What is this thing called culture?

by Professor Siri Gunasinghe

After months of disappointingly unenviable experiences in the fields of art and culture, it was a very happy two hours of fine drama I had the good fortune to enjoy the other day at Namel-Malini Punchi Theatre.

It was a presentation of Namel Weeramuni's latest creation, 'Madhayavediyekuge Asipata, a welcome change in the lacklustre art scene, at least for me. I am not sure, may be it is not very important, if the sword was the media personality's weapon or of his enemies. But there was no doubt as to where all the blows fell.

The torture inflicted on the victim, as we know, is not unknown but senseless; it was darkly Kafkaesque, and it was ruthless. Namel has succeeded in bringing into sharp focus the inhuman face of misconceived use of power.

The play should urge those members of our contemporary society enjoying the fruits of ill-gotten power to look at themselves in the mirror every morning as they get ready for the day's forays. They should see ugliness for what it is.

The Asipata was telling drama and good theatre, well structured and presented in a format that was easy to comprehend. There was enough symbolism to highlight the malaise that contemporary Sri Lankan society, at least a section of it, is suffering from without being aware of it, perhaps.

The abuse of power that corrupts and the painfully futile defence against it are made known with such clarity and poignancy that it should make it impossible for any one to take cover behind the factitious pietism which we often resort to as a camouflage.

Once blinded by power, the dealers of pain will not recognize innocence, for that would be an unforgivable failure.

Namel's play is a cleverly crafted piece mixing horror and humour, horror of man's inhumanity to man and humour, not of repartee but of the kind that produces silent laughter at the inevitable collapse of power in the face of power, for power inevitably confronts other powers beyond its control.

As a tale of evil versus innocence, I like to think of the Asipata as a modern day parable. Namel creates effective theatre out of the plight of a section of our society represented symbolically by the journalist community who try to examine the conscience of corrupt politicians and their cruelly efficient agents - if they have such a thing as a conscience, that is.

He wants us to remember that these hapless individuals are suffering all the blows and the humiliation on our account: they have courage. They would not betray the trust we have in them. In the battle between good and evil, corrupt power is presented in all its savagery most eloquently in symbolic faceless dark human shapes performing macabre dances like ghosts round a feast.

They are both perpetrators of cruelty and protectors of evil as when they provide cover for officialdom to ravish society, mimicked in the rape of the woman inmate by the prison's officer. But what is most telling is the gruesome truth that these black powers are controlled by the absolutely clean looking minister in his spotless white outfit but lamentably lacking in sympathy or kindness.

He needs his pound of flesh, with no loss of time. Time is in short supply: urgency is the other face of impatience and the minister of course has no patience. In his view belated cruelty loses its fizz. Quicker the kill the better it is.

Namel should be congratulated for being able to get the support of a youthful cast where every member performed competently, perhaps even expertly, with ease and self-assurance, despite the fact that they were all amateurs.

Each one played his or her role quite convincingly, though I felt that some parts could have been played with less bravado; that is a forgivable minor theatrical offence. Over all, however, they should all be congratulated for a job well done.

The structure of the play needs to be talked about because it wisely avoids the beaten track in its search for a new formula. Theatrical movements patterned on the low country ritual dances (tovil) and the accompanying base notes of the drums are an integral part of the structure of the drama rather than formal accompaniments, as in the nadagama.

In the Asipata the dance movements are a substitute for dialogue which is used sparingly so the audience can see more than hear; these tableaux, come to life, as it were, certainly do enhance the theatrical effect of the performance no doubt, but they are more significant as visual statements of the play's intent.

I have my reservations, though, about the too frequent throwing of bodies on the stage floor with a loud bang which, perhaps, was as the playwright intended, but it did not, at least in my view, add to the intensity of the experience.

Also, I would have liked to see faster transitions between episodes so that actions and thoughts could have flowed seamlessly. There were too many hiatuses, I thought. Such minor points apart, the play succeeded in conveying the senseless injustice that a decent society has to put up with and the consequent outrage society feels against the perpetrators of that injustice.

The redeeming last scene of the gentle flames of white candles shows, perhaps, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

The Asipata is significant particularly because, unlike many other plays (which I have heard about but not seen) that deal with may be universal and timeless values, it has opted to deal with the present.

It has become a habit with us that when talking about culture we are the happiest when we can expatiate on and extol our glorious past. That is as it should be. What is bad about dwelling too much on the past achievements is that we tend to ignore the falling standards of the arts here and now.

There are those that do not recognize that fact but talk glibly of the wonderful productions we are treated to. As a result we adopt an attitude of indifference to what seems to be a collapse of culture. In an indirect way, by highlighting the social debacle, which will naturally harm the cultural values, the Asipata makes us conscious of the fall of artistic standards as well: one set of standards cannot remain steady without sustenance from the other.

It is not difficult to see that a great deal of the contemporary cultural productions fail to measure up to the great creations of not only the distant past, but even those of the not so distant past.

It would seem that it is only in the field of drama that artistically significant creations appear. (That is a situation that needs a separate study). If our dramatists do not merely rest on their laurels and only delight in reliving the past successes, good things can be expected to happen.

It is a great pity that the cinema, the art that holds the popular imagination in its easy grasp has had to face unhappy conditions that prevent its healthy growth. The cinema, with all potential as a form of entertainment that provides effortless enjoyment and an escape from the daily grind is the sad victim of its own popularity.

It is also the victim of a questionable moral censorship. Censors who are given the thankless job protecting society's morals have become overprotective of the community's mores. They seem to have been compelled to zealously guard against the perceived dangers to society whenever sex finds a little corner on the screen.

Sex, for various reasons, happens to be one of the biggest problems in all modern societies where living has become an experiment for the most part. For that reason alone it should be of great concern to all and should not be banned and banished from the arts where, in fact, the sex-and-society problem can profitably be discussed.

I have seen one film (in private) and heard of others, proscribed for reasons of perceived sexual implications: all there was in this particular film was the appearance of a nude woman and a scene of sexual violence.

Nudity is not offensive but sexual violence is, it is just for that reason that the horror of that kind of violent behaviour should be laid bare and not hidden from adult society. I have not been able see in this film any justification for the proscription.

It is difficult to see how works of art, simply because of their sexual content, if it is not obscene, can corrupt a morally strong society. Such censorial efforts can only discourage the growth of good art while fostering the inane.

There is little to say about a musical culture of ours. We do not seem to have had one at any time in our history. We do not have one at present either despite the many fine musicians we have in the country.

Nobody can deny that there are very competent players of the sitar, the violin, the tabla, you name it but they have not been able to create a musical culture. How many great compositions have any of these masters produced?

All you have are heaps of songs, some melodious and listenable while most fail pathetically to touch you in any way, even when they are propped up, as they invariably are nowadays, by a bevy of nubile beauties flipping about thrashing the emptiness around them with their delicate hands and arms and want us to believe they are dancing.

Songs are bad enough but when they try to spice them with such less than mediocre performances, one is at a loss to understand what it is that is that tend to render impotent such a potentially powerful art form.

I have not heard any discerning critic saying that he or she was greatly pleased with what has been offered on the TV screen. I should like to contrast wit this situation a recital of beautiful old Towerhall songs held at the Namel-Malini Punchi Theatre a month or so back.

The performers there made it very clear that songs (which are the only music we have any way) can do wonders provided you know what you are doing with them. In a country that can boast of some very moving traditional dances, be they Kandyan, Low country or Sabaragamuwa, sadly not too many regular performances are held in public.

Despite the fact that traditional dances are widely enjoyed by all sections of society, one would like to see more frequent public offerings. It is a pity that there is just no provision for people to learn to appreciate dance as art and not as mere ritual. Dance and music are everybody's arts. You deny them that art, you diminish them.

As we have often seen, some of these old masters can bring you to the edge of your seat with their fantastic performances: with just the slightest ripple of their dancing muscles they can create such magnificent images in motion that are difficult to forget.

The old masters are no longer here, sadly. But where are the new masters? Most performances I have seen recently leave much to be desired.

That said, the other day I turned on the television, which I do not do too often, to see a beautiful performance by Khema, one of our most talented dancers. It is not always that one gets to see such fine, stirring dancing full of movement and expression. (Since the dancer was a woman, I would have liked to see more of the lasya in that dance).

Thankfully, there is proof that all is not lost. One can only wish that such artists do not depend too much on the TV and perform more often for the public, hopefully with the blessings of the powers that be.

There is a dreadful lack of concern that is difficult to understand given the official enthusiasm publicly displayed by ministers and other such luminaries entrusted with the work of culture. It is time for them to stir.

Because it has become the principle disseminator of culture in our SMS society, the TV deserves to be taken seriously. Unfortunately, though, as a provider of entertainment it seems to have achieved little.

Other than giving great advice on innocent hobbies, gourmet cooking, and your fate written in the stars, its main cultural fare is the ubiquitous teledrama, which some people enjoy, no doubt, but as art leaves much to be desired.

All the drama is almost entirely in the weeping or moping females and males abusing each other from episode 1 to 300 or beyond. Is there nothing else they can do? How many channels and how many mentally debilitating hours does a person have to spend to find something to think about.

I cannot believe that this is the major art that has seduced millions of unsuspecting seekers of entertainment. One cannot escape the thought that we live in an age of diminished culture, although many people may not accept the idea.

That is inevitable. Whatever is this thing called culture and who needs it? Everybody needs it. And that precisely is why creations like the Asipata are important.

They are relevant to good living. They are relevant to us today because, whether knowingly or otherwise, we have to live a life beyond the past, however glorious the past is. It is the artists who can light the way.