by John Coast
"In that case," said our ally, "I can only wish you good luck.” And he drove off noisily into the blue-black night on his motorcycle.
I turned to the Anak Agung:
"And you, Agung Adji—what do you say?"
"Terserah!" he replied with a shrug. "It is surrendered to you."
Going home that night, Luce and I talked over our position. To both of us it was clear that we were now in a state of cold war with a powerful, but small, clique in Denpasar, which was using national or racial sentiment against us to appeal to Sutedja. We imagined that irresponsible people might bribe or persuade some thugs to kill us or burn down our house, or, if the Denpasar officials did genuinely feel that the central Government had by-passed them, and resented my foreign role besides, we could anticipate a web of intrigue stretching from Denpasar to Djakarta. So I decided, as one addicted to the game of chess, to play out this contest coolly and patiently, endeavouring to anticipate and block my adversaries' moves, unwilling to sacrifice a single pawn on the board unnecessarily, a single musician or dancer in my team. As to our good friend the Anak Agung, it would be unfair to count on his active support. He had to live in Bali; he was not young, his ideas were fixed and his philosophy resigned. For us it was enough that he was the most inspiring musician in the island; he and all our other Balinese friends would have to shelter behind our strategies.
The theatrical preparations then really got under way. We called to Kaliungu the Anak Agung and the Pliatan club leaders, with Tjokorda Oka of Singapadu village, a new member of our Masked Dance quintet and according to the Anak Agung quite the best designer of dance costumes in Bali, as well as a fine maker of Barongs and carver of Rangda masks.
Our time limit, I told them, was Indonesian Independence Day, August 17th, for on that day we had been called to Djakarta to dance at the palace. We would leave Bali by ship about ten days before then.
"But how large can the group be—finally?" asked the Anak Agung. "The gamelan club alone has twenty-eight members, and there is ill feeling already because some of them know that they will have to stay behind."
"Agung Adji—we have talked this over many times. You know that twenty-three is enough for the gamelan. We will have to make a system of fines for non-attendance at rehearsal and the most hardworking and valuable men will go with us."
Then we came to the programme. First I no longer found Tabuh Telu the ideal overture. It was too evenly balanced, with not enough light and shade. So I played them the Benjamin Britten Young Persons' Guide to the Orchestra on our gramophone, asking them whether they could not find some lively North Bali melody which could be treated in such a way. Western audiences could then begin by hearing Balinese music broken down into instruments and sections. Instantly Lebah replied. "Kapi Radja!" he snapped. "The very piece for such an idea. A Kebiar from the north—we will rehearse it tonight."
And though the programme kept its original core, I now wanted a Barong story for our finale, so I asked Tjokorda Oka to commence at once on making a Barong for us.
"The black duk fibre is already collected for the Barong's coat," said the Tjokorda. "Also the hides. If the Tuan has money for me I can put ten men to work at once on preparing the hides, carving the smooth skin, encrusting the glass gems and preparing the gold paint.
I myself will carve the masks."
"Wonderful, Tjokorda. Begin this very day, for the money is in the People's Bank here in Denpasar now."
And then we wrangled over the Djanger and our need for two Oleg dancers who could double with the Djanger, too. For of the original proud Djanger, only two girls remained, and they were the least attractive.
The Oleg was a lively modern dance brought down to Denpasar from the north before the war, and there refined and softened. It was performed by girls in male or female costumes according to taste, and in Sayan village, two thirteen-year-olds who had learned it from Sampih, danced it with absolute precision and very feminine smiles. For borrowing these two children we were to pay the Sayan club five hundred rupiahs a month while abroad. But still we needed two more adult Oleg dancers who could play in the Djanger, and who would not ask for wasteful chaperones to accompany them.
Also, no reserve had been found for Sampih's Kebiar and Bumblebee roles. The Anak Agung hankered after Gusti Ngurah Raka, who was his friend and had been Mario's first brilliant pupil in the thirties; but this man was chained to his wife and her fifty hectares of rice-fields.
Then there were the costumes. Here Luce and Tjokorda Oka were in charge and faced a most complicated labour. Luce had to reckon how many yards of cloth, some silk, some cotton, would be needed for this company of over forty persons. Then she had to select the yarn, choose the dyes, distribute the hanks of dyed yarn among weavers in several villages, and collect the finished cloth on time. With the Tjokorda she examined and picked out the most decorative traditional patterns for each kain, and then the Tjokorda had to trace these patterns on each kain with chalk and then gold-paint them. He had to buy antjur—a fish-glue base-with red Chinese paint for the first coat, and then white of eggs to mix with the gold paint for the outer glittering layer. This mixing of the gold paint with egg-white made the gold gleam as if it were real and delighted the Balinese; the idea, of course, was ancient, and we had borrowed it from the painters of the Renaissance at the suggestion of Jim Ford. Each yard of cloth was painted by hand.
Next the Anak Agung wanted a second gamelan. And thinking of our payload, we worked out a variation on an angklung orchestra, a cheerful, singing-toned gamelan of only four notes. This involved many trips over to distant Klungkung, and during a period of six weeks we watched a set of new gongs for a small, light reyong emerge from a hand furnace; and rows of new metallophone "leaves" we saw hammered and scraped and forged and tuned in the mud yard of a famous smith. While the smith fashioned the metal parts, Rantun's former husband, the over fruitful Pagah, carved simple wooden stands for the new metallophones and klengtangan, the latter, an all-bamboo xylophone, played with two long-handled vibrant hammers. Three more highly skilled craftsmen worked in a bale near the Anak Agung's kitchen for five weeks, while they carved four delicate and intricate frames for two pairs of Shadow Play metallophones—the soft and infinitely melodious Gender Wayang. And without ceasing, the jeep travelled around and around, pushing, pleading, and paying out wages to our teams of workers.
As the news of our impending departure spread around, idle people flocked to see us and ate away our little time. Each prominent figure from Java that came to Bali fell into the Gianjar family propaganda net and was swept up to a command performance in Pliatan, until I protested that the dancers belonged to Indonesia and not to Gianjar, and suggested that these notables would surely be equally interested to see us rehearsing, without being given special performances that wasted our time. Then in Kaliungu, smiling and ambitious young men visited us, smoking our cigarettes and drinking our coffee, complimenting us on our orchids and languidly strumming on our metallophones, seeking under any pretext to honour us with their company abroad; and when, inevitably, we told them this was most regrettably, almost certainly, impossible, they smiled again and drifted away into the ranks of our enemies.
Encouragement, however, continued to arrive from abroad. From Paris there dropped in a M. Cocque, of the Figaro, dry, shrewd and experienced. He predicted a storm of appreciation for us in Paris. From London came the Macmillans, the younger generation of the publishing house of that name, who were equally confident of our reception there, though so far my cousin had found us no London manager.
About the middle of April-my correspondence, meanwhile, with America and Europe, with tailors and air-line companies in Djakarta, with Consuls, with the Ministries now interested in us, and my books of accounts, were already a full-time job-about this middle of April, then, there came word from Suwanto in Washington to say that his other work forced him to withdraw from the role of "fel
low impresario"; and by this same mail came a long cable from Columbia Artists stating that in triangular fashion they, Suwanto and I seemed to have come to a basis for agreement. Mr. Schang, their President, would shortly be flying to Bali in person to witness my production with his own eyes. I urged the acceptance of the Columbia offer, for the other impresario had lapsed into a so far unaccountable silence.
29. The Pliatan Gamelan orchestra on stage at the Winter Garden Theatre in London, led by the mayor of Pliatan village, Anak Agung Gde Mandera, who was the conductor and artistic director. On August 26, 1952, a two-week season at the Winter Garden Theatre before leaving for New York and a 13-week tour of American cities.
30. The three Legongs photographed from the wings of the Winter Garden Theatre, London, August 1952.
31. Sampih performing the Kebiar Duduk at the Winter Garden Theatre, London, August 1952.
32. The warrior Ardjuna, in the foreground with his bow, is about to do battle with the wild boar sent by the god Shiva to test his prowess. In this condensed play, based on the epic Mahabharata, Ardjuna triumphs over all the temptations to try him, and then is chosen by the Gods as champion against the King of the Demons.
33. In the programme's Finale, the Barong, a mythical animal who protects the Balinese against evil, triumphs over all its adversaries, in particular Rangda, Queen of the Witches, who brings the imbalance of illness and death.
34. Publicity from Columbia Artists'Management, which presented the American cross-country tour of "The Dancers of Bali." From the opening night in New York until their last night in Miami, the dancers and musicians were greeted by enthusiastic audiences and reviews. The drawing is by the Mexican artist Miguel Covarrubias, and is reproduced from his classic account of Bali published in 1937, The Island of Bali.
35. The “ Dancers of Bali” reach Broadway. In New York, the Balinese occupied four floors in a midtown hotel. In between rehearsals, the dancers whiled away their time riding up and down in the hotel’s elevators and lolling in the hotel’s bathtubs. Sitting in the tubs, they would pull the plug and say that the sound of gurgling water reminded them of their native streams.
36. John Coast directing a rehearsal for the premiere at the Fulton Theater on Broadway. The group had rarely experienced professional theatre lighting prior to the tour.
37. The Djanger ensemble in their US debut at the Fulton.
38. Rangda, Queen of the Witches (left), representing evil, and the Barong (centre), protector of the good. The Barong costume is supported by two men inside, whose remarkable teamwork and footwork in the front and hindquarters delighted audiences throughout the tour.
39. Sampih performing the Baris. Baris is the idealized warrior figure which, in turn, is dangerous and dauntless, vulnerable and frightened, wary and aggressive. It has become the test piece for all male Balinese dancers. Sampih's acting and mime for this intensely concentrated work were memorable. The Baris hero is often accompanied by one or more clown-warriors. Five clowns were among the members of the troupe: Serog, Tjokorda Oka (who also designed and made the costumes and masks for the tour), Kakul, Rinda and Anak Agung Raka.
40. Male star Sampih in the Kebiar Duduk, interacting with his director and lead drummer, Anak Agung Gde Mandera.
41. A sequence of photographs of Ni Gusti Raka in the work Tumililangan (the Bumblebee Dance), specially created for her and Sampih by Mario. Ni Gusti Raka, in the role of a bumblebee, wriggles and flits in childlike delight as she sees her first flower garden. Too young to flirt, she spurns the male bumblebee who comes buzzing around. It was the performance of this role that gained for her acclaim and stardom.
42. The Djanger dance being performed at the Thunderbird Hotel in Las Vegas.
43. Kegak, originally a section of a trance dance-drama based on the Indonesian epic Ramayana, was enlarged and developed by Bali resident artist Walter Spies and dance critic Beryl de Zoete in 1932. It quickly became a separate and popular piece. Here is Serog, the clown, with some of his hissing, grunting and chanting army of monkeys, in a spectacular scene from the work.
44. Dancers Oka and Raka sipping orange pop in the Fulton Theater, New York. Orange pop and ice cream were the only American foods which appealed to the Balinese. Often they looked in vain for a Chinese restaurant which could approximate the Balinese diet of rice with a little boiled chicken, shrimp or pork, a green vegetable and their own highly seasoned samba! which they had brought with them from Bali.
45. A new delight for the Balinese dancers in America was ice cream. Here they are enjoying their favourite flavour-vanilla—in Manhattan.
46. While the group was in Los Angeles, they visited several movie studios. Here the three Legongs pose with the legendary Walt Disney.
47. The troupe visited the Paramount Studios in Hollywood, where Bing Crosby and Bob Hope happened to be shooting some TV commercials for their new film, The Road to Bali. The Legongs were highly amused when the comedians started dancing a la Balinese. They attended a special preview of the film in San Francisco, and insisted on seeing it several times before they left the US, claiming they would see it yet again in the new cinema recently built in Bali.
48. The three Legongs meeting prima ballerina assoluta Alicia Markova.
49. The three bemused Legongs and Luce Coast looking over a leading American magazine which featured the troupe. The Balinese dance company received widespread coverage in leading British and American media of the time, including the Illustrated London News, London Telegraph, Life, New Yorker, New York Times, New York Herald Tribune, New York Post, New York Daily News, Time and Newsweek.
50. A farewell picture taken with John and Luce Coast in Miami before the group left without the Coasts for Brussels, Bonn, Paris and Rome. John Coast is at far right. Next to him is Frederick C. Schang Jr., President of Columbia Artists'Management, and standing between them is Sampih. Second from left is Luce with the three little Legongs in front, flanking Anak Agung Gde Mandera. Problems with excess luggage increased as the tour progressed. When the troupe left Miami on January 8, 1953, gallons of gas had to be offloaded from the plane because of the extra weight and space taken up by the group's luggage.
51. On their first return visit to Indonesia in 1966, John and Luce Coast had an emotional reunion with members of the "Dancers of Bali" troupe. Ni Gusti Raka, at the age of 25, living on the outskirts of Denpasar. She is shown here with her youngest child, a son called Gde. At a dance competition held during their stay, the Coasts saw Raka dance the Tumulilingan, this time with Bagus, the 17- year-old son of Anak Agung Gde Mandera.
52. Ni Gusti Raka in a publicity shot for the 1971 Australian tour, led by Anak Agung Gde Mandera. The troupe performed in Sydney, Canberra and Melbourne.
53. John Coast in his London office, 1981. He had established his own Concert Artists' Management business. Behind him are photographs of some of his famous clients: Mario Lanza, Luciano Pavarotti (whom Coast had discovered as a young unknown singer at a vocal competition in Modena, Italy), Montserrat Caballe, "Dancers of India", and high over his left shoulder his beloved "Dancers of Bali".
54. Reunion dinner in Pliatan, August 1983. Left to right: Beige (Sampih’s son), John Coast, Anak Agung Gde Mandera, Ni Gusti Raka and Anak Agung Anom. Beige's un-Balinese name was bestowed on him when on the day he was born his mother received a letter from Sampih in Brussels postmarked "Beige" (Belgium).
55. Pegil, Beige and John Coast in Iseh, Bali, August 2, 1983. Pegil was a boy often when he joined the Coast household in 1950.
56. Ni Gusti Raka, in January 2004, teaching a child during a class at the Agung Rai Museum of Art (ARMA) in Pengosekan, Ubud.
The Galungan season now came again and passed agonizingly slowly, but at this festive time we escorted a Javanese doctor around our villages, where he made a first medical inspection. And also during Galungan, Dr. Subardjo himself, no longer Foreign Minister af
ter a disagreement with the Parliament about American Aid, arrived in Denpasar; we looked after him gladly, for he, more than any other Minister, had helped us forward.
By the beginning of May we were progressing fast. Our Barong, from a pile of raw hides, bamboo, paint and fibre, was being rapidly moulded into the gleaming and shaggy-haired monster in gold, black and scarlet who would be our protective spirit. The two young Olegs from Sayan were as pretty as paint and learning to interchange roles with the Legongs; the Masked Dance comedies were shaping, and when I had suggested the gamelan club forming a 'Tjak, or Monkey Dance chorus, the Anak Agung was inspired to put Serog, Bali's greatest clown, to mime as a buffoon in its centre.
Then Mario came over from Tabanan again to train our Bumblebee Dance understudy, Desak Putu from Sayan village. But Raka complained angrily and secretly to us, chanting, "But I shan't be sick, I tell you; I shan't be sick." And having taken some lucky photographs of Mario, I dashed off an article for the London periodical, Ballet, describing the conception of the Bumblebee Dance, and risking telling Richard Buckle that we hoped to be in London by late August.