The only intimacy he achieves is a few moments of silent communion with his masks. The painted eyes stare up at him as if from a mirror of wood. He dips a frangipani petal in holy water and sprinkles the liquid first onto the masks, then onto his own face. Performing behind each of the masks in turn he uses movement and voice to weave epic tales of comedy, adventure, and romance. He shifts effortlessly from mask to mask, his body automatically assuming the positions dictated by the sculpted expressions he wears.
Quicksilver strength marks the angular choreography of the minister of war.
A servant mocks his mistress with a belch. The king expresses command with eloquent stillness. A master at giving life to a countenance of wood, the actor makes his masks breathe, sweat, and cry. The audience responds with awe and laughter to a performance that links them to their ancestors in a whirl of color, sound, and emotion. Masks are dense with meaning.