So, the joke got me thinking about one of my favorite new comedy discoveries. I’m a big fan of stand-up; I was raised on Richard Pryor and George Carlin, and my favorite thing in the world is discovering a new comedian who’s not a hack. YouTube is fantastic for stumbling across brilliant lesser-known comedians, and occasionally, entirely new genres of comedy altogether. Like the time I stumbled across Gamarjobat, a weird Japanese physical comedy/mime duo with an absolutely bonkers routine.
The algo must have figured “if he loves Japanese comedy he’ll loooove this,” because one day it threw me a performer named Katsura Sunshine. Katsura Sunshine is a westerner who went to Japan to learn the art of rakugo, a traditional Japanese stand-up comedy. (Well, it’s less stand-up and more kneeling.) I laughed my ass off at his routine, and I got curious about the practice and went down a rabbit hole learning about the artform.
Rakugo was originally introduced in the 17th century, and it’s characterized by funny stories, usually involving two parts that the performer plays, alternating facing left and right to indicate the speakers. The performer wears a kimono and kneels behind a low table, and they have two props available to them, a folded hand towel and a fan. Using these simple tools, rakugoka perform a variety of humorous routines, ranging from short, light jokes to longer, more involved stories characterized by a sudden “gotcha”-style punchline.
The artform is very tradition-bound. Those who aspire to learn become apprentices, serving their masters while learning the craft. They are generally given nicknames that they will carry throughout their careers, and over the course of the apprenticeship, the master will tell them the traditional stories that make up the body of material. The apprentice has to memorize them as they’re performed, and typically only get three chances to hear a given story before it’s retired. If they don’t know it by heart by the third repetition, tough luck for them.
One of the reasons rakugo appeals to me is that the jokes might be hundreds of years old, but the sensibilities are right out of the Rodney Dangerfield era. For instance, one of my favorite short stories:
Two women are out in their gardens, gossiping over their shared fence. One woman says, “Oh, did you hear what happened to Mrs. Yamashita?”
“No, I did not hear what happened to Mrs. Yamashita,” the second woman says.
“Oh, it was terrible! She was walking her dog in the village, and the dog saw a rabbit and took off. It pulled her over, and she fell and smashed her face into the cobblestones. It broke her nose, broke her cheekbones, completely rearranged her face!”
“How terrible!” the second woman exclaims. “What a tragedy! I feel so bad for her!”
“But wait!” the first woman says. “She went to that new young doctor in the village. He’s an absolute miracle worker! He was able to put her face back together exactly the way it was!”
“How terrible!” the second woman exclaims. “What a tragedy! I feel so bad for her!”
[rakugoka bows]
If Katsura Sunshine and his apprentices ever tour near my neck of the woods, I’m absolutely going.