Kyogen are short comic plays sometimes a part of, but more often sandwiched between, the longer and often tragic noh dramas. They are spoken in the vernacular rather than intoned in literary language, and their brevity, their wit and their humor make them a perfect foil for the sublime and inevitable boredom of the noh itself.
The last god or spirit or high dignitary slowly slides away as the noh concludes. Then ordinary-looking people march on, just as filled with human frailty as we are. And just as imperfect. They, too, can't tell a fan from an umbrella, are also a bit too fond of sake, get into misunderstandings and celebrate their own foolishness. The kyogen has begun.
Since these folk are not sublime, they need not wear that ideal face, the mask. Nor need they intone; they chatter. And since they are only us, they need no stately brocades, just the checks and stripes of the common kitchen. Clean, neat, starched and everyday, the kyogen actor is always ready to slip, to slide, to fall down.