Kabuki in Focus: Tradition, Change and the Future, with Kikugoro and Kikunosuke

With the runaway success of the film National Treasure, kabuki has captured the imagination of audiences far beyond Japan. The film offers a rare glimpse into the discipline, hierarchy, and lifelong pursuit of mastery that define the performing art. 

But it also points to a quieter challenge: the shrinking pool of kabuki actors and the strain it places on the traditional shumei name-inheritance system. The result is a set of pressing questions for the art form itself — what must change if kabuki is to endure, what must remain untouched, and what does tradition really mean.

Those questions framed the March 26 press conference at the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Japan, where Onoe Kikugoro VIII, one of kabuki's foremost actors, appeared alongside his son, Onoe Kikunosuke VI. 

The name Kikugoro is one of kabuki's great hereditary stage names, passed down across generations and carrying enormous prestige within the art. Kikunosuke, too, has recently assumed his new stage name as part of the latest succession.

Tradition Without Stagnation

For the father, the succession of the Kikugoro name carried a weight beyond ceremony. "The name Kikugoro is like Mount Everest to me," he said, describing it as a summit he had long looked up to from afar. Now, he said, he has finally set foot on that mountain. "To inherit it means inheriting not only the name, but also the soul and responsibility created by those generations before me."

Yet the heart of the discussion was Kikugoro's answer to the larger question facing kabuki: what must endure, and what must change.

He drew the line clearly. "What must not be changed," he said, "is the art and spirit handed down by our predecessors." In kabuki, that inheritance is expressed through kata — formalized patterns of movement, delivery, and expression. "That kata is the foundation, and I do not think it should be broken."

Still, Kikugoro did not view tradition as static. Those inherited forms, he suggested, are meant to carry something human across time. "At the heart of kabuki's classics is a spirit of thinking of others," he said. "So long as that kata and that spirit of care remain the foundation, the methods of expression can change in any number of ways."

New Paths Into an Old Art

The task, as he framed it, is not simply to preserve kabuki as it is, but to make it legible to contemporary audiences without severing it from its roots. "To convey that to audiences in each era," he said, "we need themes they can feel close to, including new kabuki, and works that draw on anime, manga, games, and other subjects that create familiarity."

Kikugoro was careful, however, not to present novelty as an end in itself. Innovation matters because it could lead audiences back toward the classical tradition. 

"It is very important," he said, "to create an environment where people who first become interested through innovation or new forms of expression can then encounter the true classics and appreciate the richness of the tradition."

Beyond Bloodline

He returned to that point in even sharper terms. "Tradition," he said, lies in whether performers can "refine their art so that those who first came through innovation can properly be shown the charm of tradition," and in whether they can communicate "the spirit that tradition has cherished" to today's audiences.

That same mix of continuity and adaptation shaped his response to the succession issue. When asked about the dangers posed by a shrinking pool of hereditary successors, Kikugoro acknowledged the problem directly. But he also pointed to an opening that has become increasingly important in kabuki: training people who are not born into kabuki families.

"At the National Theatre, there is a training system," he said, through which people from ordinary households can enter the world of kabuki. They begin by studying dance, narrative chanting, and other disciplines, then continue their training under a master. "The process can have a profound impact on their lives," he added.

In new kabuki plays, especially, Kikugoro said, house lineage matters less than collaboration. "The good thing about new kabuki," he said, "is that there is no one correct answer, so the members of the troupe bring their ideas together and create it." In such productions, "everyone exchanges opinions, regardless of lineage."

Opening the Classics

More striking was his insistence that this openness is no longer confined to new works. "Even in classical kabuki," he said, "people who do not come from kabuki families can now play many roles."

Kabuki remains deeply bound to hereditary houses and inherited names, and Kikugoro spoke movingly of the weight they carry. Yet he also made clear that the art's future cannot depend solely on bloodline. "If there are people who aspire to kabuki, and people who love kabuki," he said, they should seek out a training institute or knock on the door of a master. His hope, he added, is that "the kabuki world can come together" to carry the tradition forward.

Peace Through Culture

The international dimension of that effort also ran through the press conference. Kikugoro noted that he has performed in France, Britain, China, and India, and he was asked what he most wants overseas audiences to understand about kabuki. 

His answer was not simply its spectacle, though he acknowledged its beauty. "In both historical plays (jidaimono) and contemporary-setting plays (sewamono)," he said, "what is often depicted is not personal gain, but doing things for others." That, he said, is the "spirituality" he most wants to convey abroad.

He paired that moral dimension with kabuki's visual power. "I would also like people around the world to know kabuki's beauty," he said, pointing to its costumes, music, and the aesthetic world Japanese artists have built over centuries. "To let people feel kabuki's pure beauty and enjoyment," he said, while also communicating "the heart of sharing with and doing things for others." That, in his words, "is kabuki's role."

Reflecting on his earlier work in the kabuki adaptation of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, Kikugoro suggested that the meeting of Shakespeare and kabuki had revealed how deeply performance can resonate across borders. Performing abroad, he said, strengthened his sense that ideals such as truth, goodness, and beauty are not only Japanese but something people in other countries can also relate to. As he put it more broadly, his hope is "to interact with people from many countries through culture" and ultimately "to achieve peace through culture."

Joy in Inheritance

To many people, being born into a profession with little room to choose another future would seem a heavy burden. 

Asked whether that had been true of kabuki, Kikunosuke answered with unusual candor. "Physically, it's very tiring," he said, recalling how he runs every morning before rehearsals to build stamina. "Mentally, too, it's quite draining," he added. "There have been many times when I ended up taking it out on my parents." When that happened, he said, he would go home, "play the games I love, or listen to Mrs. GREEN APPLE to calm myself."

Yet he did not describe kabuki as something imposed on him. "I have loved kabuki since I was very small," he said. Instead, he spoke of gratitude "to the ancestors who created plays that later generations could admire, and for having been born under predecessors who inspire that admiration."

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Author: Daniel Manning