The Written Face (review)

Abstract

THE WRITTEN FACE. Directed by Daniel Schmid. Brooklyn: Icarus Films. 89 minutes. Color. 1995. $440. This is a stunning, if problematic, documentary film centering on the great kabuki female-role specialist (onnagata) Bando Tamasaburo V, now available as a videotape from Icarus Films (32 Court Street, 21st floor, Brooklyn, NY 11201; www.frif.com). It contains no narration, makes no attempt to explain its goals, combines arty surrealism with straightforward interview-like comments from its subjects, and provides sequences that are among the most wonderfully evocative in any documentary focusing on traditional Japanese theatre. Whether it can be recommended for classroom use will depend on the students' level of preparation, the teacher's sensitivity and background, and the nature and goals of the class. It is a film that is easy to watch and appreciate, and one that is often puzzlingly, even annoyingly, ambiguous. Schmid focuses on the art of Tamasaburo, forty-five when the film was made, but does not show him in the conventional world of big-city kabuki. Only a specialist would be aware, however, that we are watching performances by Tamasaburo at the Yachiyo-za in Yamaga, or the Uchiko-za on the island of Shikoku, out-of-the-way provincial playhouses that Tamasaburo enjoys playing because they retain the traditional intimacy and architectural features associated with Edo-period theatres. Similarly, few viewers will be aware that an important dance sequence featuring Tamasaburo is not traditional kabuki but is a modern dance in nihon buyo style. In fact, the only classical kabuki sequences are scenes from Seki no To and Sagi Musume, the latter clearly influenced by modernist aesthetics. Often, as we view Tamasaburo dancing, the director cuts to odd scenes of the actor--in contemporary male clothing--exploring the theatre's ancient cellar, talking about the art of acting women, putting on his makeup or costume, or even sitting in the old-fashioned pit watching himself perform on stage. We are, perhaps, being reminded of the division between the actor and the roles he plays--although in Tamasaburo's case his offstage persona is often as intriguingly theatrical as his onstage face. Where, we wonder, is the real Tamasaburo? Then we realize that the actor's entire life is a construction designed to make him reach the levels of artistry necessary to achieve transformation into the women he portrays. …