“Gesturing Grief“

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 15 December 2016

Dear Jay is touted as “a brand new play that talks about mental illness among youths”. But not much other information about the play, its issues, or its process can be found in its website or its playbill.

The premise of the plot is simple enough: Leonard (played by Benedict Leong) is struggling with grief and mental issues after the suicide of his ward-mate Jay (played by Zenda Tan).

But the simple plot is made convoluted by playwright Eugenia Tan coupled with Hazel Ho’s complicated direction.

Without much access to the process (or more information), the production comes across a schizophrenic hybrid of several monologues masking as physical theatre, interjected with didactic dialogues. The audience is treated to several long monotonous monologues delivered by a grieving Leonard, interspersed with a supporting ensemble gesticulating non-contextual movements around him.

But the audience feels neither grief nor empathy towards either characters or the issues. There is too much self-involved, self-absorbed, “I am grieving, I am dealing with mental issues, so I am telling you as it is” kind of acting going on centre stage.

And this goes on scene after scene after scene.

It drones on.

At one point, it feels like a glorified SYF production with the ensemble executing gestures accompanying the main character/s when they speak or when the ensemble speaks, or speaking when they are carrying props. The static set, messy staging (too much carrying and adjusting square boxes on and off stage) and clumsy change of costumes serve does nothing to alleviate the situation.

Gestures can help the audience understand what is happening, but if wrongly used, or over-used, gestures become a distraction. And in this case, one should not equate moving props around, forming tableau and gesticulating whilst delivering text as physical theatre. There is a lot of misunderstanding and misappropriating of “physical theatre” here.

The inconsistent directing has some scenes with real props and some scenes mimed and with real props. Case in point: there is a scene where Mom comes in with a tray of stacked up plates that become plates with food and the actors miming eating non-existent food from the empty plates.

The precious little scenes of dialogue between the main characters and the ensemble as characters are a relief. It is a pity that the very able and capable supporting cast especially Vivienne Wong (as Viviana) and Nicholas Bloodworth (as Dad) are not given more opportunities to perform optimally. They have great presence on stage and would have definitely moved the stodgy storyline along.

But despite the failings of a good production, Blue Jay is a brave production. “It is effortless to be ambivalent,” exclaims Leonard.

And ambivalent they are not.

“Making fun (of)”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 24 November 2016

“Pantomines are never politically correct. They poke both gentle and cruel fun at our human foibles and, through humour, bring us face-to-face with our greed, prejudice, cowardice and dishonesty.” (Taken from the programme of Monkey Goes West.)

And true enough from the word “GO”, in Monkey Goes West, the fun begins with the laugh-a-minute incisive digs at societal odds and behaviours.

Alfian Sa’at’s two-year-old script still scintillates. His not-so-subtle references to Singapore’s perpetual quest for the best and other astute multi-racial and inter-cultural observations make for perfect material in a pantomime.

But amidst the laughter, there are lots of gems of self-reflection, self-questioning and self-discovery.

From the grand opening of the gold-gilded celestial palace to a humble trophy-laden HDB flat, Wong Chee Wai’s set provides both a supernatural and natural backdrop to a well-integrated tale of a boy seeking enlightenment to his lone existence in “over-achieving” Singapore.

Ah Tang (joyfully played by Joshua Lim) leads a motley crew of “monsters”: Monkey King (sensitively played by Sugie Phua), Pigsy (comical portrayal by Frances Lee) and Sandy (played with great skill by Siti Khalijah). As they journey west (Jurong West, that is), Ah Tang realises different (uniquely Singaporean) traits within himself: Naughty, Greed and Stubborn – traits that he eventually conquers and overcomes.

The clever doubling of Uncle Moo/King Bull (depicted with much gusto by Darius Tan), Auntie Fanny/Princess Iron Fan (Chua Enlai is irresistibly coy in this role) and their over-achieving child Xian Hong/Red Boy (Kimberly Chan brings a keen portrait to the show) not only brought the house down, but also highlighted the often-misunderstood “villains” of our society.

It is in the double-speak of Auntie Fanny/Princess Iron Fan that we get to hear our most politically incorrect inner voices on discrimination and self-incrimination. Amidst the “nail-cracking laughter, we pause to suddenly realise how insensitive we can be at times.

The cross-dressing elements of a pantomime are not lost on the audience either. Much success is rested upon the clever interplay of not only genders, but also race in casting. It is lovely that a Malay actress plays Guanyin Ma (who is a universal symbol of mothers,) or woman-crazy Pigsy played by a woman, or that Auntie Fanny, who swallows, played by a man. The double-meaning (almost sexual) innuendos are not lost on the more enlightened audience as well.

It is indeed a magnificent cast that director Sebastian Tan has assembled and mobilized – all playing to their individual and combined talents. The amazement never stops – with super costume changes (Tube Gallery), fantastic hair (Ashley Lim) and make up (The Make Up Room led by Bobbie Ng) that keeps the audience going oohs and aahs each time.

Audience participation is key to a pantomime. The cast surely whips up a storm each time a danger prevails. It is not only the child in the audience that is screaming, the grown ups in the audience are equally excited as well.

The most illuminating moment for me is the song “Sum Of Our Parts”. Here is the crux and heart of the musical – that the production is not just making fun of (as pantomimes ought to), it is also fun-making.

As Auntie Fanny aptly puts, never under-“inseminate” (estimate)’ – the power of theatre. It does not matter what race, language or religion we are, theatre never fails to create awareness within us so long as we are open minded. And hopefully, we will stop being judgmental in our prejudices and start having fun.

“Size does not matter”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 11 November 2016

Touted as a platform for three generations of theatre practitioners (Desmond Sim, Jeffrey Tan and Hang Qian Chou), Shrimps In Space has a revival this November under the guiding hands of GenerAsia’s Richard Tan (yet another generation).

The story itself (the growing pangs of a scrawny boy in the myriad of issues surrounding friendship, love and loss) mirrors the history of monologues in Singapore.

There was a time in Singapore where monologues rule theatre scene. Lean, mean, intimate and intimidating, the one-actor shows has delighted large audiences in the late 80s and 90s. In epic monologues like Emily of Emerald Hill, Lest the Demons Get to Me, The Coffin Is Too Big For The Hole, just to name a few.  These lone voices provide commentaries on society: the public and the personal.

As a monologue, Shrimps in Space does not disappoint. The audience goes on a roller coaster ride with Huat Bee/Hay Bee and Hin Kong/King Kong (played nimbly but not without flaws by Qian Chou). What is refreshing is that Sim’s quest into the story of growing up is not only about Hay Bee but it is also as much about King Kong, his best friend forever.

At first, I question the casting by director Jeffrey Tan – as a truly scrawny actor may more suitably play Hay Bee. But as the script unfolds, size does not really matter.

It is the metamorphosis of Hay Bee and King Kong in my mind that really counts. And Qian Chou creates the space for me to do so. The image of a once hunky ape-man King Kong dying driveled and bone thin in the arms of the big-hearted (and now larger than life) Hay Bee is powerful and moving.

Director Tan’s vision of staying true to the timeline of the script brings back good memories of the ’80s and the ’90s. For those who lived through that period of disco, school functions and tea parties, it is pure nostalgia.

However, one questions the relevance of Sim’s script today. Perhaps, a more up to date staging can bring in more (younger) audience to this production?

I am left also wondering: Does size matters really matters in theatre? There have not been any new noteworthy monologues (writing or staging) of late. Do we (the audience) only want to see the big sized King Kong and shun the skinny Hay Bee on stage?

There is something about lean mean productions that we often overlook. It provides a platform for art makers to find their voice. It is both intimate and intimidating for the audience. But that is why we go to the theatre. To be engaged.

So does size really matter?

“The Zen of One Breath”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 22 October 2016

It is not often that you are mesmerized by a single silent moment in theatre. In Red Sky, I am spellbound by one such single moment, not once, but thrice.

Once when the entire cast puts on sunglasses to stare at the summer sun towards the end of the first half of the production, the second when the same cast stares at the autumn red sky in the second half.

Both times, the cast stands, still, with abated breath. For me, the moment summarizes both the frailty of human beings and the resilience of being a human. An eternity (almost) of my own flashbacks and questions about getting old go and dying through my mind. Questions of theatre, techniques and tactics. And how appropriate they are to living and the art of living.

How often do we take notice of  the youthful breath of the blazing sun (instead of complaining its temperature), or the soft caressing breeze of the red sunset (instead of lamenting we have no time)? How often do we stop at a single moment to marvel at these ordinary miracles?

Red Sky deals with the issues of aging and death. But for me, it deals with living and being alive.

The pitch perfect casting by director Nelson Chia (of Johnny Ng, Yan Shi Bin, Elena Chia Choo Sian, Lim Poey Huang, Liow Shi Suen, Goh Guat Kian, Tay Kong Hui and Henry Lau) makes this production an epic. The credits of each one of them could have filled many pages of who’s who in theatre in Singapore.

Every single character is played with dedication, passion and ease, the last quality of which is seldom found on stage. Each story is a story waiting to be told, each breath looking to behold.

Poignant, passionate and powerful.

The “younger” ensemble (of Mia Chia, Hang Qian Chou, Neo Hai Bin, Timothy Wan and Tan Yuyang Ellison) is not overshadowed by the veterans – they hold their own strongly. From being the silent kurogo to the multiple characters of children and care givers, they support and supplemented the plots with subdued finesse.

Director Nelson Chia makes a brave decision to go with a simple “empty” stage. It allows the different stories of the old occupants of the nursing home to unfold and to breathe into the scenes. Each breath, each beat is different. In turns, the stories take on different dimensions (such as quick and quirky; sadistic and sad) at the same time.

But it was the last breath that had me thinking for the longest time.

It is when Mdm Tan holds on to Old Kim and asks him to let go. Between life and death, it is only one breath, she says, one last breath. And peacefully, he takes his last breath and leaves.

The simplicity of this one last breath is the ultimate in acting. For me it sums up the many years of training, experience and trust an actor has in his craft. And the director has in his cast.

That is theatre: a single moment that will last a very long time in my mind.

“Simplicity is Bliss”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 2 June 2016

There is too much complication in this world and for a while I thought simplicity is dead, especially in theatre these days. But I am proven wrong when I watched SingTheatre’s Jacques Brel is Alive & Well & Living in Paris.

I must confess I am no Jacques Brel fan, nor have I heard of him until recently. But I am curious about SingTheatre restaging of this music revue and of course, I am a George Chan fan through various collaborations over the years.

As Director, Choreographer and Cast Member, Chan surprises me yet again. His self-assured, simple yet elegant staging of this production is chic and refreshing.

The very competent cast of Frances Lee, Matt Jasper, Stephanie Van Driesen and Chan himself is a delight to the ears, either as solos, duets, trios and as a whole ensemble. Lee’s rendition of Funeral Tango is on the money – witty and a tinge of wickedness. Van Driessen enchants with many solos but shows off her musical acting chops in the animated Timid Frieda. I can definitely see why she is the leading lady of the Malaysian musical theatre scene and I hope that she comes over this side of the Causeway to appear more often.

Flipping through many roles and characters, Jasper entertains with his confident and self-assured ways. He delivers each song with such earnestness, telling stories through songs. I enjoy his Amsterdam most. Chan takes on some of the juicier numbers and moves: he prances and claims the stage in Jackie, working the stage and the audience into a slight frenzy.

It is a courageous and brave vision to keep the production simple. It is so “Parisian” chic.

Although there is no direct narrative or “story line”, the music revue brings us a slice of life in Paris through the lens of Jacques Brel’s sardonic yet descriptive lyrics. The restraint in production design (lights, sound, set, costumes) allows the audience to re-imagine Brel’ stories and insightful commentaries.

Joel Nah’s (music director) simple yet ample orchestration of four musicians not only accompanies the songs, but narrates the cultural vignettes through appropriate music references. Genevieve Peck Jing Yi’s (lighter designer) lighting is evocative and Shah Tahir’s (sound engineer) sensitive sound engineering is perfect.

Yes, there is nothing spectacular or innovative or even groundbreaking about this production. But I walk away engaged, refreshed and inspired to find out more about Jacques Brel.

“Ties That Did Not Quite Bind”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 14 April 2016

Inheritance is touted as an exploration of the tender ties between two sisters and their mother, written by Ellison Yuyang Tan a graduate of NUS’s TS programme.

Entering the black box, I am immediately confronted by the dimly-lit stark set consisting of a dramatic staircase framing a few platforms and an entrance. Designed by Wong Chee Wai, the set is breathtakingly haunting. Lim Woan Wen’s sparse lighting continues into the performance and creates a mindscape of possibilities.  Darren Ng’s masterful sound design transports me into another world. The trio’s minimalistic designs suit the play well and help suspend disbelief.

I applaud and enjoy director Zelda Tatiana Ng’s bold, courageous and highly stylistic take on a paper-thin plot of two sisters arguing, bickering and bonding over a domineering mother. Zelda’s gamble of using a male actor to play a mental mother is both clever and strategic.

Actor Yeo Kok Siew plays Mother in a black suit with great restrain and understatement and equally sustained competence and commitment.

His artful and emotional voice transcends the histrionic overtones written. He does not give in to a highly-strung overly imaginative mental patient but gives a complex multi-layered mother that is at once cruel, yet pitiful (all this with a straight face and no movement). His presence also highlights the absence of the father figure who had abandoned the three women sometime ago. His clarity in other roles does not detract from his the ever-menacing presence as mother.

However, the same cannot be said of both daughters played by Lina Yu and Jo Kwek. Although both young performers give credible performances, the refreshing directorial concept of having both actresses play out their characters and scenes in marionette-like gestures is not matched by the actresses’ commitment to direction. The actresses do not inhabit the strange and estranged world created by the three designers as envisioned by the director.

The bizarreness of this world is one of wonderment and bewilderment suspended in time and almost “Murakmi” in nature. The shadows speak louder than the light. The dream-like soundscape heightens the real and the unreal.

I am puzzled by why in certain scenes, the mother is using a handphone (prop) and two daughters are miming the handphones.

Why are the sisters not talking to each other directly in some scenes and why they do in another?

What is real and what is not?

Perhaps the director Zelda is manipulating us like mother, like she is manipulating the daughters in the production?

Throughout the performance, I am trying to make sense of this world, waiting for the final piece of puzzle that will make sense.

And then the final piece comes in the penultimate scene.

Still, the sense of disentanglement did not come for me (as an audience) at the end. It is definitely not the fault of the director, designers nor the performers.

Perhaps the ties came undone by the very cleverness in its writing?

“The Physics of Being Physical”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 11 March 2016

Now Then Again, directed by Tan Shou Chen, brings a fresh look at that old love story. With very limited resources, this meticulously directed production manages to shoot past the past, rams into to the future and then back where it started again. And it does so in a very engaging manner.

Ginny (played with great timing and enthusiasm by Munah Bagharib) is a perky undergraduate working in a cutting edge quantum physics lab. Ginny is set for greatness – except all she wants to do is to settle down and get married to her childhood sweetheart. Then, there is Henry (Luke Kwek in played-down Neek[1] sexiness), a brilliant but socially inept scientist.

Enter an almost dying psychic janitor, Felix (by Choi Yik Heng).

Boy meets girl. Boy confuses Girl (and vice versa). Psychic tells the future. Physics brings in the physical. That’s the long and short of it.

Tan’s keen sense of space and very accurate grip on details keep the production real and manageable for the audience. Each playback (Rashomon style) has the audience believing in the alternative (or multi) universe that is being simultaneously created.

The nuances of the relationship between Ginny and Henry are kept in fine balance, changing with each possible time-space collision.

Honestly, the performance is brilliant up to the three-quarter mark. Then reality bites: the flash backs become tedious and add nothing more to the performance.

This show is somewhat marred by some affected student performances but Choi Yik Heng is delightful as Felix. As for the rest, less is definitely more. Nuance in text are not always about being loud and louder, or angry and angrier. But it lies in the meaning embedded in the script. Let the text speak. Trust it.

I enjoyed the minimalist set by Hay Teow Kwang (okay, we all know the budget constraints). The subtle multimedia (Koo Chia Meng, assisted by Khairul Kamsani) is apt and very well thought through. The soundscape designed by Benjamin Lim Yi and lights designed by Alberta Wileo complemented and completed the vision.

At the end of the day, whatever the laws of physics, whether the past determines the future or the future can change the past, we all want to get physical and fall in love again.

Love after all, like this production, is not about perfection, but taking chances.

[1] Neek = a cross between a nerd and a geek

“The Effect of Love – in 4D”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 12 March 2016

The Effect, staged by Pangdemonium at the Victoria Theatre and deftly directed by Tracie Pang, does not disappoint.

The two young leads, Connie Hall (played by Nikki Muller) and Triston Frey (by Linden Furnell), quickly put the “desire” to the meaning of love in the equation. The effect is inevitable: two desirable and desirous bodies trapped in a laboratory for 4 weeks and put on a pill with increasing dosage that alters perspectives.

Muller and Furnell are a delight to watch. Both are easy on the eyes, both have great timing, and above all, they possess believable chemistry with each other. Their grips on the two characters are at once tight and relaxed – very much like what good sex, I mean good love, should be.

As a parallel plot, Dr Lorna James (Tan Kheng Hua) has a once-off misbegotten affair with Dr Toby Sealey (Adrian Pang), now her boss. Dr James is desperately trying to reconnect with Dr Sealy and wondering if what they had is real. All this tension and conflict are well handled by these capable actors and their compelling performances.

In the end, it is “depression” that ruled the day. When true love fails, depression sets in. Perhaps the antithesis of love is not hate. It is depression.

Will we be able to find the cure to depression? Perhaps with a pill that The Effect is alluding to, and the side effect of which is love?

This clever and sophisticated production questions the effect but sets us to think about the answer.

The clinical (in all senses) set created by Wai Yin Kwok provides the right environment for us to check our reality. The lighting (by James Tan) is put to great effect, complemented by the sound (by Guo Ningru) and projection (by Genevive Peck).

It is almost heart wrenching to see Dr James at the end of the production struggling with her decision whether she should take the pill to treat her depression. But what of her desires? Her denial and her desperation?

But then again, what is love?

“Bi(cara)”

Reviewer: Jeremiah Choy
Performance: 21 January 2016

There is much love in the air when we enter into Centre 42 for the performance of Bi(Cara). Apart from the usual niceties that we are bestowed upon collecting our tickets; the advice that it is only an hour performance but there would be no toilet break; and we are gently prodded to join the mailing list, we are asked to dip into a basket of flowers and perhaps think of a wish.

The casualness of the front of house continues into the theatre space where the performer mingles gracefully amongst the audience, talking to us, extracting wishes and collecting the flowers.

We are definitely invited and drawn into the world of Sharda Harrison at the word go.

So effortless is the engagement that we are quickly brought into the fact this is a piece based on Bernard Harrison’s (yes, its her father) talk which questions “the ethics of man in the ways we treat animals as meat for consumption, entertainment and commodity.”

Casual banter turns into intensive physical work as the stories within the stories start to unfold. We are suddenly confronted with multiple characters played by Sharda (to great aplomb) – a cat lover who discriminates against the prostitutes who live down the street, an orang utan zookeeper who has to confront his inner demons on violence and abuse, yet he is so gentle and tender to the animals he looks after, and Sharda (as herself) as she confronts herself.

With great mastery of her body and her voice, Sharda brings the audience through issues that seem pedantic on the surface but seep into our consciousness and conscience in an unassuming way.

Physicality, a very important aspect of physical work, is always present. From the body-bent road sweeper/cat lover, to the gruff and heavyset zookeeper; from the trembling abused wife to her agile self , Sharda transforms effortlessly into these beings between each conversation/monologue.

The highlight of this is surely the dialogue between the zookeeper and his wife (who had wanted to leave him for not loving her more). With a simple removal of one glove to signify the wife and the remaining gloved hand to signify the zookeeper, the conversation between husband and wife is tensed and tension-filled. It is almost like watching a schizophrenic patient debating within herself and fighting desperately for her own sanity. The psychological violence is more than the physical portrayal.

Throughout the duration of the 60-minute performance, we are brought on a journey of self-reflection over the hypocrisy of what we believe. It is also a journey of self-realisation and a journey of self-realignment.

The combination of provocative visual images by Sean Harrison (yes, her brother) and evocative sound from Mei Yin Lim support the happenings on stage. The writing is tight and the set is effective.

One small jarring moment is when Sean comes on stage in black tee shirt and shorts. It is jarring because everything else in the production seems so intended and purposeful. The incongruity of his presence seems incompatible with the overall design.

Whatever perspective that we, the audience, take from this thoughtful and thought-provoking production, it is evident that in the end, there is much love in the room. This is a production that should travel – if only to spread the love around.