TOKYO — Japan's traditional Kabuki theater demonstrates how family-based succession and rigorous preservation of artistic standards can sustain a cultural institution across centuries, as the eighth Kikugoro prepares to assume a prestigious stage name passed down through generations. The ceremony, known as "shumei," represents more than symbolic pageantry—it embodies a proven model of institutional continuity rooted in personal responsibility and adherence to established excellence.
The younger Kikugoro, 48-year-old Kazuyasu Terajima, is receiving the honor from his 83-year-old father, the seventh Kikugoro, who in turn inherited the name from his father. "Taking on the name is about taking on the spirit and responsibility that's created and getting passed down over generations by those who came before us," Terajima told reporters recently. He emphasized that "the job of the Kabuki actor is to carry on and develop in the present what we have inherited from our predecessors and make sure it gets passed on to those who come after us."
A Proven Institutional Model
Kabuki, dating to the 1600s, remains commercially viable in modern Japan. The film "Kokuho," nominated for this year's Oscars in makeup and hairstyling, became the biggest grossing live-action movie for the home market in Japanese filmmaking history, demonstrating the continuing market appeal of this traditional art form. Another famous family name in Kabuki is Danjuro, whose name succession for the 13th Danjuro happened in 2022.
The art form showcases stories about brave samurai who assume hidden identities to avenge injustice, or beautiful maidens who transform into serpents, combining live music, dance and song with stylized acting—with all roles played by men wearing colorful costumes and elaborate makeup. Kabuki actors specializing in women roles are called "onnagata," while others like Kikugoro play both men and women.
Discipline and Standards
What distinguishes Kabuki is its complete abandonment of superficial realism in favor of stylized performance. Actors strike dramatic poses called "mie" in the middle of their lines to convey courage or flight from pursuit. The actors' lines are delivered in singsong poetry, with live music integral to setting scenes—thunderous giant drums evoke thunder or, played softly, gently falling snow. Tinkling bells might portray floating butterflies.
The performances feature revolving spectacular sets, such as cherry trees showering pink paper petals, and may include acrobatic elements like an actor playing a fox dancing suspended by wires from the ceiling. Costume and character changes happen on stage before the audience, transforming human characters into demons, sometimes with help from stagehands cloaked in anonymous black costuming called "kurogo."
Parallels with Shakespearean theater are notable. One popular play, "The Love Suicides at Sonezaki," tells of young lovers who choose to die together, reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet. The parallels are coincidental—Chikamatsu Monzaemon, who wrote the piece for Japan's Bunraku puppet theater, lived during Japan's 18th century isolationist Tokugawa period and is believed to have never read Shakespeare, who had penned the similar love story decades before Chikamatsu.
Personal Commitment to Excellence
For Terajima, it's a role he was born into like his predecessors. He has trained from childhood and expressed no hesitation about having been destined from birth to be Kikugoro. "I totally adored and admired my predecessors," he said at the Foreign Correspondents' Club in Tokyo last month. "First of all, I am filled with gratitude to our predecessors who created great works that continue to be loved by generations that came after. So I am grateful to be born into the family of such ancestors."
Terajima sat beside his 12-year-old son Kazufumi, who will take on the name he had before, Kikunosuke—the name for the younger actor in that family, handed down over generations like the Kikugoro name. Kikunosuke said he loves being a Kabuki actor, although like a normal kid, he also likes video games and the Japanese rock band Mrs. Green Apple. The work is demanding, he said, involving running every morning, watching his diet and going to bed early. "It's not only hard physically. It's also pretty hard mentally, and I sometime took it out on my parents," he said with a smile, carrying himself with controlled professional poise beyond his age.
The name-succession ritual began for the father and son last year in various performances throughout Japan and continues through this year. American scholar James R. Brandon, who devoted his scholarship to Kabuki, describes it as centered on a type of code, "a theater in which the art of acting is central, and in which playwright and actor cooperate to achieve the unique style of performance found only in Kabuki."
In Japanese tradition, there is always the right way to do something, known as "kata," which becomes the model for future generations who pursue the art, according to Brandon. Although some worry about Kabuki's survival, the new Kikugoro said he believed in Kabuki's "kata," and that nothing needed to change, as the core spirit of the art form remains as relevant as ever. "By using kata, what we want to truly communicate the most in the tradition of Kabuki is human compassion, that spirit of caring for others," he said.
Why This Matters:
Kabuki's succession model offers a compelling counter-narrative to contemporary debates about institutional preservation versus modernization. The art form's commercial success—demonstrated by "Kokuho" becoming Japan's highest-grossing domestic live-action film—suggests that rigorous adherence to traditional standards and family-based transmission of expertise can sustain cultural institutions without government subsidy or radical reform. The discipline required of young performers like 12-year-old Kikunosuke, combined with the personal responsibility embedded in name succession, represents a model of excellence achieved through individual commitment rather than institutional intervention. As cultural institutions worldwide struggle with relevance and sustainability, Kabuki demonstrates how markets can reward authenticity and how private, family-based stewardship can preserve heritage more effectively than bureaucratic management.