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<\/a>(L to R): Ye Yin Htet, Tin Maung San Min Win, and San Min Aung in the final portion of the Shwe Man Thabin troupe’s Asia Society program. Behind them: Thiri Maung Maung, leader of the music ensemble. Photo: E.H. Wallop<\/p><\/div>\n
One of the many things that struck me about the splendid exhibit Buddhist Art of Myanmar<\/em> (at Asia Society through May 10) is the smile on the face of the many statues of Buddha on display. It\u2019s a smile you sometimes see on dancers in traditional South Asian forms; no teeth are visible, and the slightly upturned corners of the mouth suggests a secret happiness, whose source you would very much like to discover. It appears on humble forms, elegantly simple ones, and ornate ones in gilded pagodas.<\/p>\n One of the events connected with the exhibit was the zat pwe <\/em>program presented at the Asia Society by some of the members of Shwe Man Thabin, a company from Myanmar (once known as Burma). The ten performers smile less secretive smiles; they flirt charmingly with the audience when delighted with their dancing or at one another when no trouble is afoot. The current company continues the tradition of Shwe Man Tin Maung, who founded the group in 1933. Influenced by the Broadway musicals he saw on a trip to the U.S. and dances that the Martha Graham Company presented when it toured Asia in 1955, he set about trying to introduce elements that would make people of all social classes become interested in traditional Burmese music, dance, and theater. He clearly succeeded. A slide shown during a pre-performance lecture by Kit Young (co-founder and artistic advisor of the Gitameit Music Center, a musician and performer herself), showed immense swarms of people following a funeral procession down a street in Yangon in 1969; Shwe Man Tin Maung had died onstage toward the end of a zat pwe.<\/em><\/p>\n A traditional zat pwe <\/em>performance takes place out of doors, perhaps as part of a pagoda festival and lasts all night, with a break around 3 A.M. Its ambience is that of a vaudeville performance, but one whose acts are bound together by the country\u2019s various stylistic traditions, even while venturing away from these. Watching Shwe Man Thabin\u2019s zat pwe<\/em> (condensed into about two hours including an intermission) is like coming upon a mini-banquet of different related forms\u2014from bawdy folk dramas to elegant dances with religious significance (and all that lies between). Dancing! Singing! Comedy! Drama! Performers adept at all of these! And, supporting them, the Hsaing Waing<\/em>\u2014a musical ensemble led by Thiri Maung Maung and consisting of an array of drums, cymbals, and gongs, plus a hne<\/em> (a double-reeded instrument akin to an oboe).<\/p>\n The music is astonishing\u2014a complex clamor that can change from one quality to another, seemingly in midstream. The musicians underscore the performers\u2019 rhythms at times, insert pauses for emphasis, mimic the quality of the steps. At times, the hne <\/em>(played by master musician Ne Lin), raises its nasal melodies above gorgeous musical cataclysms. You\u2019d think there were fifty musicians onstage, and the microphone that singers pass around can barely match that volume.<\/p>\n Front to back: San Min Aung, Ye Yin Hteh Aung, Chit Swun Thar, Traditional Burmese dance is related to those of India and Thailand in terms of style, as are its religions, but it has its own fascinating characteristics, which have endured through British rule, World War II, and a military government that controlled life and art from 1962 until 2011. When in fluid motion, the dancers present their bodies as a festival of angles, created at almost every major joint: hips, knees, ankles, elbows, wrists. Their knees are almost always bent, their feet flexed and turned out. They dance on their knees as well as on their feet. Often, they circle their arms in opposing paths so the elbow of one arm is high and that of the other one low. Their hands make their own small circles, and their supple fingers bend back to create half moons. In the last part of the program, a virtuosic solo display by Tin Maung San Man Win (the co-director of the presentation) includes a moment when he forces one index finger back far enough to touch his wrist (the audience utters something between a gasp and an \u201cugh!\u201d).<\/p>\n The jakata <\/em>tales\u2014which focus on Buddha\u2019s prior incarnations, his achievements, and his beliefs\u2014 originated in India\u2019s Theravada Buddhism before the Christian era, and for centuries were enacted by marionettes. You can see that in the dance style, envisioning an unseen puppeteer pulling up an elbow or a knee. And the performers often end their dances by dropping to the floor in a pose, as if imaginary strings have been released. At Asia Society, Saw Yu Nwe makes a marionette about sixteen inches tall dance, while an identically costumed dancer, the gifted young male dancer San Min Aung performs in unison or in dialogue with the smaller version of himself. To make sure we get the point, the puppeteer abandons her puppet temporarily to pantomime pulling on the dancer with invisible strings.<\/p>\n Several kinds of virtuosity appear on the program. Tin Maung San Man Win, in the above-mentioned solo (described in the program as contemporary) tucks up his longyi<\/em> the better to display his jumps into a squat or a sit, his cartwheel, and other vigorous steps. He sings during the solo too. He and the other men performing are labeled as minthas<\/em> (princes or male performers), while the women are minthamee<\/em>s. One of the latter, Shwe Joe Jar, executes a solo whose title translates as \u201cThe Flicking of the Htamein <\/em>Skirt\u2019s White Train Dance.\u201d She\u2019s dressed all in white in a garment that\u2019s very long in back. Stepping elegantly, turning, swaying, bowing, and weaving the air with her hands, she has to keep kicking one foot or the other back and slightly to the side in order to flick the fabric away so she won\u2019t step on it. She keeps her knees together, so that when she increases her speed, you see a narrow silhouette with a little storm of fabric foaming up around it at the bottom.<\/p>\n Shwe Man Chan Thar makes his first appearance in “The Royal Duet in a Sylvan Setting.” Watching him: Chit Swan Thar (L) and Awra Aung. Photo: E.H. Wallop<\/p><\/div>\n Comedy has its virtuosic aspect too. Shwe Man Chan Thar (a co-director of the troupe) performs with gusto and superb dramatic timing both the mintha<\/em> and the minthamee<\/em> roles in \u201cThe Royal Duet in a Sylvan Setting.\u201d The characters apparently never meet. Nor does the dignified title give a clue to what actually happens. Shwe Man Chan Thar\u2014handsomely dressed in a white silk jacket that wings up at its hem, a blue-and-white longyi<\/em>, golden jewelry, and the traditional headwrap that fans out at one side\u2014appears from behind a small purple curtain. His audience, in addition to us, are the group\u2019s mintha<\/em> comedy team, Chit Swan Thar and Awra Aung, seated onstage and conveying raucous excitement about what they\u2019re about to see. When the soloist wants to talk, he grabs the one microphone from one of them and hands it back when he\u2019s finished talking.<\/p>\n When he disappears behind the curtain again, the two country bumpkins keep us entertained\u2014peeking under the concealing drape, imitating the soloist, and so on; they mime the familiar code for \u201ca hot babe,\u201d outlining a bust and hips. When Shwe Man Chan Thar reappears after a very quick assisted costume change behind a purple drape, he has become a scolding female, not so accidentally stepping on Awra Aung\u2019s tender crotch. Jokes about passing gas are also part of the show. Over the course of this act, the main performer changes attire five times, becoming more and more disheveled and (shockingly!) immodest in his female persona.<\/p>\n<\/a>
and Awra Aung of Shwe Man Thabin. Photo: E.H. Wallop<\/p><\/div>\n<\/a>