SUMO is a bold new play about sports, spirituality, Japanese culture, ancient traditions, the hero’s journey, and the full spectrum of masculinity. Written by Lisa Sanaye Dring and directed by Ralph B. Peña, SUMO’s New York debut is held at the Public Theater for an extended run through March 30 in a co-production with Ma-Yi Theater Company and La Jolla Playhouse. The Public’s Anspacher space has been transformed into a theater-turned-dohyō with the audiences granted prime ringside seats to experience the world of sumo up close and personal. 

Though small in stature, playwright Lisa Sanaye Dring is a wrestler. She wrestles with words, concepts, cultures, and themes, but mostly with what Carl Jung calls “the other” or “the shadow,” the fearful entity that feels foreign to oneself. For Sanaye Dring, that entity was “men.” So she wrote a play about the ancient national Japanese sport sumo with an all-male cast to understand her opponent and conquer her fears. What came of her struggle with the other is a riveting, deep exploration of the myriad facets of men, channeled through the lens of culture, tradition and athleticism, told through personal stories of richly fleshed-out fictional characters. Why shouldn’t it be a woman who writes male characters so profoundly? After all, sumo’s patron “saint” is the Shinto Sun Goddess Amaterasu.

The theatrical SUMO is likely the closest most Western audiences will get to the ancient practice of sumo wrestling, and six large male bodies slamming against each other clad only in a mawashi, the traditional sumo wrestling belt that leaves little to the imagination. The initial shock of “theatrical nudity” seeing large bodies so close, liberated from any covering, subsides when they get into position and engage in the sport. They are corpulent yet graceful, exposed and vulnerable, strong and seemingly invincible. When they execute the movements in the sacred space of the roped-off ring, it’s no wonder they considered more gods than men in the indigenous Japanese Shinto spirituality sumo comes from. 

Enough superlatives cannot be said about the sumo consultant and co-fight director James Yaegashi’s brilliant transmutation of the actors into believable sumo professionals. But it was a team effort almost akin (with notable differences, including the lifelong devotion required) to the hours of daily training in a sumo sumobeya or stable. The result is some of the most thrilling sports and fight choreography I have ever seen! It keeps you on the edge of your seat and carries a profound emotional impact. Each gesture carried enormous weight. 

For, though the rules of sumo are relatively simple (no part of the body may touch the inside of the ring but the feet, no part of the body including the feet may touch the outside of the ring, or the wrestler loses the match), the sport is highly sophisticated with over 70 moves, many of which appear in SUMO. Each move could spell disaster for the wrestler, for losses or missteps can mean much more than not winning; they can remove you from the sport, your stable and the lifestyle entirely. For a competition where no blood is drawn (killing would offend the Shinto kami or gods), the life-or-death stakes are gladiator-level. 

The introduction to sumo in SUMO is a swift, comprehensive overview meant for beginners and those with some prior knowledge. It starts with a sweeping preamble about the ancient Japanese Shinto religion by the three Kannushi—Shinto clergy members played by Paco Tolson, Kris Bona, and Viet Vo (who later double as “salary men” representing Japanese brands like Nintendo or Toyota and singing karaoke with the wrestlers after a win) in elaborate costumes—and abstract glimpses into the sumo stable (live-in training center). This speedy summary lays the groundwork for the more personal stories following the characters’ struggles and journeys in and outside the sumo ring. However, it would be impossible to do a play about sumo without integrating Shinto traditions and beliefs because all aspects of the national and imperial sport are rooted in Shinto.

Sumo began at shires as entertainment during the festivals. It has since expanded from twice annually (at New Year and in May) to six times a year. Sumo’s popularity and documentation in art and texts flourished in the Edo period, though its origins are believed to be pre-Christian. Representations of sumo’s mystical Shinto elements are peppered throughout the play in stunning visuals by projection designer Hana S. Kim, thunderous taiko drumming composed and performed by Shih-Wei Wu, and the stories and reflections from the sumo wrestler So (played with heartbreaking elegance and sincerity by Michael Hisamoto, acting as the play’s spiritual core with his Zen mannerism and gentle wisdom until his fate takes a tragic turn.

A lengthy prelude (like this one) is necessary to set the stage for a sport with a lesser-known history to non-Japanese audiences. In SUMO, the intensity of the action, dimensionality and depth of the characters and their relationships only begins when the angry, angsty 18-year-old Akio (played with guts and gusto by Scott Keiji Takeda) arrives at the stable as an ambitious new apprentice under the leadership of Mitsuo (David Shih), the ozeki, a rank just below the ultimate Grand Champion yokozuna, the highest rank in sumo. Akio is a skilled wrestler with aptitude and potential, but he’s held back by his massive ego and the desires typical of an 18-year-old; he envisions success in sumo as the route out of poverty and loneliness into the promise of fame, fortune and beautiful women at his command. Part of ozeki Mitsuo’s role is to break him of his ego and attitudes, thus shaping him into the best sumo wrestler he can become. His methods range from making Akio perform tedious chores to emotional, psychological and physical abuse. All of this is typical and expected in these relationships. To American audiences, this may come as a shock or be upsetting. It may not be as surprising for those raised in or familiar with the culture and traditions.

While I am American, my understanding of and appreciation for Japanese culture comes from a lifelong fascination leading to an earnest, non-judgemental investigation (which also led to my role as guest editor and primary writer for a special edition of American Theatre Magazine on Japanese Contemporary Theatre in 2019). My understanding deepened immensely through my Japanese-born partner and his family. During the pandemic, when we “bubbled” with his parents, sumo was often on the TV as common as American football. His mother is a more fervent fan of the sport than his father, though both enjoy it. 

Acts of violence and “toxic masculinity” as a result of militaristic patriarchy were perceived as an implied duty within a culture whose roots trace to the samurai, shogun, ninjas and, in later eras, horrifically aggressive and destructive colonizing military forces. On the more recent side of hard knocks, “softer” violent acts like Zen priests hitting meditators with sticks or school teachers slapping young students are not seen as punitive or abusive but as necessary and useful for focus. Growing up with these norms, my partner recounted these interactions with some trepidation, yet also understood it as the way things were at the time. 

On the other side, audiences and critics alike with a limited understanding of Japanese culture, sumo, and the grueling realities of apprenticeship in the traditional art forms may only be able to see references to other sports stories like Rocky or The Karate Kid. Of course, there are some similarities (as would be true for most sports or master and student stories), but SUMO takes us deeper and closer to the heart and reality of these practices in Japan that reach back centuries. The “wax on, wax off” route to enlightenment Mr. Miyagi teaches Daniel-san (an honorific that a master would never use with a student) in The Karate Kid is a watered-down version palatable to Western family audiences. The reality is much more complex and intense, physically, psychologically and emotionally demanding, often harsh or even abusive, as SUMO portrays. 

The practice of duty and service is deeply imbued in Japanese culture. Japanese children as young as preschool age perform “osoji” like the sumo apprentice, cleaning their school’s floors. However, apprenticeships take it to another level to break the ego, prove loyalty to the master and pledge lifelong devotion to the craft. Western (Canadian) Rakugo Master Katsura Sunshine speaks of his three years as his master’s “indentured servant.” Mastering the traditional Japanese puppet theatre, Bunraku, takes about 25 years (mastering the foot movements alone takes 10 years). Knowing this puts it all into perspective.

In SUMO, unlike American sports stories like The Karate Kid or Rocky, such in-depth apprenticeships are not for a single star pupil but several wrestlers at various levels, all under the guidance of one master, ozeki Mitsuo, who the playwright Sanaye Dring noted must be “both mother and father to all in his stable.” He has to be the provider financially, emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually for all in his sumobeya. The dynamic of six men in one place, eating, playing, sleeping and fighting together, creates exciting fodder for drama. SUMO could just as easily be a TV series as a theatrical play. Each of the actors is superb as an ensemble and as an individual. Their bonds are believable, and everyone has a moment to shine while never overshadowing the others. They all bring layered dimensionality (enhancing Sanaye Dring’s clever writing and Peña’s shrewd direction) to characters who could easily fall into hero or villain stereotypes like other sports stories. 

Michael Hisamoto, as So, is the aforementioned “spiritual core,” the most “yin” of the stable, but he struggles internally with some jealousy over Akio’s swift advancement. Earl T. Kim plays Shinta, the largest of the larger-than-life men and the clown of the crew, to whom a simple misstep sends him packing. Red Concepción portrays Fumio, who grapples with his yin and yang sides; he’s alternatingly arrogant, gentle, devoted, and dismissive.

But the one who struck me most, whose performance left an indelible impact above all, was Ahmad Kamal (an actor of Egyptian origin), who plays Ren, the most complex and substantial character in SUMO, who’s also the most balanced and comfortable in his skin and self. Though he is second to the ozeki, he acts as nurturer, teacher, friend, guide, disciplinarian, and lover (though not to all or all at once) to the men in the stable. A few of Ren’s scenes and sumo bouts were so charged they left me breathless.

David Shih’s Mitsuo and Scott Keiji Takeda’s Akio are the leads who round out the core as polar ends of the hierarchy who are more alike than not. Though both show boastful, brash and sometimes cruel aspects of their masculinity, there are moments of vulnerability between them that offer insights into their souls when they speak about their families and painful pasts, which paved the path that led them to a lifelong commitment to sumo. In one key scene, Mitsuo confides in his apprentice Akio about the almost unbearable burden of devoting one’s life to a single role and practice: “Being one thing is devastating! It’s so hard!” This concept is almost inconceivable to Westerners, especially Americans (myself included), who are this-slash-that-slash-this. But to anyone who picks up Bunraku, Rakugo or sumo, it’s their whole life for their entire life unless they mess up, which is demonstrated in SUMO.

After Mitsuo earns the coveted title of yokozuna, the Grand Champion, with all of the accolades, money and sponsorships that go with it (the brands Nintendo, Toyota, etc. are interchangeable and adorn the yokozuna vestments, tarnishing ancient garb with logos), the drama heats up in his sumobeya. Tragedies and betrayals ensue; choices are forced. Young Akio brings sumo into the 21st century by transcending toxic tropes, conquering his ego and shattering outmoded perceptions and actions when he defeats the master, confronting his own misconceptions and shadow self. His actions in the play’s final scene suggest a more evolved, balanced (yin-yang) approach to continuing the ancient art form. 

It reminded me of another play that moved me deeply, which I saw in that same theater at the Public, Fat Ham, James Ijames’ “riff” on Hamlet. In Fat Ham, the lead character, Juicy—a Black, non-binary contemporary version of Shakespeare’s tortured prince—breaks the cycle of violence and patriarchal control, leaving the play’s body count at the end greatly reduced. 

The moral of SUMO, if there is one, or the inspired takeaway is that it’s possible to find balance and compassion in masculinity, tradition, sports and life. It may seem sacrilegious to the ancient ways, but it speaks to the possibility of evolution and an enlightened future. 

But lest it seem like a somber morality tale, it must be noted that SUMO is funny, too. It’s a joyous, sometimes raucously so, night at the theatre, as thrilling as a sports match, deep as a drama, funny as a comedy, tender as a romance, and insightful as a history. This is all thanks to the collective that makes it seamless and supercharged, from the incredible ensemble to the terrific creative and production team, especially the soul-probing writing of Lisa Sanaye Dring, the astounding fight direction of James Yaegashi and the masterful direction of Ralph B. Peña who stitches it all together—highly recommended!

TICKET INFORMATION: 

SUMO begins performances in The Public’s Anspacher Theater with a Joseph Papp Free Performance on Thursday, February 20 and officially opens on Wednesday, March 5. Originally scheduled to close on Sunday, March 23, the production has been extended one week through Sunday, March 30. Tickets are available now and can be accessed by visiting publictheater.org, calling 212.967.7555, or in person at the Taub Box Office at The Public Theater at 425 Lafayette Street. The performance schedule is Tuesday through Sunday at 7:00 p.m. and Saturday and Sunday at 1:00 p.m. 

The community performance on Friday, March 7 at 7:00 p.m. will be an AANHPI Theater Night. After the performance, there will be an on-stage panel conversation followed by a reception held on The Public’s mezzanine. The post-show conversation, focused on masculinity, physicality and its political impacts, will include playwright Lisa Sanaye Dring, sumo consultant and co-fight director James Yaegashi, and New York State Assembly Member Ron Kim. AANHPI audience members can use promo code SUMOAANHPI to access $45 tickets for this performance. 

Two additional post-show conversations will be held on later dates. After the performance on Saturday, March 15 at 1:00 p.m., there will be a panel conversation discussing how Sumo has been featured in art throughout history. On Thursday, March 27 at 7:00 p.m., the post-show discussion will focus on the cultural significance and evolution of this ancient Japanese tradition. Speakers will be announced at a later date. 

On Sunday, March 9 at 1:00 p.m., the performance will include Spanish Open Captions. The English Open Captioned performances will be on Saturday, March 15 at 1:00 p.m. and Wednesday, March 26 at 7:00 p.m. The audio-described performance will be on Sunday, March 16, at 1:00 p.m. The American Sign Language Interpreted performance will be on Thursday, March 20 at 7:00 p.m. On Saturday, March 2,2, at 1:00 p.m., the performance will include Traditional Chinese Open Captions. The performance on Sunday, March 23, at 1:00 p.m., will require patrons to wear masks. 

The full performance calendar can be found at publictheater.org.