On the wind-combed waters of Minneapolis' Lake Calhoun earlier this month, Aegir, Norse god of the seas - loved and feared by generations of Norwegian sailors and their families - resurfaced in The Waves of Aegir, thanks to the ancient Vietnamese tradition of Mua Roi Nuoc. In Mua Roi Nuoc, or Vietnamese water puppetry, puppeteers stand behind screens, waist-deep in water, to manipulate a cast of bobbing puppets through a series of well-composed scenes.
The Waves of Aegir presents the birth of land-bound Norwegians into a sea-faring people. Desperate to master the oceans, the people of the North give offerings to the fierce god in the form of sacrifices and ritual appeasements, but to no avail. Eventually Aegir's nine daughters take pity on the land-locked creatures and intervene on their behalf - opening the door for the infamous Viking voyages that followed.
Interestingly, Mua Roi Nuoc, affectionately called, "The Soul of the Rice Fields," emerged as an art form during the Le and Nguyen dynasties (11th -14th centuries), a time when Viking activity was just winding down. Despite this asynchronicity, the selection of genre for Aegir's tale couldn't have been more appropriate in its appeal to common themes of national identity against the forces of man and nature.
The peculiar ability of Mua Roi Nuoc to incorporate the movement of waters into the spirit of the play cinched the deal. For how better to demonstrate the vast power of the ocean god than to subordinate the puppets, their masters, and even some of the audience to his lapping waves? Just a few yards from the performance, in fact, half-submerged swimmers frolicked under his good graces in the North Beach sun.
Yet Aegir was not at his best on this particular day. Known for his lavish style in entertaining the gods, within the confines of Lake Calhoun he appeared frugal, if not low budget. With the exception of a striking dragon boat, the sometimes ambiguously shaped puppets seemed more like an afterthought than a main course. The half-audible, pre-recorded narrative seemed to hold the actor-puppeteers captive in an uninspired molasses, compelled to perform a predetermined set of tasks before reaching the end.
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