Wayang Protest, Wayang Deconstruction : Kampung Berembang meets Taman Tun

by Carmen Nge


FRU brandishing batons, pot-bellied men in blue, MPAJ (Majlis Perbandaran Ampang Jaya) bulldozers, physical assault, arson, forced eviction—these could well be the stuff of award-winning, hard-hitting documentaries. Rather, they were ominous icons throwing long shadows on a makeshift white screen, handled by a group of rambunctious, bright-eyed, children puppeteers.

In a performance too true-to-life earlier this year, the pre-teen denizens of Kampung Berembang (off Jalan Ampang) staged a wayang kulit show that would have made any dalang proud. It may not have had the hallmarks of a bona fide wayang because this kinetic troupe of grinning puppeteers could only boast a few weeks of preparation and rehearsal, but it was infused with something deeply authentic: the spirit of struggle.

Since December last year, these children of Kampung Berembang have continued to endure child abuse of the worst kind: emotional trauma from watching their homes razed over and over again; their relatives and friends threatened, cursed at, pushed, kicked and beaten; their mosque destroyed; their lives lying in ash and rubble.

When this writer visited what was left of the village after the second forced eviction attempt by the local and state authorities, Kampung Berembang resembled the West Bank or Gaza after a few rounds of shelling by Israeli forces. This is our very own Palestine, bleached by the searing equatorial heat, deprived of water and electricity, and a stone’s throw away from the eerie edifice of progress and prosperity: the Petronas Towers.

But the children’s persevering spirit never wavered. As the adults rebuilt one of the oldest pioneering urban settlements in the heart of the nation’s capital, this ragtag children’s group of various hues threw themselves into an art project. Aided by a small group of artist volunteers, who felt the children needed an outlet to channel their grief and anger, the art project developed into a full scale art exhibition culminating in a wayang kulit show.

After the resounding success of the first performance, held in a spartan space amidst broken concrete and hastily erected makeshift tents, the children were jubilant. This was art at its most spontaneous; created in a matter of days, the drawings, paintings and wayang puppets gave their creators expression. Although rough and rudimentary, the artworks communicated something more precious than technical virtuosity: life fervently lived and passionately felt.

A few days later, the state and local authorities—with their bulldozers—paid the children another visit. Their response? A follow-up exhibition and wayang performance in a different location, far from the disconcerting evidence of this more brutal second coming.

This was the genesis of Kampung Berembang’s wayang of protest. Ad hoc, expedient, retaliatory—these were the characteristics of an art form marshalled by the disenfranchised. Relatively simple to execute, using only cheap materials, and necessitating team work, this wayang was about democratization. Extracted from its ossified, state-dictated tradition, wayang was imagined anew by a precocious troupe who carried no weighty arts-identity baggage.

The men and women village folk, who witnessed this wayang testament of their lives, laughed while crying, and cried while laughing. The performance was an evocative distillation of the history of their 40-year old kampung, but more than that, it was a sobering reminder that their children were no longer innocent.

Far across the class divide, tucked in the suburban enclave of Taman Tun Dr Ismail and around the same time, a different wayang was being enacted. It was a performance of a different colour of protest. Less confrontational, more steeped in aesthete, but no less unconventional, Wayang Project was having its Malam Pembuka, to showcase the incipient promulgations of this beloved art form as deconstructed by another motley crew.

Comprising performers Fahmi Fadzil and musicians Aziz Ali and Azmyl Yunor, the Wayang Project (as part of the Krishen Jit Experimental Workshop Series) was a year-long effort intended to engage with the tradition of wayang kulit from Malaysia and the region. How does one transpose a centuries-old art form into a modern, urban setting? What stories will emerge and what shape will they take? What’s the challenge of reclaiming wayang kulit as a contemporaneous art form for young practitioners not apprenticed in the tradition? These are some of the questions that will continue to whet the creative appetites of a large group comprising visual and graphic artists, theatre practitioner and photographer throughout 2007. Malam Pembuka is only a prelude of what is to come.

Utilizing everyday objects such as cardboard boxes, fluorescent light bulbs and books, the trio of Fahmi, Aziz and Azmyl proved that wayang kulit Malaysia need not be the provenance of revered dalangs to be exciting.

Kicking off the show was wayang at its very basic: all puppeteer, no puppets. Manipulating only his hands, Fahmi narrated an overly long and involved story of Arif and his mother, punctuated by references to current events in the news (Kampung Berembang among them!) and humorous asides. The minimalist wayang tangan, however, was not new. Years earlier, Fahmi had staged the same form, but with different content, during Lebih Kecoh, a performance by youth theatre group, Akshen (of which Fahmi is a member). The performance in 2001 was more political and had a sharper sting. In contrast, wayang tangan in its current iteration was more cheeky, itinerant and somewhat superfluous.

Wayang lampu and wayang bayang-bayang, on the other hand, were tours de force in form, sound and imagination. Elevating the humble light bulb to evanescent heights, the trio created a dynamic light and sound experience that was profoundly beautiful. Lights danced, flickered and shimmered in the darkened studio, their random shapes and angles transforming the bare ceiling into an indoor nightscape, against the Aziz and Azmyl’s haunting, live atonal soundscape. Breaking down wayang into its essential components: light and sound, the performers captured a magical, even mystical quality about the art form that transcended story and characters. The artistry of this non-narrative interlude also highlights the visual power of wayang, broken down into its elemental forms.

But the pièce de résistance of the night, in this writer’s view, had to be wayang kadbod and its endearing and uproariously funny shadow duo of SK, the mousedeer and Mr G, the ape. With two simple cardboard boxes, (recycled light bulb containers) the three performers created characters that were easy to love because their story is universal: a chance encounter, burgeoning friendship, trust, naiveté and wrong decisions with tragic circumstances. The subsequent entrance of Mr Hunter into the wayang narrative then transforms the archetypal tale into a postmodern allegory. Lies and deception by the wealthy capitalist; land exploitation through mono-cropping for commercial profit; and disintegrating relationships in the aftermath.

Half spoken and half sung in Azmyl’s sonorous voice, the storyline of wayang kadbod was as aurally riveting as it was visually whimsical. Played live, the jaunty folk music accompanying the characters only added to the wayang’s hypnotic rhythms. Masterfully fusing form and content into a story simultaneously sweet, insightful and au courant, the performers delivered something audiences rarely experience: thoughtful entertainment.

The finale of the Wayang Project was wayang buku, another resurrected wayang from a previous workshop performance earlier last year. Cleverly adapting the talk show format into his high-energy, and generally hyper, routine, Fahmi delivered a rib-tickling and tongue-in-cheek show worthy of the laughs it garnered. Gleefully throwing around terms like “collective memory”, “Jungian” and “autochthonous’, Fahmi was the consummate host, taking jabs at the Censorship Board, the government and Krishen Jit in a large-than-life persona that only Fahmi could inhabit. Parts of wayang buku could have been cut short for it was draggy towards the tail end but the audience was clearly entertained.

As the crowd trickled out after the performance, this writer could not help but wonder if they knew what they had been watching. Here was an art form that escaped its formal confines and redefined our understanding of the wayang kulit genre. It did not matter what its creators called it—wayang lampu, wayang kadbod, wayang tangan—because in the end, the ebullient performance actively evolved wayang into a new relevance.
________________________________________________________
This review was first published in Off the Edge, April 2007 issue.