Review: New Sports Drama Sumo Waxes On Off-Broadway

“It’s not whether you get knocked down; it’s whether you get up,” Vince Lombardi said. “Talent sets the floor, character sets the ceiling,” remarked Bill Belichick. Mitsuo, the highest-ranked wrestler in Lisa Sanaye Dring’s new play Sumo, offers a different kind of platitude: “You can’t stay in shit just to have company.”

Presented by the Public Theatre, Ma-Yi Theater Company, and San Diego’s La Jolla Playhouse, Sumo doubles as a cultural history lesson on an oft-caricatured Japanese art form, and it has assorted moments of exhilaration—particularly the visceral fight choreography by James Yaegashi and Chelsea Pace. But it never shakes the feeling of being thoroughly and disappointingly conventional.

Set in a Tokyo heya, where sumo wrestlers live and train, Sumo follows a group of elite fighters of different ranks as they try to become the best. Mitsuo (David Shih) runs the show—he’s one tournament away from becoming a yokozuna, the grand champion. Neither friendly nor particularly inspirational, Mitsuo rules his stable with an iron fist, ostensibly in accordance with the traditions of sumo, with emphasis on becoming the best of the best no matter the personal cost.

The psychological warfare Mitsuo wages affects his trainees in different ways, but no one is more impressionable than Akio (Scott Keiji Takeda), a teenage newcomer nicknamed “shrimp” due to his comparatively slender frame and meager skillset. But Akio is determined to work his way up the ladder, even if it means getting the lower-ranking members of his heya booted so he can achieve greatness.

You can probably guess what happens to Akio over the course of the two-act play, directed by Ralph B. Peña. In his quest, Akio forgets where he came from and becomes a jerk until he’s forced to confront himself, etcetera, etcetera. Though Dring deserves credit for introducing audiences to the spirituality behind a sport often reduced to stereotypes, she doesn’t quite make a dramatic case for it. Sumo is a collection of sports movie tropes that we’ve already seen in everything from The Karate Kid to Happy Gilmore. You know how it’s going to end from the first scene.

As a result, Akio’s journey isn’t a particularly compelling one. A more exciting central performance could elevate it, but Takeda’s acting has a disappointing slackness that makes his eventual redemption arc feel unearned. Shih, on the other hand, really captures the loathsome, tunnel-vision focus of his coach/player—you really hate him. Mickey Goldmill and Mr. Miyagi he ain’t.

The lack of specificity in the central plot is made up for by the b and c storylines. One involves So (Michael Hisamoto), a lower-ranked wrestler who’s perpetually on the verge of getting ousted but who still pushes forward for the most noble of reasons: love of the game, something that Akio doesn’t quite understand. And then there’s the unexpected queer love story between Ren (Ahmad Kamal) and Fumio (Red Concepción), who mask their feelings in public while caressing in the shadows. By virtue of being on the periphery, the characters and their struggles are hardly the focus, but they held my attention throughout, something I honestly can’t say about the Akio/Mitsuo arc.

Peña gives the play the full bells-and-whistles treatment. Wilson Chin’s cream-colored set is a canvas for Hana S. Kim’s infotainment projections, which envelop the stage from floor to ceiling. Paul Whitaker’s lighting transports us into the arena where the fighters—costumed traditionally by Mariko Ohigashi—compete. A live taiko drummer (Shih-Wei Wu) creates tension as his bachi soar from his hands.

Ultimately, Sumo is a well-meaning but unoriginal play that I admired more than I enjoyed. It wins some points here and there, but it’s hardly a TKO.