The Barbican Theatre presents
Searching for Shun-kin
Photo by Tsukasa Aoki By Simon McBurney/Complicite
Based on the writings of Jun’ichiro Tanizaki
Directed by Simon McBurney Design by Merle Hensel and Rumi Matsui Lighting by Paul Anderson Costume by Christina Cunningham Sound by Gareth Fry Projection by Finn Ross for mesmer Puppetry by Blind Summit Theatre
Barbican Theatre
30 January – 21 February 2009
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A review by Marion Drew for EXTRA! EXTRA!
The Japanese are masters of ambiguity says Simon McBurney, and his adaptation of the story of Shun-Kin is suffused and saturated with ambiguity. Set simultaneously in 1930’s Osaka in a sound studio, and in the late nineteenth century, the Meiji era, when aristocratic women spent their days in the shadows of oak rooms in the centre of the house, McBurney bases his play on two works from the famous Japanese novelist Jun’ichiro Tanizaki (1886-1965) both written in 1933; A Portrait of Shunkin and an essay on aesthetics In Praise of Shadows. The central story is unequivocally a love story, a sado-masochistic relationship between a blind, shamisen-playing prodigy born into an aristocratic family, and her lowly servant. But the skill of McBurney and the Japanese actors is in telling the story in such a way that one is not quite sure. At least superficially it seems clear. Almost too clear, and thus it seems that there is nothing much to see. There is none of the traditional drama usually associated with sex and violence that Western audiences have come to expect. But this is a story bathed in shadows, and one is forced to set aside this Western aesthetic and look more closely. Whose story is it? That of Shun-Kin, initially at least the overtly dominant partner, or of Sasuke, her seemingly submissive and devoted servant? Where does the real power in this shifting dynamic lie? The subtleties of the piece are worked through layers of narration; the actress reading the script in the studio; the narrator in the 1930s real time of the story who tells of his finding and reading of the book; and around them the actors working exquisitely, delicately in mime. Even Shun-Kin herself is ambiguous. Starting as a child puppet worked by the Blind Summit Theatre Company, she dissolves into part-puppet, part-woman and then into a real woman, the transition so deft that for a time you are not sure which is puppet, which woman. Throughout, you are never certain of quite what it is you are looking at; lengths of wood become trees, become doorways, become musical instruments; birds become paper, become books; light becomes shadow becomes light again, images flicker on kimonos, on paper and on the only solid thing on stage, the back wall of industrial Osaka, a constantly dissolving and reforming visual loveliness. Moments of shocking brutality and cruelty are set against those of exquisite tenderness and grace. There is a core of slow, deliberate stillness and purity to the play, with references to both Japanese noh and kabuki theatre traditions, where moral conflict is the central concern and players are accompanied by musicians playing traditional musical instruments, in this case a shamisen played by a musician on stage. A sound-scape, in which music from Max Richter to Radiohead merges imperceptibly with subtle sound effects of doors opening and closing, provides the backdrop to the eerie sound of this old Japanese instrument. Like the beauty in the blackness of a lacquer bowlful of clear soup referred to by Tanizaki, you have to come to this play prepared to ‘imagine, to see without seeing’, and if you do, the rewards are rich.
Photo by Tsukasa Aoki
The Pit 30th January until 21st February 2009 Tickets: £10-40
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