• Bunraku: 酒屋、戻駕 (The Sake Shop, The Returning Palanquin)

2/11/24 (Sun), Tokyo

Bunraku has been homeless in Tokyo since the closure of the National Theater last October, leaving it to wander among venues. Today’s venue, a 1,249-seat theater, is way too big for puppets (the NT had around 800 seats), but I’ll take what I can get. They chose an audience-friendly three-part program of classics at just two hours or so each, a smart change from the usual two-part show of 4-5 hours each. This was the day’s second pairing.

The Sake Shop: The second act of a longer show. In the first act, a husband’s philandering had spurred his father to disown him and his father-in-law to drag the wife Osono back to her family home; the husband is also reported to have murdered a man in a brawl.

In today’s act, the father-in-law returns to the home with Osono, who has never accepted the forced separation despite her husband’s questionable activities. The father-in-law apologizes for having acted rashly and asks the father to take the woman back. The father refuses at first, noting that he has disinherited the son. But when his haori jacket is removed, we discover that he is in chains. He confesses that he has secretly gone to prison and entered bail for the disgraced son. He tells Osono that he did not want to taint her with the son’s crimes and that she is likely to become a widow once the son is caught. However, recognizing Osono’s virtuous nature, he leaves the room with the father-in-law to discuss the matter.

Osono then laments her own unhappiness in a famous soliloquy, asking for forgiveness from her husband for not living up to his expectations. She is about to kill herself when a baby comes crawling to her seeking milk – this is her husband’s child with his mistress. The others return and find a letter from the husband in the child’s clothing. He apologizes deeply, explaining that he was already in love with the mistress before meeting Osono, and vows to become Osono’s husband in a future life. He asks her to accept the child as her own. As they all express their relief, the husband and his mistress approach and listen from outside. They have an emotional scene despairing of their child’s future and asking the pardon of the unknowing people inside. They then leave to commit double suicide as the curtain closes. The following act is presumably a michiyuki death dance.

The story is inventive and engaging, though keeping up with all the people on stage can be a challenge. Kanjuro was inevitably and deservedly the standout as Osono, but everyone had his moment. Rosetayu was great as always as the narrator of the final section, which included the soliloquy.

The Returning Palanquin: I didn’t even realize there was a Bunraku version of this piece, a rare reverse import from Kabuki. It’s evidently been around since the 1830s (the Kabuki premiered in 1788), but this is the first time that the NT has performed it in Tokyo. It’s one of numerous puppet versions, this one retaining much of the Kabuki text. According to the program notes, contemporary viewers would have been aware that a returning palanquin didn’t normally carry customers, suggesting that these guys have more time on their hands than usual.

The dance piece is little more than an excuse for the performers to show off. One palanquin bearer is from Osaka, the other from Edo, and the courtesan inside from Kyoto, all locations with distinct traits to play on. As they stop to admire the cherry blossoms, they begin joking around, playing at being a samurai, a servant and such. The dances are varied and good fun. This admittedly works better as Kabuki since the dances offer plenty of occasion for the actors to throw their own personalities into it, but the Bunraku version is entertaining. I was surprised that the text doesn’t take advantage of the distinctive accents from these regions, which I think would add to the fun. In any event, the show was light and brief (around 30 minutes), a very good complement to the complicated piece that preceded it. I don’t know why they don’t do this more often.