ROBERT TURNBULL EXPLORES THE ART OF ASIAN PUPPERTRY AT BANGKOK’S JOE LOUIS THEATRE

IN his famous 1810 treatise on puppetry, the German writer Heinrich von Kleist argues that while limited in their range of movements, what puppets can achieve in their weightlessness, they do so with a gracefulness that humans can rarely match. Dancers who wish to perfect their art would do well to observe them very closely, was his view.

At least three hundred years later, Kleist’s sentiments are still heeded today, albeit unwittingly and a million miles from Germany. At the Joe Louis Theatre in Bangkok’s bustling night market, puppetry and dance come together in an exhilarating celebration of discipline, centuries-old skills and sheer beauty.

Each two-feet-high puppet is lovingly assembled from a variety of gentle fabrics and decorated with semi-precious stones and gold leaf. But the uniqueness of the hun lakhon lek (small theatrical puppet) stems from the fact that each one is manipulated by three persons, all dancing the classical khon style simultaneously. Each must have the correct steps and operate as “one body” for the puppets to be put through the correct paces.

Unlike marketplace puppets in Europe, Asian puppets embody something nobler and more sophisticated. The playthings are often representation of gods or kings, and behind their every story was a sense of purpose. A meeting of ritual with moral and spiritual education.

PUPPET PRO
And so it is Joe Louis. At the kernel of the theatre’s repertory are ancient classics such as the Ramakien, the Thai version of the Hindu Ramayana epic.

Known to every schoolboy and girl across Southeast Asia, it features timeless heroes such as Hanuman, Rama and Sita. The equally ancient Narai narratives (the Thai incarnation of Vishnu) boast as large a gallery of characters. The Myth of Rahoo and the Lunar Eclipse features a motley crew of demons and deities, fascinating half birds-half gods, the ubiquitous naga snake and personified versions of the sun and the moon.

But these are puppets: they must be entertaining. And the humour required of these animated objects is rarely absent at Joe Louis. The aforementioned Rahoo, for instance, is introduced by a scene of pure farce, a commedia dell’arte trio comprising a wily old sage, a Chinaman speaking with an execrable accent and a half-deaf half-wit. Defying all political correctness, they make fun of each other mercilessly, intermittently breaking into a rap routine accompanied by a traditional orchestra seated side-stage.

Complementing the humour is the puppet’s charm. Just beyond the plate glass foyer doors, the evening’s star performers assemble to welcome the world into their plush red gilt theatre. The monkey god Hanuman – as cheeky as ever in fetching silk attire – lunges out a wooden hand to unsuspecting tourists. Caught off-guard, many do a double take before reciprocating.

The appreciative puppet nods its head coyly.

The force behind Joe Louis’ nightly shows is Pisutr Yangkheiosod, a tall soft-spoken man who is currently acting general manager. In the strict world of classical dance, he explains, such antics would be forbidden. “In lakhon lek, we are free to experiment, introduce jokes, new lyrics and even some very contemporary ideas.”

Some pieces are entirely new. After the film Homrong Hun Lakhon Lek (The Overture) about competing musicians in Thai history became popular, Pisutr recast the movie story for his troupe. “People were very happy to see puppets playing smaller versions of the instruments,” he says.

BEHIND THE SCENES
A glimpse backstage reveals the frenetic comings and goings of a bustling company undergoing a nightly ritual. Some of the 50 dancers and 10 musicians in Joe Louis’ troupe have been with the company for 10 or more years, but there are also an encouragingly large number in their 20s.

Twenty-three-year-old Nartravee Ghamjaray, or Wee, entered the troupe to join a number of his friends who worked for Joe Louis. “It took six months to learn the particular skills needed for the lakhon lek,” he says. “Then we rehearse every day and each new production takes at least five hours a day for five months.”

For the three puppeteers to dance in harmony, Wee explains, the middle one has the greatest control of the puppet by holding a short rod attached to its head. The two on either side manipulate the strings running up the rods, the left hand puppeteer using his left arm to touch that of the right “to know how he is feeling”. This way, the three act as one body in a single rhythm.

Pisutr is also at pains to point out the evolution that makes these puppets uncannily human. “Over time, these Thai puppets have ‘developed’ more limbs,” he says, so that “each has seven parts corresponding to the major joints of the human body. They can nod or shake their heads, wave hands affectionately and point accusing fingers.”

MYANMAR’S MASTERS
Rather like Joe Louis’ puppets, Myanmar’s yokthe pwe puppets are essentially three-dimensional marionettes. Highly prestigious in the 18th and 19th centuries, they also derive from court culture with the principal characters of the Prince and Princess joined by a cornucopia of characters – from Brahmin priests and clowns to the usual assortment of ogres and forest spirits.

There are invariably 28 puppets in each troupe, some having as many as 60 different strings. The sophistication of their creation, using multiple materials in a riot of colour has merited much interest from scholars. They even weave real hair into the puppets’ scalps, which are then lovingly combed and waxed by their masters.

Puppet troupes operate in the three main centres of Yangon, Mandalay and Pagan, but the shows tend to be sporadic. The Mandalay Marionettes Theatre (www.mandalaymarionettes. com, email puppets@myanmar.com.mm), created by two female founders Ma Ma Naing and Naing Yee Mar and featuring the work of Master Puppeteer U Pan Aye, is the best organised and manages to tour abroad as well as perform around Myanmar.

CAMBODIA’S CASTS
Cambodia boasts a 1,000-year-old performing arts legacy of at least 20 forms of classical theatre and dance. Shadow puppetry – of which there are two prominent forms – is among the most sacred of all.

The smaller sbeich touch descends directly from Javanese wayang kulit. With their potbellies, prying noses and menacing eyebrows, the leather puppets animate a range of rogues, from village idiots to scheming monkeys.

The other, sbeich thom occupies an altogether different place in the Cambodian psyche. Currently undergoing a Renaissance after the ravages of Pol Pot (during which it is estimated that 80% of performing artists perished), shadow troupes were traditionally summoned for funerals and festivals celebrating the dead and concern themselves only with the Ramayana.

Framing the narrative are over a hundred leather tableaux, all made from treated cowhides and intricately laced. Some depict entire scenes, others individual characters. Using two vertical wooden rods as handles, the puppets are manipulated high above the heads of the puppeteers. This goes on both in front and behind the screen, so that the puppets appear both in the natural form and as rear-illuminated silhouettes, lit by a large mound of burning coconut shells.

Siem Reap is traditionally the centre of shadow puppetry in Cambodia. It has two troupes of sbeich thom, one performing out of Wat Bo pagoda in the town centre and the other out of a nearby village.

The first troupe performs regularly at the Amansara Hotel (tel +855 (0)63 60333, email info@amanresorts.com), but private performances by both companies can be easily arranged and inexpensively through Song at Cambodia Living Arts, CLA (email song_seng2002@yahoo.com, www.cambodianlivingarts.org).

Every Saturday, public shadow puppet shows play in Phnom Penh at Sovanna Phum Theatre on the corners of streets 360 and 105 (tel +855 (0)23 221932, www.sovannaphum.org).

PAST TO PRESENT
Although there is little documentation on the matter, it is assumed that Thai puppets date back to the 15th century Ayuthaya period, but had antecedents in Angkor.

The original representations of stories such as the Ramayana appeared as carved bas-reliefs on Angkor Wat and the first two-dimensional shadow puppets seem to directly copy these images.

The classical dance known as khon – in Cambodia, robam borann – became the next incarnation of the story, followed much later by three-dimensional puppets.

During the reign of King Rama V (1868-1910), lakhon lek was given life through an enterprising puppeteer and trained classical khon dancer, Krae Saptawanit. Sadly, Saptawanit believed he was the victim of an earlier curse. Succumbing to leprosy, the old master bundled practically his entire collection of puppets into the Chao Phraya river before his untimely death. It was left to a married couple in his troupe to continue the legacy. In a boat, en route to a performance, the wife gave birth to Sakorn Yangkheiosod, Pisutr’s father, who became and remains the greatest exponent of the lakhon lek style.

Now 84 years old, Joe Louis, as Sakorn came to be known, is still the focus of media attention and has been honoured with the status of National Artist.

There are different accounts of how he came by his unusual name. Some suggest it pays homage to the famous American boxer once popular in Thailand. Others say that “Joe Louis” is a play on the sound of Sakorn’s nickname, Liu. At any rate, the name stuck.

One of the old man’s many stories tells of the devastation of losing 50 of his puppets in a fire. However, it was another curse that proved more difficult to counter. The rise of television and film culture in post-war Thailand resulted, he regrets, in people simply forgetting the art form of puppetry existed. Forced into semi-retirement, Sakorn gave private performances for special events arranged by government agencies.

When, in 1982, officials from the Thai Tourism Authority granted the puppet master a new lease of life in the form of a grant, part of it was used to build a theatre.

Yet, new technologies continue to exert their magic over young Thais and, in spite of appearances, the company is barely in the black. Ticket income from tourists and school trips, and a few sponsors only help to offset costs for new productions.

Fortunately, being a family business makes it easier to keep labour costs down. Seven of Sakorn’s nine children are involved and 18 grandchildren are already aware of their future responsibilities. “The second child teaches the music, the third sings, the fifth is the custodian (me), the sixth designs scenery, the seventh is director, the eighth oversees the puppets, and the last makes the costumes,” explains Pisutr.

“Joe Louis sells its shows for tourists and hope that artists can continue to work as artists,” affirms Pornrat Damrhung, Chulalongkorn University’s associate professor of the Faculty of Dramatic Arts. “Although it is still mainly a family run artistic business, it’s of a high quality and provides a model for other arts and artists to follow.”

Pisutr dreams of his puppets welcoming presidents at Bangkok’s new airport. Let’s hope these dreams come true.