and staging innovations would have worked in a full production. In that sense, it was an opportunity wasted. Still, Sugimoto’s creative ideas might be worth considering for further shows, especially given the sad financial state of this great art and its half-empty houses in its Osaka home (though the less frequent Tokyo performances are usually packed). It was born as a commercial art, after all, and went through many developments in its day – Chikamatsu, for instance, wouldn’t recognize his own shows since the three-man puppeteering that now characterizes the art didn’t exist until decades after his death (an innovation, incidentally, that makes his shows extremely difficult to stage as originally written given the extra time needed for three people to move together). It is telling that this production was initiated by an unrelated individual rather than the Bunraku Association, which should be trying its own innovations – how about more contemporary stories, for example? Bunraku is trapped somewhere in the 18th century even as Kabuki moved on, and while the traditional staging and repertory will and should always be its heart and soul, it may be time for it to catch up.

UPDATE: Here’s a look at Sugimoto’s earlier production of the evergreen Sonezaki Shinju.