National Bunraku Theater — Traditional Puppet Performance

Three men in black breathe in unison. The one on the left controls the puppet's legs, his body bent at the waist for 30 consecutive minutes without standing. The middle puppeteer operates the left arm using a wooden rod attached to the puppet's hand, his movements synchronized to the millimeter with the chief puppeteer on the right. That senior artist — bareheaded while his assistants wear black hoods to symbolize invisibility — controls the puppet's head and right arm. His left hand reaches into the puppet's skull cavity through a hidden panel, manipulating nine separate strings connected to the eyebrows, eyelids, and mouth.

The puppet is a courtesan about to commit suicide. She weeps — actual tears sliding down wooden cheeks from a tiny reservoir released by the puppeteer's finger. Her eyes track from her lover's face to the dagger in her hand, pupils moving independently. The shamisen player strikes a chord that sounds like fabric tearing. The narrator chants in a voice cracking with grief. In this 90-minute performance of 'The Love Suicides at Sonezaki,' I forgot I was watching wood and fabric. When she died, I heard three people in the audience crying.