Francuski
What happens to newcomers to Japan when they venture into a puppet theatre? Do they remain “at the doorway” or do they dare to hope for the show to unfold and make sense? What vantage point can the spectator take when watching a performance in which the stage is split into two parts, the puppets’ bodies are separated from their voices, and the very concept of character seems to be perpetually breaking into fragments?In the theatre as everywhere else in Japan, doors consist of sliding panels. They open up successively, as each new question is asked: what gave rise to the concept of a three-pronged manipulation? Why do some puppeteers leave their faces uncovered while others do not? Why do several people take turns narrating during the same play? More importantly: how can both one space and one play be so fragmented and yet give an impression of such cohesiveness?For neophytes whose fascination is inspired by curiosity, this discovery-based journal can be read as an inquiry into the history of the theatrical and musical practices of an art more popular today than ever, and whose performances perpetuate those seen in the genre’s 18th-century “golden age.” One aspect of this art stands out: the incomparable use of voices, which induced the author-investigator to pursue his quest within himself, through an apprenticeship. The adventure thus ends in a face-to-face meeting between a master – Takemoto Koshiko, heir to the inventor of a vocal art to which the latter bequeathed his name, the gidayû – and a disciple that nothing had prepared for such a learning experience: the decanting from one ear into another of a lyrical heritage dating back more than three centuries.
