The celestial firmament later descends, it suffocates the dancers like a prison, they alternate between their courtly paces and frenetic shaking. Sirens wail from handheld megaphones and the music intensifies, it's as if the system cannot handle this revolt. And the visual image is very reminiscent of dissidence and revolution, the dancers retreat and advance, they scream inaudible slogans through their microphones while running across the stage. Will it take political mobilisation to change the structures of khon? One’s mind is drawn to the incredibly strict lèse-majesté laws in Thailand, which induce harsh prison sentences on those who criticise the royal family, the same family who are patrons of the royal khon—a major theatre for the art form is on palatial grounds. To challenge a form intrinsically linked to the monarchy may be seen as blasphemous to some.

Klunchun’s research is highly academic and thorough, even just glancing at the website attached to the project feels like skimming through the introductory notes of a PhD viva. But behind the hefty research is something human, a demand for change, an interrogation of the past. To the uninitiated the chaos may seem like a major gear shift from the preceding action, through the noise it is a little difficult to understand exactly what it is that Klunchun is trying to say both metaphorically and literally. But as an experiment, and an abstraction of an ancient form, “No. 60” is an intelligently made, compelling example of what happens when we fight the limits of what we inherit. Klunchun, in this rare performance in London, proves his work is well worth mentioning in the discourse surrounding classical dance forms.