Rashomon

A Spellbinding Puzzle Masterpiece From Japan a Test For the Mind
By: Michael L. Greenwald

Best known as the finest film in Japanese cinema, 'Rashomon' is actually a koan, a Zen riddle for which there is no logical answer (for example: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" Such paradoxical brain teasers promote intuitive understanding - or enlightenment.

Within the first minute of the stage version of "Rashomon" playing at the North Coast Repertory Theatre through Aug. 12, a Buddhist priest poses the quintessential koan: "What does make sense?"

The ensuing drama, adapted by Fay and Michael Kanin from Akira Kurosowa's revered 1950 film, attempts to make sense of the murder of a samurai and the rape of his wife. The NCRT production is enthralling, partly because of its beautifully coordinated technical values, partly because of a gifted, multicultural acting ensemble and partly because of David Ellenstein's sensitive direction.

Mostly, however, audiences remain spellbound because, like the perplexed monk, they are constantly forced to reassess their understanding of the murder as it is described by four witnesses.

Each has a conflicting, though believable-for-the-moment, account of events that transpired in a bamboo forest near the decaying Rashomon Temple (impressively rendered by Marty Burnett's scenic design). The protagonists re-enact their deeds as they are described in court.

Tajomari, the country's most feared and wicked nusubito (outlaw), is played with bravado by the hulking Richard Baird. His movements and voice suggest, without replicating, the arogato (manly) acting style employed by the brilliant Toshiro Mifune in the film. Obviously, Tajomari is the prime suspect, especially when he confesses to the murder.

But there are other confessions. The physical antitheses of Baird, diminutive Seema Sueko plays the samurai's faithful (or maybe not so faithful?) wife. It's a bravura performance, especially her confounding testimony that concludes act one.

The dead samurai (Mitchell Wyatt, a thin, dignified soldier and impressive swordsman) testifies via a holy medium (Jensen Olaya). The medium, clothed in one of Jeanne Reith's best costumes, mouths the warrior's words spoken from the beyond. Predictably, they only complicate the proceedings. Olaya's mesmerizing eyes are truly the windows to the samurai's tortured soul.

Finally, we hear from the woodcutter (Diep Huynh, solid in the play's most physically confined role). He claims that he watched the death from behind a bush, an account at odds with what he told us earlier. His revision prompts the most entertaining - and absurd - sequence in the play. More than any of the four versions of the samurai's death, the woodcutter most challenges our presumptions about what we've witnessed and, more importantly, how we respond to it.

So who's telling the truth? Who's lying? What's real? Not real? Sorting that out - if it can be sorted out - is the mind-warping joy of this mysterious koan.
We are, however, subjected to one teller of absolute truths, the wigmaker, a scruffy commoner who survives by selling hairpieces scavenged from the dead.

"Why do people run from the dead," he asks cynically, "when they should run from the living?"

Played with unabashed comic ferocity by Doren Elias, the wigmaker emerges as the allegory's moral compass. He's a kyogen, the Japanese counterpart to wise fools who wryly assess the folly of their betters in Shakespeare.

'Rashomon' is hardly typical summer fare, which is customarily reserved for frothier entertainments. Yet the NCRT's production is entertaining in the fullest sense of the term. Taut drama, more laughs than you'd expect in a Zen parable, thrilling swordplay (by David Barker), beautiful visuals, and fine, fine acting. All this, and an enigmatic riddle that begs discussion over green tea.

You may not leave Solana Beach knowing the sound of one hand clapping, but you will surely know the sound of hundreds of hands clapping, intensely.

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Fascinating 'Rashomon' looks at human nature from every angle
By: PAM KRAGEN - Staff Writer
As the saying goes, if you ask three people a question, you'll get three different answers. That's the idea behind "Rashomon," a spellbinding psychological drama playing at North Coast Repertory Theatre in Solana Beach.

The story of "Rashomon" was first told in 1950 by Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, who adapted it from two short stories by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. It was turned into a stage play in 1957 by Fay and Michael Kanin. The play examines a crime from four perspectives, each one wildly different, and highlights the subjectivity of memory and the power of manipulation.

In David Ellenstein's skillfully directed production at North Coast Rep, the 50-year-old play still has the power to grip an audience and this production surprises at every turn. "Rashomon" is told mostly in flashbacks through courtroom testimony, a setup that could be deadly dull in the wrong hands. But Ellenstein's well-acted staging, enhanced by Matt Novotny's stark and dramatic lighting and Chris Luessman's eerie sound design, is engrossing. And while the production's design is Japanese-inspired (Marty Burnett's set is bold and evocative and Jeanne Reith's costumes are simple but effective), Ellenstein makes the characters accessible, modern and very American in their personalities and performance style.

Set in feudal Japan, "Rashomon" is named for the decaying city gate where a disillusioned Buddhist priest shelters himself from rain in the opening scene. Shaken by the lies and tales of cruelty told at a murder trial a day earlier, the Priest (gently underplayed by Robert May) has lost faith in humanity, saying the Rashomon gate "crumbles, like the people" in the evening rain. With the help of the local Woodcutter (Diep Huyhn, in a low-key, heartfelt performance) who discovered the murdered man's body, the Priest gradually tells the story of the trial to a conniving Wigmaker (a rascally criminal played with comic gusto by Doren Elias).

A few facts of the case are without dispute. One day in the forest a bandit accosts a Samurai and his wife. The bandit ties up the Samurai and rapes his wife, and the Samuria ends up dead. But just how the murder occurs is the subject of four contrasting testimonies. The boastful Bandit exaggerates his lovemaking skills and brags that he bested the better-trained Samurai in an honorable duel. The wife, a low-born servant who married well above her station, tearfully confesses that she took revenge on her contemptuous husband after he refuses to fight for her honor. Then, the spirit of the dead Samurai ---- brought to life through a medium's trance ---- tells a different story altogether. And capping things off is the surprise admission of a secret eyewitness to the crime, whose own version of events is eye-opening and hilarious.

While the story's twists and turns are fun to see unfold, it's the shading and nuances that each character gives his or her own story that make it fascinating to watch. One's self-perception can be vastly different from how one is perceived by others, and seeing these characters change with each re-telling is the most entertaining aspect of the play.

Richard Baird, the San Diego-bred actor who recently returned from a yearlong stint at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, proves he's still one of the region's best young actors with his multifaceted performance as the Bandit, Tajomaru. Depending on the storyteller, we see Baird morph magically from a raging, calculating master criminal to a drunken, impotent buffoon, to a pathetic, lovesick coward and beyond.

Equally mesmerizing is Seema Sueko as the Wife, who's convincing at every turn, whether we see her as a girlish frightened innocent, a cruel harpy or an emotionally shattered widow.

As the Samurai, Mitchell Wyatt spends most of the play tied up or whispering in voice-over, but he's humorous (if overmatched by the sheer force of Baird's comic skills) in the samurai sword showdown, which is humorously choreographed by David Barker. Jensen Olaya is spooky and noble as the mysterious Medium who channels the Samurai's spirit. Sylvia Enrique's articulation is distracting, but she brings a grasping haughtiness to the part of the widow's deceitful mother. And Enoch Wu completes the cast as the court Deputy.

"Rashomon" is two hours, with intermission. Although the play is a fascinating study of human nature and it's very funny in places, there is a mostly modest rape scene, so it's not suited for pre-teen audiences.

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'Rashomon'
By: Cuautemoc Kish

Based upon the stories of Ryunsuke Akutagawa, Fay and Michael Kanin's Rashshomon brings to life a Japanese fable that asks its audience to look at four versions concerning the death of a samurai and determine who is lying about the reportage. As we make our decision we stumble into territories of fear, weakness, cowardliness, and redemption.

It's probably akin to watching reportage of a similar incident by PBS, CNN, CBS and FOX News.

Marty Burnett set up the action with his competent stage design which includes the Rashomon Gate, a police court, and a forest. David Ellenstein guided his cast through forest, gate and court seamlessly. What could have been a bumpy ride took you on a delightful, fluid journey into the souls of the principal characters.

Special mention should be given to fight choreographer, David Barker, who allowed for riveting sword play in minimum space; very well done.

Seema Sueko (Wife) had one of the most challenging roles in that she plays three versions of herself: totally innocent, mild and meek, and then almost diabolically conniving spouse. She rose to the occasion in all three interpretations. Richard Baird (Bandit Tajomaru) went from heavy to ultra light in his performance and captured our attentions at every turn. Doren Elias (Wigmaker) entertained us well as the comic relief in an elevated performance that captivated from the first moment he dropped from the Rashomon Gate to his last. All of the other ensemble players did fine work as well (Robert May/Priest, Diep Huynh/Woodcutter, Enoch Wu/Deputy, Mitchell Wyatt/Samurai, and Sylvia Enrique/Mother). The voice-over delivery of the medium (Jensen Olaya) was done exceptionally well, allowing for reportage from the dead Samurai.

Ellenstein pushed the comic aspects of this play to some extreme but I wouldn't fault him for this necessarily. It's simply a matter of interpretation of character, especially with regards to Baird's role of Tajomaru, who never allowed burlesque to cheapen his interpretation.

Chris Luessmann's sound design and Matt Novotny's lighting design added just the right touches to Rashomon, while Jeanne Reith's costume designs were a perfect accent to the production (she's a genuine talent!).

What a delicious way to end North Coast Res 25th season; it hit high notes in every theatrical category.

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