|
Go back to Flash Reviews
Go
Home
Flash Review 2, 9-25:
Surprise
Ratan Thiyam's Sub-continental Synthesis
By Tehreema Mitha
Copyright 2000 Tehreema Mitha
WASHINGTON -- I don't
think that many in the audience on Saturday, walking into the hall
of the Eisenhower Theater at The Kennedy Center, knew what to expect
from Ratan Thiyam's production of "Uttar-Priyadarshi" (The Final
Beatitude), presented by his Chorus Repertory Theatre. Of the Indians
who partially filled the hall, most were obviously not from Manipur;
and other Americans could be heard wondering aloud exactly where
Manipur is. "Does it have a long border with China?" I was asked
by one. "Do they have some connection to Burma?" I was asked by
another. So let's get that sorted out first: Manipur is a northeast
state in India, bordered by Bhutan, Bangladesh and Burma.
A lot of it is to do
with the fact that the people of Manipur do not conform to the idea
that most people have here of Indians of the sub-continent. They
look more southeast Asian and when theatre like "Uttar Priyadarsh"
presents a very Buddhist attitude towards violence, there is further
confusion, since India is perceived as basically Hindu.
I was confused too, but
for a different reason: the evening's event had been presented to
me from the aspect of dance, and there was precious little dance!
However, once I got over that and looked at the presentation as
theater I was able to enjoy it more. Like many others, my favorite
parts of the evening's 80-minute work (non-stop) were when the four
monks were on stage. These four took us through a range of emotions,
sometimes lost in their chanting, sometimes strong and at other
times quivering in fear. Serious and scathing, and then alternately
witty and hilarious so that they had the audience in stitches --
and all of this without most of us understanding a word of the spoken,
chanted or sung language!
But let me start at the
beginning. The play starts with chanting on stage and the main four
monks (the narrators) are introduced as well as eight others. The
chanting is spectacular, the monks moving slowly and with grace
in their yellow and brown robes, bearing aloft the symbols of the
eight fold path of Buddha.
I will not describe in
too great a detail the story (which is done amply in the program
notes) but just give you the bare outline. The tale, taken from
a verse poem by Ajneya, is about the famous Maurya King called Ashoka,
under whom flourished what is known as The Golden Age of Buddhism
(324-187 B.C.). Ashoka, coming from a long line of brutal military
leaders, was victorious in war and came to rule most of the Indian
sub-continent. But after his conquest of the people of Kalinga he
is said to have had a change of heart and given up most of his ambition
to fight and conquer. Whether he himself actually became a Buddhist
or not is a much debated point but the presentation also gives the
impression that he came to believe in non-violence.
The first real bit of
Manipuri dance is in the depiction of Ashoka as a child when the
Lord Buddha comes to him. Most people familiar with other classical
forms of dance from India and unfamiliar with this part of Indian
culture, are surprised at the soft movements in this dance form
and the absence of strong stamping of the feet. The feet are turned
out, the knees bent but only slightly. The soft twisting hand movements,
mostly from the wrist, are those seen in a slower form in Balinese
dancing. There is slow and gentle circling, the head tilted slightly.
The war scene with the
king atop an elephant, his army marching on both sides and behind,
is a glimpse of the fantastic presentation that marks the whole
play. The lighting throughout is superb, designed and handled by
the director himself. Red color bathes many of the violent scenes,
for anti-violence is the predominant theme in Ratan Thiyam's works
now-a-days. The lighting is just perfect so that an amazing atmosphere
is created where you see only enough to understand but not enough
to reveal exactly what and who is on stage. The elephant's ears
seem to move, the armor on the soldiers clanks and shine, their
expressions are intense. There are few sets, the mood changes relaying
mostly on lights, costumes and movable props.
The victorious king is
shown trying to celebrate his victory. Instead the people mock him;
and then come the war widows. Slowly these white-shrouded figures
appear on stage from the sides, crossing onto the red banners signifying
blood. The most wonderful aspect of this group is the training in
voice and song. It is obvious that they have learnt to employ special
breathing techniques that allow them to sing as clearly and perfectly
as opera singers while moving on stage. The sobbing and wailing
of these widows of war is piteous, wrenching and very good drama.
The moaning never stops, even as they fall down in the rivers of
blood and then drag themselves off stage.
Next there is the entry
of Ghor, the lord of hell, who lives within each of us, and is the
evil that Ashoka turns to so as to silence the torment of guilt
and regret. Talk about wooden-clog dancing! Ghor and his attendants
in hell all wear wooden slippers, with just a wide strap across
the foot -- and do they dance! Right in the middle of hell we find
-- humor! The light parts in the evening are well-blended with the
serious and passionate, including the outstanding four monks when
they enter hell with chattering teeth, shaking knees and muttering
prayers.
Bordering on the childish
was the anti-death penalty segment; with caricatures of figures
in electric chairs, under guillotine and in nooses, and a chef cooking
all the various body parts. The people carrying out all these tortures
were covered in black robes with long white hair, and they giggled
and applauded so that all the audience unexpectedly had fits of
laughter too. The figurines, though, were not unreal enough, symbolic
enough, or otherwise not real enough. They looked like badly made
school production material and spoiled an otherwise clean bill for
stage props.
When Ghor's female attendants
dance to lead the monks astray, we finally get an irritatingly short
view of Manipuri dance as done by women. The dresses here are typical:
stiff tubular skirts dropping to just above the ankles, with stiff
frills over them that stop just over the hip. Long blouses, and
transparent veils partially covering the faces. Hardly anything
is made of the movements here and there is little use of the many
variations in facial expressions that are a part of all dancing
in the sub-continent.
There is a lot of spoken
text and verse which most of us are were unable to understand but
in a way that was almost a relief. One could instead concentrate
on the sound and voice production: the deep guttural sounds, the
high pitch of the women (who, by the way, are given no major role
and who do not speak any of the poetry) who are so versatile in
their depictions of different groups.
For audiences in the
West, I think this production would be a completely new experience
in it's way of telling and merging the singing, dancing, and spoken
verse. I am constantly reminded of the complete difference in the
mind-set of those of us who come from the Indian sub-continent and
those who are brought up here when I watch, for example, an Indian
movie. An American friend wondered aloud why all the movies made
there are musicals. To us it is incomprehensible that the "musical"
format needs to be thought of as different to any other; and that
when there is a musical it does not normally include words and drama
all rolled into one. I wish that more people from Washington had
gone to see this work because it brings to them a different way
of looking at a production. Unfortunately, whether due to late or
weak publicity, or general public dis-interest in anything that
is not mainstream, so few tickets were sold that at one point apparently
the production was almost cancelled. Later this strategy was dismissed
and instead free tickets were given to dance studios and like institutions
so that the company would not be opening to an embarrassingly half
empty hall. The word I got from people who saw the opening night
was that it was an amazing eye-opener, and by the next day I heard
that those who caught the whispers, when unable to find any free
seats, actually went off to the box office to spend some money.
Good news!
My take on it is that
the tale told, almost a myth, almost too simple for my liking, just
lends itself to this drama format. However, I am left to lament:
"NOT ENOUGH DANCE!!!"
Go
back to Flash Reviews
Go Home
|
