Kentaro Kujirai, U-BU-SU-NA Review

Butoh, developed in Japan just after World War II, is very much a product of its time. Japan was defeated and humiliated, its culture suppressed. Butoh emerged as a rebellion, subverting conventional dance practices, focusing on taboo topics and incorporating vivid movement and grotesque imagery.

As a dance form it’s meant to be powerful rather than pretty, though it has moments of undoubted beauty, I would argue, though, that as a concept it is far too alien to communicate itself entirely to a Western audience, though judging by U-BU-SU-NA it has the occasional ability to enrapture.

Kentaro Kujirai is widely acknowledged to be one of the foremost exponents of the genre; U-BU-SU-NA, which he devised in collaboration with the dramaturg Shuri Kido, an award-winning poet known for his translations of Ezra Pound into Japanese, and Japanese sound artist and composer Fujita, is an intense, uncompromising 60 minutes developing as episodes, sometimes consecutively, at other times concurrently.

U-BU-SU-NA is an ancient Japanese word meaning 'the mystical divine power that protects the land and those who live there' and the piece purports to interrogate ‘the tension between contemporary urbanism and Japan’s ancient spiritual heritage’.

It’s performed in near darkness to an unnerving soundtrack that consists mostly of noise - industrial, electronic rumbles overlaid with dripping water, metallic clicks and at one point birdsong. After about 45 minutes the famous ‘Casta Diva’ aria from Bellini’s opera Norma provides balm for sore ears, though I’m not entirely sure of its role in the overall production.

Kujirai himself seems to embody the qualities of butoh: his thin frame, prominent cheekbones and stern black dress suggest an ethereal quality, which is soon dispelled by the very physical energy of his movements, arms creating sweeping circles in front of him, even as he swirls around the stage.

Gradually he is joined by three dancers: Makoto Sadakata, Izumi Noguchi, and Hirohisa Kanamori. There is never coordinated dance; rather, in individual costumes created by KMRii, C.R.O.W. design lab, each seems to do their own thing.

Sadakata lies on the ground, knees raised above her, feet flexed, as if in a strange meditation posture while around her the men do their own thing, stomping, turning, panting and at times vocalising,

At one point, a performer in a bright red shirt sweeps the stage with a broom also sweeping away a lying dancer.

Soon after, they sit in a semi-circle and hold a fragmentary conversation in Japanese.

The strangeness of the whole performance can’t be denied; and I, for one, regretted not knowing a lot more about butoh in order to be able to penetrate the real meaning of this piece, some of which I found enthralling, though its stated intent to portray the tension between contemporary Japan and its ancient heritage escaped me completely.

And that is the reason why I feel unable to give this performance a star rating.