 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
 |
|||
|
|||
 February 2001 Issue |
|||
| Open Correspondence with Chandradasan: Thiyyam's "Uttar-Priyadarshi" |
|||
| Last October 8, I was in Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall to see Ratan Thiyyam's Chorus Repertory Theatre present "Uttar-Priyadarshi" ("The Final Beatitude"), described as "an Epic of War and Peace." This contemporary theatre company--which people "in the know" do know--is from the remote state of Manipur, India. The play tells the story of the second-century emperor, Ashoka, who promulgated Buddhism in India. It was gratifying to see this performance among the offerings at Zellerbach Hall. Cal Performances, which books the hall, has been Northern California's largest presenter of music and dance. I understand from (the lovely) Lisle Peterson, Public Relations Manager for Cal Performances, that they are newly expanding their seasons to include theatre performances. For 2000-2001, they are bringing in the Gate Theatre of Dublin, the new Serban/Taymor production of "The King Stag" from American Repertory Theatre, and a one-man show by Canadian Robert Lepage. This shift towards inclusion of the theatre in their Zellerbach programming is welcome indeed, and helps to define the East Bay further as the world-class cultural center it is, rather than as a poor cousin of neighboring San Francisco, with its ample road houses. Cal Performances is making an important contribution here by casting its net more widely, so to speak. Director Chandradasan was kind enough to correspond with me about Thiyyam's Chorus Rep production before I saw it. Chandradasan is founder and Artistic Director of the important Lokadharmi theatre company in Kerala, India; he is currently directing a production of MEDEA. His comments about Thiyyam’s show and its place in India’s theatre "scene" helped enormously to orient me—so much so that I took a printout of what he’d sent along to the theatre with me, where several people who got a peek at it asked me to send them copies of the text. Which I am hereby sharing. Chandradasan wrote: |
|||
 |
|||
| Hi Lissa, I am so happy to know that Ratan Thiyyam and his company, Chorus Rep, are visiting the US with their production of the play "Uttar Priyadarshi." Lissa, you are right in pointing out that Ratan Thiyyam is one of the most important directors of contemporary Indian theatre-- one of the really biggest names, a distinction which he achieved through painful and purposeful work. He comes from Manipur, one of the North Eastern states of India, a state which was not at all a part of India's cultural scene till he came into the picture. Of course, the state of Manipur has a very distinctive classical dance form--The Manipuri Dance-which is very graceful, slow and poetic. Also, this part of the country has very special traditions in both folk music and instrumental music, especially for the flute and for its authentic Manipuri-style derivatives. There is also a very vibrant martial art form there. The language of the state is Manipuri, which has a very special sonority, rhythm and is spoken in highly dramatic voice, is also occasionally very sweet. The extreme high pitch of Manipuri is so appealing and clear—the voice that we all long for in theatre. The physique of the average Manipuri is stocky, heavy and different from that of the rest of India. These people have a Mongolian look and character. The costumes and rituals of Manipur are also colorful and special; this is a very proud ethnic group, with traditions of its own. With the work of Ratan, one of the front runners of Indian theatre, Manipuri theatre suddenly burst into the limelight. Now, in addition to him, there are many names to reckon with: Kanai Lal, Lokendra Arambam, Jogeendra, Shoimcha Indrakumar and a lot of other new, refreshing faces. Of course, Ratan is the still the Guru and inspiration to all. Now, as Ratan has pointed out, his home state is a very troubled state, full of insurgency, extremists, militant attacks and attacks by the National Government on the masses, etc. The state is virtually without a nightlife, and is one of general unrest--this is what my friends from Manipur tell me. I have never personally been to this very beautiful state; it is not yet connected to the mainland by train. You can only reach it either by air (very costly) or by road (very tedious and dangerous). I am afraid that theatre activities in this state are also under threat; any theatre there is fighting against all odds to survive. I actually doubt whether Ratan's works have even been performed in his own home state any time recently--in spite of the fact that he is a celebrity who is regularly featured on the international theatre circuit!! During the late sixties and early seventies, Indian theatre was in a period of reawakening to its own traditional heritage. The theatre pundits were advocating a National theatre, to be evolved from our own performance roots and rituals. We started to question the western sensibility, western style of production and its techniques, so that an indigenous Indian theatre could be developed. Ratan was one of the answers to this call, and from a remote part of the country, with its very powerful, colorful productions, real spectacles of movement, a new visual and audio sensibility, with fresh native energy. His productions such as "Chakra Vyooha" and "Karnna Bhara" established him. His hallmark was a repertory concept with trained actors, very sure and specific in both movement and voice. Ratan, along with other masters, rejected the proscenium stage for open air performance in the Indian tradition. The rejection of the proscenium was one part of the overall rejection of the western theatre idiom in favor of a native one. Plot and characterization became secondary, and the actor became more important than the character. In Ratan's case, some critics say that the director is so important that the actor is also secondary, except in the exposition of the abilities in craft, skill in movement and voice that he has mastered through the training. The creative energy of the actor is missing in Ratan productions. I have felt that the actors of Ratan are like soldiers engaged in a sort of war, with sharp and concentrated mental and physical states. "Uttar Priyadarshi" is a typical Ratan production, in that it shows his overt indulgence in colour, choreography, technique, perfection, music and overall spectacles. He works at a movement or piece of choreography till it is visually complete and perfect--so much so that it loses its emotional energy, at least to an extent. And there are some critics who say that even if Ratan has taken his productions out of a proscenium to a more open and informal space, his formations, choreography, entrances, exits and blocking are still controlled by an invisible proscenium arch. It will be thrilling to watch Ratan and talk to him. I am really eager to know how Ratan was appreciated and accepted in the states. Tell me how you feel after watching him. I am afraid I have elaborated a lot and sorry for the delay in replying. Love, Chandradasan [October 12, 2000] Dear Chandradasan, As I came into the theatre for the pre-performance lecture, Thiyyam's company was doing lovely, easy vocal group warm-up behind the curtain. Simply singing a simple melody (was this "devotional" singing?). It was wonderful to hear vocal preparation so genuine and unforced--i.e. it didn't involve a lot of pretentious "exercises" that many directors insist on for some reason I don't understand. I am completely inspired by everything I know about the training of these actors--such as the following: "All company members are trained in dance, acting, martial arts, stagecraft, and design." I am committed to the notion that actors need to be trained in design. I have seen my acting students improve when I asked them to take drawing lessons or provided teachers for this. I am excited by the idea of actors' designing their own sets and costumes, building their own props. Thiyyam’s actors apparently built their own theatre! In the pre-performance talk, we learned that Thiyyam is a painter in addition to his writing and theatre activities. I have a particular interest in artists who work in more than one medium--painter-poets, musician-writers, etc. I have an enormous affinity for the work that came out of the cross-media experimentation of the early 20th century, and have done some writing on this subject. And so I was especially looking forward to what I was about to see. I would like to talk about the performance I saw on its own terms, but—in spite of all the effort I made to inform myself--I’m not sure I fully understand what those "terms" are. Was this performance a new expression of an old story by a company of actors who work in isolation from the rest of the world? Or was it an experiment in trans-media sociological ritual-making such as flourished in the ‘70’s? Neither? Perhaps the goal of the work is to be both of those--to be ancient and avant-garde at once—a project which inspires me. But somehow I got mixed up on this point—I had to shift my sense of the production’s intentions again and again to accommodate what I was seeing, and each time I got a little more frustrated. I started out thinking I was watching an old story being newly rendered by a group of people who lived in a place more remote than I can really fathom. I understand that this place the company is from, Manipur, is too expensive to reach by airplane and too dangerous to reach by bus. I was watching and thinking about ancient storytelling, about ritual, about beautiful young people keeping ancient traditions alive by re-imagining them, then taking them to "the outside world." In the early parts of the performance, I was very struck by the intersection of what I saw with a whole array of other theatre forms and cultures. First I thought—"aha! so this must finally be what the ancient Greek performances looked like. Yes, there is Oedipus, there is his chorus, yes." I felt I was seeing something fabulously authentic from these ancient people. Then a Japanese kabuki-esque element came into focus—the warrior dress, the bearing, the vocal quality—even some of the words sounded literally Japanese. Then a kind of Middle Eastern keening began. It was as if all these classical and traditional elements met in this one ritual play from Manipur. But I ran into problems watching the show from these "coordinates." I was sitting in a very urban, polished concert venue watching something Of the Earth. As if I were wearing taffeta to watch burlap. Odd, disconnected. And this is, after all, a proscenium stage I’m looking at. Where is the dancing circle, or the stomping ground, the ceremonial site? I became uncomfortable that we were all sitting in identical rows, in folding chairs, with programs. Also, the phenomenon of performing a ritual which is organic to your community in a foreign place confused me. This company was touring, and had all of the problems one has with touring. The choreography was being adjusted during the performance all the time. The lighting plot couldn’t offer enough light for a stage that large (63'x30' [19.20m x 9.14m]). That auditorium seats over 2000, and I could be very wrong but it seemed to me that the actors were concerned about being heard and had to shout a lot—so that I missed a lot of the vocal variety and subtlety I had heard so much about. If the piece was an outgrowth of a specific community, then it lost its real impact outside of that community. It became simply a curiosity. Sometime later I decided I’d been way off—that I was actually watching a highly trained company make its most recent contribution to the international theatre scene, funded by arts grants. Very much grounded in The Now, as it were. Far from being an ambassador from a "primitive" or pre-industrial culture of some sort, Thiyyam was born into a professional theatre family, studied at the National School of Drama in Delhi; his name is often mentioned in the same breath with the great international lions of 1960’s/1970’s theatre—Grotowski, Brook, Barba. I also saw images reminiscent of Peter Schumann’s Bread and Puppet Theatre and theatres of that "alternative"or experimental theatrical ilk. At the post-performance Q&A session, someone asked Thiyyam if he would ever work with more conventional kinds of texts and he assured the questioner that he and his company have worked on Moliere, et alia: "Yes, we do know Ibsen, we do know Robert Frost." From this perspective I wondered, when I saw a chef in Thiyyam’s hell, whether it could be a reference to Faust in Hell’s Kitchen? This seemed like an interesting path—to re-enliven classical Indian texts through a combination of re-constructed ritual, newly-created ceremony and reference to the full range of world dramatic literatures and performance modes. But I ran into problems watching from these "coordinates," as well. When I’d thought the piece was ancient and ritualistic, I hadn’t felt I had the "right" not to like anything about it. Its naivete was touching; its slowness was, uh, meditational. But if I looked at the performance from the perspective of theatre that is familiar to me, and if Thiyyam and I were in the same "conversation" about contemporary theatre, and I had the "right" to an opinion about it—then its naivete seemed sentimental, cloying; its slow pacing seemed to mean what it always means all over the world: the actors were tired or otherwise distracted. I mean, I really tried to feel what I would feel if a Western person had created this piece. After all, it’s difficult not to feel impressed by the director’s being from Far Away, or to feel intimidated by his accent or impressive bearing. We do watch a piece like this "making allowances" for its weaknesses—and I am not at all sure whether this is a sign in us of sophistication and worldliness, or your garden variety condescension. If a Western director friend had created this piece, and has asked me for my opinion, I would have said: |
|||
| Thiyyam said, "It’s a very thin story line, but the ultimate thing I wanted to explore was the subtext: Who is this Ashok, what is the nature of power, and where does the impulse to dominate come from?" (Contra Costa Times). This exploration sounds very interesting to me. I read in the program notes (Bradley Clough) that scholars argue, for example, about the sincerity of Ashoka’s conversion to Buddhism, as well as about the purity of his version of Buddhism, and I thought these arguments would make good foundations for a dramatic play. But I don’t think that this broad-brushed, ritualistic form of storytelling allowed for inquiry such as this. Instead, I saw a series of striking tableaus which communicated that war is terrible, that killing causes suffering and that Hell is awful, you wouldn’t want to go there. The actor who played the enlightened Buddhist priest, who couldn’t be touched by Hell’s damnation, did have a celestially lovely voice, and the brief comic sections were deftly played. The sounds of the bells and drums had been lovingly scored. All of this was impressive, interesting—but it fell short of offering serious inquiry into complex matters. I’m not at all sure that such inquiry is what everyone wants in the theatre. Audiences all around the world have been completely captivated by the piece without its offering this "serious inquiry" at all. The press on the show is full of words such as: masterpiece, genius, mesmerizing, dazzling, staggering, one of the world’s great directors. Closer to home, I ran into a well-known composer, Richard Marriott, who was seeing the show for the second time--and one of the Bay Area’s best costume designers, Allison Connor, said it was one of the best things she’d seen in a long time and it had actually made her cry. So Thiyyam seems to be doing fine in spite of my concerns. I am reminded of something that Goethe wrote in 1827 in response to Schlegel’s criticizing Euripides. "A poet whom Socrates called his friend, whom Aristotle lauded, whom Menander admired, and for whom Sophocles and the city of Athens put on mourning on hearing of his death, must certainly have been something. If a modern man like Schlegel must pick out faults in so great an ancient, he ought only to do it upon his knees." Thiyyam has created and maintained a thriving company of actors who are recognized worldwide for their unusual accomplishments. These have been achieved against almost unimaginable odds. They endure bloody war, and hardship—to mention only one of very many: the company’s poultry farming collective was devastated when a flood drowned all their chickens. If I am to "pick out faults," or suggest weaknesses, in so awe-inspiring an undertaking as this production of "Uttar-Priyadarshi," I do it only with my head bowed in utmost respect. Very Best Wishes, Chandradasan, Lissa ____________ [October 16, 2000] Dear Lissa, These are my responses to your impressions of the Ratan Thiyyam production. This is not to correct or manipulate your impressions or perceptions, but only to express mine. We know that a true work of art may invoke different responses in different people. It has to be so. And that is inevitable since we do live in two entirely different parts of the globe, with different life experiences and surroundings. I should tell you that I saw "Uttar Priyadarshi" three years ago, and for this reason my responses may be at once a little dusty, and at the same time, "ripe." And I would also like to say at the outset that I respect Ratan a lot for all he has done for the development of Indian theatre, and for creating a theatre language that is so totally visible and poetic. In his absence, and without people whose work is related to his, Indian theatre would be much different in quality from what it is now. The works of those of us who belong to the next generation are offshoots of Thiyyam's and the works of the other gurus. Nevertheless, when I saw the production of "Uttar Priyadarshi," I was not very much impressed by it, and still have reservations about the aesthetics and the theatrical form of the work--while at the same time accepting and upholding the theoretical and philosophical premise of the production. As I came into the theatre for the pre-performance lecture, Thiyyam's company was doing a lovely, easy vocal group warm-up behind the curtain. Simply singing a simple melody (was this "devotional" singing?). Yes, it was a ritualistic invocation, the pre-performance practice of this group. Also somewhat religious, it is in accordance with the tradition of Indian performance. His group usually does this privately, away from audience scrutiny. It may help the actors warm up mentally and feel concentrated. You might remember that all the work of the actors, from movement to vocal modulation, and from posture to choreography, moment-to-moment suggest a highly concentrated and meditative mood, which helps them to transgress the reality of the performance time and space. It is interesting, Lissa, to read of your struggles to find a proper 'co-ordinate' for seeing the production. When we watch a play from a foreign culture, what do we generally look for? Yes, we are curious about the overall culture and its performance traditions. But the performance has to go beyond just having this effect, and start to communicate with the freshness of the "theatre" it is offering. I have had the same problem when I was watching a Japanese production, a Finnish production or a performance from Bulgaria. I should have the same problem with "Godot," "The Maids" or "Death of a Salesman" (or even Shakespeare). In a sense, each work is both culture- specific and time-specific. But it is a universal language that creates new avenues in the art and craft of narration, and it is the basic conflicts and state of humanity expressed in the body of the performance, which make each play one’s own. In this respect, Ratan Thiyyam’s production needs to address an American or Japanese audience, beyond its cultural specifics. And I am not advocating the universalisation of ethnic cultural identities so as to address the global village (which is a dangerous lie and part of the neo-colonial process.) Me, I am from Kerala, at the farthest extreme from Manipur—I am also alien to the cultural codes of the play. So that Lissa, my own pre-positioning in relation to the play was not much different from yours, except for the very broad, weak bond of being another "Indian-ness." And I myself am also a person who would love to replace the western models of theatre with an indigenous Indian perspective. I, too, would prefer to rely on the ritualistic performance tradition of our "roots" in/for the process. This very purposeful inversion of priorities is not only to free the theatre of India from alien perspectives, but also is to enrich the whole of international theatre. Orientalism in theatre is not simply for the sake of fashion, but is to liberate and humanize the theatre of our much-mechanized techno-world. For me, this particular production by Ratan did not succeed in these. The production lacked emotional punch and spontaneity. It seemed to me to be a well-crafted, well-organised, polished and "well-packed" piece. It did not emotionally address the current war or agonies of Manipur (or any other mutilated land) in the way it was framed. For me there was no blood, but only purposefully crafted visual images of red cloth and beautifully-composed music and careful (and pre-meditated) movements for the actors to land at the pre-determined points in the visual picture. The performance can perfectly well be epic and narrate a story from the past to represent the present day. And I do not need rounded characters, well-structured plot development or histrionic outbursts--nor even Brecht--for this purpose. But I still think that something is lacking in the whole ideology of the group and its philosophy, or they are caught up in some paradoxes, or else restrained by some invisible forces (like that of a big funding agency and their indirect political interests.) I am informed that Ratan is presently one of the blessed Indian theatre persons who has the luxury of getting huge grants and can do theatre with more than enough money. Inevitably such theatre will become decorative, will move away from the political, social and historical functions it has to serve, and will be devoid of the warmth and feel of human dilemmas. Still admiring Ratan Thiyyam and his contributions to Indian theatre; Thanking you, Chandradasan _______________ [October 16, 2000] Chandradasan: This is so completely interesting--I have the impression that our responses to this production were 100% identical. I'd like to respond to what you write here but…I agree entirely with every word you've written. Lissa |
|||
| Chandradasan continued to provide me with my much-needed education in Indian theatre over the next weeks, and this climaxed with his introducing me to his friend and colleague, Shivaprakash. Shivaprakash is Editor of Indian Literature, the foremost literary journal of India. In a sense, he is something like the Indian "counterpart" of Richard Schechner (whom Shivaprakash recently met on his three-month lecture tour of the U.S.). Two differences being that he is simultaneously one of India’s leading poets and one of its most important contemporary playwrights. Chandradasan brought this introduction about with a very succinct instruction to me. Referring to our correspondence on Thiyyam, he wrote: "Show Shivaprakash what we have talked about here. He will be interested." Thus began my correspondence with Shivaprakash throughout November. He was, in fact, interested in "what we’d talked about." Late in the month, he came to spend four whirlwind days with the Actors’ Training Project, lecturing inspirationally on Indian literature and drama. Since December I’ve been making my way through the marvelous soon-to-be-published play scripts he’s sent. One of my teachers, William I. Oliver (d. 1995), used to say: "If you don’t like mushrooms, learn all about them, learn to enjoy eating them. That way you’ll have one more thing to love in your life. I feel this way about the trajectory of my original, casual inquiry to Chandradasan. Through Chandradasan and Shivaprakash, what began as the informal request by an uninformed ticket-holder for a chat to help me watch Thiyyam’s show has blossomed into a whole new Life Interest. Or as Bill Oliver said: another thing to love in my life |
|||
| Lissa Tyler Renaud, Ph.D. is an award-winning actress, a recognized scholar, and Program Director and Teacher of InterArts Training for ongoing training and master classes: Actors' Training Project, Voice Training Project, FUNdaMENTALS Training Project |
|||
| © 2000 Lissa Tyler Renaud and Chandradasan. All rights reserved. Please share this text—including copyright information—with interested private parties and for educational purposes. Please refer people who would like to be on (or off) the mailing list for this and/or future mailings. But please contact us for permission before you reproduce, translate, transmit, frame or store this in a retrieval system for public use. For this February Issue, we are at acttrainproj@earthlink.net and chandradasan@satyam.net.in . Thank you for your consideration. LTR/ATP | |||
| © 2000 Lissa Tyler Renaud. All rights reserved. | |||