I'm viewing the stage expectantly.
Slits of illumination flicker out, casting odd beams through cracks between the boards of the simple structure of wood, bamboo and cloth standing in the midst of what looks like a rice paddy submerged with water. Beyond the pale circles of dim lighting, the room remains dark and obscure.
Presently, colored floodlights focus center stage. They bathe the surface of the liquid foreground making it shine like a newly-varnished painting. Vocal pyrotechnics and a cacophony of drums, gongs, cymbals and bells from musicians seated on either side of the pool fill the air.
The show has begun at the Thanglong Water Puppet Theatre in Ha Noi.
In a flush of anticipation, I crane my neck to look at the dazzling scenery that unfolds. The water begins to tremble with jerky movements from disparate wooden characters awash in vivid magenta, pink, purple, and gold.
It's all color and shape, seemingly caught in a pool of glass. In this 800-year-old form of folk entertainment, puppets are controlled using long bamboo rods and string mechanisms hidden beneath the water's surface. The apparatus extends behind the stage curtain to the unseen puppeteers who stand in waist-deep water.
I exhale a long, slow breath as my eyes bug out at the strange sight. Radiance looking like twinkling diamonds shines upon the hand-carved puppets. The women, in bright head scarves, are working on the farm. The hay stacked beyond is an eerie hump in the darkness. In the distance, a soft-eyed water buffalo pulls a plow.
Dozens of sampan boats, small and large and painted in a variety of bright hues, shortly bob in unison like a chorus line on the water. My eyes narrowing, I look up at the illumination emanating from the intricately-sculpted wooden house in the background, creating an eerie glow against the soft current.
An ensuing scenery unfolds a mythical earthly paradise populated with gods and demigods and other outlandish creatures. Vietnam's so-called 'descendants of the dragon fairy' fight with tigers, dance with umbrellas, and court with pan-pipes even as they trample huge waves of the Eastern Sea underfoot.
I puff out my lips, continuing to watch with my head tilted at an angle. My eyes are taking in so much that is not even there.
Like so many water bugs, various other character puppets ranging in height from 12 to 40 inches and weighing up to 30 pounds each, are either coming or going. A vendor touts his wares. A bean-curd maker pushes a wooden cart. My gaze sharpens as I watch the life-sized marionettes bouncing gently in the water, as if touched by soft, invisible breaths - rising and falling. Spotlights shine on them, lighting them up like at Christmastime.
The performance is dreamlike, but delightful in its detail. From a distance, it looks like the gleam of a string of watercolors dancing in a foggy mist.
The water sloshes as the puppeteers come out in the end to take a dripping bow. I wait a beat, arch my eyebrow, then continue in almost a squeal.
Người đi ám sát. Bravo!
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