“Dear Elena: the sun still rises”

Reviewer: Idelle Yee
Performance: 20 October 2019

One does not come to a Nine Years Theatre (NYT) production without a certain expectancy. In the span of only seven years, NYT has effectively created a brand of performance that resonates viscerally with its largely Chinese-Singaporean audience: foreign classics familiar to English-educated theatregoers reimagined in Mandarin. NYT, negotiating this diasporic, post-colonial confluence of identities alongside its audience, provides one vision of a Chinese-Singaporean intellectual and artistic voice.

An excellent example of a manifestation of this vision is NYT’s Dear Elena, an adaptation of the Soviet-era play Dear Yelena Sergeyevna. Four students pay a visit to their teacher Miss Elena, ostensibly to celebrate her birthday; in fact, they are intent on coercing her to hand over the key to the safe where their exam papers are kept. Within this carefully choreographed dance of persuasion, Dear Elena negotiates the timeless struggles of morality and the human capacity for manipulation of power.

These high ideals can translate on stage as distant, elevated declamations, or worse, high-brow berating of the audience — if delivered poorly. Fortunately, delivery of dialogue is one area in which the strength of the ensemble comes through most strongly. The cast brings carefully calibrated synchronicity and a wonderfully balanced, pulsating energy dynamic to their performance. There is an utter inhabitation of dialogue on the part of the actors, bringing a believability to their characters.

The factor of time becomes a character in itself. Dear Elena takes place in the night, extending into the wee hours of the morning. As a result, the performance always seems to be on the precipice of something — an imminent implosion of anarchic violence, perhaps. It seems also a contemplation of youth: on the cusp of evil and darkness, goodness and light, and seeking something like the compromise of the two in their lives.

Sound designer Jing Ng has crafted a soundscape very much conscious of temporality — the ticking of the clock is often heard, giving the production a nervous energy, racing ever forward into uncertainty. A cheerful waltz tune that begins as the music for a youthful dance ends up as the soundtrack for the horrific attempted rape of Lyalya (played with great sensitivity by Shu Yi Ching). There is a sense that any stability, safety, or established understanding between people is highly fragile. The clock ticks away, and takes certainty with it. Lighting designer Liu Yong Huay’s carefully constructed chiaroscuro lays upon this the anxiety of night awaiting the hope of daylight — will the sun ever rise? When will this nightmare of human manipulation end?

Yet it seems the sun still rises. At the end of the play, the key is almost, but not handed over to the students. Lyalya is almost, but not raped. Yet there is a sense of the irreparable. All teacher-student relationships and the innocence of youthful friendships seem broken.

But then the trembling Lyalya, left alone in Elena’s living room, lifts the key aloft as a torch, and declares to the emptiness a quivering goodness: “They didn’t take the key!” Behind her, the other three youths lift their right arms in a “like” fashion. Gazing down at this stage picture, one feels — however unreasonably — that despite the irreversibility of events elapsed and words exchanged, there is still hope for them, and also for all of us.

After all, the sun — however waveringly — still rises.

“Doesn’t God dream of forgiving our sins?”

Reviewer: Idelle Yee
Performance: 21 July 2019

In what is perhaps fitting in this bicentennial year, First Fleet is a tale of colonial exploits and exploitation. While convict transportation to the colonies was nothing new for the British Empire, this fleet was the first to embark on the zealous task of starting a penal colony in Australia. Serving in this fleet is Lieutenant Ralph Clark, who is charged with rehearsing a play, Molière’s Tartuffe, with a group of convicts. It is this intriguing episode that First Fleet explores with great intelligence, sensitivity and rousing passion.

First Fleet is a production with a relentless belief in the affinity of the human spirit with art, and the human being’s boundless capacity for reformation. These topics are debated at length, with different characters coming to represent different positions on these subjects.

Major Ross is played by Mia Chee with a villainy so convincing and gleeful that she resembles the Trumps and Johnsons of an exhausting political reality. She is tired of being shafted to handle human “garbage”, who lie beyond any hope of redemption: “Criminals were born to commit crime, they’re different from us,” she declares. Others, such as arts enthusiast Lieutenant Clark (Timothy Wan) and idealist Governor Collins (Neo Hai Bin), are defenders of and believers in art and its ability to reform human beings.

The play itself moves between the convicts’ rehearsals of Tartuffe, the navy officers’ discussions of the absurdly humane treatment of the convicts, and the backstories of the convicts themselves. The rehearsals are, particularly in the beginning, a hilariously stilted and overacted riot; but as they progress, the audience observes the emergence of an unbridled idealism that seems to come naturally to the actors and directors of this ensemble. The animated discussions on understanding character motivation, the importance of authenticity in theatre, and the merits of Shakespeare and Marlowe all have a rather meta resonance for this audience of formerly colonised theatregoers.

There is an utter inhabitation of these ideas on the part of the members of the Nine Years Theatre Ensemble, and there is a lived believability to their enthusiasm. The strength of this ensemble — their harmonious movements as a unit on stage and their emotional synchronicity — makes a strong case for the use of actors who train systematically and produce works together over a longer period of time.

There is nothing groundbreaking in the content and premise of this production. But First Fleet is still — for this reviewer — entirely overwhelming. In a world dominated by draconian legalities without mercy, and religion that has lost faith in the ability of human beings to be redeemed, this is art that defiantly maintains the belief in compassion and the human capacity for betterment and renewal.

One leaves First Fleet convinced of this: that one may see goodness yet in this land of the living. This is art worth working towards.

“The Spectacular Mundane in Faust/us”

Reviewer: Teo Xiao Ting
Performance: 21 March 2019

Upon signing her soul away to Mephistopheles (Timothy Wan), Faustus (Mia Chee) walks towards the edge of stage and gasps. An abundance of colours, warm light, had burst forth. “Where are we?” she asks. “Just the garden outside of your home,” he answers.

In Faust/us, Nine Years Theatre presents an adaptation of Goethe’s Faust, and questions what lies beyond this human life of ours, and how far one would go to fulfil one’s desires. The set design is simple, elevated. I crane my neck, fixated as the characters navigate their lives. With each raise of God’s (Hang Qian Chou) hand, the lights dim or brighten, and the act of gazing upwards to the platform reinforces a sense of yearning, akin to how Faustus cries out to the spirits in despair. Faust/us takes many turns – my mind continues to refract into more questions.

Cherilyn Woo, the director, reimagines Faust as a woman who grapples through despair, despite being one of the most brilliant academics of her time. Wagner (Hang Qian Chou), rather than being an assistant that eventually creates a homunculus (a humanoid existence created from inorganic materials), invents a handheld device that allows for communication across distance. Antithetical to Goethe’s Wagner, who remains insistent in his pursuit of logical knowledge, Woo’s Wagner speaks excitedly, tenderly, about gardening in a voicemail sent to Faustus. The gender reversal attempts to collapse binaries rather than superficially feminising the masculine or vice versa, and I appreciate the profoundly sensitive treatment of Goethe’s characters. That said, it is still operating within the constraints of the gender binary, as our reflexive emotional responses are informed by implicit biases.

Twice, Faustus turns away from those she loves. First, when she leaves Wagner to care for her dusty study, then, she abandons her beloved Grett (Neo Hai Bin) when he refuses to break out of prison with her. After the performance, a friend accused her of being selfish in her pursuit of desire. But is she? The truth is that if Faustus were a man, we might not deem him selfish. There is an unsaid expectation for her to unreservedly take on the role of caregiving.

In the end, Faustus travels the world and falls in love. The agreement with Mephistopheles dictates that her soul will be surrendered to him if she still feels despair after everything has passed. She resists, declares her soul to be of her own. A twist: in Woo’s Faust/us, her soul belongs to neither heaven nor hell. This declaration of autonomy is human. Faust/us isn’t just an indication of resistance to existing power structures, but a dignifying call to bear the responsibilities of one’s choices. After experiencing all that she has, Faustus returns to her initial routine, the same yet anew. There is no rapture, no spectacular closure. Faust/us ends where it began, with Faustus taking a stroll along the market, buoyed by a tenderness she encountered in the men around her: Grett’s spark bright love for God and words, and Mark’s (Neo Hai Bin) affection for his fruits and a simple life.

Mephistopheles still lurks in the corner of her home, but is now a “stray dog that barks incessantly”. Faustus still feels despair, and perhaps still drowns from time to time in the sea of utter dark, but she carries on.

“Fool-ish Interludes”

Reviewer: Isaac Tan
Performance: 26 October 2018

If there is a defining feature in Nine Years Theatre’s 2018 season, it is a greater deal of intervention and adaptation of the source material. The company is no longer content with presenting robust translations of Western classics, and is willing to depart from them through direction or introduction of original text.

In his effort to make Shakespeare’s King Lear accessible, director Nelson Chia grooms the king by cutting out various subplots, and using a modern vernacular in the translation and surtitles.

Unfortunately, Chia’s Lear ends up over-groomed, as though processed by a beauty photo app, which makes him slightly unrecognisable and less potent as a complex character.

Chia also frames this as a play presented by the fools in the court after Lear’s demise, to commemorate the king’s legacy. As such, the show is intermittently bookmarked with a talk show in which one of the fools interviews her colleagues (every actor doubles up as the fool and one of the principal characters).

The interviews hardly provide any insightful commentary. Most of them bear thinly-veiled references to modern Singapore politics, which elicits sniggers of recognition. What little commentary there is revolves around governance without wisdom, and a provocation that the people should do something. This colours the audience’s perspective, and portrays the descent of Lear as the direct result of his unsound governance.

Even if we were to focus on that sole issue, there is no attempt to unearth what wisdom in governance means. Given that there are several dialogue interludes throughout the show, the non-attempt is surprising.

That said, the cast (Mia Chee as Goneril, Hang Qian Chou as Gloucester, Neo Hai Bin as King Lear, Timothy Wan as Edmund and Kent, Jodi Chan as Regan, and Shu Yi Ching as Cordelia) puts up a strong performance that is taut and impactful.

The constant training that the Nine Years Theatre Ensemble undergoes clearly pays off here, as there is a sense of synchronicity amongst the members. An excellent testament to the company’s training pedagogy is that Chan and Ching, who are not part of the core ensemble, blended in very well with the rest of the cast.

Special mention goes to Neo, who embodies Lear’s physicality with nuance, and it subtly changes as Lear gradually spirals out of control. While the meta-theatrical framing of the show, such as the audience seeing the actor putting on and taking off Lear’s costume, dispels any expectation of a realistic portrayal, it is still an achievement on Neo’s part.

Despite the thematic simplicity in its conception, Lear is Dead still makes for an excellent introduction for those who have reservations about approaching Shakespeare’s original text.

“Trite Julie Leaves One Pissed“

Reviewer: Isaac Tan
Performance: 18 May 2018

With his reinterpretation of August Strindberg’s Miss Julie, director Nelson Chia goes back to Nine Years Theatre’s tradition of staging Chinese adaptations of Western works, while also starting a new trend. The trend of leaving his audience in limbo.

In Cut Kafka!, he intentionally does so in order to immerse the audience in the Kafkaesque. But in Pissed Julie, one is left in a tedious state, wondering if there is anything more to say beyond the idea that identity, culture, and gender are social constructs.

Chia constructs a house of placards through multiples of threes: motifs of a waltz through movement sequences and sound design; three actors playing one character; and approving a set design by Wong Oi Kuok, consisting of three flats tilted to one side.

Furnish that house with other clever props like a microwave to give a modern nudge-and-wink, impose the whole structure on Strindberg’s original work, and we get a very glib production that lacks meaty characterisations.

In his bid to explore the complexities of identity, Chia thematically assigned lines to the three actors playing each character. In the case of Jean the valet, Leong Fan Kai (from Macau) delivers lines when Jean is being chauvinistic, Timothy Wan is Jean when he is being clinically rational, while Hang Qian Chou plays Jean at his hopeless moments.

Once the audience gets the conceit, seeing all nine actors [Miss Julie: Kate Leong (from Macau), Mia Chee, and Jean Toh; Christine: Flora Ho Chi Lao (from Macau), Mandy Cheang (from Macau), and Neo Hai Bin] criss-cross on stage and occasionally form tableaus supposedly manifest the idea of flux and possibilities of plot development. This is meant to enhance the struggles of class, gender, religion, and social mores in the story, where Miss Julie, a count’s daughter, sleeps with Jean, her father’s valet. They then have to decide on how best to minimise the scandal, which is intensified by the very religious Christine – Jean’s beau and maid of the household.

Unfortunately, all this results in a sort of morality play, with each actor representing a particular element or personality. Having eschewed a naturalist staging, but still remaining faithful to the script, the ensemble – while excellent in the synchronicity of movements – offers an otherwise flat performance due to the disjointed nature of the set-up.

What could have been two unpredictable animals taking turns to be predator and prey – in cycles of manipulation, seduction, and persuasion – turns out to be a masterclass in dancing the box step.

Furthermore, the juxtaposition of Mandarin and Cantonese has a lot of potential, but it ends up being merely a hat tip to the fact that this is a collaboration with the Macau Arts Festival.

After 90 minutes (even the show’s duration is a multiple of three!) of plodding about, one is ready to snatch the wine bottle off Jean and get pissed.

“The Nightmare of Changing and Conforming“

Reviewer: Isaac Tan
Performance: 1 March 2018

How does one stage a work inspired by Franz Kafka? Rather than a straight-laced adaptation of the writer’s literary works or life story, artistic directors Nelson Chia (Nine Years Theatre) and Kuik Swee Boon (T.H.E Dance Company) instead focused on immersing the audience in the Kafkaesque – a nightmarish quality that has a sense of a lingering oppression and the illogical.

With the help of writer-researcher Neo Hai Bin, a selection of Kafka’s short stories, diary entries, and letters are carefully curated to be presented in Cut Kafka!, while Chinese folktales and original scenes are infused to add a unique stamp to the Kafkaesque.

The innovativeness of this collaboration – a first for both companies – is seen from the get-go. The performers sprawl on the floor, trying to morph into something different so that they are free to go to work. Despite inverting Kafka’s Metamorphosis, it remains true to the spirit of his stories. It also sets the theme for the rest of the show: the nightmare of changing and conforming.

Later on, the performers tries to save a cat in the heavy rain, and the authorities are of no help. This brings to mind Kuo Pao Kun’s Mama Looking for Her Cat, in which the cat represents something intangible that is lost; and The Coffin is Too Big for the Hole – a critique of bureaucracy. The absurdity of Coffin is also apparent when the performers have to stop the rain or shrink the cat in order to save it.

Performance-wise, the directors clearly played to the strengths of their performers (Nine Years Theatre: Mia Chee, Hang Qian Chou, Neo Hai Bin, Jean Toh, and Timothy Wan; T.H.E: Anthea Seah, Brandon Khoo, Billy Keohavong, Lynette Lim, Ng Zu You). This is best demonstrated in a scene where the actors play the Monkey King, while the dancers complement them by physically embodying the lines being delivered.

Impressively, the ensemble has such strong synergy that one stops differentiating the actor from the dancer after a while. This is evident when the performers are clambering on the giant chair as Kafka’s letter to his father is recited. The inter-disciplinary exchange between both companies have clearly paid off.

Similarly, the design elements are meticulous. Adrian Tan and Pek Limin (lighting and spatial designers) had a red scaffolding built on top of the lighting rig, which resembles an insect’s legs. Various lights are hung on the “legs”, allowing the possibilities of carving or partially revealing the space with light. As the performers enter or exit the space from four corners of the room, the performance has a sense of infestation.

Thankfully, Cut Kafka! does not veer into excesses of existential lament, but leaves us in limbo. We have to grapple with the equally unsavoury prospects of changing and conforming in a society quick to erase memories for the sake of “progress”, and equally quick to nudge deviants back in line.

Like the beetles, we have to change to conform to a certain societal logic. What that is or how do we go about it, no one quite knows.

“Some Enchanted Evening.”

Reviewer: Christian W. Huber
Performance: 17 August 2017

The Singapore International Festival of the Arts (SIFA) returns with its 2017 edition with a thoroughly absorbing festival opener, Art Studio. It’s based on a novel by Singaporean poet, novelist, and literary critic, Yeng Pway Ngon, and produced by Nine Years Theatre (NYT). NYT’s co-founder and artistic director Nelson Chia – who adapted the novel and directed the resulting play – has courageously created a choreographed piece that showcases his experience on the Suzuki Method of Actor Training and Viewpoints, and which his theatre ensemble has adopted effectively.

Viewpoints is an improvisational system that trains an actor to use their body in time and space to create meaning, while The Suzuki Method restores the wholeness of the human body to the theatrical context and uncovers the actor’s innate expressive abilities with a rigorous physical discipline. The two techniques complement each other and gives artists the control to make conscious, deliberate choices in performance. No other theatre company in Singapore has used them with such dedication as NYT, and it is wonderful to see the results in such a richly textured, poignant and moving tribute to artists.

Whilst a stylistic piece – it has no extravagant staging, and minimal multi-media usage – it relies on the buy-in of the audience to imagine the changes in settings and time created and described by the ensemble.  Each movement, stage business, scene change seems to move to a rhythm set by them.  Clearly ‘less is more’ works as an asset to this piece.

That everyone in the ensemble tells the story at some point also engages.  The story begins with a young school dropout coerced by his friend to become a model for life drawing by a group of artists. It then splinters to follow the journeys of these artists over a period of almost 60 years (from the 1950s to 2010 Singapore), told in the third person, or through one person’s subtext, or like a Greek chorus. The storytelling is shared fluidly amongst the performers, and makes the story unfold ‘live.’

Some of the best moments are the ones that come completely out of left field.  A bit of absurdity (e.g. an actor coming out as a mynah bird, or the impression of French people in a very funny routine) helps to break the seriousness, and shows how NYT is willing is to break from the norm.

Whilst the one regret this reviewer had is not being able to appreciate the piece in its chosen performed language (surtitles don’t always give you the full meaning or intention of its translation from the original), one acknowledges this enchanting work from NYT that has succeeded in touching the hearts of the audience by the generous and rapturous applause given at curtain call.

It is heartening to see NYT take great leaps to bring Chinese language theatre to another level in Singapore’s art scene.

“在森林和原野里“

Reviewer: Liu Chang | 刘畅
Performance: 18 August 2017

<画室>改编自新加坡著名华文作家英培安的长篇小说《画室》。从人物塑造、情节、感情基调和叙述角度等方面，该剧都成功地忠于原著；同时，现代舞台设计和戏剧形式（例如合唱队）的运用，使得该剧在小说之外，有着一种属于自己的风采。

该剧中所有主要人物性格和命运各异，却都与一间画室有直接或间接的关联：到画室做人体模特的少年继宗和阿贵，老师颜沛（及前妻婉贞），颜沛的学生思贤、宁芳、健雄（及未婚妻美凤）、素兰，以及只来过一次的叶超群等。

这些人物均有跨时代的人类情感通性，如对艺术和爱情的执着追求、在名利诱惑下的矛盾与挣扎、以及对孤独与死亡的深刻思考；人物塑造又都符合故事发生地的时代变迁特征（新加坡，1970年代至2010年）。例如1960年代起，新加坡经济逐渐起步至腾飞，颜沛（由郑光辉精彩演绎）和叶超群（以合唱队形式塑造）就代表了两种类型的画家：前者虔诚于艺术，生活朴素，不好名利，即使其妻婉贞为经济问题与其矛盾重重、婚姻出轨、甚至最后与之离婚，也终身不为金钱利益所动，能够忍受艺术创作中的寂寞和冷遇；而后者则不屑钻研艺术本身，只热衷于攀龙附凤、结交社会名流、借中国改革开放等机会扬名新加坡内外；再如，1970年代新加坡社会依然存在各种不稳定因素，青少年易迷失自我，失学少年继宗和阿贵即是两类典型。前者被学校开除后依然求学心切，后者则自暴自弃，加入私会党；却未料到随着新加坡社会进步、经济发展，二人生活轨迹愈发不同：继宗成为 大学老师，生活稳定，阿贵最终早陨于酗酒。

值得一提的是，所有人物中，健雄（由梁海彬精彩诠释）十分特别，是新加坡特殊历史条件下的人物，其命运令人唏嘘。

健雄本是1970年代新加坡工地上的体力劳动者，业余时间热爱画画，有一个善良温柔的未婚妻美凤，幸福生活触手可及。出于偶然接触或是个人原因，他亲近左派，并曾向往做一个苏联画家科尔日夫那样的艺术家，为革命绘画。但他迫于政治原因仓促逃亡马来西亚，苦盼三年才上队，刚入森林就因突发事件稀里糊涂地做了逃兵，从此跟随林中偶遇的救命恩人大胡子开始了长达十几年（其实连他自己都算不清楚年月）的流亡生活，既要躲避政府军的追捕，又要避开同志队伍对“叛逃”行为的清算。

在上个世纪特殊的历史背景下，森林（包括原野——“在森林和原野是多么的逍遥，亲爱的朋友呀，你在想什么？”）曾一度肩负起不同国家不同民族对新世界的激情与浪漫向往，也为后世承载了太多的历史政治想象，如古巴革命、马共游击等。革命始于森林，终止于森林。从这个角度看，健雄这个人物就多了画室之外的意义，有别于画室里的其他画家。但他也打破了普世对革命同志的刻板印象——对理想至死不渝，勇敢坚韧等。健雄没有打过一天游击，没有杀过一个敌人，森林唯一的功能似乎就是令他认清了自己的“懦弱”（却也是人之常情）、不彻底的革命性和对尘世生活的眷恋。他对森林的感情经过了一系列变化：从不切实际的浪漫向往，到认清自己，至最终半是无奈半是欢喜地长眠于森林。

当马共队伍于1989年最终放下武器走出森林，也许依然有笃信革命的同志继续以森林为家直至终老，但健雄的“始于森林，终于森林”却从头至尾充满了黑色幽默的讽刺和辛酸。本剧（及原著）对健雄的死亡处理很残酷，但又非常写意甚至浪漫，也从一个侧面反映出小说原著对人生与革命的态度和感悟。

并且，通过对健雄的塑造，“森林”在本剧（及原著）中成为继“画室”之外另一个具有重要意象的人物活动的空间。画室是密闭、狭小和安全的，属于既充满善良也四处作恶的人类社会，森林是开放、广阔与危机四伏的，有极其残酷却简单的丛林生存法则。前者衬托出画家的伟大和高尚，而后者更易使画家认清自己的渺小与平庸，而在这两者截然不同的空间里，对艺术、孤独和生死的思考却始终占据了人物的心灵。

“楼上的Uncle Ismail”

Reviewer: Liu Chang | 刘畅
Performance: 19 March 2017

直到剧终，Uncle Ismail也没有走下他虚拟的楼梯。甚至连他本人也几乎成了抽象的存在。

但他又是那样强大，阴影一样覆盖了剧中男女二人20年之久。

他的楼梯通向的不是《简·爱》的阁楼，尽管他的楼上可能也囚禁着一个隐形的疯子。这个楼上不代表绝望和幽闭，相反，那里是家庭权力的核心，他在那里操控了楼下的悲喜。而楼下是客厅、餐厅和厨房，是这个家庭非权力中心（女主角Habiba）和外来者（男主角Eric）的活动范围——后者甜蜜的不伦之恋都是在客厅和厨房发生的，不得登堂入室。

《简·爱》中似乎烧死了疯女人才有幸福的结局可言，而此剧里Uncle Ismail要如何走下他的楼梯才能带给男女主角快乐——本质上的快乐？在Ismail的社会外表（成功的地毯商，热爱孩子的父亲，和圣徒有着相同的名字）映衬下，Habiba和Eric更显得是这个社会的边缘人：由于婚姻而改信真主的华人女性（九年剧场在新加坡英语剧作家Haresh Sharma原著上对女主角身份做出的改编）和有同性之爱倾向、幼年受性虐的男性，是否有人真正关心他们的快乐呢？他们的快乐是否就系在Ismail身上？

男主角Eric（剧场新秀温文伟）人物舞台塑造是成功的，但剧本所限，人物的爱与恨并没有超越同类作品。他所享有过的快乐是邪恶的，他要追求的快乐是较难实现的。Uncle Ismail对他的感情中想必是感官刺激多于真情，即使Uncle Ismail放下社会身份与之在一起，也难“有情人终成眷属”。恨与复仇恐怕永远是他们之间快乐下隐藏的火山口。即使复仇成功，Ismail走下楼梯受到法律的制裁，Eric也依然是受伤者，无法真正快乐起来。所以Eric最好的也最无奈的结局就是得到对方的道歉后离开。

相对之下，女主角Habiba（资深演员骆明珠）的人物塑造戏剧张力同时收放自如，结合剧本，Habiba的形象是立体的，成功的，充满了人性矛盾的。

Habiba享有和追求的快乐是更简单也更复杂的，它夹在世俗和精神世界之间。说它简单，她有法律对婚姻的保障，她助Ismail完成了生育子嗣的俗世任务；她有信仰做精神家园，她口中漂亮的好人Ismail几乎就等同于伊斯兰圣经中那个虔诚伟大的信徒。说它复杂，她比谁都明白自己尴尬的身份和地位，Ismail身心俱难属于她。但她是一个婚内长期陷入矛盾却能自得其乐其所的女性，集善良、洞察与智慧、恬退隐忍、自欺、对丈夫的爱与（愚）忠、甚至些许自私等心态与品质为一身。也许就是这种简单与复杂，Habiba一直都勤于思考什么是快乐，并愿意与人分享和讨论，她在寻找心灵上的支持和麻痹，因为她明白Ismail无法给她真正的快乐，她所得只是一种他人眼中的表面意义上的快乐。

20年前，Ismail也曾走下过他的楼梯，以快乐之名无情而邪恶地玩弄了他们两个。

然而，在这场邪恶之乐中，Habiba是受害者，又是Uncle  Ismail的同谋，可能默许他对Eric的性行为要比看丈夫玩弄洛丽塔们更快乐些。Eric是她的情敌，是她表明上稳固的家庭的威胁者与复仇者；而她又要与Eric并肩而战，为着他们共同热爱的Uncle Ismail的背叛。同时她坚定地相信，Eric不应该既享受了邪恶之乐，又以伦理之名寻仇，那不符合她对快乐的理解。

剧终时刻，她断然蜕下代表了伊斯兰宗教的围巾和头套，以一个她最本原的华人身份和Eric拥抱告别。这拥抱有着太多的含义，它有忏悔（忏悔她没有能力或者意志去保护一个10岁的孩子，忏悔她出于自私等目的阻止了30岁的青年讨回公道），它是发自内心感情上的和解，带着祝福，它安慰那个受伤的孩子、也暗示着从此不欢迎他再来打扰。

一曲《一生何求》唱毕，在我们的想象中，Habiba大抵会继续做一名虔诚的伊斯兰信徒和好妻子，跟着丈夫去朝拜，化解这场磨难，去询问真主所谓快乐。她会将此行关于快乐的所悟教给学校的孩子们，并继续热爱楼上那心猿意马的Uncle Ismail。