After five years, I arrived in Japan again, not only to meet him, but also unable to visit his hometown, which is somewhat regrettable.
But I am grateful for the fate between Kei-san and me, to be able to meet again in the theater before Kei-san turns 40.
I haven't grown much. XD
Relying too much on words, in situations where I can't understand, I can only vaguely feel a little outline.
This time, my position is further back, unlike last time when I could see the actors' performances more clearly.
But the helplessness and sorrow portrayed by Kei-san are so intuitively compelling that I want to embrace him.
Like a child eager to express himself, but not being heard, gradually shrinking, silently alienating. Still falling on stage with a bang.
Kei-san's voice has become hoarse, making his efforts in life more apparent.
There is a space resembling a control stage on the upper stage, obviously with profound metaphors, where many dramas unfold; and when the character played by Toyama-san approaches, there are several scenes that seem like a backlight storm coming from within.
Because I didn't understand, I don't know the true meaning, but that scene reminds me of "It's Snowing". Such an important bright snowstorm.
As Professor Takashi said, drama should not only stay at the level of "theater". Beyond words, physicality, presence, are very important. "It's Snowing" is devoid of language, and every time I watch it, I have a new understanding; the rhythmic nature of "Amahara" also allows me to further sense the meaning of literature may not be the most important. This time back in a Japanese theater, although I still only understand fragments of words, and watch in a fragmented manner, the director's meticulous arrangement and the actors' vocal intensity, I think I still receive a bit of it, not in vain.
Nao's acting skills are very admirable, and I am happy to witness her energy live this time. Each of the four played their roles well, feeling quite appropriate.
There is also a stage-like backdrop on the upper left side, and every arrangement on stage makes me feel like a lot of information is flowing out of it. At the curtain call, the actors all exit through the door. For a moment, it seemed as if I saw Kei-san's head lightly bumping against the door, trying to bid farewell in a cute way.
It's just a slight pity that if they could at least say a few words at the curtain call, it would be more comforting. Perhaps for the same reason—maybe it's not necessary to truly speak through words, the sincere wave on that end, the respectful applause on this end, was originally the most genuine form of communication.
39, Kei-san. And everyone who accompanied him.