Elizabeth, Kirstin and Julie are all committed to bringing their works to a wider audience. Elizabeth’s jingju productions have traveled to China several times now, and students have not only performed there, but also taken classes. Julie took her last kyogen production to libraries on Maui. Kirstin’s randai plays have been invited to tour, but government restrictions have prevented her from taking her students to Indonesia. Some students have been so enthused by randai productions however, that they have traveled to Sumatra independently and studied with masters there.

And the mountain has come to Mohammed, too: Master teachers from China, Japan and Indonesia have come to Hawai‘i to teach. It’s grueling work: daily voice and movement classes, individual coaching sessions and nightly rehearsals, all for up to eight months. But many students push themselves beyond the limits of what they thought they could do—and in the process learn unexpected lessons.

Kirstin gives an example from randai, the form inspired by the communal circle. All are equal in the circle, she says, and randai reflects this: “For randai to work, you have to get a circle of dancers to become one. It really is hours and hours of work to make them move together, breathe together, feel the music together and blend their energies together. It’s a magical moment when it clicks. It’s brilliant.” And the further benefit it offers the students, says Kirstin, is this: “They start appreciating other ways of governing, other ways of running a society.”

And then there is the pants-slapping. Randai costumes feature baggy cotton pants, and, Kirstin explains, “If you stretch the fabric wide enough at the right moment and hit it, it sounds like a drum.” As the students move they slap their pants, creating percussive patterns within the dance. “In my eyes it’s the coolest thing that Southeast Asian theater’s come up with,” she says. “And the students love it. They wear their pants everywhere. They go around singing and slapping their pants.” HH