It’s been a long time since we last heard the phrase yakusha-gao — an “actor’s face.” While there was never a single, definitive pattern for what makes a face suitable for a Kabuki actor, the term referred to a face with distinct, well-defined features and a prominent shape that would stand out vividly on stage. It’s different from the more conventionally handsome nimaime (the leading man type). Interestingly, the word yakusha-gao doesn’t appear in standard dictionaries like Kōjien, suggesting it was used within limited circles.

In reality, actors in Kabuki up through the Shōwa era often had six-head-length body proportions, making their large faces particularly noticeable. That facial presence contributed powerfully to their stagecraft — every movement of the face, every dramatic mie pose, stirred the audience. Even those who went on from Kabuki to become big names in period films on the silver screen had this kind of striking facial impact.

At the same time, there was a more traditionally styled face — one that embodied the aesthetic of Edo-period Kabuki. This was the urizumigao, an elongated oval face, often seen in the ōkubi-e (large-head portraits) by the ukiyo-e master Sharaku. Actors like the third-generation Jitsukawa Enjaku, the fifth-generation Arashi Rikaku, the third-generation Onoe Taganojō, and the seventh-generation Nakamura Shikan all evoked that nostalgic, Edo-era presence with their classical features.

The painter Ryūsei Kishida was deeply fond of Kabuki and captured its aesthetic essence in his works. His painting Namazu Bōzu (The Catfish Priest), among others, conveys a certain atmosphere that feels lost in today’s modern Kabuki. In his celebrated essay Kabuki Biron (Theory of Kabuki Beauty), Kishida explored the unique beauty hidden within the rawness and boldness of Kabuki — something he referred to as derori. He believed this was a fundamental quality of the art, but sadly, it seems to have faded in today’s performances.

Modern young Kabuki stars, with their small faces and tall, model-like eight-head-length proportions, are undeniably handsome — but far removed from the traditional yakusha-gao. When they strike a mie pose on the hanamichi (the stage walkway), the effect often feels too sleek, lacking the gritty emotion of Edo-style Kabuki. Few contemporary actors seem able to exude that distinctive Edo atmosphere. While modern interpretations, new plays, collaborations with other genres, and innovative staging are not inherently bad — and indeed, can enrich the art — I hope that Kabuki, recognized as a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage, will continue to preserve not only its scripts, forms, and music, but also the unique aesthetic and emotional ambiance of classical Kabuki.

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