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| Leonard Pronko. If anyone can identify the conference at which the photos of Leonard were taken (the workshop one below will help), please notify me/ |
Leonard Cabell Pronko (1927-2019) passed away on November 27. A professor at Pomona College, Claremont, CA, he was one of the West's leading experts on kabuki, although he was also a scholar of modern French theatre. He not only wrote about kabuki in books and articles, but actually practiced it, giving performances as well as directing college students in traditional kabuki in English, Western plays written for kabuki-style performance, and classics, like Macbeth, conceived in kabuki style. He was a larger-than-life presence, a charismatic teacher, world traveler, and the warmest of friends.
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| With Leonard and another scholar. I'm in the middle. Please let me know if you recognize the man on the left. |
I first met him in Tokyo, in 1963, when he was on a Guggenheim research trip to study Asian theatre, and I was an East-West Fellowship student studying kabuki for my MFA at the University of Hawaii, where I would do for my thesis--a production of Brecht's The Caucasian Chalk Circle in kabuki style--what Len would spend his life doing and both writing and lecturing about.
We had a prolific correspondence over the years, sharing our work, and happy for the occasions provided by professional activities to get together somewhere every now and so often.
To my knowledge, the first publication expressing his ideas about kabuki was an interview in Engekikai, January 1964. I still have that issue and have translated it below, perhaps a bit roughly, but close enough to Len's words to convey their intentions. He appears to have given the interview in both English and Japanese, which surprises me as I wasn't aware that his Japanese at that early stage in his kabuki interests was so advanced.
Pay attention to the interstitial notes of the interviewer, Nagano Reiko, whose reactions to Leonard's obviously enthusiastic discourse show how impressed she was.
We had a prolific correspondence over the years, sharing our work, and happy for the occasions provided by professional activities to get together somewhere every now and so often.
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| Leonard Pronko conducting a kabuki workshop. |
Pay attention to the interstitial notes of the interviewer, Nagano Reiko, whose reactions to Leonard's obviously enthusiastic discourse show how impressed she was.
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| Leonard Pronko. |
The pictures below show the cover of Engekikai, January 1964, and the two-page interview itself.
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| Cover of Engekikai, January 1964, showing Ichikawa Danjūrō as Kumedera Danjō in Kenuki. |
“Foreigners’ Views
of Kabuki:
Leonard Pronko”
Interviewed by Reiko
Nagano
Translated by Samuel
L. Leiter
Engekikai,
January 1964: pp. 110-111
Leonard Pronko: Kabuki is fantastic. Really fantastic. I’ve seen nō and bunraku but I don't think there's anything better than kabuki.
Ever since I arrived in Japan in June I’ve been completely
captivated by kabuki. . . . I’ve been going an average of three times
a month, sometimes as often as five. For example, the recent full-length
production of Yoshitsune Senbon Zakura. . . . I saw a rehearsal, and
then four performances. The next month I went to Nagoya for two days
of kabuki in a row. I’m squeezed into the Kabuki-za from 10:30 a.m. to after 9:00 p.m.
but I just don’t get tired. At night, even when I’m in bed with my eyes
closed, stage scenes flit by my eyes, one after the other. . . . Once I’m caught up
in that world, the dream drama unfolding before my eyes makes me forget everything
else. Kabuki has such a strange attraction and atmosphere, an attraction I don’t
see in Western theatre, so I absolutely must
study it.
[Nagano: He speaks rapidly, his tone passionate from the get-go.
Now and then Mr. Pronko interjects rather good Japanese into the conversation.
A professor of French literature at Pomona College,
California, he focuses on French theatre (while embracing all of Western
theatre) and its mutual relationship with Asian theatre. He currently holds a
Guggenheim Fellowship allowing him to visit Asia to research its theatre in
situ.
He studied at Paris’s famed Charles Dullin École and Théâtre
National Populaire, among other institutions, and became fascinated by kabuki,
so different from Western theatre. He says he plans to publish a book about
kabuki in the near future. He also has directed plays at his college. Mr. Pronko
offered thoughts on kabuki that make him different from all those other foreigners
who recently have suddenly have taken such an interest in kabuki.]
Pronko: There are many Western theatre practitioners, especially
actors and directors, who should be learning from Japanese traditional theatre,
kabuki, noh, and bunraku. The basis of my current research involves pointing
out their particular excellences. To begin with, Western drama tends to be
overly intellectual, and theatregoers are forced to concentrate on the dialogue
and its symbolic meanings.
Kabuki, on the contrary, is filled with a great abundance
of beauties and pleasures. It synthesizes the delights of many stage arts into
a single one. Take, for instance, Senbon Zakura, which skillfully blends
the flamboyant stylization of aragoto acting with the elements of realistic
sewa, everyday-style acting. The gorgeous spectacle of the michiyuki travel-dance scene is matched—in the true sense of the word—by the “dramatic” quality of
the “Tōkaiya” scene. The three components of drama, music, and dance are in perfect
harmony, providing a truly enjoyable experience.
[Nagano: His specialized interests aside, Mr.
Pronko’s deep knowledge and enthusiasm practically bowled me over. Soon, he
spoke of the differences between realism and theatrical stylization.]
Pronko: It’s once again necessary to reconsider
Western realism. In this connection, what we study in kabuki touches the fundamental
nature of theatre. Modern Western theatre usually has pursued realism, seeking
to reproduce the reality of life on stage. However, actuality on stage is no
more than an outline. It’s impossible to put real life on stage. Even so, kabuki,
at first sight having no relation to realism, actually creates a kind of
realism that goes beyond an outline. Through the transcendence of kabuki’s
uniquely stylized acting, so-called realism beautifully enlarges the actuality
of real life, transforming its appearance, and crafting a theatrical reality sublimated
by the stage, which is how I understand it. Since the theory of realism is
transcended, it has no limits in kabuki.
How can this theatrical reality lucidly handle things like complex,
difficult, psychological issues? For example, there’s Matsuō in “Terakoya.” On
the realistic stage, Matsuō’s expressions as he stares at the severed head of
his own son, would seem ridiculously exaggerated. But the exaggerated movements
of his eyes and eyebrows enhance Matsuō’s anguish, making them all the more
powerfully expressive. Ichikawa Danjūrō XI’s Matsuō was exceptional, wasn’t it?
He raised his eyebrows like this, used his eyes like this, raised his voice
like this. . . . (Mr. Pronko demonstrated with considerable facility.)
I think the greatest ingredient in kabuki’s unique arsenal
of stylized acting is the mie pose. The moment a mie performed,
the hero’s expression and state of mind are proportionately enlarged. There’s
no way that Western theatre’s realism can match such overwhelming expressiveness.
The scene when Nikki Danjō rises on the hanamichi in Meiboku Sendai
Hagi’s “Yuka no Shita” scene, or his entrance in that play’s “Ninjō” scene
are classics of this device. I can only imagine how exciting it would be if Shakespeare’s
plays, Macbeth, for example, were to use such stylized kabuki techniques.
It’s easy to understand the emphatic effect brought to the stage by kabuki’s painted-face makeup (kumadori) and its elaborate costumes. That is, stylized methods like these bind style and objective in perfect unity. The actor’s every movement being thus enlarged, he's totally invested, down to his toe-tips, with nothing wasted, his body no less powerful than his facial expressions. In contrast, the Western actor’s arms and legs are little more than long, useless appendages.
[Nagano: The more fervently he enthuses about
kabuki, the faster his speech grows. I asked Mr. Pronko, who could talk about
kabuki all day, what it is in kabuki that a foreigner likes, and what obstacles
there are to understanding it.]
Pronko: The language, of course, is a big problem. Even though the way
the actors express themselves and use their costumes during the gidayū narration
and the long scenes of dialogue are understandable, it’s not so easy to
follow the complex situations and the development of the plot. But isn’t that
true for the average Japanese? Performers and aficionados have no problem
following the give and take of the original scripts. They may perversely insist
in sticking to the originals but if the audience can’t understand they’ll
get bored and things will backfire. I wonder what would happen if
they thought about revising the scripts in a way that wouldn’t damage the
originals. A full-length version of Hamlet would take four hours to perform but, according to a director’s interpretation,
it’s normal for it to get shortened to three or three and a half hours. I feel
that this kind of thing is one way that kabuki could learn something from
Western theatre practice.
And what of the objections
to the feudalistic thematic backgrounds? There are many examples, like, for
instance, one motif that's hard to accept as is would be the sacrifice of one’s
own child for the sake of one’s master. I guess you simply have to transcend it. But
the fundamental theme of loyalty and fidelity are universal, and feelings of
anguish, doubt, and sorrow supersede all differences of social systems. The
point is whether or not you can empathize with the drama.
What about the onnagata? This, too, is something representative of what makes kabuki performance
unique and outstanding. Even to eyes that know a man is performing as a woman
there’s absolutely nothing strange about it because, oddly, it makes concrete
the essence of femininity. The other day, when I saw a shinpa performance in which an actress and an onnagata appeared together
on the same stage, I was shocked by the difference in how “woman” was shown.
That’s because the onnagata was rather natural and seemed quite womanish.
The onnagata’s voice is fine, you know. While it’s a
constructed voice you could also say it’s a theatrical voice. (Here he gives his impression of an onnagata’s voice.) In a manner of
speaking, you could think of it as feeling like a piece of ancient, worn-out silk.
[Nagano: Of course, this is Mr. Pronko’s personal
interpretation. I then asked him about his thoughts, critical and otherwise, on
kabuki’s present and future existence.]
Pronko: The new kabuki
plays (shinsaku mono) won’t do. Kabuki has kabuki performance
methods, and there are many fine plays. And kabuki theatregoers want to see “kabuki.” Something creates a desire to do plays that imitate
the methods of modern drama. I can’t help thinking that the staging methods of
recent shinsaku are committing a serious error with regard
to kabuki’s future. I’m not saying that plays dealing with
contemporary issues shouldn't be produced; for example, even Chikamatsu's plays have
realistic aspects and new themes. Nevertheless, they’re performed within the
framework of kabuki tradition. If shinsaku are absolutely necessary, I think this is
how they should be performed.
I hear that the younger
generation is unfamiliar with kabuki, which is really a shame. This superb form
of theatre has been transmitted to us down the years but its value is unknown. When
only the world’s actuality is shown, what happens is that there’s no room to
enjoy the world of drama. One solution is to give kids a chance to experience
kabuki from their childhood on. It’s imperative that the younger generation
knows kabuki and grows up within its atmosphere. This will give birth to a new
life for kabuki. France has a system for introducing classical drama to
children. They may not completely understand it, but they at least acquire a
familiarity with classical drama.
[Nagano: The face of Engekikai’s Tsurumi-san, who was
present, lit up at the mention of a kabuki classroom (kabuki kyōshitsu). . . . . SLL: A regular system of special performances for
schoolchildren was already in place, and continues today.]
Pronko: That’s excellent.
If more assistance could be provided for it, and if there were guidance for
the mutual benefit of the younger generation of actors and audiences, it would really be great for everyone.
[Nagano: Mr. Pronko, who was anticipating the imminent
arrival in Japan of visits by traditional Chinese and Indian performances,
concluded thusly:)
Pronko: How much will Western
theatre, ignorant till now of Eastern theatre, be able to learn from it? In
order to know concretely, nothing’s better than to actually see different types
of theatre. After I return to America, I’m going to look for such opportunities.
I think I want to create plays that use kabuki style, and perform them. The
themes may be my own, but they will make full use of kabuki techniques. I
sincerely hope that they will give rise to theatrical harmony.
