Want to plunge into some of the most compelling elements of Japanese culture? 求めているものは舞台にある (Matomete-iru mono wa butai ni aru, What you’re looking for is on the stage).

From the demons of 能 (noh) to the puppets of 文楽 (bunraku), Japanese theater teems with moving stories — especially within the ostentatious culture of 歌舞伎 (kabuki).

Unfortunately, this kind of theater isn’t that easy to experience in English. Scholars and cultural experts have long lamented over how these productions are translated. 要するに、日本の古典芸能が翻訳しにくいということだ (Yō suru ni, Nihon no koten geinō ga honyaku shinikui to iu koto da, In summary, Japanese classical theater is difficult to translate).

In the few performances I’ve attended, translation has come via イヤホンガイド (iyahon gaido, earphone [audio] guides), aided by プログラム (puroguramu, printed programs) that wound up confusing me.

Even putting aside the uncomfortable experience of having a headset garbling in your ear while you’re trying to watch a live performance, there are countless challenges in adapting 歌舞伎 to English: rich poetic associations and allusions, obscure and obsolete speech patterns, and double — even triple — meanings. The most difficult part of all? 基本的に日本の古典芸能は古語を使うので、現代の日本語が話せてもわからないところが多い (Kihon-teki ni Nihon no koten geinō wa kōgo o tsukau no de, gendai no Nihongo ga hanasete mo wakaranai tokoro ga ōi, Fundamentally, classical Japanese theater uses classical Japanese language, so even if you speak modern Japanese, there will still be a lot of points you won’t understand).

Given these difficulties, those interested in 歌舞伎 may find it worthwhile to have some knowledge of 古典劇 (kotengeki, classical theater) before experiencing theatrical productions in their original Japanese.

歌舞伎 emerged in 17th-century Kyoto, where legend tells that a famous shrine maiden began to perform a new style of dramatic dance, quickly catching the attention of the imperial court. From there and throughout the Edo Period (1603-1867),

歌舞伎 troupes emerged and 歌舞伎座 (kabukiza, kabuki theaters) popped up in both Kyoto and Edo (now Tokyo). Before long, 歌舞伎 had become one of the most popular forms of entertainment around, fusing singing, dancing and elaborate storylines.

歌舞伎 covers a wide range of themes, including 時代物 (jidaimono, historical plays), which retell dramatized versions of historic legends; 世話物 (sewamono, domestic plays), which portray the ordinary lives of Edo Period townspeople, often dealing with tales of murder or 心中 (shinjū, lover’s double suicides); and 所作事 (shosagoto, dance dramas) that express stories through classical Japanese dance.

歌舞伎 has a number of distinctive features, primarily the gender of its performers. Although the genre was started by women, they were almost immediately banned from performing it. Male 歌舞伎役者 (kabukiyakusha, kabuki actors) assumed both male and female roles, with the latter known as 女方 (onnagata, literally “woman’s part”).

Actors display their mastery with the art of 見得 (mie, poses) — particularly dramatic, expressive postures struck for emotional impact during the performance. These 見得 change based off of the style or mode of an actor or play. For example, the 見得 of male heroes performing in the dynamic 荒事 (aragoto, rough style) involve bold expressions done while facing the audience directly, whereas as 若主役 (wakashuyaku, actors playing young men’s roles) use more subtle 見得 such as pulling at the chin.

Meanwhile, 黒衣 (kurogo), who are assistants dressed all in black, serve as active stagehands, helping the actors with 小道具 (kodōgu, props) and 衣裳 (ishō, costumes). This can even include changing an 衣裳 on stage, mid scene. 歌舞伎役者 also wear heavy, layered 隈取 (kumadori) makeup to enhance the emotional states they’re meant to be portraying.

When it comes to the 舞台 (butai, stage), 歌舞伎 makes use of 廻り舞台 (mawari butai, revolving stages) to help with instantaneous scene changes, and uses a 花道 (hanamachi) walkway that extends into the audience to allow the audience to become more engaged with the performance. A スッポン (suppon) is a contraption that raises those playing supernatural characters into the air.

Knowing these terms and techniques will increase your appreciation of the art form, but it still won’t be enough to understand the dialogue of the show in real time. Take the famous play “青砥稿花紅彩画” (“Aoto Zōshi Hana no Nishiki-e”) — familiarly known as “弁天小僧” (“Benten Kozō”) — by the playwright Kawatake Mokuami (1816-93), who is best known for 白浪物 (shiranami-mono, thief plays). The play weaves together the tale of five thieves, the main character of Benten Kozo being one of them, attempting to swindle a kimono fabric shop out of money by disguising himself as the daughter of a samurai.

One of the play’s most famous scenes involves the shop clerk revealing Benten Kozo’s identity. The thief begins with a dramatic, 「知らざあ言って聞かせやしょう！」 (Shirazaa itte kikaseyashō!, If you don’t know who I am, then let me tell you!)

If you know modern Japanese, then the equivalent would be something like, 知らなかったら、言って聞かせましょう (Shiranakattara, itte kikasemashō, If you don’t know, then I’ll make you listen to what I say). However, the original combines grammar from 古語 (kogo, classical Japanese) with Edo Period theatrical flair. 知らざあ is a stylish abbreviation of 知らざんば (shirazanba). In this conjugation, ざ is the classical negative form — equivalent to ない (nai) in modern Japanese — and んば (nba) is the conditional particle meaning “if,” hence 知らざあ becomes “if you don’t know.”

Then, 言って聞かせ (itte kikase, say and make [you] listen) is the same as modern Japanese, with 〜やしょう (~yashō) being an Edo Period equivalent of 〜ましょう (~mashō), the volitional form “I will” or “Let’s.”

The dialogue in 歌舞伎 is full of these slight grammatical differences. If you learn a few basics, you can train your ears to recognize them: ざ (za) or ず (zu) for negative, the equivalent of ない (nai); む or ん for intentional or speculation, the equivalent of だろう (darō) or つもり (tsumori); じ (ji) for negative speculative, the equivalent of ないだろう (nai darō); and ぬ (nu), つ (tsu), たり (tari) or けり (keri) for past-tense verb endings, the equivalent of た (ta) or 〜ってしまった (~tte shimatta).

With some knowledge of classical Japanese, the world of 歌舞伎 may be closer than you think. 思わざあ、歌舞伎を見せてやしょう！ (Omowazaa, kabuki o miseteyashō!, if you don’t think so, then I’ll show you some kabuki!)