The master’s back
October 17, 2005 | 12:00am
Afriend of mine, educated in Western schools, endeavored to ask a Japanese mentor some pertinent subject-related questions. The reply was, "Study the master’s back." A Japanese approach to the creative process might give Filipinos an atypical formula for innovation. Studying the master’s back can teach a lot more than lectures. Lucky are we that after the dramatic Butoh performance at the CCP comes an unraveling of Noh.
The Noh master, Naohiko Umewaka, comes from one of Japan’s most distinguished Noh families with a lineage running 600 years. Having directed and choreographed a number of Noh plays, he opted to rouse Filipino audiences with his contemporary work, The Coffee Shop Within A Play. We find 13 characters in a rehearsal for a play, with Mr. Umewaka himself playing the role of Dancer. In a nutshell, the story revolves around a director directing a director directing a director directing actors (it is not as confusing in actual performance). The play puts across a thought-provoking idea: looking at the rewards versus the injuries of authority versus subjection.
In a coffee shop, we have a director, Naomi Villa, taking charge of her actors. Her character is exacting. She directs Cheryl Ramos who plays a director, and under Villa’s ruthless coaching, Ramos’ character is given to fits of psychotic edginess. As soon as the seat of power is transferred, comes the interesting shift. Ramos transforms from terrified actor to tyrannical director. As director, she begins to coerce Arlo de Guzman, who plays a director directing two characters in the coffee shop. De Guzman behaves timidly but as soon as he is given the reins, he becomes the same kind of despot. Just when we think we have enough directors, a fourth one materializes. Madeleine Nicholas plays the most despotic tyrant of all, being the "real" director. So it’s all about authority cracking authority cracking authority…
It is suggested that the coffee shop is swallowed up by fire and the characters’ dead bodies are among the ruins. They reappear in white to join the Dancer, played by Umewaka, the real director who is a ghost. What can that mean? Anything, as always, depending on one’s interpretation. Everything lies below the surface. The play is a fantastic sketch of humanity enmeshed in power playing – all for naught – and superiority shriveling down to inferiority depending on the seat one takes or is given.
Most significant is the illustration of hard-hitting directors (a dying breed, thank God) reduced to nonentities when the role calls for it. There are a lot out there in real life who play leader roles badly and all because deep inside they are crumbling and only pretending.
While applying the principles of traditional Noh, Umewaka speaks to his audiences with a modern tongue, assuring its timelessness. The 14th century art form is handed over to present-day audiences the way it was handed to the nobility of the Japanese Muromachi period. Umewaka shapes truth with less force, magnifying it in the process. He shows us his mentor’s back and teaches through suggestion. It’s a very graspable approach that slinks Noh into minds.
Snapping from submissiveness to ruthlessness is a feat for any actor. Cheryl Ramos and Arlo de Guzman were particularly remarkable in their performances. De Guzman’s "oddness" and cleverly improvised movements were particularly hilarious, Ramos’ switch from washout to oppressor was extraordinary, Madeleine Nicolas exploited her the director role splendidly and credibly, while Jose Legaspi, with his dry wit, was appealing as the Man. I saw the English version which was quite strained. I heard the Pilipino version was a lot more uproarious. Let’s hope UP, CCP and the Japan Foundation give us a repeat performance when Umewaka returns.
Enough people have a fear of theater and a lot more would have a fear of Noh. It is too slow, too abstracted, too Japanese. Because of Umewaka’s efforts, Filipinos would be curious to see where all this comes from: Zeami’s Noh, 14th century Noh with elegant dancing and masks speaking of Japanese myths. The master himself has endeavored to make his audiences ask questions based on a lesson they understood. He showed us Noh now to open our minds to Noh yesterday.
The Noh master, Naohiko Umewaka, comes from one of Japan’s most distinguished Noh families with a lineage running 600 years. Having directed and choreographed a number of Noh plays, he opted to rouse Filipino audiences with his contemporary work, The Coffee Shop Within A Play. We find 13 characters in a rehearsal for a play, with Mr. Umewaka himself playing the role of Dancer. In a nutshell, the story revolves around a director directing a director directing a director directing actors (it is not as confusing in actual performance). The play puts across a thought-provoking idea: looking at the rewards versus the injuries of authority versus subjection.
In a coffee shop, we have a director, Naomi Villa, taking charge of her actors. Her character is exacting. She directs Cheryl Ramos who plays a director, and under Villa’s ruthless coaching, Ramos’ character is given to fits of psychotic edginess. As soon as the seat of power is transferred, comes the interesting shift. Ramos transforms from terrified actor to tyrannical director. As director, she begins to coerce Arlo de Guzman, who plays a director directing two characters in the coffee shop. De Guzman behaves timidly but as soon as he is given the reins, he becomes the same kind of despot. Just when we think we have enough directors, a fourth one materializes. Madeleine Nicholas plays the most despotic tyrant of all, being the "real" director. So it’s all about authority cracking authority cracking authority…
It is suggested that the coffee shop is swallowed up by fire and the characters’ dead bodies are among the ruins. They reappear in white to join the Dancer, played by Umewaka, the real director who is a ghost. What can that mean? Anything, as always, depending on one’s interpretation. Everything lies below the surface. The play is a fantastic sketch of humanity enmeshed in power playing – all for naught – and superiority shriveling down to inferiority depending on the seat one takes or is given.
Most significant is the illustration of hard-hitting directors (a dying breed, thank God) reduced to nonentities when the role calls for it. There are a lot out there in real life who play leader roles badly and all because deep inside they are crumbling and only pretending.
While applying the principles of traditional Noh, Umewaka speaks to his audiences with a modern tongue, assuring its timelessness. The 14th century art form is handed over to present-day audiences the way it was handed to the nobility of the Japanese Muromachi period. Umewaka shapes truth with less force, magnifying it in the process. He shows us his mentor’s back and teaches through suggestion. It’s a very graspable approach that slinks Noh into minds.
Snapping from submissiveness to ruthlessness is a feat for any actor. Cheryl Ramos and Arlo de Guzman were particularly remarkable in their performances. De Guzman’s "oddness" and cleverly improvised movements were particularly hilarious, Ramos’ switch from washout to oppressor was extraordinary, Madeleine Nicolas exploited her the director role splendidly and credibly, while Jose Legaspi, with his dry wit, was appealing as the Man. I saw the English version which was quite strained. I heard the Pilipino version was a lot more uproarious. Let’s hope UP, CCP and the Japan Foundation give us a repeat performance when Umewaka returns.
Enough people have a fear of theater and a lot more would have a fear of Noh. It is too slow, too abstracted, too Japanese. Because of Umewaka’s efforts, Filipinos would be curious to see where all this comes from: Zeami’s Noh, 14th century Noh with elegant dancing and masks speaking of Japanese myths. The master himself has endeavored to make his audiences ask questions based on a lesson they understood. He showed us Noh now to open our minds to Noh yesterday.
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