“Lie”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 9 November 2019 

Lie with Me is presented by the graduating students of Intercultural Theatre Institute (ITI). Written by Kaite O’Reilly and directed by Phillip Zarrilli, the piece explores the complex dynamics of modern-day relationships.

The characters in this work come from various backgrounds, including a migrant worker struggling to find employment, a high-ranking boss, a struggling artist, and a cleaner. This serves not only to display a variety of perspectives, it also highlights the universality of relationship dynamics explored in the play. None of us, regardless of sexual orientation, can avoid navigating the labyrinthine world of modern relationships.

The play opens with a movement phrase where the cast, dressed in nondescript jeans and t-shirts, lurch and stagger across the stage, seemingly devoid of feelings and consciousness. The bodies are numb and zombified, as if they are capable of only sleepwalking through life.

Subsequent movement phrases appear between each scene, setting the tone and serving as effective transitions. The music plays a major role, shaping the mood and delineating the trajectory.

The main storyline is divided into multiple dialogues, a daisy chain of interactions between eight characters that slowly reveal the ways in which their lives are intertwined. This structure highlights the actors’ nuanced portrayal of each character’s personality, and this reviewer is touched by the raw emotions bravely bared on stage. Particularly poignant is Wendy Toh’s character asking to be held by her lover (Jin Chen).

One major thread running throughout is the tendency of people to be selective with the stories they tell, much like how we curate our social media (or dating app!) profile. The precariousness of the self in modern society is examined closely, as characters get trapped in a swirling morass of truth and lies, twisted by the gravity of societal expectations, and pieced together with convoluted fragments of tales told to oneself and others.

Another universal theme explored is the human desire for touch and affection, and the various ways in which people satisfy this desire. Every character yearns to be caressed, not only by physical skin, but also by sweet words of seduction, by imagined happy endings, by hope. Confused between love and lust, they grasp at one another, caught up in a game where they push emotions and intimacy around like pieces on a board – sometimes manipulative, sometimes cynical, sometimes desperate.

One walks away from this production feeling overwhelmed, but strangely comforted by the fact that we are not alone in the struggles and trials of the complex world of relationships.

“Acting Mad”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 8 August 2019

Acting Mad, part of The Orange Production 2019 by The Necessary Stage, is a full-length play that explores the topic of mental illness.

In Singapore, where mental illness is still heavily stigmatised, and acting as a career choice is not often supported, where does one find support and solace? Acting Mad is a frank and candid discussion of these issues and manages to do so without putting any additional labels, expectations or blame. It also recognises that, much like cancer, mental illnesses often don’t have a specific trigger point, and one might never know when or how it happens.

A verbatim piece created from interviews with 20 actors, the text seamlessly weaves these stories into a plot about four actors’ struggle in dealing with their mental illnesses, and how it affects their work and life. It must have been a thoughtful and thorough creative process for the script to be presented as it is – four wholesome characters who are more than just actors going through a tough time. They are also husband, father, son, relative, friend. Despite the heavy topic, the piece has its light-hearted and comical moments, and credit must be given to the people behind the text – Haresh Sharma, Harris Albar and Maryam Noorhilmi – as well as the magic of Sharma’s direction.

Although there is both verbal and written warning about potentially distressing images, I am still not prepared for painful scenes such as the sexual assault. There are points in the play that are uncomfortably disturbing, and I fight the urge to escape the room. The vulnerability, rawness and courage displayed by the four characters – Zac Osman (Al-Matin Yatim), Au Wei Jie (Andre Chong), Kate Lim (Karen Tan), and Liz Rajoo (Masturah Oli) – move the audience to tears.

The play highlights the notion and importance of ‘safe spaces’ by creating them live. Tea is offered before the start of the show, with a warm invitation to sit and chat with the cast. It is a chance for the cast to personally check in with each member of the audience, and it is okay if you’re not in the mood to talk. You can observe all that is going on from your seat, and the black box feels comforting, like a large living room filled with casual banter. The play concludes with another invitation to the audience, this time to form a circle so we can all thank each other for being there.

It is cathartic and reassuring to thank and acknowledge everyone’s presence, and in moments like this, I am once again reminded of the power of theatre to comfort and heal through both the community and the art form.

“Every Vote Counts Towards A Better Life”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 3 August 2019

Three hundred families with 800 dollars each, 150 minutes, 56 voters, four conditions, one scheme, and one decision to make. 

The Class Room, created by Li Xie, Kok Heng Leun, and Jean Ng, and facilitated by Li and Kok, is a participatory theatre work that brings each audience member through a simulation of a social worker’s experience. The show begins with each audience member putting on a lanyard that transforms them from passive audience to fully engaged social worker. The facilitators then introduce the scenario: “A Better Life” is a new social assistance scheme by the government to help families in need of financial assistance. Each target family unit comprises three main groups – single parents, elderly, and children – whose problems are listed in a case file. However, the scheme’s benefits come with a catch: there are four rules that the family cannot break, or all benefits will be forfeited. 

Us social workers are given the opportunity to outvote one of the rules, but only if there is at least 80 percent concurrence in the room. Every vote carries weight. 

The facilitators begin to instigate division among the crowd. Each person chooses the rule they want out, and soon, different camps of people emerge. Everyone has their own opinion and ideas, so how can 56 strangers-turned-colleagues put aside individual differences to make a collective decision to benefit their clients? 

There is a growing sense of helplessness and entrapment in the room, which one can only imagine is what professional social workers face on a daily basis – massive responsibilities with no easy solution. The facilitators steer the conversation, ensuring that it does not go off tangent. They play a critical role in helping us maintain critical distance and focus, with constant reminders of situational constraints and tradeoffs. They also urge us to put aside personal opinions as our suggestions become increasingly varied. Debate ensues, and time ticks away with no sight of a clear conclusion.

The Class Room successfully creates an intense and pressurising scenario that necessitates collective decision-making, effectively making the audience stand in the shoes of others. In fact, it practically leaves us no choice but to be accountable for our decision. This serves as an important reminder of how difficult and time-consuming it is to implement change during the policy making process.

One big takeaway is that there is no such thing as an “ideal situation”, especially when it comes to community and social problems. There will always be conflicting and competing needs and interests, complicating the decision-making process. We all have opinions, each valid in their own way, and the challenge then, is to learn to find the courage and humility to make and accept imperfect decisions.

“Happy Waiting”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 13 July 2019

Happy Waiting, an absurdist play inspired by the works of Samuel Beckett, loosely follows the structure of Beckett’s Happy Days. Except that in the original, two days pass in idle succession, while in this adaptation, the audience is forced to sit through what seems like an eternity. Like Vicky (Sonia Kwek), we lose track of time, trapped in the space of our seats and her hole. The play progresses with seemingly no progress, successfully re-creating the experience of Waiting for Godot and Happy Days, and achieving a somewhat Sisyphean experience.

While Beckett’s plays keep the stage directions, setting and context ambiguous and universal, Vicky’s existentialism is very much localised, and Beverly Yuen’s script also contains certain motivations through the surfacing of topics of a mentally, physically, and socially trapped housewife, and even a hint of sexual abuse.

Despite the dark themes explored, superficially Vicky remains cheerful throughout. Each day begins with an alarm, with Vicky proclaiming how great and wonderful the day would be, and ends when she falls asleep. When she is awake, Vicky spends most of her time engaging in a cheerful one-sided banter with her husband, proclaiming her love and care for him. Only one moment of near hysteria occurs, when Vicky’s prolonged laughter at her own joke turns into piercing cries of agony.

Meanwhile, Bobo (Neo Yan Zong) flits in and out of the edge of Vicky’s world, his movements stringing the scenes together. With unpredictable entrances and exits, one is naturally drawn to his lines and exquisite movements. This dancer reminds me of Lucky in Waiting for Godot: wordless and seemingly making no sense at all, but embodying the essence of the mood of the play. The choreography brilliantly encapsulates the absurdity of an unstable world, desperate attempts to anchor and pick oneself up, and forcefully believing that the façade of normality is real.

The play’s strength lies in the creation of strong imagery, such as Vicky’s feet talking to each other and Bobo’s movements. Having been prepared for an absurdist play, I am somewhat disappointed that there is a conclusion of sorts, when Bobo makes eye contact with Vicky in the end. The build-up of aimless banter and pointlessness has gone to naught with a conclusion being made. But of course, this is perhaps also the least an audience member would expect after 90 minutes of non-reconciliation, and a complete disregard of any form of relationship despite the entire existence of Vicky being dedicated to serving her husband’s needs and wants.

Happy Waiting provides a relatively accessible entry point to absurdist works. It has sufficient content so that the audience would not throw their hands up (or leave the room) in despair. However, one wonders if the limits of this Beckett-inspired show could have been pushed further. This reviewer, for one, wishes that everything could have been more absurd, more jarring, and more uncomfortable.

“The Little Prince”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 14 April 2019

The Little Prince gets off to a rocky start, with a lacklustre opening number that attempts to hype the audience with upbeat tunes and cheery movements. However, it only manages to radiate awkwardness. The choreography feels too simplistic and childish on the grown dancers’ bodies, and they are unable to fully commit to and enjoy the movements.

Luckily, the show picks up as soon as the Little Prince (played by Yang Yi Bei, who is also the music producer) appears. Yang embodies her character perfectly, delivering a nuanced performance that balances childlike innocence and worldly wisdom. She deftly captures the earnestness of the Little Prince, bringing to life his interactions with the other characters.

Ai Jia Qi’s direction and work on the script also deserve special mention. Character development has been placed at the forefront, and some of the less central characters from the book (such as the Railway Switchman and Turkish Astronomer) have been omitted for the sake of simplicity. Necessary exaggeration of the caricatures, together with well-developed dialogues, result in a show that retains the spirit of the original plot, but makes for an easily understandable storyline that communicates the essential morals to its young target audience.

It is a pity, however, that the compelling performance is marred by the play’s production values. Details such as glue marks on the set’s finishing being clearly visible under the lights, and untucked shoelaces of the performers’ dance slippers, make the performance a little rough around the edges. What is most distracting and unfortunate, though, are the microphones used – they pick up every breath, and backstage chatter on the occasions that they are not muted.

That said, the children seem to have no qualms with imperfect aesthetics. On the way out of the theatre, a little girl beside me proclaimed, “I loved the Flower! She was so pretty!” Immediately, I feel guilty for thinking that the Flower’s costume is gaudy and that her shoes are jarring.

Perhaps I, too, have some lessons to learn from the story: true beauty transcends the superficial, and the emotional effectiveness of a performance should not be judged solely on preconceived notions of what theatre should be, or what makes for a good or bad performance.

“Buses and Roads: A Bus Theatre Experience”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 7 April 2019

After some difficulty in locating the pick-up point – neither the event website nor the Singapore Heritage Festival staff could direct me to the right place – I finally get there before the bus on which the performance is due to take place departs.

Two minutes after the bus starts moving, a passenger suddenly stands up, having lost his ticket, and his wife berates him for being careless. The audience is immediately drawn to the drama unfolding. And thus the show begins – but this sense of novelty does not last.

Four actors re-enact imagined scenes from the 1970s throughout the hour-long ride. With a very disjointed script comprising anecdotes, fun facts, and snippets of history loosely strung together by long pauses and randomly inserted singalong songs (to which the audience responds with minimal enthusiasm), the trip feels very much like a touristy gimmick.

The ten-minute intermission adds to the incoherence of the experience. After the break, the same actors reappear as four completely new characters who bear no relation to the first half of the performance. But perhaps that is the point – a bus ride is only transient; there are no complete stories, only fragments of strangers’ lives as they pass by, alighting as quickly as they boarded the bus.

Granted, performing on a moving coach is not easy. The aisle leaves little space for movement, and the close proximity to the audience means that every action and every flaw can be closely scrutinized. Unfortunately, this also means that it is more appealing to look out the window than to strain one’s neck to watch the show.

That said, this unconventional space does allows for countless possibilities and activation. Perhaps the audience could get off the bus, or the bus could travel along the roads that the actors speak about.

This is undoubtedly a unique experience, but more experimentation and workshopping is needed for it to become something more than an uneventful ride to nowhere.

“overcoming fears, embracing new experiences”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 15 March 2019, 2pm (Sensory Friendly)

Fear not, as you step into the dragon’s mouth. Take a seat on the dragon’s tongue, among teeth, cushiony plague and a glowing uvula. The Dragon’s Dentist tells a tale of conquering difficulties and accepting differences. A no-nonsense dragon dentist, Master (played by Yazid Jalil), meets his young and excitable apprentice, Toothie (played by Tan Rui Shan). Things take an unexpected turn when she befriends every dentist’s enemy, Bactee (played by Cheryl Kjm). They work together with the audience, who gamely take up their new roles as Tooth Elves to embark on a quest to avoid the dragon’s wrath by keeping his teeth clean.

Contrary to what one might expect from the title, this is not a play advocating oral hygiene. Rather, beneath the fun songs and quirky characters lie a plot that explores concepts of loyalty, friendship, empathy and acceptance. While these are indeed concepts of value, they might be too complex for the target audience to fully comprehend. For example, a nuanced conflict arises due to the difference in working styles and personalities between Master and Toothie – and one wonders if the young audience can catch it. Perhaps a more direct way of explaining the conflict, or setting aside more time in the play to explore this in detail, could make for better understanding.

That said, the production on the whole is well thought out. I especially like the set design where the various colours and textures encourage exploration through touch. The relaxed seating arrangement is a wonderful idea for the restless and energetic young audience, and also facilitates movement for the interactive segments of the play. The two activities that involved the Tooth Elves are well executed and managed, and smoothly woven into the plot.

The sensory friendly version also includes a pre-show introduction by the cast of what the show entails, and a chance for the audience to meet the characters and experience the effects that will be used in the show (dim lights, smoke and loud noises). This helps to set the scene for the play, and establish the elements of a theatrical experience that may be difficult to grasp.

These little details extend beyond the experience within the room. There is even a downloadable pre-visit guide introducing the physical theatre space and the show contents, and a bring-home activity sheet.

One just wonders what message the children take home in the end: is it only fun and games, or have they understood the larger themes that the show explores?

“No Mistakes in the Union of Traditional and Contemporary”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 8 March 2019

Upon entering the theatre, one is immediately drawn to the puppets lined up neatly on both sides of the stage. This closely mimics the format of the traditional puppet stage, where the puppets and puppeteers on standby are visible to the audience. It is the first glimpse of how Paper Monkey Theatre mindfully retains elements of the traditional art form for the proscenium stage.

Marketed as a pantomime, Romance of Mistakes is indeed entertaining. Ninety minutes fly by in this comedy of errors, as villain is mistaken for lover, bride for groom, and victim for assailant. Much of the humour comes from the flustered servants, Chun Lan (puppeteer Shirley Sim), and Servant Cai (puppeteer Xavier Kang), who jump to conclusions in their haste to solve problems.

Despite the absurd plot, the play manages to subtly raise some big questions about love: What is love? How much does it take to fall in and out of love? Can love transcend external appearance and gender?

As the series of unfortunate mix-ups unfolds, the Taiwanese handcrafted puppets come to life, and the ingenuity of director-scriptwriter Benjamin Ho and music composer Liong Kit Yeng become apparent. It is not easy to balance a traditional art form with the contemporary stage and audience, but Romance of Mistakes nailed this tricky unification. The elements of traditional Chinese percussion work well with western instruments, while the script incorporates both Chinese language variations from different eras and Singlish, which makes it more accessible to everyone.

The only gripe is the sometimes muffled voices of the actors during transitions from lines to song. The playback overpowers the actors’ voices, resulting in some lines being inaudible. A better balance of sound would have made the whole show more enjoyable.

It is also a pity the performance was not too well attended, which did not do justice to the heart work put into the production. One hopes that Romance of Mistakes will be restaged some time, as Paper Monkey Theatre has once again proved the company’s ability to keep the traditional art form of Chinese puppetry relevant and accessible to a contemporary audience.

“我和我和他和他 (Me² vs He²)”

Reviewer: Yong Yoke Kay
Performance: 23 February 2019

Cruel and profound. Such is the fate of two characters, Shen Mo (Wang Zezhou) and Jian Ru Jing (Long Luqian), who are about to meet to discuss a merger of their companies. Unbeknownst to their current selves, they once shared a tumultuous past that was erased completely from both of their memories in a car accident. Along the way, both are haunted by the nine-year younger version of themselves (young Shen Mo played by Gao Qikai, and young Jian Ru Jing played by Li Danni), who seek to attain closure from the decisions they had made as lovers. As the plot unfolds over three hours, the two personas are forced to face the repercussions of their life choices.

To restage Me² vs He² too is a brave choice (it was probably not mere coincidence that KECD last staged this play nine years ago), but consequences must be borne.

The advantage of this choice was clear: Stan Lai’s well-written script means that the text itself could move the play along. Lines are mostly delivered on beat, and the audience seems to be enthralled by the punchlines and caricatures.

However, emotional commitment to the characters is not sustained throughout, as some of the more nuanced parts play out mechanically. The emotional touchpoints from the script never quite turn out as expected, save for the embrace between the present Jian Ru Jing and Shen Mo towards the end. Unfortunately, right after the embrace, the sincerity of the characters’ emotions are betrayed once again, leaving this reviewer wishing for more displays of such genuineness.

Perhaps confusion at some points of the play has, in part, to do with the set and lighting design. This is especially noticeable during the transitory scenes, where attempts to bring out the complex layers of space and time become merely an exhibition of aesthetic staging elements. It is a pity that these frills are not reined in more, as the story shines the most when told economically. One such example is the hotel room scene, where the juxtaposition of the characters’ rooms and circumstances cleverly and succinctly mirror the parallels of the characters.

Overall, a production of such quality is not often found in school productions, and it is commendable that the cast maintain their stamina throughout. It is just a pity that attempts to make the script come alive on stage are met with some crucial misses. With fuller embodiment of the text and characters, as well as tighter control over the scenes, Shen Mo and Jian Ru Jing’s struggles and fears, decisions and memories of self and love would come through.

Nonetheless, it is an encouraging sign for a student-led Chinese theatre group to take on a demanding script, and to witness strong support, evidenced by the thunderous applause, from the student-heavy audience. The reviewer hopes that KECD will continue to keep up the good effort.