'Panji Sepuh', from classical to contemporary

'Panji Sepuh', from classical to contemporary

JAKARTA (JP): And the master was dead. An umbrella, the royal
emblem, was burned. The fire licked it slowly but certainly and
illuminated the dark stage. It was very quiet, only the sound of
breathing indicated that the room was full of people. People who
were waiting for the next unpredictable scene to appear. Nothing.
The fire died...and the sound of enthusiastic applause was heard
from the back of the stage.

It was the stage crew applauding in relief that the fire
didn't consume anything on the stage except the umbrella. During
rehearsals for the dance titled Panji Sepuh at Gedung Kesenian in
Central Jakarta, the fire had not been practiced. When the show
was staged early this week everyone was a bit tense when the fire
first started to burn the umbrella, despite there being fire
extinguishers on hand.

Presented for the third time in Jakarta, after its first and
second shows here in 1993 and a tour of other cities including
Melbourne, Australia, last year, Panji Sepuh -- which has
developed into one of Indonesia's most well-known contemporary
pieces -- has had a few new touches added. A "bird" dancer has
been introduced, for example, and some of the movements have been
refined.

Representation

The dance has been chosen by the Indonesia chapter of World
Dance Alliance to represent Indonesia in Korea International
Dance Exposition 1995 to be held in Seoul from July 16 to 26.

Directed by Sulistyo Tirtokusumo, currently one of the
foremost figures in Javanese dancing who has studied dance since
the tender age of six under the training of Javanese court
dancers in Solo, Central Java, Panji Sepuh -- inspired from
Central Java's most classical female dance bedhaya -- has been
transformed into a contemporary dance. This surprised the
audience as they seemed to expect to see a traditional Javanese
dance.

For almost one and half hours, the audience was taken into a
austere world where dancers wove a story of the life and death of
their master in slow, meditative and magical movements.

The audience had been prepared for the transformation,
starting with the stage setting by scenographer Roedjito. In the
center of the somber stage there was only a plain bed, far from
the image of royal bed which would be full of lace and grandly
decorated. A spittoon, a brass water basin, masks, an umbrella
and a lamp were the only other decorations. A man, supposedly a
royal guard on duty, kept walking slowly and soundlessly from one
end of the stage to the other. The smell of incense permeated the
air. For the first ten minutes, the audience was presented this
austere and sacred atmosphere in complete silence.

Slowly, a male dancer, apparently the master in the story,
dances without the accompaniment of music. Four female dancers
joined him later, still with the absence of music. The silence
seemingly turned into music eventually and gave the dancers the
space and freedom to fill it with their own interpretations.

"So, it is the dancers themselves who give rhythm to their
dance, they can dance it slowly or fast, it depends on them
because everything comes from themselves," said director
Sulistyo.

"Real" music is there too, but not in the form of Javanese
gamelan music as is usually the case. Music composer Tonny
Prabowo offers a new experience of intense string music and
singing presented by a group of Pengrawit--traditional musicians
who usually play for Javanese wayang shadow puppetry--and soprano
Nyak Ina Raseuki. It was soothing and elegant in some parts,
disturbing and deliberately discordant in others, it was also
poetic and expressive. It was perfect in depicting the life and
death of the story's master.

Sensuality

Interesting is the sensuality of the dance. Every move and
gesture, choreographed by Elly D. Luthan and danced by Maria D.
Utomo, S. Pamardi, Restu Imansari, Wiwiek Sipala and Ayu Bulan
Trisna, expresses the impossibility of separating sensuality and
sexuality from life.

When a female dancer bathed the master's feet with water, the
action was purely sensual. In Javanese wedding ceremonies, the
bride is usually asked to wash the feet of her husband as a
symbol of faithfulness and submission to the husband. In Panji
Sepuh it was more like foreplay. Yet it was also an act of total
surrender to the master, as a man and a powerful master.

A lovemaking scene, following the sudden death of the master,
did again surprise most of the audience who had expected to see a
chaste Javanese dance. It was not that astonishing actually,
considering that some Javanese classical literature, such as
Arjunawiwaha, does include sexual intercourse quite explicitly.
Lyrics of songs or pangkur, especially written by poet and former
chief editor of the banned Tempo weekly Goenawan Mohamad, support
the importance of the scene, as life and death is the main theme
of the play.

"A voice stirs inside him, a restless symbol, an anxious
reminder in your body as well as in mind that the ending will
come in the beauty of coitus and tears to make life's cycle
disappear will dissolve in love and death."

And the master was finally dead. When the umbrella, the symbol
of power, was burned, it became a reminder that there is no
eternity, even a reigning master eventually departs. (als)