An Invitation to Kagura: Hidden Gem of the Traditional Japanese Performing Arts

Take the suburban train north from downtown Hiroshima about forty minutes and you will arrive at the sleepy town of Kabe, a whistle stop
with so little traffic that the ticket gate is often left unmanned. If
you time your visit to coincide with the evening of the annual shrine
festival in early summer however, you will find the middle of nowhere
transformed into little Tokyo. Train platforms overflow with visitors
of all ages, dressed in sheer summer yukata and carrying sparklers and
box lunches. Teenage guys, wearing hachimaki to hold back their
fashionable blond hair, squat waiting on the steps of the station for
tardy friends to arrive. Older couples and families hurry past the
biker gangs that are now a fixture at public gatherings such as this,
as police set up barricades to control the traffic. The crowds spill
out into the car park, and press onward, up the road leading to the
shrine grounds. Food stalls offer passersby fried squid, vegetable
pancakes, and icy vats of canned drinks, adding to the carnival-like
atmosphere.

The kagura stage at the Kabe festival is a make-shift affair, erected in a small public park adjacent to the
shrine. Planks are mounted on a two-story scaffolding of iron pipes,
and the whole arrangement is curtained over and protected from the rain
with sheets of blue canvas. The rear of the stage is decorated with
heavy fabric bearing an image of a large pine tree, a faint echo of the
decoration usually found in the noh theater. The name of the troupe,
the inaugural date, and a list of sponsors is woven into the curtains,
between dragon motifs and swirls of ocean waves. The ceiling struts are
decorated with bamboo sprigs and fresh sakaki branches, and
multicolored strips of paper hang down from a wooden frame suspended
above center stage. Illumination is provided by a string of naked bulbs
running along the perimeter, and two loudspeakers are perched on a pole
at downstage right. At stage left, a long carpeted runway, flanked by
red and white banners, leads off to the actors’ changing tent. This
ramp is the kagura version of the hana’michi, the space for entrances
and exits in the kabuki theater. No seating is provided for the
audience, and so people claim a spot by spreading newspapers or plastic
sheets over the grass. Cushions and snacks are brought from home, in
anticipation of the four- or five-hour performance.

The action begins at dusk with the arrival of the musicians, who make their way
onstage through the back curtain. They are dressed like the clergy at
the local shrine in saifuku (white robes), eboshi (black cap), hakama
(pleated skirts) and tabi (split-toed socks), lending a touch of
formality to the carefree atmosphere. The conductor/troupe-leader
arranges a large taiko drum on a dais at stage right, and waits
patiently for the others to get organized. While the ko’daiko (small
drum), chappa (cymbals) and fue (flute) are being prepared, a simple
wooden altar is placed upstage center for use during the opening
ceremonies. It is adorned with a votive offering of rice wine, and a
gohei (prayer wand), the wood and cut-paper hand implement that figures
so prominently in many kagura plays.

When the preparations are complete, a vertical banner is posted at downstage left, indicating the
name of the inaugural dance (in this case Shiho’nuke or the “Cleansing
of the Four Directions”). The opening melody is introduced by the flute
player, and is gradually embellished by the other players. The solo
dancer for the piece appears, dressed in a suikan, a typical kagura
costume of jacket and pants, modeled on a hunting uniform from the middle ages.
The lush material of the jacket is lined with red satin, and is
decorated with bold geometric patterns embroidered in gold and silver.
As the actor dances the ritual cleansing, he carries the gohei in his
left hand and an open folding fan in his right. The intricate spirals
of the choreography develop gradually, based on circular floor patterns
with invisible axes running north-south and east-west. When
prayers-in-motion have been made to each of the four directions, the
rite is complete.

The signboard indicates that the first theatrical presentation of the day will be Takiyasha’hime (“Princess
Takiyasha”), a relatively new work written around the end of the 19th
century. The story deals with a rebellious warlord who declares
independence from the emperor and ends up paying the ultimate price for
his defiance. The kagura version is set in the period shortly after his
execution, and centers on the fate of his embittered daughter,
Takiyasha. In the play, the princess becomes crazed with grieve, and in
desperation turns to the black arts to satisfy her thirst for revenge.
She is transformed into an evil sorceress and wrecks havoc on the
simple villagers until finally being dispatched by two heroic royal
guards. It is easy to understand why the troupe leads off with
Takiyasha, as it provides all the color and excitement that audiences
have come to expect from contemporary “Hiroshima-style” kagura. There
is stylized swordplay, quick changes of costume, beautifully
synchronized dances, and a climactic showdown choreographed to the
frantic beat of the taiko.

As a definitive change of pace, Takiyasha is followed by an interlude of largely improvised banter,
courtesy of Hyottoko, the country bumpkin. In Japanese mythology,
Hyottoko is correctly speaking the God of the Hearth, but in kagura is
portrayed much like the simpleminded kyogen characters one finds in the
noh theater . Tottering along, balancing on a walking stick, the actor
taunts and is in turn taunted by the many children that clamor around
the foot of the stage. At rural fests the role is often played
provocatively, as the trickster embarrasses the women in the audience
with off-color jokes and a large wooden phallus; fortunately Hyottoko
behaves himself on this occasion.

When Hyottoko has had his fun, the troupe continues with Yumi’hachiman (“Hachiman the Archer”), a
classic kagura dating from the 17th century. This simple tale of
heroism deals with an ancient leader who defends Japan from invasion by
a scourge of demonic warriors from another realm. Hachiman is followed
by Rashomon, a supernatural folk tale from the days when the capital
was Kyoto in central Japan rather than Edo/Tokyo . Warriors of the
Genji clan wait at Rashomon gate to ambush Ibaraki, a demonic creature
that comes down from the mountains at night to prey on Kyoto residents.
The ensuing battle is played out as a choreographic tour de force,
complete with swordplay, smoke, and the pounding rhythm of the drums.
It ends abruptly with the adversary losing a hand, and in the final
scene, the villain retreats to the shadows, vowing a rematch when the
time is right.

The excitement of the kagura festival continues with a succession of plays, from about five in the afternoon until long
into the night. Although the crowds begin to thin in order to catch the
last train back to the city, there are still a number of locals around
for the final send-off by Ebisu, the most beloved of the Seven Lucky
Gods. Like a rock star, the appearance of the god generates a ripple of
excitement, especially among the younger people in the audience. To the
faithful who remain for this final performance, a very tangible
blessing is offered in the form of sweetened rice cakes, which the
actor and his assistants distribute by pitching over the heads of the
audience. The good-natured scramble to retrieve the sweets is a fitting
end to a satisfying night’s entertainment.
An Invitation to Kagura: Hidden Gem of the Traditional Japanese Per...