Panji Sepuh exposes Australians to a new experience

Panji Sepuh exposes Australians to a new experience

By Dewi Anggraeni

MELBOURNE (JP): Australian art and dance lovers have seen
traditional dances from Indonesia. Balinese and Javanese dancers
perform at heartening regularity in Australian cities, and
occasionally there are also visits by cultural groups from other
areas in Indonesia.

Australia therefore, while still regarding Indonesian dances
as somewhat exotic, have particular expectations when they come
to an Indonesian dance performance.

Panji Sepuh, brought to Australia by IKAWIRIA, the Indonesian
Community Association, and performed at the Victorian Arts Center
in Melbourne from Sept. 21 to Sept. 23, has been a completely new
experience. The story was based on a poem by Goenawan Mohamad,
editor of the banned Tempo magazine.

The dance featured dancers and choreographers Elly D. Luthan,
Maria D. Hoetomo, S. Panardi, Restu Imansari Kusumaningrum and
Dewati Sukistini, with Sugeng Pratikno and Sulistyo Tirtokusumo
as supporting performers. Music was composed by Tony Prabowo.

Part of audience's expectation of a dance performance is the
accompanying music. Since the dance has been advertised as
contemporary Javanese, some people would be prepared not to hear
traditional gamelan accompaniment. They come with a fair
excitement facing the unknown.

Complete silence

Very few, however, would be prepared for the complete silence.
The only presence, initially, is the smell of incense, then
slowly and gradually, the audience becomes aware of other
emerging presences and movements on the stage. The effect of the
giddy silence dominating the beginning heightens the audience's
sensitivity of what is going to happen next. The stage, lower
than the audience's seats, is like a somber pit with suggestively
subdued lighting, and evokes an eerie sense of peering into one's
own mind. This is especially so when there begins to be presences
followed by slow, small movements. Then, the moving agents, a man
and four women, merge with the symbols in the pit-armory
signifying the Ksatrya caste; an austere bed evoking lack of
superfluous luxury; flower petals which, with the incense haze,
evoke a sense of sacredness; five masks strategically placed, a
royal spittoon; and a basin full of fragrant water. A distance
away from these, a lamp inside a curtained area and a royal
umbrella.

The whole performance is an experience - almost chimerical,
that haunts the audience with increasing intensity. Abetted by
the disturbingly discordant string music and singing, the center
presence, the man, presumably a prince as indicated by his
attire, draws the audience into his own mental struggle.

The traditional aspect of this experience is emphasized by the
use of women as temptresses and agents of distraction. The scene
of temptation gains inner momentum when one of the women
indicates that she will stop the mild teasing of the prince, and
washes her face with the fragrant water. Then with calm but
definite movement she begins to wash the prince's feet with the
same water. This physical contact continues seductively with
their symbolic love-making, climaxed with an explosive
orgasm of the prince. This climax is also the beginning of the
prince's defeat, auguring his vulnerability and weakness, thus
his inability to overcome his own impure lust.

Interesting is the role of women in this story of temptation.
The first impression is, naturally, women are basically evil or
at least impure, otherwise they would not be used to tempt and
test the prince's mental fortitude. However, it becomes also
clear that women have the power to cause the downfall of a
potentially virtuous character, from the lofty position of a
would-be king to a mere failure.

On the other hand, the story also reveals the vulnerability of
man as the stronger sex, the bearer of power. Even more
disturbing still, is the cruel revelation how illusive and
ephemeral power actually is. The audience is left with the
question: who actually has it, the man, the women, or nobody?

The last scene was a brutally dramatic end of the whole
haunting experience: the burning of the umbrella, symbolizing, it
seems, the disappearance of what is visible of power.

It certainly is not a piece of entertainment people come to
for relaxation after a hard day's work. The images that emerge
and reemerge on one's consciousness after seeing Panji Sepuh are
hardly light-hearted. In fact, they are disturbing, and
emotionally probing.