I almost cannot believe that this kabuki journey has come to an end. It seems only yesterday that we were down in the Music Building, doing vocal warmups, and just starting to learn how to do all of this.
Tonight was the final performance. We still have a post-mortem meeting, to sort of go over what we thought was good and bad about the way training (classes), rehearsals, and the production itself were handled, and then we also have our official cast party at the director’s house. But, for all intents and purposes, today was the last day. Today was the last day we put on our makeup, put on our costumes and our wigs, said our lines, did our scenes. Actually, it’s funny, I’ve known for a long time that today would be the last day for makeup and wigs and costumes, and for seeing the set, and even for being in the building on a regular basis, and all of that – and consciously was aware of these things, at least on some level. But up until I wrote that previous sentence, it hadn’t really occurred to me, or it hadn’t really sunk in, that we wouldn’t be saying our lines, or doing our scenes, again. In a way, that’s really the saddest part, actually.
I came to realize in the last few weeks, while doing the actual performances, that, unlike was the case for many of my fellow cast members, for me I don’t think I really enjoyed being on stage so much as I enjoyed being backstage. I mean, that is to say, it’s not like backstage was a rollicking party, but I didn’t really get as much out of being on stage as other people might. For me, it’s not about the acting, it’s about the idea of being involved and not feeling left out (while the show is going on), the idea of having been involved (once it’s over), and the social interactions and close friendships that are borne out of sharing such an experience. Inside jokes, fun stories, and just shared experience.
Which is not to say I disliked being on stage. Certainly not. It could be kind of boring at times, and certainly, it was difficult to stay in character and to sit still or move the right way or whatever, to not “break” and crack up at funny bits, all those kinds of things. And sometimes sitting for so long hurt, and sometimes the makeup was uncomfortable, or the wig hurt. But, really, being on stage was not an unpleasant experience at all. It was just, sort of, a neutral experience. Possibly largely due to the role I had, which consisted primarily of sitting and either staring out into the audience, or watching the action around me and reacting in small ways in my facial expressions, in the background. That, and a very brief fight scene.
Returning to the point, I guess I surprise myself to realize just now how much I am indeed going to miss saying our lines and doing our scenes, and being our characters. I’ll never again see my friends in that makeup, in those costumes, and all of our scenes, our lines, will be relegated to old stories, to inside jokes, and not to currently living, embodied, identity or experience, if you follow what I’m saying. Those things that were “my” lines or “my” parts, are no longer really mine. Now, suddenly, they are simply something I used to do, something I once did.
But anyway, moving on… I am amazed, surprised, and pleased to realize how far I have come. At first, I was hesitant to even be in the voice & movement classes, knowing I was so totally inexperienced and feeling, not necessarily intimidated by individual classmates and their skills and experience, but feeling like I was dragging the class down, or was just in over my head. There were some majorly discouraging and depressing times last term, and while I don’t think there was any point that I was truly genuinely on the verge of actually quitting, there were definitely very difficult times. And then the term came to an end, and I didn’t think I was going to audition. But I auditioned, and I got in, and not only did I get a part that was just the right size for me, but I was also offered dramaturg. And we slogged through rehearsals, and we had a great time. It was grueling at times, it was far too much rehearsal at times, and there were definitely times that I was annoyed, or even I would go so far as to say I was pissed, that we had rehearsal on a given night, when I really wanted to be somewhere else. And I am sure that I had some serious difficulties. But, dress rehearsals came and went, and when opening day came, I wasn’t nervous at all. I went out there and did what I had practiced, as if it had become second nature, essentially. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I still had to consciously think about what my cues were, and such, and sort of prepare myself. And of course I didn’t do it perfectly – it could always have gone better. And I’m still nowhere near thinking I’m able to take on a starring role or anything. But, for what little I had to do, I went and I did it, like it was just something I had to do. Oh, okay, it’s time now to do that thing. One, two, three, done and done. Now I can take a break.
What do I feel about the whole production, in the end? Well, in some ways I feel like I expected to feel. I am extremely happy to have done it, to have been involved, to have not missed out. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I really wish that we could continue having movement class. Maybe this is weird, maybe this is just me, maybe my fellow cast members (i.e. those people who are actual “actors”, in the Theatre dept) would feel totally differently, but in a way I almost feel that the actual performance I could take it or leave it, and that the real skill, the real accomplishment, the real hobby or pursuit is in a longer-term, more regular and routine engagement in learning and practicing, moving and stage combat and all that. Just like a martial artist does not study and practice just for the one tournament, but engages in it on an ongoing basis, so too would I like to engage, on an ongoing basis, in immersing myself, for some time every week, in wearing kimono, and practicing gesturing or walking or fighting like a samurai, or like a courtesan, or like a chônin.
So, there’s that. I’m sad to see it culminate and end, rather than continuing on, like a hobby or a pursuit that I can actually continue to pursue, and really identify with and engage in….
And then there’s the question of just how kabuki this is. At the beginning of this school year, and indeed, I guess, towards the end of last school year, whenever it was that I discovered that they were doing the kabuki, I was super super excited to be in a kabuki. What an incredible, awesome, rare, exciting opportunity! As someone who has become (admittedly only in the last few years, but still) an avid fan of kabuki, who has seen a half dozen performances and eagerly would love to see more, I was practically bursting out of my skin at times with enjoyment and excitement at the prospect. But in the end, do I really feel like “omg, I was in a kabuki! I’m going to treasure this for the rest of my life!” Well, not yet. Not right now. Maybe I will later, as nostalgia more firmly sets in. But right now, I feel like I was in a college theatre production, which is still a huge step for me, a new experience, fun and exciting, but I’m not sure it really feels like kabuki. There were times last term, and earlier this term, perhaps, when I felt, for just a moment, like I was really immersed in it, but for whatever reason, being in makeup and costume and wig, being on stage, being backstage, actively engaged in actual performances, devoting my evenings to being there, didn’t really feel like “it” in the way that practice did. Does that make sense?
There was something about the practice/training process that felt more like true immersion into a Japanese art than performance did. There was something about the performance (there were a lot of things about the performance) that, I guess, were just too standard, too Western. The fact that it was in English; the ways the stage crew and all of that was run. The way things were ‘flown in’ on wires, and just the whole way things were run, I feel, outside of the relatively traditional methods and materials used in putting on our makeup, in the construction of the wigs, etc., not to mention, of course, the Western audience. … How different would this whole kabuki experience have been if the play were done in Japanese? Or if it culminated in a performance on an actual kabuki stage? Not that I mean to criticize – not at all. I’m just trying to work out my feelings on the matter, and why I might feel a certain way about it.
This whole post has been more or less stream of consciousness, and so I apologize for its length, and for its lack of cohesive organization. But, basically, that’s where I’m at right now. Those are my thoughts. I look forward to post-mortem and to the cast party, and am really sad to see it all coming to an end. Many of these people I will remain close friends with and will still see quite often, but, never again will it be quite the same dynamic. There will always be people missing from the equation, people who I was quite friendly with in the course of being castmates, but who I’m not sure I really foresee hanging out with short of bumping into one another… And, even with those friends with whom I remain close, never again will we see each other as frequently as we did this term. Our interactions will be limited pretty much to bumping into one another or making explicit plans. And that’s just how it is. It’s like the sadness of leaving summer camp. The highs of such active social interactions bring concordant lows, making alone time seem so much more lonely in the glow of what came before.
… But, returning to the point of the kabuki. This need not be the end. I could still go on to research and study kabuki, and I could, maybe, just maybe, if I do end up doing my PhD here, end up being in another kabuki production, the next time they do one :)