Watching avant-garde theatre in South Korea. A little confounding. A little boring. And yet, exhilarating.
The Asia Cultural Center Theater in Gwangju, South Korea, was inaugurated recently, with a three-week-long festival from September 4 to 21. The centre – it’s enormous – aims to establish itself as the hub of Asian contemporary performing arts, and when an invitation arrived, I didn’t need much persuasion. Offbeat cinema, at least, is available if you have a broadband connection and no scruples – but offbeat theatre? The press contingent included journalists from France, Japan, Germany and all over Korea, and the first performance we watched was a production of Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring by Romeo Castellucci, the enfant terrible of Italian theatre. Having read up about him, I was prepared for something radical, but I still expected the basics – a ballet, with dancers, with a live orchestra. I expected a stage. However offbeat, you still need a stage.
Instead, we were ushered into a room with tiered seating – the kind of room in offices and college campuses where you’d be listening to a motivational speaker. It was dark, so it wasn’t immediately apparent – as we settled down – what lay in front of us, but there was something shiny, glassy. I thought it was a curtain. When the lights dimmed and the opening bassoon solo began to play (the score was a recording), the “stage lights” came on. The shiny curtain turned out to be a transparent wall. A literal fourth wall, perhaps? The “stage” looked like a squash court, and I couldn’t figure out how dancers were going to perform in that small space. And then the machines started moving.
Imagine the airborne drones from the Terminator movies swooping down, whirling around, swaying from side to side, incessantly vomiting a powder that looks like sand – they were the “dancers,” this was the “ballet.” It was as much about choreography as engineering. Now we saw the reason for the wall, so that the clouds of sand didn’t drift towards the audience. A Japanese choreographer seated a few rows ahead of me was unimpressed. “Something is missing,” he told me later. “It’s too controlled. For me, the most important part of the performing arts is the human body on stage. Here, we only see a concept.” But the concept was the thing. Castellucci’s staging was as radical as Stravinsky’s was when Rite of Spring premiered in Paris on May 29, 1913. Instead of a traditionally genteel ballet performance, something like Swan Lake, the audience got primitive folk music, pagan rituals and a virgin sacrifice. A century later, Castellucci was redefining our expectations of a ballet that redefined expectations of a ballet.
The avant-gardism did not stop there. Towards the end, the production morphed into a slide presentation. Viewers became readers. We were informed not just that the sand-like powder was actually bone ash, but also that the chemical name for bone ash is Calcium Hydroxide Phosphate, Ca5(OH)(PO4)3, that its density is so much, its melting point is this number, that it is obtained from the calcination of animal bones (cows, in this case), and that this production had used six tons of it (the equivalent of 75 cows). In other words, Spring, which signifies birth, life, was being represented through death.
Maybe there was something more. Maybe Castellucci, with his industrial mise en scène, was saying that the pagans were essentially automatons, mindlessly bound to codified ritual. Or maybe he was paying tribute to the music critic Paul Rosenfeld, who, in his 1920 book Musical Portraits: Interpretations of Twenty Modern Composers, described Stravinsky’s score thus: “The music pounds with the rhythm of engines, whirls and spirals like screws and fly-wheels, grinds and shrieks like laboring metal. The orchestra is transmuted to steel. Each movement of the ballet correlates the rhythms of machinery with the human rhythms which they prolong and repeat. A dozen mills pulsate at once.”
The performance was exhilarating, but also a little confounding, and at times even a little dull – like art cinema. Given how different tastes are, recommending a play or a movie to someone is always a fool’s errand, but the foolishness is multiplied a thousandfold when narrative (which does the explaining for us) is replaced by concept-level abstraction (which means we have to come up with explanations). Look, I’m not saying one is better than the other. There are times I’m just not in the mood for something like Castellucci’s Rite of Spring, and, given the option, would prefer to watch, say, The Mousetrap or a musical instead. I understand, too, that it’s part of my job to watch the Castellucci – during “office hours” – whereas most people watch films or plays after a hard day’s work, all wrung out, and they just want to be entertained.
But not all art has to “entertain.” All too often, I’ll speak highly about a “difficult” movie and someone will dismiss it as something for “pseudo-intellectuals” – and that’s unfair. Yes, we don’t always understand everything about non-mainstream art. We may even get bored. And we may walk away unsure about what we just saw, uncertain about what we really felt, unable to fully articulate how we processed it. But that’s part of the experience. That’s the word: experience. Sometimes, we want art to entertain us, perform tricks for us like a clever dog in a viral video. Other times, it’s about a new experience, a plodding rickshaw ride in this aviation age, a journey that won’t bombard you with stimulation but may offer subtler rewards if you’re alert, game, patient.
Later that day, we saw The Monk from Tang Dynasty, directed by Taiwanese art-house darling Tsai Ming-liang. The performance began with the monk lying motionless (sleeping, apparently) on a spotless white sheet. But it wasn’t cloth – it was paper. Another “actor” walked in, knelt on the paper, and began to draw with charcoal pencils. He drew. He smudged out what he drew. He kept doing this till he’d covered almost all the white space around the monk. In the silence – punctuated occasionally by the whirr-click of camera phones, coughing, the rustle of paper from my notebook, the squeaks of the charcoal pencils – you were free to project onto the performance whatever you wanted. The drawing and erasing – life and death? The gradual encroachment of black on white – a lament that, over time, what’s pure becomes corrupt?
There were no clues in the festival brochure. Simply the observation that “our own imagination becomes one with the staged event.” And a small note from Tsai Ming-liang. “Slowness extends and unfolds time. By eating and drinking slowly, we can truly experience the act of eating and drinking. In that sense, resistance can also appear through slowness. The world today asks for more speed and this has become a significant constraint in contemporary life. My goal is to become free from these constraints.” His goal, in other words, is to take that rickshaw ride, and he’s offering us the seat next to him.
An edited version of this piece can be found here. Copyright ©2015 The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
tonks
October 3, 2015
(cows, in this case), and that this production had used six tons of it (the equivalent of 75 cows)
Imagining the sangh pariwar’s reaction if they get wind of this 😮
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tonks
October 3, 2015
Seriously though, I’ve never really understood when people label art (cinema, paintings, books, theatre) as superior only when/ just because it is abstract. It’s probably because I do not understand but cannot get rid of an ’emperor’s new clothes’ sort of suspicious feeling when people sing praises. That was how I felt (a little dumb but mostly suspicious ) when I went to the Kochi-Muziris Biennale and saw what looked like collections of junk being hailed as art masterpieces. You probably need sensitising to appreciate such things but I’m afraid I haven’t much seen the point of that.
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tonks
October 3, 2015
Nevertheless this was an interesting read. A vicarious way of almost being there.
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Anu Warrier
October 3, 2015
But not all art has to ‘entertain’.
The paragraph with which this sentence begins, encapsulates everything that I’ve long felt about art – movies, music, paintings, et al. Art is always subjective.
I’m not very sure that I would have the patience to sit through the performances you mention – perhaps the first one, from an academic point of view, but definitely not the second one. At this point, I think performances like these are designed to put me to sleep.
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brangan
October 3, 2015
tonks: Two things.
(1) Yes, these non-mainstream things do need a bit of sensitisation. I sometimes wonder if I’d be able to watch, say, the films I watched at the Berlin film fest this year if I hadn’t stumbled into screenings of the Chennai film society in my teens. I still recall watching La Strada and struggling to sit through it.
(2) Only snobs would label one kind of art ‘superior.’ There’s as much of a your-mileage-may-vary factor here as there is with Singh is Bling. I look at it like cuisine. My comfort food may be Indian but when a new Ethiopian restaurant opens in your neighbourhood you may feel like checking out what the food is like. And if you don’t like it, you don’t. That’s all there is to it.
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Priyangu
October 4, 2015
Nice piece. The finishing line was sweet, as usual. 🙂
Different people, different expressions, different tastes.. reminds me of Bharathiyar’s “Vellai Niraththoru Poonai”
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South In North
October 5, 2015
Does knowing that this is ‘arty’ make you more patient? Is it something that you would ‘want to appreciate’? That happens with me. And the desire to like something sort of kills the pleasure in it. Catch-22 is the only book (equating all arts here) that I have enjoyed despite the work I put into getting through with it.
As an aside, Bill Watterson did some really good strips on art and it being commoditised. Unable to find them now. Found this instead.
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tonks
October 6, 2015
And speaking about snobs :
mobile.nytimes.com/2015/10/04/movies/film-snob-is-that-so-wrong.html
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brangan
October 7, 2015
South In North: Does knowing that this is ‘arty’ make you more patient? Is it something that you would ‘want to appreciate’?
Not really. Sometimes you do end up NOT appreciating something that’s arty. It all comes down to how much you are drawn into the work, and sometimes you’re not drawn in at all.
BTW, I would never do what you did with Catch-22, though I didn’t find it all that “arty.” If a book is too much work, I’ll let it go. I mean, I’ll give it about 50 pages to hook me, but after that I’ll let it go 🙂
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tonks
October 7, 2015
Sometimes however perseverance is rewarded :). Like for instance, two months back I started on Anthony Burgess’s book ‘The clockwork orange’ and found it very tough going to begin with : not just that the entire narration was in some weird, Russian influenced Nadsat language that was difficult to follow but also the horrific, senseless violence and rape that was being described in a matter-of-fact manner. I stopped reading and looked up what others thought on Goodreads. I took heart from a reviewer there who wrote about how she too found it difficult reading at first but that it became much better for her afterwards. So I ploughed on and was rewarded. The language grew on me, even acquired a poetry of its own and I found the story after he becomes jailed very interesting. I ended up finally genuinely enjoying the book.
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South In North
October 7, 2015
I somehow seem to be liking my own comments here. That is embarrassing. I really don’t know how that happened! :-\
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tonks
October 8, 2015
That’s a glitch with this new template. You see who has liked someone’s comment and it registers as a like of your own.
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tonks
October 8, 2015
Speaking of glitches, I wonder why some of the urls I copy paste do not register as bonafide links though they seem to work fine elsewhere
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