“Love Is the Last Thing on my Mind: Simple, poignant reminder to love”

Writer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 30 October 2020

Love is the last thing on my mind is a simple but meaningful work, performed by the graduating students of NAFA’s Diploma in Theatre (Mandarin Drama), as part of The Finger Players’ Present/Future season. Originally written by Ang Hui Bin for a community-touring production for seniors back in 2015, the piece has been updated by playwright-director Ong Kian Sin, with input from the current cast. This article is of the live performance in the theatre with a very limited audience, which was also livestreamed for digital viewing.

The set’s centrepiece is a colourful but barren tree, constructed out of bamboo poles in different shades. There is just one lone leaf hanging precariously off a branch on the tree. The older characters, residents from an elder-care home, refer to it as an old, sickly tree, which ought to be chopped down, but it stands there grandly, not quite ready to give way.

Through a series of vignettes, the play questions how love is expressed and how love is lost. A father who is overprotective of his young daughter, Jun Jun, reminds her not to go outdoors, because that’s where the haze and unknown viruses lurk. He disallows Jun Jun from playing in the park with other children.

The elder-care home residents often bicker with one another over mundane things. They prefer to stay indoors in air-conditioned comfort, complaining about the outdoors. The constant noise pollution from construction around the home slowly becomes a norm they have to get used to.

A loving couple is slowly drawn apart due to lack of proper communication, and perhaps, physical intimacy. They navigate separately through busy streets, eyes always affixed to their mobile phones, texting one another when they are not together, but barely talk to each other when they are in the same space.

However, not all is lost, because love may still appear in unexpected ways. Two elderly residents at the home – one single, the other widowed – find companionship in each other to last through their later years. The young Jun Jun strikes up a conversation with a caterpillar on the old tree, who teaches her that everything has its own time and space. She even attempts to bring the caterpillar home to keep as a pet, much to the disapproval of her father.

The six graduating students make for a tightly-knit ensemble. They each play a number of characters, switching comfortably between roles of different ages and various accents comfortably. The female actor performing the role of little Jun Jun is especially charming in her portrayal, with child-like innocence and earnestness.

Everyday items, such as slippers, folding fans and paddings, are turned into object puppetry, helping to bring to life butterflies of different shapes and sizes. Towards the end of the play, the caterpillar (a puppet made from a mop head) metamorphosises into a butterfly, a recurring motif throughout the play. This butterfly motif, perhaps, represents a glimpse of hope during times of despair.

“Love is a form of antiseptic”, proclaims the overprotective father towards the end of the play. The vignettes in Love show how love can be expressed (and overlooked) in different ways. This play reminds us to find ways of expressing our love and care to the ones dear to us, especially in these uncertain times.

“Journey to Nowhere: Subversive, political take on a renowned classic tale”

Writer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 23 October 2020

Journey to Nowhere is a witty, twisted interpretation of the once-banned Ming dynasty literary classic, Journey to the West. I found it provocative, yet fun to watch.

Written and directed by Oliver Chong, and performed by the graduating cohort of NAFA’s Diploma in Theatre (English Drama), it was staged and streamed online as part of The Finger Players’ season Present/Future. Chong first created Journey for another art school, and the play was previously performed in 2009, in the shadow of a global financial crisis and the swine flu pandemic, and when Obama first took office in the US. Times may have changed, but the work remains fresh today, especially in the chaotic times of another pandemic, with political struggles happening internationally, and in the digital age of impersonations and fake news.

Journey is about the power struggle between gods, humans and monsters. The narrative loosely follows the original classic, with some contemporary twists to the characters. An alcohol-abusing Monkey is banished from the Heavens by God because of his mischief. He is tasked to help a monk, Tripitaka, travel to the Western Heavens to collect true scriptures. Along the way, they are joined by Bobby (later revealed to be Pigsy), a lovelorn, half-pig and half-man creature, whose fiancé commits suicide because of their arranged marriage. The trio runs into demons and monsters, including Rabbit, who swaps bodies with a human being in a bid to deceive and kill people and collect hearts for good karma.

In this Journey, Monkey refers to God endearingly as Father, and is promised ruling powers if he completes this task of guiding Tripitaka to the West. The princely God, who appears suave and charming and dressed like a Korean boyband member, is a fresh departure from previous sage-like depictions of the character. Tripitaka too, is a hip monk, played by a female actor with a bald headpiece.

The fantastical genre allows for some choreographed violence and extreme gore. There are some stylised wushu fighting between Monkey, Bobby and Rabbit. We see palpitating hearts removed from the characters to prove innocence, and supposed sacrifice of (puppet) babies to create an elixir of life.

The simple set, with three black and white concentric circles on the floor, creates a mystical playground for the drama. The key characters travel around the circles on their journeys, seemingly lost or going nowhere at times.

The graduating students aren’t only tasked with acting in Journey. They jump around and perform gymnastics on stage effortlessly. Part of the ensemble is tasked to play a variety to instruments, including a mix of percussions made with everyday items like cans and wooden boxes, to create a layered sonic soundscape, designed by Jing Ng. They don intricately designed masks designed by Chan Si Lei, who experimented with 3D printing for the first time. In a shift away from the classic tale, Monkey is given a white choker in place of a headband, which suffocates him whenever Tripitaka chants the magic phrase.

Journey presents us with a world where beasts are at odds with rebels. Living in a country where no rebels are allowed, I found comfort in the play’s familiar setting, as much as this familiarity should actually be unnerving. In a year where political upheavals are happening across the world, along with misinformation and frauds tearing the Internet apart, Journey reminds us to look beyond masks and appearances, to look within for possible answers, and asks for us to constantly question the ruling powers.

“Evolution of friendship”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 12 November 2016

Lights on. We see Huat Bee on stage in a retro 1990s pose; sort of like a “Mambo” move. Huat Bee then proceeds to the blackboard with a chalk in hand to write down the word “Evolution”. He turns to the audience and explains what evolution is.

This is the life of Huat Bee, the story of a supposed skinny and scrawny guy, set against a larger-than-life world. It is because he is so small in size, as compared to his peers, that he is nicknamed “haebi” or dried shrimps. He studies in an all-boys school, and the choice extra-curricular activity in the said school is rugby. He doesn’t excel in rugby, but his best friend Hing Kong (a.k.a King Kong) does. And they develop a long withstanding friendship that is what this almost two-hour long monodrama is all about.

Not-that-scrawny actor Hang Qian Chou plays the role of Huat Bee in this iteration of Shrimps. It is the first time Hang takes on a monologue, and is the star of his own show. While he physically doesn’t seem to fit the role, he certainly fills the shoe all right.

Hang is charming as the slightly nerdy Huat Bee. He carries off a demeanor that brings people into his world through what he says. Hang is able to portray both the serious moments and the comedic moments with ease, and is simply a pleasure to watch.

The monologue by Desmond Sim was first written and performed in 1999. This version, directed by Jeffrey Tan, tries to keep to the 1990s vibes through the music and, to a lesser extent, the costumes.

Huat Bee is seen “growing up” on stage, through his teenage years until adulthood, as he changes his clothes on stage with the help of stage assistants. While initially awkward, the theme of “evolution” soon makes sense.

As the character grows up, we see his struggles with life; not so much due to his physique, but his beliefs. His friendship with Hing Kong, or King Kong, or later known as Norman, changes with time. The decay is told through Huat Bee, but it isn’t hard for the audience to imagine the actions because Hang narrates with such conviction.

The plot is perhaps a little too predictable and a tad too long. Many things happen on stage that Sim manages to link together (cause-and-effect) that could be cut altogether. The major twist towards the end felt a little overdramatic, and it’s something this play didn’t need to conclude. It is mired with too many stereotypes that even good acting could not salvage the datedness of the storyline.

As the lights come on towards the end, the atmosphere is heavy. We see Huat Bee losing a friend to terminal illness. Then again, we see the once-bullied person, who is really just an everyman like you and me, standing tall despite his (supposedly) petite frame, and understanding the importance of friendship. Now, that sense of nostalgia doesn’t seem that bad after all.

“Not the best story”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 5 November 2016

There is a sense of familiarity when one steps into the Necessary Stage basement black box for this performance. The set is similar to previous iterations of Best Of, but somehow different. The backdrop seems almost the same, so is the chair that was the only set/prop in the ‘original production’. But now, the tables have turned, and it’s time to hear from the once silent, estranged husband.

Best Of was written ‘especially for award-winning actress Siti Khalijah Zainal’, as reflected in the publicity materials. After two successful runs in 2013 and 2014 in Singapore, the spotlight is now turned to the man who we heard about but have never quite seen.

Did I imagine the husband to look like Sani Hussin, the actor playing the role in this show? Not quite.

And as the show went on, can you imagine the wife of this man on stage to be like Siti K? Not quite as well.

There is a feeling of disjunction between the two characters. But taken separately, perhaps, it doesn’t quite affect one’s enjoyment, or connection with this new work.

Hussin is a very charming storyteller. Throughout the 70-minute show, he regularly interacts with the audience as he shares his side of the story. One can’t help but be engaged into a silent conversation with his character.

The story is simple. The man at the centre of this story is a Malay-Muslim man – not the conservative sort, but one who still takes his religious teachings seriously. We see him trying to etch out memories of his wife from the story, through movable blinds on stage. We see him taking ownership, and justly so.

So, there is nothing wrong in the relationship between the couple. Just a lack of communication. We hear that they slowly lose trust in one another, before having to make the decision to go through the divorce proceedings.

Perhaps, the biggest problem with this man is his loyalty to his closest buddies— an issue that’s raised several times throughout the work. He takes his friends more seriously than his wife. In retrospect, the blame of the failed marriage subtly shifts onto the wife.

Best Of (His Story) is a poignant piece of work. The Alvin Tan-Haresh Sharma collaboration guarantees it to be a watchable and relatable drama.

However, there seem to be more issues at hand that could be discussed, but were left untouched — sexual intimacy, religion practices and more.

As an accompanying piece to the previous work, I would say it adds little. Not a failed sequel, no. But, the original work wasn’t necessarily the best work to have a sequel to.

“Emotional Rollercoaster”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 6 November 2016

Split is an intense 110-minute rollercoaster ride. And when this reviewer says intense, it really means intense. Imagine topless guys prancing around on stage, a soprano repeatedly hitting high notes, and lots and lots of shouting. In fact, the actors were breaking out in perspiration 15 minutes into the show.

The play, written and directed by first-time director Darryl Lim (whose day job is an educator with the Ministry of Education), centres on the theme of emotional splits. The ensemble of six actors are challenged to take on multiple roles. Often, the plethora of characters on stage at any one time appears to represent the different voices in one’s head.

The play starts off strong, with a group of actors asking the question, “Does every play need to have a narrative?” This work is devoid of a central narrative, and perhaps throws up too many questions.

The age of the actors also means they lack the life experiences to carry across the maturity some of the characters need. For example, the mother to the problem child, or the man with abusive tendencies.

It’s good to leave the characters’ actions ambiguous at times, but there are also instances where the actors themselves seem to be at a loss. Ambiguity does not equate to being unsure.

The director is too engrossed with story-telling, and while he attempts to pull off a certain style (think post-dramatic), he failed to take a step back and let the story breathe. The actions, sounds, lights, and lines all come fast and furious.

It is a step above school (and hall) productions, but a long stairwell away from being a polished production.  That said, the actors clearly share a very strong camaraderie. I believe they have trained and rehearsed together as a team for a prolonged period of time. They have developed a sense of trust which is very apparent in their performance. This is especially revealing in the scenes which require intimate interactions.

Credits also go to Hong Guofeng, the choreographer of the dance-movements. If taken as a movement piece, the show is intriguing and lovely to watch.

At the end of the piece, this reviewer feels drained, and rather “split”.

“Like a Mirror of Society”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 15 October 2016

The actors walk onto stage as themselves, holding a placard with their own race written on it. We see Edith Podesta as “Italian” and Daniel York as “Eurasian”, before they flip into the “race” of their characters, either “Jew” or “German”.

Now, enter this fictional world.

Starring Hitler is very cleverly written, and kudos to the team of actors who carried the ensemble performance very well. The larger narrative is to put Adolf Hitler’s wife, Eva Braun, played by Podesta, on trial for her husband’s atrocities. Then we see Hitler himself, imagined to be embody both the eponymous character Dr. Jekyll, from Robert Louis Stevenson’s creation, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

What happened, or did not happen, is retold by the likes of a Mr. Stevenson, and Gabriel, an inspector into the case who will rise to become the Prime Minister. There are forbidden love stories between a commissioner and his assistant, and Gabriel and his Jewish nanny.

In the chaotic world, both in and out of reality, with quite a bit of revisionism, Hitler/Jekyll throws forward the notion of art and its intrinsic value in society. Then, we see the brutal racism and xenophobia, in a space where there is nary a divide between the groups and classes.

What if, like Hitler/Jekyll, we are all innately fickle, anti-social, xenophobic, and a little mental. Are we not all that little bit schizophrenic, sometimes?

The many times that two-way mirrors are used on stage boldly invites the audience to partake in the process of storytelling, they play lends itself as a mirror to the society today. The stage is at most-times bare. The dream team of lighting and sound composer/designer Lim Woan Wen and Darren Ng are left to illuminate the show, as well as the performers. The use of human shadow puppetry as several points in the play seemed to be an ode to the company’s origins, but is overall effective as a devise in the storytelling, especially in later scenes when the screen covers only half the actors’ bodies.

The veteran performers are the ones here that truly hold fort. Other than Podesta and York, Jo Kukathas and Julius Foo gave solid performances in their various characters. However, Foo seem to have a problem of dropping his English accent at times, but it still worked as it jolts us awake that the situation is actually very Singaporean as well.

This play boldly pits us to rethink the value of art today, the value of our lives, of politics, of society, and of xenophobia around us.

“One and Only. Two and Only?”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim
Performance: 29 August 2016

There are some works that are revived due to popular demand, and then there are some that return as sequels because there are more stories to tell. I have no idea where Innamorati Two lies.

Billed as a sequel to Innamorati (2014), the musical about chasing dreams in the music scene which shoehorned Malaysian singer Eric Moo’s songs into the show, Innamorati Two has almost zero link to its predecessor. Its Chinese title translates roughly to “only two” as compared to “one and only” for the first show.

This new musical written by Jiang Daini and directed by Goh Boon Teck, is set in a whimsical land of Lolilok (I’m unsure if it has any connections with Goldilock), with seven characters whose hair are dyed in different neon colours. This reviewer stepped out of the theatre not understanding what had happened in the 90 minutes, at all.

“Innamorati” refers to lovers in Italian, in particular stock characters in theatre shows that face various obstacles before meeting that one true love.

There are characters that end up as lovers, and predictably so. However, that is just one element in the musical. An An (played by Stella Seah), a supposed best-selling novelist, is attempting to write her next work. Everyone else are characters in that story as they try their best to create a narrative.

The characters in general are all weak and obtrusive. They have little to tell of their back-stories. They are but cardboard thin caricatures, and do not develop at all throughout the play. The world they create is not inviting, but leaves audience with several holes to plug instead.

Returning actors Sugie Phua and Wong Jing Lun offer sub-par performances, perhaps due to the characters they play. Wong sang off-key several times (one isn’t sure if it’s intentional) as an autistic boy who tends to a barter trade stall in the town square. His character has the most potential, but it is mostly unrealised.

The songs in the musical are written and composed by the actors together with the playwright, and arranged by Elaine Chan. None of the tunes stood out, and they feel like they were once again forced into the work. The actors incessantly break out into songs at the most awkward moments as if there must be a quota of songs to sing for the show to be considered a musical.

Credits to Tai Zi Feng, the set and lighting designer, for creating beautiful sets and scenes that make the fictional world come alive, perhaps the only saving grace of the show.

Sometimes, “one and only” makes a thing more precious.

“Double-Bill: Riders Know When It’s Gonna Rain & Hawa”

Reviewer: Isaac Lim 
Performance: 2 July 2016

It may be easy to label these two plays as essentially Malay plays, centred on Malay and Islamic issues in Singapore. However, the two plays, presented as a double-bill, are much more than the race and religion they appear to represent.

Riders Know When It’s Gonna Rain attempts to expose the ‘Mat Moto’ subculture to a wider audience. It strives to get people to understand the mentality of Malay motorcyclists on the road, and issues they face off the road. The play follows four best friends from the day they got their 2B riding licences, through multiple skids and accidents and hospital stays, until one major crash that ends with a fatality.

The scenes are all a tad under-developed, too short for the emotions of the characters to build up, and often snaps at an anti-climax. When the story fails to unravel itself through the dialogues, characters are then given awkward and unnecessary expository monologues. The actors were rather casual in their performance throughout. They occasionally lack the energy to project their voices, even in over-the-top scenes in which their characters are arguing with each other.

Perhaps, rather unfair in comparison, Hawa (which both refers to the Quranic Eve and the female gender) is a far more nuanced piece.

Hawa brings together alternative views on Islam as a religion, and female homosexuality. Siti (played by Koh Wan Ching) is a recent convert, and is faced with having to settle the funeral rites of her deceased partner. In the span of half a day, she struggles between fulfilling the duty of being the only next-of-kin and the demands of her new religion. Then come Ahmad (Saiful Amri), the funeral services director with a fabulous sense of dark humour, and Zaki (Al-Matin Yatim), a funeral gatecrasher of sorts. The three are embroiled in conversations about life, the after-life, religious obligations, and religion rights, in a convivial but non-diminutive manner.

The actors play the respective characters with conviction, making them believable and relatable. Koh, as Siti, manages to present her frustrations and worries without coming across as unreasonable. Yatim as the endearing Zaki who goes to strangers’ funerals to “provide comfort to (our) veiled sisters” is so wrong, but nonetheless charmingly portrayed.

Marketing the two shows as a double-bill calls for unnecessary comparisons. The three-hour run time of the two plays also tests the audiences’ patience. No matter how good the plays were, there was a slightly audible collective sigh of relief heard at the end of the evening.