On the stage where the lights went out--Asakusa revue and a tale of entertainment in the burned-out area (1945-1955)

On the stage where the lights went out--Asakusa revue and a tale of entertainment in the burned-out area (1945-1955)

Asakusa soon after the war. It was the "crucible of the arts" where people tried to breathe life back into the charred city. Lights were once again lit on street corners that had been burnt down in air raids. It was not the infrastructure that was to be restored. First of all, it was theater. It was the stage. On a temporary stage in Asakusa's six wards, people sang, danced, and laughed again. It was not an art, but life itself.

The Asakusa revue had a completely different character from the glamorous prewar stage. Many of the performers had returned from the war and had lost something. A family member, a hometown, or a body part. They stood in front of the audience as if to hide or expose their loss. When they laughed, it was an offering to the dead, and when they applauded, it was proof that they were alive.

In the dressing room hung the costumes of those who would no longer be with us. The words, "It's the last one he wore," meant that it was a miracle that the play was still going on. Everyone on stage and in the audience was carrying the shadow of war, but there was a will to move beyond the shadow toward the light.

Improvisation, songs, skits. Formless expression picked up fragments of everyday life and reconstructed them. This was "popular theater. It was not protected by a system and had no economic guarantees. But it was free for that reason. Asakusa was the place where the heat of life, the memory of death, and the light of the stage mingled.

In the mid-1950s, with the advent of television and changes in lifestyles, this theatrical enthusiasm gradually faded away. The theaters closed and their former glory was put in storage. Even so, the arts born amidst the ruins of that era's devastation undoubtedly sustained the spirit of the Japanese people.

What is art? It is to light a lamp on sorrow. The revue in Asakusa knew this better than anyone else. The stage may be gone, but the light continues to burn quietly and surely in our memories.