The clanging rhythms of the gamelan orchestra vibrate feverishly in Bali's night air. Brightly robed dancers, responding to the music's pulse, perform a sacred choreography of centuries past before an alter crowded with tiers to tropical fruits, flowers, and incense. As the drama of gods and kings plays on, the mixed aromas of these holy offerings delight the senses of courtyard's dirt floor.
Suddenly, there is a long pause. An uncomfortable tension seizes the crowd. The dancer portraying the king is gesturing for his servant, but he does not appear. The music slows, then stops. A third unanswered summons leaves all the performers noticeably disconcerted.
Unexpectedly, a voice from behind the audience begins improvising bawdy song lyrics. The raspy voice is shaky and out of tune. All eyes turn to the clown dancer who is playing the role of the king's servant. He sits contentedly at a food stand, drinking wine and totally ignoring the king, the dance, and the audience. Realizing he has become the center of attention, the clown waves off the other dancers with disgust.
"I'll have plenty of time to work tomorrow," he bellows. "But now you must leave me some peace so I can get drunk." He resumes his singing; the crowd roars with laughter.
Is this an act of sacrilege, the defilement of a sacred temple drama? Quite the contrary, it is deliberate buffoonery, artfully intended to make the performance even more holy. Essentially animism and ancestor worship with an overlay of Hinduism, the Balinese religion revolves around the propitiation of gods and ancestors spirits in religious ceremonies held to mark the important anniversaries in the life of the individual and the community. One way of pleasing the gods is to present them with prayers and offerings; another is to entertain them. Laughter brings joy to the gods, and no temple ceremony is complete without a clown.
For the Balinese, however, there is also another connection between the ridiculous and the divine. Speaking to the disruptive clown after the performance, I gained a deeper insight into his antics.
"I must teach something with my joking or the laughter will be hollow," he explained. "In our village many men are becoming lazy and do not want to work for the temple. When they see everyone laughing at a lazy clown, maybe tomorrow they will not be so lazy themselves. There is much that the people can learn from our play, but if there is too much seriousness, they will grow weary and forget. If we make them laugh, the happiness locks the lessons strong in their memories."
This unique perspective on comedy has led the Balinese to approach clowning as an art that encompasses teaching, spiritual guidance, and entertainment. For Westerners, who live in a society in which educators instruct, clergymen preach, and comedians amuse, this concept can be difficult to grasp. In Bali these activities are not so clearly differentiated. The arts are seamlessly integrated into other aspects of daily life.
Temple drama, especially, illustrates this patter: Ancient myths are combined with topical gossip; gods and kings mingle with commoners; religious teachings are related to mundane problems;
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