Pakarnattam (BH:D262)

April 22, 2012

I had no idea what a "floating" theater means. But when has ignorance ever stopped me? So off I went with Achan to "Chilanka Floating Theater's Pakarnattam". The troupe was from Kozhikode. The act was a one-man show.

Vyllopilli Samskriti Bhavan would have been the absolutely perfect venue, with its traditional layout, for a single actor performance lasting an hour on the story of Karna. Those who remember my note on Dr. Paulose's speech on Koodiyattam will recognize that Pakarnattam was a technique initiated by King Kulasekhara Perumal in the Koodiyattam dance form. It involves one actor playing out different roles to narrate the flash back story that leads up to the current scene in the performance.

Bichus Kozhikode, the actor and director, tranformed himself into Parashurama, Suyodhana and Arjuna during the act in which he remained Karna for the most part. One of the most wronged personalities in Indian mythology, Karna is perpetually a magnificently fertile character for theatrical reinvention. That is why I wish, along with the rest of the audience, that Mr. Bichus had the basic theatrical training of getting his voice across to the audience. The utter inaudibility made the performance as tragic as the story of Karna himself.

It is fantastic, at times, when an actor uses hushed tones and speaks in barely audible laconic manner. It is fantastic when Heath Ledger does it in Brokeback Mountain. It is not fantastic when done on stage without microphones. The fans at the venue were way louder than Karna in anguish or Parashurama in anger. And that's not something those mythical heroes will forgive.

Since none of us heard most of it, it won't be fair to comment on the script. There was an opening and closing poem which was delivered with excruciating loudness in contrast. It was fairly good quality, so I presume the rest of the script must have also been so. If only we could hear it.

Mr. Bichus has a spectacular physique and uses his physical agility charmingly on stage. The minimalist set, props and costume were brilliant. In fact, they could almost pass for a "Kavalam Narayana Panicker" production. But then having torches that fail to light up for the climax seals the amateur tag back on the team. While the main actor was inaudible, the couple of other voiceovers were loud and poor. Kunthi, the mother, who visits the son the day before the final battle to reveal his true identity, could have used a voice more mature than a 15 year old's. And for some reason the episode, where Indra asks for Karna's armor and ear-rings, that forms the crux of Bhasa's Karnabhara and is splendid drama territory, was left out.

I guess the actor can pass some of the blame to the soundtrack which was intrusive to say the least. There was something disturbing about the use of Hollywood or perhaps Chinese war epic blockbuster movie sound clips for a play that otherwise had all the appearances of ancient Sanskrit theater. 

The good thing about a play that fails to capture one's imagination is precisely that. The freedom the imagination enjoys while being seated in a theater. So off I went thinking about the concept of "Pakarnattam" i.e. the assumption of roles, the playing of multiple parts. Is life in the civilized society anything but Pakarnattam with wee bit improvisations that we manage to bring in for the delusion of uniqueness? Don't emotions flow along prescribed channels towards predestined destinations?

In a high octane climax, the prop of a chariot wheel stuck on the backdrop was pulled apart and flung on the stage. The prop fell on the stage with all the nails and pins pointing dangerously upwards and the actor was dangerously jumping around in the area. This, alas was the only captivating part of the entire evening's performance. The performance had its heart in the right place, but neither the brain nor the soul. And theater needs all three.

It is good to know that such amateur performances also manage to find a great venue like Vyllopilli Samskriti Bhavan. Pankarnattam managed to be my second disappointment there. Earlier one was the deeply morose and lethargic musical evening that featured some young local bands. 

I still have no clue what "floating" theater means. Hopefully it is not about words that fail to float towards the audience!

An ultra long walk this morning in search of quality mutton for my sister. I presume brothers have fetched meat for pregnant sisters since prehistoric times. May be it was mostly the husband's job. But then there was no Bangalore and 'work from home' arrangement in those days. And I am never going to be fetching meat for my wife. So I'll take this as a karmic fulfillment.

Saiju had alerted me about the "Sanuja Meat Stall" between Plamoodu and Pattom. I got there by 7:30 am. There was an orderly queue. So Malayalees tend to form disciplined queues not just at liquor stores. In front of me was a roly poly 50-something lady, fresh after her morning bath and almost certainly a temple visit. Besides the jasmine on her slowly graying hair, she had sandal paste and red kumkum on her forehead and neck, I presume exactly at the "chakra" points that yoga identifies. She reminded me of the 'Tam Bram' aunties I have seen at Houston Meenakshi temple.

"Randu kilo, Ellu Venda" (two kilos, no bones) was her order. 

As the butcher went about cutting up her order on the solid massive tree stump table, she gave her place in the queue to her driver and went back to car after checking with him that the car aircondition was on. 

On the way back via Marappalam, an even more orderly queue outside a fish shop that had an ominous "Thala kittum" (Head available) board hung outside. Across from the fish shop, another line leading to "Swadeshi Beef Stall". Glad they stopped at Swadeshi and didn't name it after Gandhi. The Malayalee discipline in front of meat and fish stalls on a Sunday morning is an interesting phenomenon....even Menons would agree!