A masked-dance theater, wayang topeng features a troupe of grand
kings, ministers, and clowns depicting semihistorical, semilegendary stories.
Excerpts of this wayang form can be seen at most tourist performances.
Each regency of Bali features a different style of costuming, dancing,
and topeng, which also means "mask."
As part of a large number of religious activities-processions,
offerings, and prayers-topeng theater is most often staged during
elaborate temple anniversary celebrations called odalan. Although
the melodic accompaniment of the gamelan is essential, in topeng
the emphasis is on the unfolding of the plot.
Though it's now rare on Java, wayang topeng
stems from the ancient Javanese practice of masked dancers performing at
primitive death rites. Its introduction on Bali dates from the 16th century.
Today's masked plays are usually derived from the historical romances,
chivalrous military adventures, court intrigues, and passionate love stories
of local Balinese kings and heroes. Topeng has even derived elements
from the ancient pre-Hindu gambuh dance. The lines that separate
fact, legend, and magic are fuzzy: mythic struggles and religious epics
unravel side by side with common tales and topical problems.
Characters
You see the whole gamut-stoic, cowardly, and simple-minded characters
alongside effeminate, sweet, and cruel ones. There are even parts for bulbous
or long-nosed tourists, whom everybody guffaws at, and in historical dramas
the conquering Dutch colonialists are portrayed as bumbling fools. During
the Japanese occupation, the clowns acting in the periphery of the epic
passed on covert Resistance information to the audience.
Female roles are always played by men. Although
usually a mix, a topeng play almost always starts out with a petulant
prime minister (patih) who can either be a refined or gruff character.
Another popular character is the prime minister who has retired but is
called back into active service by his king. These high-born characters
do not condescend to speak their parts. Other stories recount the exploits
of a humble frog who turns into a noble prince when he is very old.
The masks of the demons and the animals both
share the same characteristics-flaring nostrils, bulging eyes, extended,
elaborate fangs-reflective of all the base, animalistic traits which all
of us have at least in part. On the other side are the heroes who are actually
incarnations of gods and goddesses. With their beautiful, refined countenances,
they represent spiritual perfection.
Invariably, there is always the dottering
orang tua, a pale-faced old man. Back bent and moustache drooping,
the orang tua continually nods off to sleep, examines his white
hair for lice, and stumbles weakly, almost falling into the audience from
time to time. It's an extremely poignant performance.
Stock characters also include nobility like
kings who stride and dance in the refined court style with jeweled kris
at their backs. Since the others cannot speak through their finely crafted
masks, but only pantomime, the clowns provide a running narration, interpreting
royalty's gestures in Low Balinese so that the audience can follow the
story.
Clumsy male clowns, Penasar and Kartala,
are usually cast in the role of absurd body-servants to dignified masters.
Often there are two clowns who take on opposing roles, copying their master,
making jokes to the side, encouraging him in a servile manner. One, Penasar,
is pompous and struts around the stage lording it over his half-witted
younger brother, Kartala, who gets back at Penasar by sarcastically imitating
his self-importance. The audience rolls as the two exchange barbed witticisms
and bawdy jokes.
One particularly adored clown routinely rushes
into the audience at the end of a performance and abducts one of the children
to the other side of the curtain, where he's given cakes and sweetmeats
to share with his friends. The comic character, Jero Dalam Pegek (literally,
"end of the ceremony"), is an amalgam of madman, god, king-an
embodiment of the sacred and the potentially subversive. His presence is
associated with a myth that reminds the audience not to be deceived by
appearances.
The clowns, equally at home in both the absurd
and the sublime episodes, are known by the type of mask they wear. Whereas
the masks of gods and kings are full and cover the entire face, the clowns
wear only partial masks with their mouths and chins exposed, enabling them
to sing and speak in three languages. Or they may wear no mask at all but
just a painted face.
The Actors and Their Masks
In most topeng plays, three or four actors, normally men, take
on the roles of all the characters, each with a sharply defined personality.
Refined, noble characters wear full masks; clowns and servants wear half-masks
allowing them to speak, narrate or expound morality.
A full set of 30-40 topeng masks might
belong to a solitary star who could perform four or five successive dances
with different masks in the topeng pajegan. Giving life to a grotesque,
immobile face of wood requires great subtlety and skill. It is truly an
inspiring spectacle to watch these actors make their masks cry, breathe,
sweat, bellow, moan, bleat.
A powerful bond-taksu-exists between
a sensitive actor and his masks. When the actor dons his mask, he is linked
to the spiritual realm, blessed by the gods. His task is to transform himself,
to change his voice to his character's, to infuse his performance with
its spirit. Sometimes you hear the comment "It was a technically superb
performance, but there was no taksu."
Just before each play the performer pauses
for a moment unseen and attempts to enter into the archetypal character
represented by each mask During this private moment he sprinkles holy water
over himself and recites sacred mantras. This is the actor's last conscious
act, as the moment he comes on stage he is oblivious to all but the personality
and energy of his character.
On stage, the shiny beautiful masks with
big mysterious eyes seem as if suspended in air. Some kingly masks radiate
such authority and power that villagers have been known to fall into a
trance when seeing them for the first time, and it's believed that certain
masks can even induce trances from which actors never recover. Rare and
prized masks are paid awesome reverence, and offerings of incense and flowers
are regularly dedicated to them.
You will never be able to try on one of these
sacred topeng, as it would offend its spirit to be taken up by a
stranger. When not in use, masks are covered neatly with a white cloth,
stored in a specially made basket, and kept high up in the temple where
they must "sleep together" and not be separated. After a famous
actor dies, his masks are never moved from the spot where they were at
his death. The oldest surviving set of masks are kept in a temple in the
village of Blahbatu.