Ka [sing] Bu [dance] Ki [skill]

Kabuki-Za theatre, in Tokyo’s Higashi-Ginza district, is a dignified dwarf next to the high-rise towers and skyscrapers nearby.
By 10am eager patrons arrive. Japanese women in elaborate water-coloured silk kimonos giggle behind waxed paper fans. Tourists jostle for prime position, vying for a box seat for the most highly revered of Japanese performing arts: Kabuki.
It began in the 1600’s, when female dancers performed to raise funds for a shrine. But Kabuki soon had prostitutes in lead roles and the art sank into pits of depravity. Scandalised authorities ended the lewd conduct, decreeing all roles must be played by older men, a tradition that stands today.
Kabuki-Za opened in 1889. Today ushers ceremoniously welcome us for one of the last performances as plans to rebuild the structure mean demolition begins soon. We file reverently into the belly of the venerable theatre for a 5 hour spectacle.
Passing Azuchi-Momoyama inspired architecture, expectations are high, increasing as we glide over red carpeted floors, past antique lacquered furniture and gold walls. Kiosks offer boxes of pink salmon, sticky rice and pickled vegetables - sustenance for the ensuing marathon.
I sit. Lights fade.
Lyrical shamisen, flute and drums begin. Surrendering to the stylised movements, costumes and dramatic make-up of the Kabuki magicians, I’m quickly enchanted by this make-believe world and sink into my chair.
It ends as an actor dressed as an obese rat perches daintily on a swing. Faceless men toil backstage to lift the swing to great heights, and rat-man moves up and out, over an adoring audience. He calls down, squealing with joy, showering all with fistfuls of confetti.
The crowd erupts in laughter, all mesmorised by the theatrics. Rat-man, still squealing, is satisfied with the mayhem and slowly ascends, vanishing into the darkness.
Confetti floats by as I realise the magic is over.
Kabuki-Za, the dignified dwarf, sits satisfied by his shiny brothers.
The magic will come again.