by David Calleja
June 14, 2012
On
a warm evening in Hanoi’s Thanh Long Theatre, the best way to cool off
and be entertained is watch a few wooden characters tell a story while
floating in a shallow pool. In a few minutes time, a performance will
breathe new life into legends and folklore dating back from the Lý
Dynasty which ruled Vietnam between 1009 and 1225. The tales are about
life in northern Vietnam’s rural landscape. For me, it will be a new
method of learning history.
Originally, water puppet shows were
strictly for hamlet dwellers, celebrating the arrival of spring or a
major festival (Contreras, 1995, 25). These days, performances are for
the benefit of visitors wishing to expand their cultural appetites, and
I am waiting patiently for my serving.
The puppets will undoubtedly be the
main attraction, but who is pulling the strings? The real geniuses are
hiding their identities behind bamboo blinds disguised as backdrops of
well-known landmarks such as the Truong Tien Bridge in the city of Hue.
The men and women responsible for the puppets’ flawless movements of
puppets will have their moment to bask in glory, but now it is time for
the stars to take to the stage. Little is known about their techniques,
but the mystique associated with the Vietnamese art of water puppetry
only adds to the anticipation of a memorable night ahead.
As
a non-Vietnamese language speaker and with nobody to translate for me,
I rely on my observation of the puppets’ antics rather than the
dialogue. The audience is introduced to Teu, a jolly-looking man in a
red gown who will narrate the evening’s proceedings. This is a guided
tour about peasant life in the rainy season near the Perfume River. Men
toil the fields with their buffaloes and women plant rice. There is a
high expectation of a good crop yield. Unfortunately, the peace is
disrupted when a duck goes missing, causing uneasiness in the village.
As villagers become more suspicious of each other, a struggle develops
between landlords and farmers. It takes the arrival of the dragon,
signaling the commencement of Tet, or Vietnamese New Year, to ward off
evil spirits which nearly engulfed the village. The arrival of three
other mythical creatures, the unicorn, phoenix and tortoise, represent
qualities required for village dwellers to preserve prosperity and good
health. The story is as informative as it is heartwarming.
It is hard for me to pick a favorite
moment, but my thoughts turn to one scene which emphasize the true
purpose of water puppetry; satire. It involves an intriguing battle
between a farmer and a fish. The farmer stands in the river, basket
poised, ready to land a lethal blow, but his foe averts the enemy on
several occasions. So daring is the fish, he taunts the farmer by
swimming around him and underneath the boat which the farmer used for
transportation. With one last desperate lunge, the farmer slams the
bamboo basket too close to the boat, mistiming his attack and hitting
the head of his fellow fisherman who is sitting in the boat, earning
the audience’s laughter. While the farmer is ashamed of his inability
to hunt food, it is the background score that gives the scene a feel of
slapstick comedy.
The use of Cheo,
a style of folk music performed with a small orchestra, is crucial in
providing dramatic effects to keep the audience’s attention. Comprising
of woodwind and percussion instruments, the musicians rarely look at
the audience, instead channeling all their energy in crafting each note
in conjunction with the movements taking place on the water. Their
contributions power the show through to the finale, one which pays
homage to the reluctant heroes of the night – the puppeteers, who
emerge from anonymity to reveal themselves to the public.
When the curtain is raised, the puppet
masters smile nervously and bow to the spectators, who in turn
reciprocate their appreciation by showering the puppeteers with
applause. These silent stars have played an important part in
reinvigorating history, a task that modern cinema or even a
western-style theatrical adaptation may not have been capable of
accomplishing. In the sink-or-swim environment of live entertainment,
each of these humble individuals have passed the test of making a
lasting impression on how to portray history and legend in a manner
certain to leave a lasting impression in my mind.
My final act for the night is to spend
a few minutes at Hoam Kiem Lake, reflecting on what I have taken away;
the deft handwork of puppet operators, an introduction to traditional
music, and a fresh approach to reinforcing how much farmers dedicate
their lives to treating the earth and water like their own children.
This is a gift passed down through the ages, one which feeds my desire
for a more thorough investigation into a mysterious yet elaborate art.
Alas poor Teu, I knew him well, for he
was a great host, even if he had a wooden exterior. But he certainly
did not have a wooden heart when it came to sharing a passion for
storytelling.
Contreras, G. (1995), “Teaching About Vietnamese Culture: Water Puppetry as the Soul of the Rice Fields”, The Social Studies, Volume 86, Number 1. Pg. 25.
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