No and Kyogen in the Contemporary World

Teaching the Paradox of Nō

202 Teaching the Paradox of Nò Nomura Shirò Why I left my country and my work to teach nò to American students is something I have thought about a lot over the past year. Of course, one reason is that I believe nò has unique qualities that are not found in most Western theater and so the effort might contribute something of special value. First, the nò actor wears a mask, denying the actor the use of facial expression so important in most acting. Expression lies in the mask, which is nearly expressionless. Perhaps expression is not even the right word. It is not that the mask is inexpressive, but it strongly suppresses expression. The mask is only a small portion of the body. If you act with the mask alone, you are acting from the neck up. In fact, the nò actor expresses with the entire body, incorporating the mask into it. Some people make a point of how a mask can be tilted in a certain way to show sadness or joy. While this is true, acting in nò is highly physical and in my view each part of the actor’s body—the costumed torso, the hands, the feet, and the masked face—are equally expressive. At the same time, the body is bound, restricted by inaction and the actor still must project the character’s feelings. What I think is nò is an unusual art of “nearly expressionless expression” (muhyòjò no chikai hyòjò). The mask is complex in its effect, but it allows the actor to express not merely the outer form of a human being, but the interior spirit as well. This is not at all the same thing as when a kabuki actor wears stylized makeup (kumadori). The actor must express unusual roles. In the play The Well Curb (Izutsu), for example, a male actor becomes a beautiful woman who then is possessed by her husband’s spirit. So the actor performs on three levels simultaneously: actor, woman, and male ghost. In other plays, he is a demon, the ghost of Tomomori in Benkei in the Boat (Funa Benkei), or a demoness, as in The Black Mound (Kuro- Teaching Nò 203 zuka). Demons appear in other theaters, I suppose, but there is a whole category of such roles in nò (fifty or more). He must be able to portray the spirit of a plant, a willow tree in Pilgrimage of the Willow (Yugyò yanagi), a cherry tree in The Monk Saigyò and the Cherry Blossoms (Saigy ò zakura), or a pine tree in Takasago. These plays contain scenes and characters that I don’t think any other theater can portray. The world of nò is broad, extending past the extremes of human nature into the supernatural and the universal. We can see this in the play The Demon Hag (Yamamba), in which an old shaman’s dance is animistic, Buddhist, and Zen at the same time. She extols the mountain ’s beautiful appearance behind which lies a mysterious, frightening nature. Human emotions, religion, and other elements are all woven together to make up the fabric of nò. I don’t think that nò’s uniqueness will be found by making an itemby -item comparison to kabuki or some other drama, saying here nò is special and there nò is special. Looked at broadly, nò comprises music and drama. I’m not even sure it is correct to call nò drama. It is less than that and it is more. Seen as either music or as drama, nò is probably lacking. It is the total interpenetration of drama and music that makes nò. Great energy is created on stage by the performers. Because the shite is the center of the performance, he absorbs into his body all of the energy being given out by the musicians and the chorus. An ensemble exists within the single physical body and the single voice, where it is magnified by the other performers. This is a great and rare feature of nò art. The actor has his intentions when he goes on stage, but an audience, made up of varied people, will have varied responses to a performance. For the audience nò is long and it can be tedious. There are many ways a spectator can view nò. For example, when you listen to classical music, say Beethoven’s Third Symphony, you don’t have a story to follow , and that’s a good attitude to take at...