Painfully funny

Dourly urban and financially fraught, Osaka is nevertheless, with its Yoshimoto slapstick, TV knockabout and traditional rakugo, Japan's king of comedy. Why is that?

If the biggest laughs truly are born from the greatest miseries, it may come as no surprise why Osaka is such a powerful force in the world of comedy. The prefecture the city sits in is ¥5 trillion in the red; buildings and businesses seem to open and shutter at the speed of sound. And however much traction the city's mighty "rebranding" effort is getting overseas, the people of Japan (particularly those uppity people in Tokyo - kidding!) have made up their minds about Osaka's numerous real or purported ••• cultural drawbacks, shall we say.

'Kansai (re: Osaka) People.' 'Osaka Obachans.' Slurs for sure, though the city - perhaps sensing that the refined, genteel grace of Kyoto and the cutting-edge internationalism of Tokyo are far out of reach - seems to have taken the stereotypes in stride, cheerfully embracing its reputation as the slightly "off" cousin to be kept away from good company as it solidifies, daily, its status of Comedy King of Kansai, and of Japan.

And with very good reason: the rapid-fire, ping-pong con- versations that marked busi- ness negotiations in old-time Osaka have been reborn in manzai (traditional, two person comedy), and the city is all the richer for it. Osaka didn't invent manzai; it did, however - through local entertainment juggernaut Yoshimoto Kogyo - coin the word and invent the kanji for it in 1933, and champion the lightning-fast "Osaka manzai" that now dominates all of Japan.

It's not just manzai, either. It is hard not to overestimate just how important the comedy business is to Osaka: tourists come from prefectures far and wide to witness locally-trained rakugo masters (and mistresses) up close and personal at any of the numerous performance halls in the city; locals and vacationers lucky enough to get tickets flock to the Yoshimoto Kogyo per- formances in Namba's Grand Kagetsu Theater, giving ample business to the takoyaki stands that dot the approach to the theater. Politically, local lawmakers have discovered just how far a sharp wit and good comedic timing can get you with Kansai residents: newly-minted, 38-year-old lawyer-turned-Osaka Prefecture Governor Toru Hashimoto yukked it up but good in the weeks prior to January's general election, riding the goodwill of fans from his time on the TV variety circuit (as well as a heavy endorsement from comedian-turned-Miyazaki Prefecture Gover- nor Hideo Higashikokubaru) to a landslide victory. (Hashimoto stated that his first order of business would be to get rid of the prefecture's crushing debt - which, apparently, was not a joke.)

Of key importance to comedy in Osaka is the aforementioned Yoshimoto Kogyo entertainment group. A combination of Julliard and the William Morris Agency, Yoshimoto is where comedy begins and ••• well, if not ends, continues in Japan. Begun in Osaka in 1912, the agency is a mash-up live per- formance hall, talent agency, promotion company, entertainment complex and training facility for new talent. Yoshimoto's New Star Creation agency is responsible for developing some of the most popular acts on TV today, many of whom can be found on shows like the baffling Enta no Kamisama (The God of Entertainment; Saturday, 10pm, NTV). Yoshimoto standard-bearers like the uber manzai duo Downtown (the short, somewhat cruel Masatoshi Hamada; the bald, mustachioed Hitoshi Matsumoto; keep your TV on and you'll see them eventually) give great hope to the amateur comedians and manzai duos practicing their routines in public as they keep a lookout for the big break they seem to definitely know is coming.

The local comedy certainly isn't going anywhere, after all; as they say, if you can't laugh at yourself - and Osaka certainly can - someone else probably will.

The other universal language

As it goes, everyone in the world laughs, but comedy itself doesn't travel particularly well; the biggest challenge in foreign language-communication may arguably be telling a joke successfully. Osaka resident - and Liverpool native - Diane Kichijitsu (formerly Orrett) has been doing just that, however, performing the very traditional Japanese comedic storytelling art of rakugo in both her native English and the local tongue. A fixture on the rakugo circuit for 10 years running (and a familiar face on NHK TV culture showcases), Kichijitsu has thrived in an arena where women (to say nothing of foreign women) aren't exactly prolific. Here, the performer speaks about rakugo artistry, the universality of comedy and what happens when one gets an eye transplant from a dog.

Kansai Scene: How many shows did you do last weekend?

Diane Kichijitsu: Three - all in different places, all for different audiences whom I had to prepare differently for. One was a sign language show in front of 500 people, which was a really good experience.

Your preparations differ according to the audience?

For the sign-language shows, obviously. But I also perform diffe- rently for Japanese audiences and for foreigners who don't live in Japan; there are some references non-Japanese simply won't get. I performed Saturday for a group of Japanese high school students - in English. It was a challenge to not lose them on words they wouldn't understand, but it was great how much they responded.

That's a bit surprising.

It was nice to see how even the younger generation responded to it. I think rakugo is enjoying a bit of a boom now, actually; it seems to be getting more and more popular. NHK has a show on now that has performances every day.

How long have you been performing?

I got into it in 1998, started performing in 1999. It was just a hobby at first, no pressure at all. It just grew from there. I got more bookings, more invitations to perform.

Do you feel the stories are universal?

Absolutely. Foreign audiences and Japanese audiences may laugh at different points in the story, but they both still laugh. This is the story I did for the high school students, Inu no Me - I re- titled it 'The Eye Doctor': a man's having eye trouble, so he goes to the doctor. The doctor takes out his eyes, gives them a good wash, but then discovers that the eyes have grown too big to be put back in the man's head. The doctor leaves the man's eyes out in the garden, where a dog eats them. The eyeless man is obviously upset by this, so the doctor goes, Ok, we'll give you the dog's eyes instead. He takes the dog's eyes, puts them in the man. One week later, the man goes back to the doctor. The doctor goes, How are the eyes? The man says, Well, fine - except that every time I see a lamppost now, I lift one of my legs. That story was written over 100 years ago; I first heard the punchline to it as a child in Britain.

Is 'getting' Japanese comedy really just a matter of learning the language?

Of course, learning Japanese helps you to understand what's going on. I think living in Japan is just as important, though, as far as understanding why something is funny, getting the refe- rences, relating more to the jokes.

What's your opinion of local comedy in general, particularly manzai?

There's a lot of slapstick in it, I think, compared to British and American comedy. Manzai ••• people slapping each other across the head, and all of that. When I first arrived in Japan, I really didn't get it.

And now that you've lived in Japan for awhile?

>Well, no, I still don't get it! [Laughing] For a lot of manzai, it seemed when I first started watching it that they would just take one joke and repeat it over and over, until people got sick of it. I thought for a while that Japanese comedy really lacked originality - but as I've seen more, I've realized that's not true.

A lot of the comedy acts on TV seem to focus on novelty – wacky catch phrases, strange outfits and the like. Comedians like Guitar Samurai and Razor Ramon HG come and go quickly.

I think that a lot of those guys know they have a short life ahead of them. The really good comedians, though, they stay on TV for years and years.

You appear on television a lot.

I get a lot of support from television, and NHK. It's nice as long as the producers aren't like "Do this, Say this, Don't say this", and give me space to perform my rakugo.

There've been a few stories about foreigners being pigeonholed on television in the way you just described.

It used to be, if you were a foreigner on TV, you had to do things a certain way, and act a certain way, and say or not say a lot of things. As long as you didn't try to do or say anything interesting, you were fine. And that was quite frustrating. I do think that there may be a bit more freedom now, though.

What would you say is more difficult, two-person manzai standup comedy, or rakugo?

Definitely rakugo. Rakugo takes years, years of practice. And you sit as you perform, and only have two props: a hanky and a fan.

There don't seem to be many women performing.

Rakugo is very much a man's world. When I first started performing, people were like, "Oh, look at her, she's so cute! Trying to perform rakugo and all. Well, then, best of luck to you, dearie! Ha ha!" And then when I didn't stop, and people began to realize I was serious about performing, they panicked a little. The thing to remember, is that rakugo has a 300-year-old history, and that a lot of the older stories were written by men, for men, about men.

Are there any other women performing rakugo?

I know a few - Katsura Ayame, for example. And I know a lot of women doing it as a hobby. There are actually five women performing around Osaka, and probably about 20 or so in Tokyo.

Are there a lot of the kohai-sempai [junior apprentice-senior leader] relationships in rakugo?

Absolutely. Behind the scenes, it's a very formal world. It's all about who you greet when you walk into a room, the order you greet them in, that kind of thing. Being a woman in the rakugo world, and a foreigner on top of that; I suppose they didn't know what to do with me!

What do you think people had more difficulty with, you being a foreigner or you being a woman?

Being a foreigner. I realized if I'd been a Japanese girl, they would have spoken to me very differently. Still, people have been really good to me, and always willing to give me advice. In rakugo, it's the small changes that completely change the character: not pointing to your nose when you talk about yourself to signal a non-Japanese character in the story; pulling your shoulders back when you play a samurai; slouching a little when you play a company employee. It's good having people who will to point out small things you can change in your performance.

Where do you see yourself five years from now?

I'd definitely like to write more stories; I have tons of notes lying around. I'd like to put a book together some day, too! And I really hope to develop more sign-language rakugo. And spread the word about rakugo to more foreigners. It's surprising, the amount of people who think Japanese people have no sense of humor.

Text: Jeff Lo • Images: Atmo Nartan