Gender-Bending Roles in Japanese Theater: Cross-Gender Performance in Kabuki and Takarazuka
A Master’s Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the School of Humanities
for the Degree of
Master’s in Music Studies (Arts and Culture)
Department of Musicology
by
Jessie M. Bodell
Amsterdam, The Netherlands June 2018
Instead of saying that all gender is this or all gender is that, let's recognize that the word gender has scores of meaning built into it. It's an amalgamation of bodies, identities, and life experiences, subconscious urges, sensations, and behaviors, some of which develop organically, and others which are shaped by language and culture. Instead of saying that gender is any one single thing, let's start describing it as a holistic experience.
Contents Introduction...1 Chapter 1: Kabuki...8 Chapter 2: Takarazuka...18 Chapter 3: Kata...30 The Voice...36
Chapter 4: Women on the Stage...44
Chapter 5: Admirers and Aficionados...52
Introduction
A transgender person is someone who identifies with a gender other than the one they were assigned at birth. The opposite, cisgender, refers to someone who does identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. This assigning is conducted by the attending physician or midwife at the time of a child’s birth, and the decision is based on primary sex characteristics (i.e. genitalia) of the child. The relationship between assigned gender (read: sex) and gender identity becomes even more complicated when one considers that “the number of sexes has never been two, as developmental geneticist Anne Fausto-Sterling calls our attention to intersexuality by using the phrase ‘five sexes.’”1
Neither sex nor gender is a true binary system. There are people who don’t identify within the gender binary, and some terms to describe them are gender non-conforming, or non-binary. Usually non-binary people also consider
themselves transgender, but not necessarily. We can see gender non-conforming and transgender characters in U.S.-American musical theater, for example in productions such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Yentl, and Kinky Boots just to name a few. But gender bending roles have a long history, one as old as theater itself, and one that extends far beyond the musical theater repertoire of the United States. This history is expansive, beautiful, and may be surprising to some.
The combination of transphobia (more specifically, transmisogyny), and xenophobia have resulted in a general disregard of third gender identities in many different cultures around the world. Despite the discrimination and abuse that transgender people have experienced (and continue to experience), their histories are still preserved throughout various cultures. Tara
1
Maki Isaka Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2017), 12.
Prince-Hughes writes that in the United States, there are many Native American cultures with “two-spirit traditions [that] have allowed individuals to express alternative gender inclinations by adopting the work, behavior, and dress of the other sex.”2
Carol E. Robertson writes that the Hawai’ian māhū, third gender persons, “embody an ancient Polynesian principle of spiritual duality and integration. The outer presentation of the māhū is usually female, even when the person is biologically male.”3
Samoan fa’afafine also embody this principle, and “have traditionally been valued for their ability to carry out tasks of both genders.”4
Additionally, there are the Bugis people of South Sulawesi Indonesia, who acknowledge five different genders. Susan Bolyard Millar points out that “it is inappropriate to think of the Bugis in terms of Western constructions of gender that assume that sexual stratification is inevitable.”5
The aforementioned genders are but a few examples, and are far from an exhaustive list.
In Europe, gender constructions have not always been so rigidly defined. This is evidenced not only by the social acceptance of the uniquely androgynous castrati, but by the European “premodern ideologies up through the seventeenth century,” in which “male and female are understood as inversions of one another...hence, a single-sex model emerged where women and men were two versions of the same whole.”6
The binary between men and women existed, but everyone shared one sex. According to Thomas Laqueur, “the modern question, about the ‘real’ sex of a person, made no sense in this period, not because the two sexes were
2
Tara Prince-Hughes, “‘A Curious Double Insight’: ‘The Well of Loneliness’ and Native American Alternative Gender Traditions,” Rocky Mountain Review of Language and Literature 53, no. 2 (1999): 32.
3
Carol E. Robertson, “The Māhū of Hawai'i,” Feminist Studies 15, no. 2 (1989): 313.
4
Sue Farran, “Transsexuals, Fa'afafine, Fakaleiti and Marriage Law in the Pacific: Considerations for the Future,” The Journal of the Polynesian Society 113, no. 2 (2004): 120.
5
Susan Bolyard Millar, “On Interpreting Gender in Bugis Society,” American Ethnologist 10, no. 3 (1983): 477.
6
Naomi Adele André, Voicing Gender: Castrati, Travesti, and the Second Woman in
mixed but because there was only one to pick from.”7
He goes on to say, “in this world, the body with its one elastic sex was far freer to express theatrical gender and the anxieties thereby
produced than it would be when it came to be regarded as the foundation of gender.”8 The eighteenth century marked a drastic change in how European people conceptualized gender in relation to biological sex—in fact the very notion of two sexes was created.
Prior to this notion, “theatrical gender” was able to be performed without the interference of “anxiety” produced by the idea that gender was dictated by the body (i.e. biological sex). Fluidity of gender expression was a very real possibility up through the seventeenth century in Europe, on or off the stage. Also of note is that not all non-cisgender people associate with the label of transgender. Binary systems lead to polarization, and should be avoided—it eliminates opportunity for exploration, is reductive, and has the potential to erase identities that fall outside its bounds. This is true both as a general macrocosm, but can also be applied to the exploration of gender expression. In the essay, “Against Gender, Against Society,” nila nokizaru writes:
The cis/trans binary also furthers centralization and colonialism, assimilating and categorizing all identities outside of itself. Like all forms of representation, the cis/trans binary as an all-encompassing set of categories is both flattening and inadequate. There are genders that are not cis but do not place themselves under the trans umbrella. Despite this, anyone who isn’t cis is assumed to be trans, and vice versa. An LGBTQ avant garde moves to assimilate all “unusual” genders, and even the lack of gender, into trans-ness. This leaves no room for anyone to fall outside of these categories. This often plays out in a colonial manner, rendering non-western genders legible to and manageable by western LGBTQ narratives of gender and sexuality.9
Just as it’s important to be critical of the binary systems of sex and gender, one should avoid reinforcing the idea of a binary between cisgender and transgender individuals.
Additionally, the concept of a non-binary gender identity is a modern and Western idea. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid. 9
(Throughout this paper, the word Western will be used as synonymous to “eurogenic,” or originating in Europe). The genders mentioned above are not aligned with the predominant transgender narratives one can find in, for example, the modern day United States. They are not considered transgender women, or transgender men (i.e. women or men), agender (having no gender), or non-binary. Instead, these people have a separate third gender (or fourth, or fifth, etc., depending on the culture in question). Using the term binary, or even gender
non-conforming for these indigenous genders erases the roles and functions that they have fulfilled in society (both historically and presently), and is unnecessary as they have their own associated terminology. People with these genders share a combination of characteristics and roles that could be considered both male and female. This can be compared to the onnagata and castrati, and the ways in which they have navigated hybridized gender in their respective societies and cultures.
Japanese onnagata and the Italian castrati have both feminine and masculine
characteristics. Paul G. Schalow, in his essay, “Figures of Worship: Responses to Onnagata on the Kabuki Stage in Seventeenth-Century Japanese Vernacular Prose,” writes that “the kabuki audience did not react to onnagata as an image of womanhood but, recognizing the man beneath the costume, saw a third and new creation produced by woman’s clothing and style
superimposed on a male body.”10
Castrati, however, are physiologically unique. Naomi Adele André writes that “with both masculine and feminine features encoded in their physical bodies, the castrati were the ideal singing vessels. They could sing both male and female roles
convincingly, and they were even able to continue the ability to embody both genders off the
10
Minoru Fujita and Michael Shapiro, eds., Transvestism and the Onnagata Traditions in Shakespeare and
stage.”11
Onnagata and castrati occupy a unique space (potentially designated by them, but also by society) as neither men, nor women, and yet both at the same time.
It is of course possible for gender identity and gender performance (and presentation) to remain separate notions. However, it could be argued that if an actor’s “cross-dressing,” or travesti role continues off the stage, it implies that they are not cisgender. For many theater actors across cultures and throughout history, their “roles” were the actualization of their authentic selves. Undoubtedly, transgender people have used theater as a refuge or sanctuary. Theater offers a safe space where the restrictions and oppressions of society seem to be
temporarily suspended. On stage, transgender people can be themselves with less fear of reprisal, consequence, or violence. Their gender identity is celebrated and considered to be a (selective) sublimation of everyday life and behavior.
The castrati of early eighteenth-century Italy were celebrities, lauded as the greatest singers of all time. Actors who specialize in the onnagata role of Japan’s kabuki theater have always been well-known to the public, and enjoy long and successful careers on stage. Similarly, the otokoyaku of Japan’s Takarazuka Revue have fan clubs, some fans even going so far as to cook every meal for their favorite actor for years.12
With their gender bending performances these actors simultaneously reinforce the gender binary (in their imitation of “men” and “women”) and subvert the determinism associated with biological sex (by showing that this imitation can be performed regardless of one's body). By performing gender contrary to the gender they were assigned at birth, they’re showing that gender, in essence, is nothing more than a series of gendered acts. Lorie Brau, in her article, “The Women's Theatre of Takarazuka,” writes that “from a Western viewpoint, Takarazuka, like kabuki, challenges the idea of rigidly
11
André, 29.
12
differentiated gender roles. It suggests alternatives to the limitations of being male or female.”13 The idea of gender as a binary system with only two options, is indeed limiting and reductionist. The masculinity and femininity of kabuki and takarazuka actors are not seen as two separate, contrasting entities, but instead two poles along a wide spectrum.
The assumption that sex and gender are synonymous is also incorrect, as evidenced by numerous literature. Some of the most notable being: The Dialectic of Sex: The Case for Feminist Revolution by Shulamith Firestone, Candace West and Don Zimmerman’s article “Doing Gender,” and Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. In “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” Butler writes:
When Simone de Beauvoir claims, “one is not born, but, rather, becomes a woman,” she is appropriating and reinterpreting this doctrine of constituting acts from the
phenomenological tradition. In this sense, gender is in no way a stable identity or locus of agency from which various acts proceede; rather, it is an identity tenuously constituted in time—an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts.14
The aforementioned literature and quotation above support the idea that gender has less to do with the gender one was assigned at birth (one’s biological sex), and more to do with
socialization and personal gender identity. In the case of cross-dressing actor roles, it has to do with rigorous training, memorized movements, and a lifetime dedicated to studying specialized character roles. Takarazuka’s otokoyaku are praised for their rendition of masculinity in the same way that kabuki’s onnagata are—still to this day—praised for their mastery of ideal femininity.
I have chosen kabuki and takarazuka theater because, as all-male and all-female
theatrical genres, respectively, they are ideal case studies with which to examine the performance
13
Ibid., 81.
14
Judith Butler, “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory,” Theatre Journal 40, no. 4 (1988): 519.
of gender. Both takarazuka and kabuki have had a lasting impact on the performing arts of Japan, and Japanese culture as a whole. As a microcosm of society, theater both shapes and is shaped by society. Gender-bending roles, as acceptable on-stage, have the ability to transmit this
acceptance to society at large. Learning about how gender issues are navigated in kabuki and takarazuka can teach us how to approach and navigate our own gender politics.
Through their performances, these actors display gender as a vast spectrum. They play roles that showcase the true flexibility of gender, as some roles require a change of gender or character role mid-scene. Their embodiment of various femininities and masculinities effectively disproves the idea of gender as a binary system, and the very existence of these roles oppose colonial implications of post-eighteenth-century eurogenic (binary) notions of gender. Lastly, by performing gender theatrically, these actors make people aware that this phenomenon is not unique to the stage; they raise awareness of the performativity of gender in our everyday lives.
Chapter 1: Kabuki
Sexuality in Japan and the Evolution of Kabuki
Sexual practices that diverge from heterosexuality have had a long history in Japan, and bisexuality and gender roles in Japanese theater (particularly if we look at the early forms of kabuki) are inextricable. Originally, both women and men played characters in kabuki theater. In his essay, “A Note on the Genesis of Onnagata,” Bunzō Torigoe writes that in onna kabuki “the stars were all female, but the supporting roles were, of course, also performed by male actors,” and reminds us that men and women performing together at this time (the beginning of the seventeenth century) “was indeed epoch-making.”15
This early form of kabuki, known as
women’s kabuki, or onna kabuki, was outlawed due to the fact that it “inherited various elements from antecedent performing arts and consisted mainly of song, dance, and de facto
prostitution.”16
Next, “kabuki performed by young boys, (wakashu kabuki)” became popular and also catered to the male gaze. It was outlawed as well, again due to prostitution.17 Gender and
sexuality are two separate entities, but wakashu kabuki created an environment where older men could admire young boys on stage. Yoseharu Ozaki, in his essay, “Shakespeare and Kabuki,” writes about the wakashu kabuki ban: “homosexuality, which then was called ‘the way of male love,’ spread even among the townsfolk. And the onnagata in young men’s kabuki could easily be substitutes for women, and relied more on their sex appeal (as boys as well as female
15
Fujita and Shapiro, 1.
16
Maki Isaka Morinaga, “The Gender of Onnagata As the Imitating Imitated: Its Historicity,
Performativity, and Involvement in the Circulation of Femininity,” Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique 10, no. 2 (2002): 246.
17
disguises) than on their acting ability.”18
Onnagata “came into being in the seventeenth century” after the bans of both onna and wakashu kabuki.19 This third and final form of kabuki was “called yarō-kabuki (adult men’s kabuki)...until about 1673, when it simply came to be called kabuki.”20 The (homo)eroticism of the wakashu tradition evolved and transformed into this newly created onnagata role of yarō kabuki.
In his essay, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in Japan,” Mark McLelland writes about the same-sex love of Japan’s samurai: “During Japan’s feudal period (1600-1867) when kabuki was the most conspicuous and popular of dramatic arts, there was no necessary connection made between gender performance and sexual preference because men, samurai in particular, were able to engage in both same- and opposite-sex affairs.”21
The sexualization of wakashu (adolescent boys), was not a new phenomenon, and “historically, male-male relationships already had a long tradition in the samurai class as well as the Buddhist community.”22
Wakashu were partnered with nenja (older, more experienced males) with the ultimate goal being the transmission of a masculinity that was the ideal male gender for warriors. Once this knowledge was transmitted by the nenja and acquired by the wakashu, the wakashu would become a nenja in his own right, cutting his forelocks, and taking an adolescent boy as a lover to start the cycle anew. “The Way of wakashu” was a tradition “by which
townsmen, wealthy yet socially humble, could somehow identify with the prestigious samurai
18
Fujita and Shapiro, 9.
19Morinaga, “The Gender of Onnagata As the Imitating Imitated: Its Historicity, Performativity, and
Involvement in the Circulation of Femininity,” 246.
20
Fujita and Shapiro, 9.
21Mark McLelland, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in Japan,”
Journal of Bisexuality, vol. 3, (2003): 206.
22
class.”23
This was a practice that was not exclusive to one class, but transcended that barrier and became a pervasive cultural practice. Maki Isaka Morinaga writes that “a wakashu and his nenja would form a tight relationship analogous to a conjugal relationship, in which ‘sex was only one element.’”24
A nenja’s responsibility was first and foremost to ensure the transmission of knowledge, but he also offered emotional support, love, and mentorship to the wakashu. Their relationship was just as important as that of a husband and wife, and incredibly similar in many respects.
These homosexual and heterosexual relationships were also very capable of existing simultaneously. McLelland goes on, saying “nanshoku (eroticism between men) and joshoku (eroticism between men and women) were not seen as mutually incompatible.”25
In Japan’s feudal period, a man could have a male lover as well as a wife; they were not seen as mutually exclusive. It wasn’t until Western ideas about sexuality were introduced to Japan in the Meiji period (1868-1912) that “discussions of ‘perverse desires’ (hentai seiyoku) began to circulate in popular magazines which advocated the improvement of public morals in pursuit of ‘civilization and enlightenment’–a popular slogan of the period.”26
Until this point, eroticism between men, and “cross-dressed” prostitutes (perhaps transgender women who were sex workers) were accepted in Japanese society—so long as they remained somewhat separated from kabuki. It is important to note that the reason onna and wakashu kabuki was banned is not because of prostitution itself, but because of the distraction it created. Katherine Mezur writes about this, saying, “the liaison between patrons and prostitutes after the show was more
23 Ibid. 24 Ibid. 25
McLelland, “Living More ‘Like Oneself’: Transgender Identities and Sexualities in Japan,” 206.
26
important than what occurred onstage.”27
The audience was focused on the actors not as actors, but as sex workers. The sexualization of the actors’ bodies became the main focus of kabuki, which was never the intention. Stickland writes that “the bans were ostensibly a
counter-prostitution measure, though probably also arose because of brawls among male spectators over favored performers,” i.e. the onnagata.28
Many patrons became jealous of their favorites, which resulted in arguments and fights which further distracted from the action on stage.
While the success of any given takarazuka production is directly related to the amount of gender-bending elements it features (and their complexity), kabuki plays are famous typically for reasons unrelated to the performance of gender. Or, at least, unrelated to the onnagata. The onnagata is but one element of kabuki theater, while the cross-gender performance of the
otokoyaku and hyper-femininity of the musumeyaku in takarazuka theater are always centralized. The transmission of any knowledge first begins with its acquisition. Kabuki was (and, to
a certain extent, still is), considered to be a family tradition. The kabuki kata is passed down from teacher to student; from father to son. This kata was first created by the great kabuki actors of the past, and as time went on new role types were created, conventions changed, and this knowledge was taken in and modified by other actors. However, this system of transmission was inaccessible to the general public, i.e. the majority of people. Leonard C. Pronko, in his article, “Learning Kabuki: The Training Program of the National Theatre of Japan,” writes that:
Until June 1970 the world of kabuki acting was a closed one, restricted almost
exclusively to young men born into families which had provided kabuki actors for several hundred years...now for the first time in the history of Japanese theatre, a training
program has been developed to prepare young men outside the kabuki families for careers
27
Katherine Mezur, Beautiful Boys/Outlaw Bodies: Devising Kabuki Female-Likeness, (Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 59.
28
Leonie R. Stickland, Gender Gymnastics: Performing and Consuming Japan’s Takarazuka Revue. (Melbourne: Trans Pacific Press, 2008), 18.
in this very rigorous and demanding form of theatre.29
This training isn’t only exclusive to individuals “born into” kabuki, but includes adopted members of kabuki families, as well. Morinaga points out that “kabuki families have long institutionalized the practice of adoption for the sake of hereditary art, which was also common in many family businesses in Japan.”30
This remains true even for families with biological
children, as adoption was seen as a way to further insure the transmission of knowledge. The first public kabuki training program marked an important turning point in the world of kabuki.
There was much debate over the length of this training program, but “finally a basic three-year program was devised, to be followed by a two-year advanced program. National budgets for the arts being what they are, the program was cut back to two years. Those involved are not happy, for they believe that a minimum of three years will be required to polish the present students for professional stage performances.”31
Becoming a professional kabuki actor after only two years seems almost laughable, especially considering the extensive and
demanding training that students are subjected to. The goal was for students to accomplish “what a kabuki actor normally absorbs by a kind of osmosis in ten years.”32
There is no way to fully assess the impact this decision has made on the quality and authenticity of kabuki performance, but it is safe to assume that some kata (form) or gei (acquired artistic technique) has “slipped through the cracks,” not been transmitted, and has been lost as a result.
The training program originally consisted of the following subjects: “Japanese language, music, gymnastics, and etiquette. In the program now in force these have largely been abandoned
29
Leonard C. Pronko, “Learning Kabuki: The Training Program of the National Theatre of Japan,”
Educational Theatre Journal 23, no. 4 (1971): 409.
30
Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 143.
31
Pronko, 410.
32
with the exception of occasional lessons in etiquette, which take the form of tea ceremony study, and lessons in language and pronunciation.”33
Tea ceremony study could be particularly helpful to those students aspiring to become onnagata. Language and pronunciation is important for the overall performance of voice kata, which has unique nuances for each role type, regardless of its respective gender.
Dance kata is arguably the most important kata in kabuki performance. Pronko reminds us that “dance is the foundation of the kabuki actor's movement. Indeed, before kabuki was a play it was a dance, and as such it relied upon music to a great degree.”34
Traditional Japanese dance was—and still is—what shapes the basis of kabuki. (So much so that the line between dance and stylized movement is very unclear). In the forms of kabuki predating yarō kabuki, the importance was placed more on the actor’s body and its movements than on the overarching storyline. Still, in modern kabuki training, the relationship between the actor’s body and the music should be honored both for its historical and artistic significance.
The music of kabuki is performed primarily on shamisen (three-stringed lute), with musical accompaniment (hayashi).35 This accompaniment to the main shamisen player could consist of additional shamisen, small taiko drums, and auxiliary percussion instruments for added sound effects. These instruments create cues for the kabuki actors in terms of movement and speech. For example, when a shamisen player strikes the instrument’s strings with the plectrum in a percussive manner, it indicates that an actor needs to change positions, or move in a certain way. The relationship between the musical sounds (timbre, instrumentation, etc.) and the actor’s movements is strong—the music does indeed dictate the timing of each action. The form of the 33 Ibid. 34 Ibid., 412. 35
William P. Malm, “A Short History of Japanese Nagauta Music,” Journal of the American Oriental
music is “known as nagauta, literally long song,” and is used in all kabuki plays.36
Another important sonic element of kabuki is the gidayū chanter, which will be discussed in chapter three.
In addition to memorizing kata, the observation of individuals in the world offstage is sometimes recommended in order to gain direction and inspiration for a specific character type. Pronko writes that in kabuki, “the actor-dancer must remain faithful to the character he is depicting, remembering that a princess, for example, does not think or behave like a merchant's daughter. In order to learn the drunken movements for one dance...students go to the night quarters of Shinjuku and study the drunken staggering of the imbibers there.”37
(Pronko uses the pronoun “he” because he is writing about an official kabuki training program which only accepts men). This type of “real life” observation recommended by teachers in said program could be categorized as field research, because it allows for the kabuki actor to bring an element of realism into the performance that otherwise would be absent.
This faithful depiction is especially important when an actor is switching character roles within a performance. Transformation scenes are commonly used in kabuki plays, and they offer an opportunity for an actor to show off their mastery of various kata. Morinaga writes that “if a character reveals something, such as a hidden identity or an emotional state, he or she can change costume or add makeup in front of the audience, reflecting the transformation.”38
Actors are able to indicate this change, real-time, by altering their appearance. Seasoned actors were certainly experienced in doing this, and onnagata actors particularly. Mezur writes about this, saying:
Gunji suggests that the development of transformation sections in dance works was a means for onnagata gender art to develop variety, for star onnagata to gain greater acclaim, and for onnagata to play with their ambiguous sensuality. Various star onnagata, such as Tomijūrō I and Kikunojō I, constructed their versions of Musume 36 Ibid. 37 Pronko, 413-14. 38
Dōjōji on the idea of slipping between role types and characters, tantalizing their audiences with their ambiguous gender acts in their transitions from musume to shirabyōshi to female-like serpent demon.39
According to Mezur, there were some onnagata that were so skilled that they were able to switch roles from young girl, to female dancer in the Japanese Imperial Court, to female demon, all within the same production. As more onnagata adopted and refined this method, it became known as “‘quick-change technique’ (hayagawari).”40
These quick changes are often accomplished with the aid of custom garments, such as a kimono designed to transform and change color. Considered common practice, “it is not unusual in kabuki for two or more parts to be taken by one actor, so that the actor is given a chance to show his versatility.”41
These
opportunities to showcase versatile and eclectic kata is not unique to the kabuki stage, however, and it is a theme that will be revisited in the following chapter.
The presence of many different versions of femininities, as seen via these character types, supports the idea that gender is a spectrum as opposed to a binary. Each femininity, each female character type, has its own set of kata. They all have their own movements, mannerisms, speech styles, and so on. An actor’s ability to play two or more characters in a given production
showcases not only their skill, but the flexibility of gender itself.
Schalow writes of “a hypothetical otokogata—that is, a woman’s body dressed in man’s garb and carried in masculine style…the way that men and women in the audience would respond to the hypothetical otokogata would not necessarily be identical to the response to the onnagata.”42 In takarazuka theater, a woman playing a male character is not hypothetical, and they are called otokoyaku. Schalow continues, writing that “woman-dressed-as-man is a usurping
39
Mezur, 98.
40
Fujita and Shapiro, 12.
41
Ibid.
42
motion, an act of insubordination in a Confucian context where ‘station’ (kurai) was the central political fact of life.”43
It was acceptable for someone with a higher station (a man) to dress, act, or transform into someone with a lower station (a woman). To do this in reverse, on the other hand, goes against this central notion of kurai in Japanese culture. This potential “act of
insubordination” in a kabuki context raises questions of gender articulations and power dynamics behind those articulations. The existence of the onnagata does not do this, because a man has the power (station) to articulate his gender in a feminine way, even to the point of becoming a woman. In conclusion, Schalow writes that “release from gender anxiety through the act of insubordination of a woman-dressed-as-man would be an intolerable violation of the mechanisms of patriarchal power inherent in early modern Confucian ideology.”44
This is part of the reason why takarazuka's founder never intended for otokoyaku to imitate men perfectly (as the onnagata are considered the perfect imitation of women), but instead to embody an ideal masculinity that tends to be more androgynous. The otokoyaku role will be discussed in more detail later on.
Gender was just one of many elements of the kata used for a given character role. Morinaga writes that “the sex-gender binary in premodern Japan was simply one parameter among many dividers for classifying humans. In this sense, the doomed dualism of masculinity and femininity, which in practice is unflinchingly binding in modern times, is, in theory, unsubstantiated.”45
Gender was an important parameter for characters in kabuki, but it was inseparable from class. The idea of a “clear-cut opposition of masculinity versus femininity was foreign to the gender economy of Edo-era Japan, as femininity in premodern Japan was highly 43 Ibid. 44 Ibid., 67-8. 45
class-oriented.”46
The intersections of class and gender roles were at the very heart of authentic kabuki performance. Even if one is a maonnagata, specializing in only female roles, these characters are wildly different from one another despite all being embodiments of femininity. As opinions on gender has changed over time, kabuki actors have found themselves performing in this post-eighteenth-century eurogenic binary conceptualization of gender. Morinaga writes, “the rigid two-sex binary system became a certain meta-imperative, surpassing distinctions based on these other markers. The male/female binary was upgraded in modern times as a meta-criterion for bisecting people, and modern onnagata ended up performing femininity in this context.”47 Gender in Edo-era Japan was free from this reductive, colonist mindset, and it wasn’t until Western influences were introduced that certain differentiations between masculinity and femininity were established.
46
Ibid., 48-9.
47
Chapter 2: Takarazuka
The all-women Takarazuka Revue gets its name from the hot springs resort town where it was founded in 1913.48
The founder, “Hankyū Railway and Department Store tycoon Kobayashi Ichizō (1873-1957),” intended for the Revue to be “‘wholesome family entertainment’ for the purpose of attracting households along the railway to the spa near Takarazuka Station.”49
The Takarazuka Revue was originally named “the Takarazuka Girls Opera Company (Takarazuka Shōjo Kageki Dan) and, instead of having only a singing and instrumental chorus” it was determined that they would “present fairy tales in operetta form.”50
Their opera productions have proved to be some of their most successful shows, although they also re-stage U.S.-American musicals and perform “adaptations from kabuki, nō, and kyōgen...mostly with westernized music.”51
Shakespeare productions are also plentiful in the takarazuka repertoire. From the very beginning, takarazuka has been a fusion of influences from many different countries.
Takarazuka actors are called “‘Takarasiennes’ (takarajiennu), after Parisiennes, in recognition of the original influence of the French revue.”52
This word has a distinctly feminine ending, which, in the French language, indicates a female variant of a noun. This shows that the Takarazuka Revue intends for all actors to be seen as female, or feminine, regardless of the gender role they play on stage.
The training for each Takarasienne starts at the Takarazuka Music Academy. The
48
Brau, 79.
49
Nobuko Anan, “Two-Dimensional Imagination in Contemporary Japanese Women's Performance,” TDR
(1988-) 55, no. 4 (2011): 98.
50
Zeke Berlin, “The Takarazuka Touch,” Asian Theatre Journal 8, no. 1 (1991): 38.
51
Ibid., 36.
52
Jennifer Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” American Ethnologist 19, no. 3 (1992): 422.
span prerequisite for entrance to the Academy is small, and although it was “altered several times until today it is limited to those between fifteen and eighteen.”53
It may be very well that students start young, because this training is rigorous, takes several years, and is highly competitive. Nobuko Anan writes that:
In 1919, the surprising success of the revue led Kobayashi to establish it as an
independent theatre apparatus associated with the newly founded Takarazuka ongaku gakkō (Takarazuka Music Academy). Ever since, Takarazuka performers are all
graduates of the academy. In addition to theatrical training, they are also required to learn traditional Japanese female etiquette. For this reason, even though Takarazuka stages Las Vegas- or Broadway-style shows, the academy is known as the best school for training future ryōsai kenbo, “good wives, wise mothers”—the modern construction of ideal Japanese womanhood.54
The training methods have changed slightly since 1919, but girls are still trained in many types of dance, and take acting and voice lessons. Brau writes that “the students are also trained in a manner comparable to that which is used in kabuki actor training, that is, through the
memorization of kata—codified behaviors centered on gesture, dress, and voice, that help create a role.”55
These codified behaviors could also be called gender acts, and, like kabuki, they differ depending on the gender and class of the character type in question. When a Takarasienne is portraying a male character (otokoyaku), it’s important to keep in mind that they are not seen by the Japanese public as men. Instead, they are seen as women embodying an ideal masculinity. It was believed that even the male-role actors, embodying this ideal masculinity, were—by
proxy—internalizing “the modern construction of ideal Japanese womanhood.”
The takarazuka gender-blend of masculinity and femininity is something that the audience can see and hear. Brau elaborates on this, saying that “costuming also demonstrates how complex the kata for takarazuka style masculinity can be. Rather than trying to look just 53 Berlin, 39. 54 Anan, 99. 55 Brau, 86.
like men, the otokoyaku represent a kind of ‘third gender.’”56
Again, this “third gender” can be compared to the gender created by the onnagata, and the way that Italian castrati were perceived (although they could pass as both men and women).
As mentioned earlier, gender performance is the substance of all takarazuka productions, which is different compared to other forms of Japanese theater such as nō or kabuki. In her book, Gender Gymnastics: Performing and Consuming Japan’s Takarazuka Revue, Leonie R.
Stickland writes,
Though kabuki—probably Takarazuka’s nearest rival in terms of the regular crossing of gender lines—does cultivate enthusiastic audiences that appreciate the skilled artistry of the cross-dressed onnagata or oyama (actors who specialise in female roles), the kabuki repertoire also incorporates categories of performance in which the conscious portrayal of gender is not always important: aragoto (lit. ‘rough stuff’) plays, for instance. In
Takarazuka, on the other hand, gender mimicry is the very essence of the performance, on each and every occasion.57
A distinction should be made between cross-dressing and cross-gender acting or performance. As Ann Thompson points out, the cross-gender casting in both kabuki and Shakespeare traditions (among other forms of theater) is not “merely a question of costume.”58
Whether a Takarasienne has an otokoyaku or a musumeyaku role, they are continuously and consciously performing gender on the stage—and they certainly do this with more than their costume and makeup. Movement, posture, mannerisms, and sonic aspects concerning the speaking and singing voice are all factored into the Takarasienne’s performance of gender.
The gender of the otokoyaku is not intended to be an accurate reproduction of any one, extant masculinity, but instead is a fictional gender constructed by Takarasiennes. The same goes for the femininity of the musumeyaku. Stickland writes that “Takarasiennes need either to
56 Ibid. 57 Stickland, 5. 58
exaggerate their femininity to compensate for the physical limitations of their male-role opposites, or to hide their femaleness and assume the guise of an ‘ideal man.’”59
These “ideal women” and “ideal men” are unique to the takarazuka stage, in the same way that kabuki’s embodiment of ideal femininity (onnagata) is unique to the kabuki stage. To achieve this ideal gender, whether towards one side of the gender spectrum or the other, the method Takarasiennes use is similar to that of the onnagata.
In order to be successful in their portrayal, the actors “largely rely upon one or more of three methods—the copying of traditional kata that signify masculinity or femininity in a theatrical context, the observation of real people in society, and the exercise of imagination.”60
In the previous chapter, Pronko was quoted as describing the kabuki actors’ employment of this second method (watching imbibers stagger around the street). Takarasiennes employ this method identically, as Stickland quotes one of her interviwees: “If I were given an otokoyaku part as a drunkard, for instance, then I’d be on the lookout even when I was walking along the street, to see how drunkards behaved...I was constantly studying [people].”61 Although the kata used in kabuki is not identical to that used in takarazuka, the concept remains the same.
The training required to memorize the necessary takarazuka kata (thereby internalizing it) takes some years, but how many years is dependent upon the gender role specialization. As Stickland writes:
It takes time for Takarasiennes to learn how to portray exaggerated gender roles on stage—many more years for an otokoyaku than a musumeyaku, given the latter’s head-start in femininity afforded by the socialisation that most undergo during childhood. In the case of male-role players, a decade or more of practising their art is deemed necessary for internalising the necessary techniques to the extent that these can be applied
automatically. Less-experienced Takarasiennes are probably only able to execute their 59 Stickland, 111. 60 Ibid., 113. 61 Ibid., 124.
highly gender-marked roles with sufficient skill and panache precisely because of the limited time during which they need to sustain character on stage.62
Although the female-role actors have this “head-start in femininity,” due to being raised as girls, their “target gender” on stage still differs from the gender socialization they experienced (and continue to experience off-stage). If an actor performs femininity on-stage and off-stage, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the two femininities are exactly the same, have the same nuances, etc. In the case of Takarasiennes, there can even be three types of gender they regularly perform: gender on stage, gender in their personal lives, and the highly fictionalized gender they perform while under the gaze of the public off-stage. There are also Takarasiennes who start as
musumeyaku and later on in their careers make the switch to otokoyaku, and vice versa. Takarazuka’s repertoire is an amalgamation of Western and Japanese musical genres. They are classified as such: “Japanese pieces (nippon mono) and Western pieces (yōmono).”63 Zeke Berlin elaborates on typical takarazuka programming, writing:
The program usually consists of two parts: one of these is a revue containing musical numbers and sketches; the other is a fully plotted musical play. The revue is made up of a collection of songs and dances and perhaps a brief comic scene—all probably dealing with boys and girls on the wild merry-go-round of love. The songs are often very familiar—either to Westerners or to those who know Japanese pop tunes. But scattered throughout are new songs written especially for this show.64
There are a few shows on the takarazuka stage with roles that require an actor to switch genders during a production, to the great delight of their audience and fans. This is the epitome of the term “gender gymnastics” that Stickland has coined. She writes about a skilled female role-player, “Izumo Aya (1983—)” who “sang a comic ‘duet’ with herself on stage in 1993, taking male and female parts in alternate verses...temporary gender-switching based upon voice kata...is 62 Ibid., 114. 63 Berlin, 35. 64 Ibid.
thus employed for particular dramatic effect, or to showcase individual versatility.”65
The ability to switch parts every-other verse is difficult, and only effective if done with the highest level of skill. This duet, although comic in content, is a very serious and impressive way to showcase one’s mastery of gender roles.
Most of these gender gymnastics are exclusively in the realm of the otokoyaku, which makes sense in terms of the disproportionate amount of training they receive compared to their female-role counterparts. There is one takarazuka production that is perhaps the most well-known, and Stickland writes about it, saying: “In August 1974, the representative ‘face’ of Takarazuka was irrevocably changed when it staged Berusaiyu no bara (The Rose of Versailles), a flowery musical romance set in the court of Marie Antoinette, based on a best-selling comic book series by Ikeda Riyoko, featuring as its protagonist, Oscar—a girl raised as a boy.”66
She continues, “Takarazuka’s musumeyaku never take male roles, nor play cross-dressed female characters like the boyish Oscar in The Rose of Versailles—Oscar’s masculinity apparently can only be effectively portrayed by a trained otokoyaku.”67
The character in question, Oscar,
although technically a female character, is a role only deemed appropriate for a male-role actor. These casting decisions can be explained very simply: the otokoyaku are more popular, and therefore more tickets will sell if they are cast instead of a musumeyaku. It is well-known that “the Revue Administration undoubtedly also capitalises upon the popularity of starring otokoyaku by casting them in the most prominent roles, even if this means they play women.”68 However, these kinds of decisions can be explained in another way. Anan writes that:
Male-role players can go back and forth freely between female and male gender roles. 65 Stickland, 120. 66 Ibid., 46. 67 Ibid., 127. 68 Ibid.
Moreover, having a female-role player perform the same role as a male-role player contains another subversive possibility: it shows that a female-role player (typically hyperfeminine) can also perform as a sensuous woman. In Takarazuka, sensuousness is regarded as the purview of male-role players, while innocence is a typical attribute expected of female-role players.69
There are exceptions in kabuki as well, of male-role actors playing female roles. It seems that the freedom of expression, the freedom to express sensuality or sexuality, is viewed as exclusively the realm of the man, or otokoyaku. The misogyny in Japanese society translated into kabuki and, later, takarazuka, reinforcing the idea that women have limited capabilities compared to men, and forbidding female-role players (regardless of biological sex) from participating in certain activities that are deemed “inappropriate” for them.
These kinds of casting decisions create a chain of imitation: a female imitating a male who is imitating a female. An otokoyaku performing a female role portrays a different gender than a musumeyaku ever could in the same role. Stickland writes that “when an otokoyaku plays a female role, she must consciously prepare for a metaphorical ‘sex change.’”70
The kata these actors have learned for their respective gender roles are so ingrained that it takes concentrated effort for an otokoyaku to adjust and prepare for the unique challenges of a role such as Oscar.
Even earlier than The Rose of Versailles, there was a production called Karei naru sen byōshi (1000 Colorful Musical Beats), which was a great success in 1960.71
Stickland writes that “leading otokoyaku performers switched from one gender to the other on stage. The erotic charm of this transformation from handsome men to alluring women was probably a significant factor in the show’s success.”72
The same could be said to explain the success of The Rose of Versailles, and the excitement created by Oscar’s complex gender presentation. In 1000 Colorful Musical 69 Anan, 102. 70 Stickland, 127. 71 Ibid., 44. 72 Ibid.
Beats, otokoyaku were able to show the true scope of their versatility, tantalizing male and female audience members alike with the erotic implications of their gender metamorphosis, as they transformed right before their eyes. The otokoyaku persona was so ingrained (for both actors and audience members), that Stickland writes of the star otokoyaku Sumi Hanayo: “As regular Revue patrons would have known that Sumi was an otokoyaku, some may even have viewed her performance as a type of female impersonation, her costume and heavy makeup being the epitome of ‘drag.’”73
Thus, Sumi’s otokoyaku gender performance is more powerful than her biological sex, creating the impression that she is in drag as opposed to performing a gender aligned with her biology.
This shows that “gender is not automatically bestowed on us, by either Nature or Culture, but is constructed through our doing, that is to say, by citing other people’s doings of gender, which are already citations.”74
The problematic aspects of polarization and binary notions are discussed throughout this paper. These problems arise whether in relation to the binary of male/female, that of transgender/cisgender, or that of Nature/Culture. By capitalizing nature and culture, Morinaga is implying that they are indeed separate concepts. However, nature and culture cannot be removed from one another, because they are in a state of constant overlap and interaction. For example, the way our senses are trained and developed is influenced by our physical surroundings (nature), but also by the society that surrounds us (culture). Nature and culture share the same domain.
Similarly, various articulations of gender share a domain (such as gender presentation, gender performance, and gender identity). Gender is not predetermined, but created by people on an individual level, through performing imitated acts. These acts could very well be referred to
73
Ibid.
74
as kata. A decade (or more) of training and memorization of otokoyaku kata was stronger than the kata internalized via Sumi’s socialization as a girl in Japanese society—to the extent that she was rendered “truly male” in the eyes of her audience (at least while on stage).
Does this performance of gender end when the actors leave the stage? Perhaps, and there are undeniably some people who personally identify with the gender (or genders) that they emulate so flawlessly on stage. Brau interviewed a Takarasienne about this very thing, writing: “I questioned Tsurugi about how she conceived male impersonation. She emphasized that it was just a ‘role’ that she wore like the makeup and costume that help create her otokoyaku image. After the performance she takes off her costume and makeup, gets into the bath and reverts to her nonperforming (feminine) self. But Tsurugi acknowledges that there are some takarazuka
actresses who like to play the male role in everyday life.”75
It is likely that there are transgender men in the Takarazuka Revue, just as it is likely that there have been transgender women onnagata actors. At the very least, there is a high chance of some actors in both theater genres being gender non-conforming, despite conforming to a specific binary division of genders (a division on the opposite side of the spectrum from their biological sex).
One of the most famous onnagata of all time, Yoshizawa Ayame I, wrote in Ayamegusa (The Words of Ayame): “...if he does not live his normal life as if he was a woman, it will not be possible for him to be called a skillful onnagata.”76
There were onnagata actors living as women in their professional and everyday lives, while also simultaneously marrying wives and fathering children. Their gender non-conformance was accepted because of the high-status that successful kabuki actors achieved in Japanese society. It would have been less so if onnagata neglected to
75
Brau, 86.
76
Charles J. Dunn and Torigoe Bunzō, eds. and trans, The Actor’s Analects, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), 53.
fulfill their most crucial duty: carry on their lineage.
For some Takarasiennes, their otokoyaku roles are more than just roles. The Takarazuka Revue is diligent in its censorship of rumors, silencing whispers of Takarasiennes being gay, having inappropriately intimate relationships with fans, etc. Stickland writes:
Nor is there any publicity about ex-performers who cross-dress as males in private life, and who choose women, not men, for their life partners, such as several ex-Takarazuka bar-owners and bar employees of my acquaintance, who make their living as professional male impersonators known as bōisshu (boyish) or onabe. One of my informants criticises several otokoyaku of similar type from around the war years, who have continued to behave as men in private life since retirement: ‘They cannot go on being stars forever. Takarazuka is Takarazuka, so when they retire, they should stop [such behaviour].’77 Ironically, there is more stigma and prejudice associated with homosexual and gender non-conforming behavior (off-stage) now than during Japan’s feudal period. This, combined with the fact that the Takarazuka Revue wants to keep its reputation as wholesome as possible, means that any actors who deviate from “normal” behavior while not in character are judged, ignored, and shunned. Behavior that is considered acceptable on-stage, resulting in praise and success when executed with great skill, is immediately unacceptable upon retirement. For some actors, Takarazuka isn’t just takarazuka—it is where they actualized their gender identity, and then brought otokoyaku kata with them into their everyday lives.
Throughout their careers, Takarasiennes “are still referred to as students no matter how old they may be or how experienced and talented.”78
This aligns with the pervasive attitude that Takarasiennes are not adults, but girls, and additionally aren’t considered “true women” until they are married (and have retired from the takarazuka stage). Jennifer Robertson writes that “Since becoming a fully adult female involved marriage and motherhood, unmarried girls and women were referred to (during and after the Meiji period) by the term shōjo, which means,
77
Stickland, 200.
78
literally, a ‘not-quite-female’ female.”79
The founder of the Takarazuka Revue, Ichizō
Kobayashi, intended for takarazuka to occupy a transitional time in the lives of Takarasiennes, not to become a lifelong career. Participation in the Revue was seen as preparation for wifehood and motherhood. This harkens back to the “Meiji-period ideology of ‘good wife, wise mother,’ which became the foundation of the nation's educational policy in the 1890s.”80
The Takarazuka Revue, founded roughly twenty years afterwards, adopted this ideology, and it remains an important aspect of the takarazuka image that the Revue administration is so careful to maintain.
In order to maintain this image, regardless of role-type, Takarasiennes are required to retire upon getting married, or within seven years (or so) of joining the Revue. There are
exceptions to the age of retirement, but married Takarasiennes are essentially unheard of. Berlin notes that, surprisingly, “in 1985 there were twenty-one Takarazuka ‘students’ with more than twenty years of service, and seven of them had been performing for more than forty years. Most of these veterans were still very active.”81
These veteran performers serve as role-models for younger students, both offering support and assuring that the kata is passed down to the subsequent generations.
Of course, these exceptions to retirement only apply to unmarried women. Stickland writes that “the retirement-upon-marriage rule still stands in Takarazuka, in spite of the April 1999 enactment of the Basic Law for a Gender-Equal Society (Danjo kyōdō sankaku kihon hō)...which includes a ban upon the discriminatory practice of forcing women to quit work upon marriage.”82
This is a clear example of misogyny, directly contrasting with the expectations for
79
Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 426.
80
Loren Edelson, “The Female Danjūrō: Revisiting the Acting Career of Ichikawa Kumehachi,”
Journal of Japanese Studies 34, no. 1 (2008): 74.
81
Berlin, 39.
82
the onnagata of kabuki, who often act well into their 60s and 70s, regardless of marital status. The maonnagata, a male onnagata who exclusively plays onnagata roles, could not exist as the inverse: an exclusive otokoyaku actor. A famous otokoyaku, upon being cast in a female role, wouldn’t be able to decline on the basis of only playing male roles. Kikunojo I’s refusal to play male roles revolutionized the world of kabuki. The refusal of an otokoyaku to play a female role would result in the death of a career. Otokoyaku cast in these female roles, as we have seen, is highly appealing to audiences. It is also appealing to the takarazuka administration, because it increases their profits and ticket sales. This creates a double standard in terms of gender
presentation autonomy in theater. Takarasiennes have little to no freedom when it comes to choosing a role, and thus the gender they are to perform on-stage.
In the age of Ayame I, onnagata were free to express their femininity anywhere, some even dying of old age while dressed in full costume. Morinaga writes that “Segawa Kikunojō I (1693-1749), for example, is said to have been on his deathbed in full dress in accordance with the onnagata garb code.”83
There are numerous examples of kabuki actors using onnagata kata in their everyday, personal lives, just as Ayame prescribed for them to do. Conversely, the kata of the takarazuka otokoyaku was never meant to exist off-stage.
83
Chapter 3: Kata
Kabuki gender performance, specifically the kata enacted by onnagata, was not the first of its kind. Cross-gender performance in Japanese theater has a history that goes back even further than the seventeenth century. Morinaga writes, “If kabuki...provided women offstage with ‘exemplary models (kata) of ‘female’ (onna) gender...to approximate,’ could not the same be said of nō theater, which preceded kabuki by a few centuries?”84
All traditional forms of
Japanese theater originally consisted of male casts, (“nō, kyōgen, bunraku, and kabuki are all-male theaters”), but nō was the first.85
Mezur acknowledges this, writing that “nō, the classical mask theatre, set a tradition for men playing female roles.”86
This is a tradition that has lasted seven centuries, from nō to the Takarazuka Revue. This kata is not only different for each theater genre, but the differences depend on the gender of the character as well. There are fundamental differences in the ways that male and female roles are played, but it goes even deeper, as there are a variety of role types (and indeed some that aren’t human, a few examples being animals, demons, and ghosts).
Kabuki has a wider range of role types compared to nō theater, and they are mostly played by specialists, which is different than the conventions of nō as well.
Nō actors are classified in terms of the theatrical functions they perform in a play: shite and waki. Shite (lit., “the one who does”) refers to the principal character in each nō play as well as to actors performing shite roles, and waki are the “side” character and actors playing waki roles. Shite actors, thus, should be capable of performing all principal roles, such as deities, warriors, women, crazed persons, and demons. Accordingly, nō actors need a wide range of training in what nō actor-playwright Zeami Motokiyo (1363-1443) termed the “two techniques and three bodies” (nikyoku santai), that is, the two arts of dancing and chanting and the three role types of the old person, the woman, and the
84
Ibid., 10.
85
Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 49.
86
warrior.87
Shite actors, as “generalists,” only need to memorize the kata for three different role types. In his essay, “Female-Role Specialization in Kabuki: How Real is Real?” Samuel Leiter writes that the famed onnagata Ayame I “was the first to articulate the importance of psychological distinctions in the art of acting women.”88
Ayame coined many of the specialized kata for different role types, although this kata has naturally changed and evolved over time. With the emergence of these female character types, a new kind of onnagata actor was born. It is said that “Kikunojo I went a step further by refusing to play any male roles at all...his refusal to perform male gender roles made him quite famous and established the idea of maonnagata, an onnagata who enacts only onnagata roles.”89
Although onnagata could specialize in a specific role type, they would be capable of performing all of the female characters. This marked an important moment for kabuki theater and onnagata artistry; the on-stage presentation of femininity was becoming more complex and nuanced.
Regardless of role type, it is difficult to discern how much of kabuki’s kata was adopted from that of nō. “Through the Genroku period [1688-1704], nō was actively absorbed [into kabuki dance], which must have resulted from the fact that kabuki deeply adopted the taste of the newly risen townspeople, who were the patrons of kabuki.”90 There are definite similarities between the kata of the two theaters, and a few famous kabuki actors even started their careers by learning nō first.
Tōjurō IV, one of the major actors working today, went through intense training in nō in his youth before accomplishing kabuki training, in order to establish the foundations of his kabuki performance. Considering his successful career as a kabuki actor, nō training
87
Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 11.
88
Fujita and Shapiro, 71.
89
Mezur, 101.
90
was far from detrimental to kabuki acting and in fact helped him to accomplish kabuki training...Nakamura Kanzaburō XVIII (1955-2012) similarly recounts that the nō lessons he took in his childhood were important in establishing the foundations of his kabuki acting.91
In the contemporary kabuki world, most professional actors are adults. It makes sense to take childhood nō lessons as a precursor to kabuki training later on. As the kata was highly influenced by nō, it gives actors an advantage and leads to a greater chance of success on the kabuki stage.
An important aspect of kata is nanba, which is a stylized way of walking. Nanba is not exclusive to Japanese theater, but “appears universally in body movements when people use power in an extreme way: the shot put, fencing, naginata-swordsmanship, ballet, and so on.”92 Coincidentally—or perhaps not—most of these listed appearances of nanba are activities that Takarasiennes are either encouraged to learn before attending the Takarazuka Music Academy, are part of the curriculum, or both. Stickland writes that the “practice of a martial art like kendō...could also give a potential otokoyaku a useful grounding in sword-fighting, which is quite often required on the Revue stage.”93
Kendō is also of use in kabuki, as sword fighting occurs often and at climactic moments in the play’s plot.94
This is true for both male and female-role characters (for example, the wife of a samurai can carry a sword).
The way that characters walk across the kabuki stage is dependent upon the role type being portrayed. Onnagata actors must walk in very specific ways if they want to maintain consistent gender kata for their role, and nō training can be particularly advantageous in this respect. Morinaga writes that “Tōjurō had to go through intense training in nō to acquire a body with a torso that did not twist during motions. That controlled and linerated body able to walk in 91 Ibid., 88-9. 92 Ibid., 96. 93 Stickland, 86. 94 Pronko, 410.
sliding steps eventually helped Tōjurō run onstage while retaining the figure of an onnagata.”95 Regardless of pace, if an onnagata is walking slowly, or running, they still need to sustain these sliding steps. One can imagine that this is not an easy task.
The kata required for onnagata actors takes years of training to memorize and refine, and it is physically taxing. Even just the weight of the costume itself has been reason for some people to claim that cisgender women cannot be onnagata, as they lack the physical strength. This misogyny and exclusion of female onnagata will be discussed later on in more detail. The most painful aspects of onnagata kata are illustrated as follows by Morinaga:
First, in order to make their shoulders look slender, onnagata would pull their elbows behind their backs and try to bring the shoulder blades together (at the same time, they would walk with their knees together, holding a piece of paper between them)...Second, to raise the corners of their eyes and make them almond-shaped, like the eyes of women in woodblock prints of the Edo era [(1603–1868)], onnagata would use a long, narrow strip of cloth known as metsuri. Just as with the shoulder-blade technique, this eye-raising is physically painful, but it is considered necessary for the creation of a feminine face.96
This further illustrates how unattainable the onnagata ideal of femininity is for an average, cisgender woman. The kata creates a femininity where the mannerisms, movements, and even appearance are highly refined to the point that only those who have dedicated years of their lives to training will be able to master it. This is as far from a “natural” femininity than one can get. The idealized eye-shape is even based off of fictional women in woodblock prints, and this “almond shape” can only be achieved by altering the natural eyelids. The onnagata gender is highly detailed, constructed, and stylized—an actor uses their entire body to enact the kata, from their head to their toes (and even their fingers).
There are similarly unnatural, specialized movements for the two gender role-types of the
95
Morinaga, Onnagata: A Labyrinth of Gendering in Kabuki Theater, 103.
96
Takarazuka Revue. Robertson writes that “an otokoyaku, for example, must stride forthrightly across the stage, her arms held stiffly away from her body, her fingers curled around her thumbs. In contrast, a musumeyaku pivots her forearms from the elbows, which are kept pinned against her side, constraining her freedom of movement and consequently making her appear more ‘feminine.’97
Musumeyaku don’t have their elbows behind their backs like kabuki’s onnagata, but there are obvious similarities between the female-role kata of the two theater genres. Both associate a constraint of movement with femininity, which illustrates further that the femininity of kabuki and takarazuka are unfounded in extant, or real-life femininities. There aren’t women moving in these restricting ways while going about their everyday lives—it isn’t realistic and it isn’t practical—yet on-stage these movements are defining aspects of the female-role genders.
As mentioned in the previous section, Ayame I championed the importance of onnagata bringing their role kata into their everyday lives—and they certainly followed his advice. Mezur writes that “Ayame I’s performance of his onnagata kata in his daily life was part of his star act designing. The continuity between stage and daily life meant that Ayame I in his onstage role or his offstage role were both Ayame I, the star onnagata. His offstage onnagata performance could tantalize and stimulate his audience’s imagination.”98
This could be seen as seventeenth-century “branding,” a way to advertise superb acting skill while off the stage. It can also be compared with the offstage gender performance of Takarazuka Revue actors, who uphold a certain image when they’re under the gaze of the public. The difference being that Takarasiennes have a separate, private gender (their authentic, “real life” gender), in addition to the gender they “tantalize” their fans with in public. The only place for an onnagata in Ayame’s time to express a “true” gender was in the comfort of their own home, and there’s no way to know for certain if
97Robertson, “The Politics of Androgyny in Japan: Sexuality and Subversion in the Theater and Beyond,” 423. 98
