Shouwa Rakugo may only be thirteen episodes long, but it covers a period of years and decades, a turbulent series of ups and downs, much as life is itself. It depicts the rise, fall and redemption of Yakumo and Sukeroku, and many of those around them. The tearful reunion as Sukeroku returns from the war in Manchuria is powerful— powerful enough that I also felt myself choking up a bit— and yet it occurs just a few short episodes into the story.
This is due in part to the excellent characterisation of the two and their (oftentimes strained) friendship, but it is also a result of the story's nimble pacing. One might expect an anime covering such a large span of time in so few episodes to end up feeling rushed, but this is not the case. Shouwa Rakugo makes a careful balance between the smaller and the more important events in the characters' lives. It will transition from a hospital scene to a funeral within seconds, and yet it will feel entirely natural, as if no time has actually passed. Many times I found these transitions to hold more punch than the scenes themselves. If stories like Touch and Sakura no Uta have taught me anything, it is that a quick jump to the future can carry far more emotional weight than the events preceding it.
It can be hard to put into words what makes Shouwa Rakugo so special, as so much of its appeal is in what it leaves unsaid. It finds greater comfort in showing its story rather than telling it. The feelings of the characters— their frustrations, their struggles— are often left implied and seldom stated outright. A character will walk along at dusk, mumbling to themselves a rakugo scene depicting the difficulties of departing from one's lover, and it will be very clear what is going on in their mind. It takes a very special anime to pull something like that off, to develop the characters such that the audience can empathize with them without dialogue or gestures.
The story is primarily set during the post-war period in Japan, but it thankfully does not waste time lecturing the audience about the war's effects on Japan, how Japan fought the good fight and lost, and everything we have already heard countless times before in other anime. What Shouwa Rakugo does convey about the war, it conveys through the absence of dialogue: nobody ever says "I'm sorry" when they listen to another person's story, because they've all been there before.
From the first two episodes, it becomes very clear which direction the story is headed in and how it will end. Every major event is foreshadowed in some way, from the dialogue ("The next time I meet you it will be in hell") all the way to the very title of the series (心中). This effectively eliminates any sense of shock that the viewer might experience, but knowing what is ahead does not make the moments and the journey any less heart-wrenching. It actually makes it hurt more.
Shouwa Rakugo deserves special mention for depicting sexual, adult relationships. The heroine is not a cute, bubbly high school girl, but a geisha who makes her living by flirting with men. She is in many ways a despicable human being, and that is just fine. People often do not pick the most respectable or desirable person to be with; they come together and couple for a myriad of reasons, even if it may in the end be to their own harm.
Even if you have no knowledge of what rakugo is— and I suspect this is the case for most people, as it was for myself— Shouwa Rakugo makes it very easy to follow by animating a wide variety of rakugo performances, rather than bombard the viewer with explanations and unfamiliar terminology. While rakugo might not be especially entertaining to the world of 2016, through watching the many performances within Shouwa Rakugo it is easy to gain an appreciation for the talent and effort that is often poured into the art. The styles of Yakumi's and Sukeroku's rakugo are so different from one another that it almost feels as though they are performing completely different forms of art, despite rakugo very much being an art defined by tradition.
The lengthy, 10-minute Rakugo performance in the first episode— one of many amazing moments in the show— reminded me of the ending sequence in Whiplash (one of the best films I have seen), it feeling itself like a musical performance, starting slow and clumsy and gradually building into a thunderous crescendo by the end, Yotarou's sweat visibly running down his face all the while. While he may not be beating his instrument to the point of blood flying across the stage, rakugo is an inherently quieter, more subtle form of performance than concert, requiring nothing more than a person sitting and telling a story in front of a small audience, and so bloody theatrics are not necessary. Its performances are already plenty exciting.
At times joyful, and ever more so devastating, Shouwa Rakugo is a truly sincere and human story. It speaks a simple, raw tale of flawed existence. It does not fluff itself with philosophy, symbolism and other obscure subject matter. It speaks to the individual: it wants you to listen, and it wants you to consider the moments in life where you truly felt beating, breathing and alive. It is in that short moment that it has meaning.
