Japanese Rakugo Goes Beyond Language in Storytelling

The audience at the Tsai Auditorium broke out in laughter at one at point on February 8 when the performer onstage animatedly related the story of Seibei, an unfortunate antiques collector. “Samurai are sensitive to heads falling off,” a Japanese merchant told Seibei, who had just sold a Buddha statue to a samurai. Seibei gasped with his face screwed up, setting off another roar of laughter, fearing that the statue had broken at the head and that the samurai would seek revenge.

This is rakugo. Yanagiya Sankyo and Yanagiya Kyonosuke, two masters of the 400-year-old art of Japanese storytelling, came to Harvard on Feb. 8 to perform “Tsuru” and “Ido no Chawan,” two tales in the classical repertoire of Japanese stories. The event was presented by the Edwin O. Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies and the Consulate-General of Japan in Boston.

The night began with remarks by Harvard’s Japanese professor, Wesley Jacobsen. “Through this Japanese art form, we realize there is a universal, human element,” Jacobsen said.

Despite the simplicity of the art form, the human element communicates itself clearly. Yanagiya Sankyo took his place on an elevated platform to demonstrate gestures used in rakugo. Taking off his sandals, he sat kneeling on a small cushion. Dressed in traditional Japanese silk robes with wide sleeves and solid color, he had two props with which to animate his stories: a small folded paper fan and a kerchief. A solemn tone accompanied the rituals onstage. But levity returned when Sankyo demonstrated eating, crying, running in the rain, and getting drunk—one person weaves a story, enacting the various characters with seamless transitions.

After the demonstrations, Yanagiya Sankyo performed “Tsuru,” a story about how eager but forgetful Haichi learns the story of how Japan’s symbolic bird, the crane, got its name. He tries to tell the story to a friend, but his memory fails him. The next tale, “Ido no Chawan,” performed by Yanagiya Kyonosuke, centered on honest Seibei, the itinerant antiques collector, who buys a statue of the Buddha from the poor but virtuous samurai, Chiyoda. Seibei then sells the statue to another samurai, who, finding money hidden in the statue, summons Seibei to return it to Chiyoda. Seibei finds himself stuck running errands for two virtuous clients.

The “human element,” comes through in the moral meaning of each tale: the folly of one’s eagerness to show off in “Tsuru” and the foolishly strict adherence to one’s values in “Ido no Chawan.”

But the nonverbal aspect—namely, performers’ commitment to strong facial expressions—is equally prominent. The effect of the minimalist use of props is striking in “Ido no Chawan.” The age-old maxim, less is more, finds its full force in rakugo.

Yanagiya Sankyo and Yanagiya Kyonosuke first brought their art out of Japan for an international convention in Paris. Other American universities, including the University of Michigan and MIT, have also hosted the performers for rakugo demonstrations. But the future of the art, cherished as it is in the academic sphere, is uncertain. “It’s very difficult to teach,” Yanagiya Sankyo said, through a translator. “What they were doing in the Edo period is very difficult to understand.”

But rakugo’s ability to communicate without words may help it achieve a degree of universality. “Some of you laughed because of the Japanese,” said Yanagiya. “Some of you laughed because of gestures. That pleases me.”