• Noh: 安宅、石橋  (Ataka, Shakkyo)

3/13/22 (Sun), Kanze Noh Theater (Ginza)

The pairing of these two lively crowd-pleasers was almost completely sold out despite the state of semi-emergency in Tokyo at present. The only reminder of the fading pandemic was the ubiquitous masks, though I noticed a lot of exposed noses, which I’m going to take as progress. It was the 50th anniversary of a special annual event at the Kanze Theater, so they gave out gifts of traditional Japanese sweets from Toraya, a famous cake shop, as well as beautiful printed programs listing all the shows from the past half century with photos.

Ataka is an unusually dramatic piece by Noh standards generally said to have been written in 1465 by Zeami’s grandson Nobumitsu, who penned the equally vibrant Funa Benkei. As in the Kabuki adaptation Kanjincho some 400 years later, the great general Yoshitsune and his retinue are fleeing the wrath of the shogun (his own brother, in fact) on trumped-up charges and attempting to reach the safety of the north, disguised as mountain priests. They are challenged by a guard at a mountain pass but, thanks to the quick wits of Yoshitune’s main retainer Benkei, are initially allowed to go through. They are stopped again when the guard’s underling appears to recognize Yoshitsune. The fast-thinking Benkei beats the camouflaged Yoshitsune for his insolence in resembling the general. As hitting your superior would be an unthinkable act for a retainer, the guard is convinced that this cannot be the general and permits the group to proceed through the barrier and on to freedom. Just when they think they’re safe, they’re held up once again when the guard comes running after them with an offer of sake to apologize, he says, for accusing them unjustly. The exasperated Benkei accepts the sake and performs a dance to distract the guard while the others slip quietly away.

The plot differs from the ultra-famous Kabuki version in a few key points: Yoshitsune’s followers in the Noh version propose attacking the guard until stopped by Benkei, and later actually move to kill the underling when he appears to recognize the disguised Yoshitsune. (Benkei, afraid they’re giving the game away, tells the guard that they suspected the underling of wanting to steal the footman’s belongings.) Notwithstanding those few energetic touches, the play is unsurprisingly much drier than the sentimentalized Kabuki version, concentrating more on the test of wills between Benkei and the guard than on more emotional moments like Benkei’s apology for beating his master or his drunken dance (though those are beautifully rendered). The guard seems to be releasing the runaways in the belief that they are truly mountain priests, which makes more sense than the more sympathetic motive offered in Kabuki. The show expertly preserves the high tension among the two main characters as they try to outwit one another and gives the followers much more to do.

With its vigorous movements and unusually large cast of 14, this is another of those shows that make me wonder how Noh might have developed had it not been taken up by the ruling class in the 16th century, when its development abruptly halted. I loved the careful coordination of movement among the elaborately dressed followers, each one moving just after the one ahead rather than simultaneously to give the impression of a snake in motion. This is a spectacle full of highlights, and this production made the most of them. Kanze Kiyokazu was terrific as Benkei, and heartthrob Nomura Mansai played the ai.

Shakkyo was being done in its full version (still only 70 minutes) rather than the more usual half-Noh with just the lion dance. In the rarely performed first half, a boy describes to a visiting monk how a magical stone bridge hanging precariously over a deep valley leads to the Pure Land and can only be crossed after years of ascetic training. He tells the monk that the marvels he describes will soon be evident, then mysteriously disappears. I can see why this is not presented more often as it’s talky and not overly exciting, but it does set the stage spiritually for the dance, giving it a weightier context.

Stagehands then bring out two stands decorated respectively with red and white peonies. As soon as those are in place, the shishi, a lion-like creature, races in with tremendous energy, beginning the dance at full force. He jumps, spins, makes dramatic poses, stomps loudly on and off the stands, and shakes his head and red mane vigorously in a regal show of power. As the shishi is a guardian who sits at Buddha’s throne, I had expected something more stately, but this dance emphasizes his muscle. It’s even more athletic in its way than the ever-popular Kabuki version Renjishi, where the performers are somewhat more constrained by their huge wigs. Actors traditionally have to reach a certain level of training before they’re even allowed to appear in this piece, making the role a sign of the performer’s status; it’s an impressive show of skill and strength. I notice that the excellent Sekine Yoshimaru also played one of the guards in Ataka, so this was a big day for him. Great show.