Thai comedic folk music performance that exposes the ugly side of humans
Published: 18/11/2009 at 12:00 AM
Newspaper section: Outlook (bangkokpost.com)

We often laugh in recognition and/or acknowledgement of humour. Laughter can always be expected during a likay (Thai comedic folk musical) performance. It's an art form with little room for despair. But what can despair teach us about laughter?

Likay in the hands of Pradit Prasartthong has always provided a couch for true despair in its home. In his 2005 production, Mahajanok Never Say Die I, Pradit adapted HM the King's story about faith and perseverance into a likay that exposes the ugly side of humans through stories of tsunami victims and opportunists. The jolly traditional likay is capable of the kind of depth and perceptiveness that Pradit gives his creations. What makes his likay stands out, however, is the artist's daringness to venture into the dark side and stay there. You come out of Makhampom's likay remembering as much about how it had made you laugh as how it hadn't. Watching a likay by Pradit hardly feels like sitting cosy on a couch.

Makhampom's latest production, Yak Tua Dang (Red Demon), adapted from Japanese play, Akaoni, by Hideki Noda, is perhaps the company's most harrowing likay I've seen. Mahajanok I still wraps up with a glint of hope and a sense of acceptance and forgiveness. In Yak Tua Dang, no crime is spared. Unlike Mahajanok I, the ending in this new likay forgives no one, especially no one's ignorance.

Set on an island in the south of Thailand inhabited by Malay people, the play tells the story of a stranded vagrant branded by the villagers as Yak Tua Dang, or Red Demon (Anukoon Rotjanasuksomboon). Strange in appearance, strange in language to the rest of the people on the island, Red Demon inspires fear and raises doubts about his "humanness". The first person to reach out to him is the village outcast named Kini (Boonporn Poonlumlert) or You to her brother, That Woman to other women, nameless object of lust to the men. They form a friendship that initially leads to more persecution from the villagers. Only when the village show-off Puglan (Pradit) learns to speak the demon's language and spreads the news of Red Demon's magical powers that the villagers' hostile behaviour turns into an exploitative one.

Fate turns against Red Demon and Kini once again when bottles wash up on the shore containing letters for the demon reveal that there is more of his kind waiting to claim the island as their home. Red Demon, Kini, her brother and Puglan flee the island in the hope of boarding Red Demon's ship only to find themselves adrift in the open sea. Red Demon is the first to die. Without Kini's knowledge, her sibling and Puglan eat the demon's flesh and feed it to her to stay alive.

The likay is narrated, always with a childish smile, by Kini's brother and fellow outcast Kmuki (Sarayut Phetsamrit). "I'm an idiot", he begins the story that details the events leading up to his sister's suicide. Even when he speaks of his sister's laughter, which he describes as being as brilliant as the sky on the day of her funeral, the same smile persists on that innocent face. A semblance of insight in Kmuki only emerges in the end when he thinks back to Kini's laughter out at sea - that same rare brilliant laughter makes him begin to understand something: "I don't know much about this world. That's why I can continue to live. Sometimes I think of my sister and Red Demon laughing together in the boat. At that time, I thought she was laughing, but perhaps she was despairing. Whenever that image comes to my mind, little by little, I begin to understand the meaning of despair."
The pain here belongs not only to the victims of discrimination, but also to those who benefit from others' ignorance and those who remain ignorant. A different kind of pain comes with knowledge - as Kini experiences and as Red Demon experiences over and over again as he and his people search for a place that feels like home. All these are growing pain in a world where people are becoming less isolated from one another and the idea of home more elusive than ever.

Yak Tua Dang was first staged in Thailand more than a decade ago. Surprisingly, the likay version isn't as ribald as the original Thai script. Yet Pradit and the rest of the cast beautifully adjusted the language and its rhythm to fit the comedic style of likay.

Pradit was forced to shorten the play as it will be performed as part of the Mekong Festival this week at Tokyo Metropolitan Art Space. Little seems to have been lost through the translation and adaptation process, but Pradit enriches both likay and the original Thai script by layering the characters with more humanity through the libretto. It doesn't hurt that Makhampom's performers are so reliably satisfying and versatile that this became such a rich likay-viewing experience. When Puglan laments his unrequited love for Kini after she refuses to lie about Red Demon to save herself, it is at once a song about a narcissistic man's bruised ego and a real heartbreak. It also adds complexity to the underlying competition between him and Red Demon. The most memorable is the song sung by the mostly silent Red Demon that captures the loneliness of an uprooted man with simplicity and melancholy.

Makhampom is never didactic. It's in Thai culture to be overgenerous with the moral lesson. Even in Mahajanok I, a lesson is given in the closing scene. Fortunately, it doesn't preach. With Noda's script, which can start with exuberance and biting humour, then leaves its audience in a dark puddle, Makhampom dares to let us sink into its devastating end without sneaking a comforting arm or even a tickle.