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LEAD: When the Dancers and Musicians of Bali first delighted Americans in 1952, both dancers and audiences seemed a great deal more innocent. The company by the same name that opened Tuesday night at the City Center is by no means the same troupe -nor are the times in which we live.
When the Dancers and Musicians of Bali first delighted Americans in 1952, both dancers and audiences seemed a great deal more innocent. The company by the same name that opened Tuesday night at the City Center is by no means the same troupe -nor are the times in which we live.
The Balinese village that gave birth to the program's secular and religious dances is now part of a global village. The excellent gamelan musicians who sit onstage with a glittering array of bronze xylophone-like instruments, gongs and flutes are more familiar than in the past. So much so that anyone seeking the inspiration behind the modular percussive music of American experimental composers like Steve Reich will have no trouble recognizing the source.
Nonetheless, the real thing is, so to speak, the real thing. There is no substitute for experiencing the gamelan ensemble's texture of melody and rhythm. Nor can the Balinese dancers be separated from the vital premise of their art: interaction with the gamelan orchestra.
The present company, however, includes none of the child performers or great masters whose purity once guaranteed spellbinding success. Instead, we see a group of professionals who occasionally radiate a tinge of spirituality, as in the Legong Keraton female duet, but who chiefly outline the form of a dance rather than fill it with feeling. For all their nonrealistic essence, Bali's dances are subtle expressions of mood and movement.
The current group, directed by Anuk Agung Gede Oka Kaleran, offers a no-nonsense survey, from pure-dance solos with hidden symbolic content to simulations of trance dances and excerpts from storytelling morality plays. The distinction between the masculine and feminine styles is always made clear. The women's characteristic stance is angular, one hip jutting out, one arm out with curved fingers splayed while the torso leans toward the other arm, which is bent. The men move in a turned-out plie, shifting their weight, darting quickly to the side. The eruption of small rhythmic steps contrasts with the outward lyricism.
The musicians are better than the dancers, who are straightforward and whose virtuosic range is not as wide as it could be, as seen in the sitting dance known as the Kebyar, or in the invocation, performed in a routine manner by six women.
The production, which was supervised by Pierre Lucas with lighting by Chenault Spence and which runs through Sunday, got off to a black-tie gala start: the Indonesian ambassador and consul general, as well as two former United States ambassadors to Indonesia, stood up for a bow.
The performers, said to come from the villiage of Peliatan, are seen in front of simulated temple decor, surrounded by foliage. The gamelan orchestra sits on both sides while the dancer, as they might at home, enter from the temple steps.
To see the musicians raise their mallets in unison as they strike the gamelan instruments is to see and hear choreography at the same time. It is a stupendous sight. And to watch them follow the dancer who appeared as the quivering, glowering warrior in the Baris is to understand the close relationship between musicians and dancers.
In the Legong Keraton, two women in gold and purple costumes first perform a dance sitting on chairs, each twirling a fan. As a male singer begins a storytelling passage about a prince who tries to abduct a princess, the women plunge into a combative dance with impressive ferocity, swatting at one another with branches or placing a flexed foot mercilessly on a foe's body.
The Kecak, or trance dance, in which the men sit in a circle and chant as one imitates a monkey, was rendered confusing by the appearance of several women in their midst. By contrast, there was clarity in in the masked dance known as a Jauk, also in the Raja Pala where a princess lost her veil-like wings to a prince. Universal would be the word for the folk play excerpt, the Barong, in which the lion-like creature of the same name, embodying goodness, prevailed over evil.