The magic of the traditional dance drama is captured in all its mysterious glory, writes Julia Mayer
IT’S as though an Instagrammer has just snapped the young dancer, then hastily applied the ever popular “Gingham” filter effect. It’s just enough to disrupt the white balance slightly, so that we’re immediately drawn to the ochre warmth of his natural skin tone, before casting our gaze on his golden ornate coronet.
Bleached, blurred and blinding, the stark white foreground is a gateway to a world of dreams; a world where the shrill of the gong echoes to the edge of the jungle, and where the past reverberates to the hypnotic roll of the drums.
The Manora, as it’s performed over a number of nights in the kampungs in Kelantan, is a traditional art form that bears as much witness to a distant past as it heralds the future. This vignette, captured either moments or years ago, is virtually unshackled from the constraints of time, reflecting the enduring nature of the art form, as well as the resilience of the Kelantanese spirit.
In reality, though, this photograph is nearly 50 years old, and should the dancer be alive today, he’d be 70, at least. Taken in 1968 by Professor Douglas Raybeck, Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at Hamilton College, USA, we know only a couple of details: they were a Thai-Kelantanese troupe from Bachok, Kelantan, and, on that particular occasion, the performance was held in honour of the Sultan’s birthday.
In some respects, it’s also an unremarkable photograph. The composition tells us very little about the ritual or dance elements inextricably linked to the art form, and with the young man’s startled awareness of the protruding camera lens, the emotional intensity that permeates the very core of the Manora is left mostly unrevealed. What makes it an extraordinary photograph, though, is undeniably its age, for it could have been taken yesterday, 10 or perhaps 20 years ago at a pinch.
But at a near unimaginable 50 years ago, this seems too much of a bend in the time warp. How is it that the dancer, the very embodiment of a boy on the cusp of manhood, could be so well past his prime? Surely he lives, as is?
CAPTURING THE MAGIC
In much the same way I was introduced to Mak Yong, I came to know about Manora through my involvement with Pusaka, a cultural heritage organisation committed to the visibility and viability of traditional Malaysian performing arts.
Last November, Pusaka presented a rare performance of Manora in KL. On any given Pusaka Evenings held at the Black Box, Publika, camera-wielding guests occupy the front of the stage, determined to produce their best photograph to date. A friendly competitive spirit pervades the air.
The next morning, photographs appear on our newsfeeds, with the “heart button” getting a solid workout.
Often, I find it hard to believe that I was ever in the same room as some of these photographers, as I try to recapture some semblance of what was experienced the night before.
Although I still maintain that some of the communal roots and energy is lost in performances in a conventional theatre space, for the photographer, this contrived setting can be more easily manipulated, enabling some truly startling images.
Photographer Cheryl Hoffmann offers a rare insight into some of the more mysterious aspects of the Manora. In this series, Hoffmann uses black and white to capture the interplay of light and shadow, with the muted grey tones depicting both the complexity and the seriousness that underpin the first part stage of the Manora performance.
There’s a haunting symmetry to the photographs which makes them unforgettable, and while the task of the photographer is to literally stop time, these images seem to accompany us, travelling high above those veritable winds of change, to be essentially beyond change.
If Raybeck’s photograph leaves us wondering about the identity of the young dancer, Hoffmann’s work also propels us into the future by encouraging the viewer to imagine the inevitable course of action. Time, any philosopher will tell you, is greatly nuanced.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged, there’s no greater moment than “now”. Actions that take place in the present have an impact on the future, and is the source for change. Though the Manora follows a well-trodden storyline, a considerable amount of improvisation takes place to make it relevant to contemporary audiences, and to keep it rolling with the times.
Entranced with a moment that has since come to pass, the dancer, here, is suspended between what was and what shall be, inviting us to complete the next phase of moment, to become the imaginary change-maker ourselves.
THE MANORA
Steeped in ritual and devotion, the Manora is opened with an invocation and invitation to perform.
Khun Eh Tik, the lead dancer of Kampulan Manora Cik Manis Bukit Yong, is seeking the blessings from his ancestors, a lineage of teachers past and present, to proceed with the performance.
Drawing upon a combination between Buddhism-Brahmanism and animism, the Manora tradition is characteristically Thai, but in Kelantan it has effortlessly fused with traditional Kelantan melodic sounds and rhythms, Kelantanese-Malay dialogue and sweeping, gestured movements. Once permission is granted for the performance to proceed, the next stage is to embody the Manora character through a highly ritualised process of adorning the coronet, the kecopong.
Manora, used interchangeably to mean the entirety of the performance, the troupe or the lead character, is also synonymous with the coronet, defining both the character and the dance-drama tradition. In becoming Manora, master performer Khun Eh Tik becomes the celestial half-bird, half-woman, the youngest and the most beautiful of the seven Kinnaree Princesses from the mythical realm of Mount Grairat.
While Manora is frequently played by a female in Southern Thailand, in Kelantan there’s a strong tradition of men playing the lead role (as can be noted in Raybeck’s photograph). This adds an additional layer of complexity to the performance.
Evolving from the Buddhist Jaktaka tales, the legend is a love story between the seventh youngest daughter of the Kinnara King, Kinnaree Manora, who resides in the celestial realm, and falls in love with the human Prince Suthon, heir to the Panchala Kingdom.
Khun Eh Tik embodies both Manora depicted as half-woman and half-bird, as well as the earthly Prince, with one or the other resonating more strongly at different times.
One of the more enduring images of traditional Thai dancing which can be traced back to the northern Lanna Kingdom, are the elongated brass nails used in the fawn lep, the Fingernail Dance. Distinctively Thai, in the southern Manora tradition, the shorter more compact fingernail caps have a highly symbolic purpose in that they represent the claws of the celestial half-bird, half-woman Princess. As part of the ritual, the nails are placed on to the fingers of the lead dancer as he embodies the bird spirit of Manora.
Audiences familiar with the Kelantan tradition of Mak Yong will be familiar with the role of the dayang, a chorus of dancing maidens. In the Manora tradition, the maidens are the six celestial sisters of Manora. Following the heavily prescribed ritual element, the dayang shift from being the ever-present observers to becoming objects of desire and affection.
In a state of ecstasy, the dayang swoon to the rapturous rhythms of the lead dancer’s flirtatious movements, mirroring and mixing memory with desire. In this sequence, Manora’s male energy overwhelms the dayang who are entranced by his playfulness and the power of profound love.
Cymbals, drums, gongs, clapping sticks and the forlorn wail of the oboe hypnotises the audience into the perpetual present. Frantic and frenetic, melodic and mellow, the accompanying music and sounds draw us into the mythical realm of the Manora.
Yet it’s with an increasing sense of familiarity that the rhythms and beats become almost timeless, drawing us into a “now” to be remembered and later, rehearsed in our minds.
Pusaka will be continuing the Pusaka Evenings At Publika at Black Box, Publika, from April.
Cheryl Hoffmann’s latest exhibition Gerak Geri will run from March 4-19, 2017 at Ruang at Think City. Gerak Geri is an exploration of the enduring and the fragile in traditional performing arts in Malaysia.
Details at www.cherylljhoffmann.com, www.facebook.com/events/258198017938766/