Theatre in Review: SUMO (Ma-Yi Theater Company/The Public Theater)SUMO is a very, very old story wrapped in a novel package; whether that is enough will be interesting to see. Playwright Lisa Sanaye Dring invites us into the world of Japanese wrestling, which most audience members will find unfamiliar, even exotic. But the playwright thinks the sport's influence runs deeper than that, producing a trio of Shinto priests who explain the mythical origins of sumo as a conflict between gods. The show's extensive press package, designed to educate reviewers, notes, "Sumo's endurance and ongoing popularity attest to its deep roots in Japan's cultural and spiritual landscape, making it an enduring symbol of the nation's heritage and an enduring spectacle of human strength and spirit." Well maybe, but SUMO paints quite a different picture, serving up a stable of wrestlers living in cultlike conditions, often left emotionally stunted by their training when not outright destroyed by it. Sumo is portrayed as a product of cruel, dehumanizing discipline and a sport prone to blatant commercialization, with wrestlers sucking up to corporate sponsors and inserting company logos into their traditional costumes. Considering the ruined lives racked up by the play's end, if this is a revelation of a country's spiritual landscape, you can have it. The action turns on the relationship between Akio, an aspirant who joins a stable run with an iron will by Mitsuo, who is one step away from the highest level of sumo achievement. Akio and his more experienced colleagues live in spartan conditions, their every move dictated by Mitsuo's rules. The outside world barely exists for them; as for relationships, Mitsuo announces, "Women contaminate you." (Mitsuo is married, although, based on the evidence, his wife must have plenty of free time; she never appears and there is no evidence of them communicating. We do see him leering at the ladies on a rare night out with his team, however.) Akio enters this hothouse atmosphere desperate to please Mitsuo and get ahead. Beginning as a servant, he sweeps up, scrubs Mitsuo's back in the bathtub, and serves meals to the group. Not that his cooperative attitude earns him any gold stars: "You're prey. You reek of need," Mitsuo snarls. "No amount of training can cover the stench of desperation. You'll be done before you ever step foot in the ring." Refusing to accept this dismissal, Akio earns some grudging respect from the master. But it doesn't last; a second later, Mitsuo pours scalding hot tea on Akio's back. Later, Mitsuo attacks Akio, nearly strangling him to make the point that unless he attacks first, he is sure to be a goner. Instead of putting off the young man, it only makes him redouble his efforts. Such incidents are the stuff of a dozen boxing movies about a gruff, tough master and his eager apprentice, and if SUMO picked up the pace and embraced its essential pulp nature, it might be a lot more gripping. The slow, stately first act traces Akio's struggle for a spot in the lineup, earning the latter just before intermission and stunning everyone by winning a match against a stronger, more experienced competitor. You'll have to take on faith how an untutored, underweight kid suddenly emerges as a star; the script skips over the salient details. At least the Akio-Mitsuo conflict is shaped by clear contours. For far too long, the supporting characters make little or no impression; they're just a gang of sumo obsessives who will endure anything to stay in the stable. "I've given my whole body," one says, adding, "I have no skills." Others chime in: "I miss my brothers." "There's this pus that comes from my feet." "Someone got my right ear -- no more sound." SUMO is much better at detailing the miseries of training than explicating whatever joy it is said to generate. The play picks up in the second act when a boys' night out at a karaoke bar allows everyone to display some recognizably human characteristics; also, Dring rolls out a couple of subplots -- a wrestler expunged from the stable for failing, a clandestine gay romance -- that gets some drama flowing. None of this is exactly fresh -- SUMO doesn't have an original thought in its head - but it's much more interesting than the first act's deadening solemnity. Ralph B. Pena's direction, aided by fighting directors James Yaegashi and Chelsea Pace, liven up the proceedings in the competition scenes. Still, the play does little to evoke the fascination that sumo holds for its devotees. (Matches typically last less than a minute and are won by knocking over an opponent or tossing him out of the ring; they're over before you know it.) The cast works hard at bringing their stoic characters to life. David Shih's Mitsui is a poker-faced bully, handing out tough love without the love, and counseling Akio to dispense with pesky things like emotions and friendships. (As he puts it, "You can't stay in shit just to have company.") If Scott Keiji Takeda's Akio doesn't transition entirely convincingly from an emotional orphan to an ambitious monster, it's because the character as written is a bit of a blank. Earl T. Kim is briefly touching as the stable's outcast, trying to make his way in the outside world. Red Concepcion and Ahmad Kamal are solid as the doomed lovers. (So many characters fail to meet Mitsuo's standards that, by the climax, the stable has thinned out alarmingly; there are more where they came from, I guess.) Pena's design team outfits the production with a distinctive style. Wilson Chin's blonde wood set includes a ring for sumo matches, a perch for the accomplished drummer Shih-Wei Wu, and an upstage wall that opens to reveal a wall of lights. Paul Whitaker makes good use of the latter, combining chases and ballyhoos with subtler touches. Hana S. Kim's projections include gorgeous examples of traditional Japanese art, scoreboard tracking the characters' wins and losses, and karaoke videos. Mariko Ohigashi's costumes include beautifully detailed kimonos and ceremonial outfits. The hair, wig, and makeup designs of Alberto "Albee" Alvarado helpfully suggest changes in the wrestlers' status. Sound designer Fabian Obispo provides applause, cheers, crickets, and karaoke songs along with some imposing musical compositions. SUMO, a co-production of Ma-Yi and La Jolla Playhouse, often seems at odds with itself, its pronounced reverence for Japanese culture conflicting with its often-sordid atmosphere and double-cross-ridden plot. There's little evidence that this contrast is meant ironically. After two-and-a-half hours, I wasn't sure what point Dring wanted to make about this cherished sport. Days later, I'm still not sure.--David Barbour 
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