““Me? I am cured… kemurnian”.“

Reviewer: Idelle Yee
Performance: 29 September 2019

Is being stripped of agency truly the only solution to deviance?

This seems to be the question posed by Teater Ekamatra’s staging of A Clockwork Orange, performed entirely in Bahasa Melayu with English surtitles. The choice of language has a particular historical resonance — the author of the original novel, Anthony Burgess, worked as a teacher in colonial Malaya during the 1950s and was fluent in Malay. In fact, in one explanation of the book’s title, Burgess claimed that it was a pun on the Malay word orang, meaning man. The titular clockwork orange is a human being who has the appearance of life, but is inside merely cogs and wheels, emptied of agency; a living corpse.

Regardless of whether Burgess meant this origin story sincerely, there is nothing insincere about Teater Ekamatra’s production. The production cleverly employs a modified thrust stage, which allows the audience to be situated in most of the action. When Al (Alex in the novel) undergoes aversion therapy to reform his violent impulses, the audience too is subjected to a grotesque greatest hits montage in the genre of gore. By situating the audience physically in Al’s space, we also become implicated in his experience of this dystopian “therapy” as well as the suffering it causes; we too become interrogators of its ethicality and needfulness.

Later, when Al is presented to a crowd of admirers as a supposed success story of the “Othman reformative treatment”, several cast members stand in the back of the audience, clapping. The audience realises with dawning horror that we too are cheering his apparent loss of will to make decisions, this being viewed as the successful “cure” to violent deviance. We realise the fluidity of roles one may acquire in a repressive, totalitarian state as we move without warning from being victim to perpetrator; perhaps we may derive sobering reflections on parallels in our own extra-theatrical reality.

In this production’s interpretation of the infamously violent source material, the cast performs with both primal brutality and eerie fluidity, the latter being assisted by timely neon purple stage lighting. Control of body and physicality is strong across the board for this cast, but it would be most remiss not to highlight Rizman Putra’s remarkable performance. Rizman’s Al goes from hypermasculine aggression to grovelling sycophancy with astonishing seamlessness. As he spasms in sinewy agony strapped into a chair for aversion therapy, the audience cannot help but resonate with his bodily expressed protest of this cruel “treatment”. There is a throbbing viscerality to Rizman’s performance that reverberates with humanity, even in one who supposedly embodies social deviance.

At the end of the play Al stands, beginning again to exhibit in his body the primal aggression displayed in the beginning, and declares that he has now been “cured” – he has returned to kemurnian, meaning purity. And yet, in losing all “deviance”, and returning entirely to a sanitised, blank purity, it is possible that we lose also some of our vital humanity.

“Identity?”

Reviewer: Edward Eng
Performance: 6 July 2019

Twelve years ago, Teater Ekamatra staged Mat Champion as a children’s musical about three superheroes coming together to defeat a language-stealing villain.

In that version of the musical, the superheroes fought to save citizens who were losing their language, the conceit being that languages must be physically saved from hegemonic forces in an increasingly globalised world. This starts with using the Malay language where it may not be convenient, and practising it even when it gets tedious. Without language, the citizens quite literally lose their identity and their life force.

2019’s Mat Champion brings the idea of practicing Malay to retain one’s identity offstage: the play’s programme booklet contains language exercises for children.

But the story is a lot more muddled than I thought it’d be. This time around, there are six characters split into two rival superhero teams: the all-male Mat Champion (Fir Rahman, Syaiful Ariffin, Norisham Osman) and the all-female Minah Rong Geng (Siti Maznah, Munah Bagharib, Farhana M Noor). Each character plays a specific archetype, ranging from Elvis-pakcik to flower power girl.

There is a subplot about the two teams challenging each other before coming together. Another arc focuses on Mat Ketat (Fir Rahman), whose feelings of difference from the others drive him to become a sort of classic monster-with-a-good-heart villain. Both mix in moral lessons about how friendship is more important than competition, although the adages fall flat on me.

The performance is largely enjoyable by last quarter and it is all good fun thanks to the sheer energy of the cast. Particularly exciting is the pop art scenic design, which plays briskly with the featherweight nostalgia that tinges most of director Rizman Putra’s shows. I feel too that the aesthetic value played better to the mostly young audience, the way Disney’s Mulan did to me when I was younger.

That said, as a Cantonese bereft of ability in my own mother tongue, I feel that the play could have done so much more than just entertain and chide. This staging of Mat Champion was a missed opportunity to inspire.

“We didn’t start the fire…”

Reviewer: Christian W. Huber
Performance: 13 September 2018

Celebrating its 30^th anniversary, Teater Ekamatra has staged one of the strongest theatrical experiences seen by this reviewer so far this year. Helmed by its artistic director Mohd Fared Jainal, and penned by prominent English and Malay language playwright, poet and short story writer, Alfian Sa’at, Tiger of Malaya is a very strong, funny, and powerful piece. It looks into one’s history, and reinterprets it through the eyes of a new generation of artists who are mindful not too stray too far away from the original intentions of the material – in this case, a 1943 Japanese propaganda film.

A play-within-a play concept works for this piece thanks to its no-frills approach. The set is kept as a black box, and you get to see the actors prepare on stage. The original movie is projected on movable white screens as the artists reinterpret the scenes simultaneously. The staging is simple, but it takes some very good coordination with the production team to ensure that all cues and effects are timed to the very second, which earns this reviewer’s respect.

Strong performances by the cast showcase the characters far better, and not to mention much more authentically, than the movie did (the film had Japanese actors playing Malay characters in brownface). Over the course of the play, the three Singaporean and two Japanese artistes respectfully bring about their cultural differences, as well as the confusion about their understanding of their countries’ history of the Second World War. The cast members have good synergy, and their repartee in between the re-enactments are entertaining throughout the 90-minute piece.

The only bugbear is a scene where the three Singaporean artistes sit and interrogate the Japanese artiste’s re-interpretation of the film, which parallels a recent episode between a historian and one of the men in white’s high-handed questioning of alternative views of history. Whilst showcasing subversion, it feels unnecessary and is a sequence that this reviewer could have done without.

Nonetheless, Tiger of Malaya is a thought provoking and relevant piece in today’s society, and it is a saving grace in the rather ‘ho hum’ productions this reviewer has seen this year.

“Angkat”

Reviewer: Myle Yan Tay
Performance: 20 December 2017

Almost immediately, Angkat dives into the action. Salmah (played by Sahirrah Safit), a National Idol (a Singapore Idol analogue) hopeful, is grilled by three agents on her race and her identity. Surrounded by a set comprising wooden and cardboard boxes, they plan their media strategy to turn her into the next singing sensation, vacillating between their conceptions of the modern and conservative Muslim woman. It is a promising start to the 90-minute play, providing ample material for the play to explore.

Yet, therein lies Angkat’s major problem: everything is foreshadowed so heavily that it becomes a matter of “when”, not “if”. The agents warn her that they are going to push Salmah to her limits, which is precisely what they do. Their gradual decline into exploitation and stereotyping never surprises. And, for Salmah, the agents are so blatantly manipulative, that her eventual return to the fold becomes an obvious, unemotional choice.

Though the singing competition takes up half of the play, the real heart of the script is Salmah’s relationship with her adoptive mother Khadija, played by Norsiah Ramly. Though it takes a while for their chemistry to warm-up, their final scene feels deeply cathartic. The initial stumbling is possibly due to the way they are presented from start to finish, the two are fighting; we never see the two at peace until the very end of the production. The lack of intimacy makes it difficult to connect with the pair, though it does eventually happen.

The three actors who play the agents also play three orphans at Khadija’s workplace. These scenes are heartfelt, tackling honest issues of race and conformity in Singapore. It is in moments like this when the play finds itself, opening itself up to honest reflection. Highlights include Erwin Shah Ismail, who plays an agent, railing against the burdens of being born into his race, or when Khadija opens up about her failings as a mother.

At its core, Angkat is an emotional and sincere piece. The actors are engaging, the lighting provides different textures to the various scenes, and its minimalist set is evocative and imaginative. But at times, it feels rough around the edges, with certain scenes lacking energy and other characters appearing flat (especially the scenes between Salmah and the three agents). If closer attention is paid to the agents and to strengthening Salmah’s journey, Angkat can become a more evocative piece of theatre, better equipped to handle identity in Singapore.

This reviewer feels obliged to note that during this production, the management of the subtitles was under par. Certain lines were completely missed while others skipped back and forth. Though the non-Malay speaking audience member can manage with the cues from the actors, this hinders this reviewer’s overall enjoyment of the piece.

“A Playful Take on Uncomfortable Issues“

Reviewer: Isaac Tan
Performance: 23 July 2017

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, being told that one’s society is plagued by drug abuse, domestic abuse, incest, and extra-marital affairs should not come as a surprise. Yet, knowing these facts and its relevant statistics does not prepare you to confront the individual stories.

And that’s what we are faced with, as we enter Teater Ekamatra’s playground in Main-Main. Six characters find themselves in a liminal space, which happens to be a whimsical playground, and by interacting with each other through games, they reveal how their lives played out.

Playwright and director Aidli Mosbit’s riffing on the theme of play is no literary exercise. The lightness of touch in the treatment of these heavy themes engages the audience in two ways.

First, the playful atmosphere throws the dark themes into sharper relief.

In a scene where the characters list various things with which one can play, an unguarded Suhaila Safari blurts out paedophilia and playing with children. The scene immediately takes a very dark turn. The same applies to seeing the characters play a game in one scene, and violently confront each other in the next.

This contrast draws one’s attention to issues to which one may have been inured to due to countless incidents of the same kind being played out in the media.

Second, the use of camp and make-believe gently guides the audience to encounter topics that are very taboo, such as paedophilia. Topics that will otherwise make the audience flinch and tune out, which can elude any meaningful discussion.

The mythical story of a sultan being cursed as he cannot be aroused by grown women may appear to be a cheap joke, but we are unwittingly being guided into observing an uncomfortable act once we collectively realise the disturbing implications of such a curse.

Aidli Mosbit strikes the right balance in playing with both dynamics, and this results in an engaging, and provocative show.

This is complemented by stellar performances from the ensemble (Al-Matin Yatim, Farez Najid, Farhana M Noor, Hatta bin Said, Munah Bagharib, and Suhaili Safari). There isn’t a single moment in which any of the actors drop the ball as they juggle both playful and serious scenes with complete ease. Their keen sense of timing for comedy as well as in the transitions makes the show thoroughly entertaining and well-paced.

The best testament to the efficacy of what Teater Ekamatra aims to achieve is a fellow audience member wondering aloud whether these stories are true. Even if the specifics are made up, it is sobering to realise that similar incidents occur every day, and not all of them make it into the news.

“What price glory”

Reviewer: Christian W. Huber
Performance: 6 April 2017

Hope was first staged simply and humbly 23 years ago at The Substation’s Guinness Theatre, with direction from Kok Heng Leun and performed by then aspiring actors like Hossan Leong and Julius Foo. It now gets a long-awaited second staging and Malay translation – as Harap – as part of The Esplanade’s The Studios 2017 season.

The play is co-produced by Teater Ekamatra and helmed by it artistic director, Mohd Fared Jainal, who successfully adapted a lesser known piece by Haresh Sharma, The Necessary Stage’s resident playwright. Together with his ensemble of actors and his creative team (kudos to aspiring literary translator Zulfadli Rashid), Jainal has created a moving piece that touches on topics such as suicide, homosexuality, drinking alcohol, and making ends meet in a fast modernizing Singapore defined by the “five Cs”.

The simple staging, sound design, multi-media, and use of mud for one of the incapacitated characters to create a fantasy city inside his head are nice highlights. But it is the text and strong performances by the able stable of actors – who peel the layers off their characters to reveal their vulnerability – that truly shines.

Sani Hussin and Siti Hajar Abd Gani give solid performances as the tragic married couple who struggle to deal with loan sharks, and gambling and drinking problems that are draining their finances.

Six-year-old Nur Zakiah Bte Muhd Fared also impresses as the couple’s daughter in her debut theatre performance. She is supposed to be the symbol of hope for a new generation, and it is heartbreaking to see her life decided by a couple that has given up.

Downplaying the homosexual theme in this version, the two friends – played by Fir Rahman and Hirzi Zulkiflie – bring some needed humour, as well as a layer of hope through very subtle word and imagery play. Speaking in the comfortable rhythm of his mother tongue, Rahman makes some amends with this reviewer following his recent performance in Toy Factory Production’s flawed Prism.

It is refreshing to see this versatile script meet the young audience of today’s generation. The time period of the piece is not clear (though it feels it is set when the internet and mobile phones had yet to catch on – i.e. the early 1990s), but its timelessness and relevance captivate many of the secondary school students in the audience.

For those who jumped on the bandwagon of Singapore’s economic growth in the post-independence years but cannot keep pace with its success, demoralization and hopelessness devours. Hope (Harap) holds such a positive title.

But it is anything but.

“Exploring the Modern Malay Identity in Projek Suitcase 2016″

Reviewer: Alisa Maya Ravindran
Performance: 2 December 2016

By the Book by E Lee Loong  and Rizman Putra
Rizman Putra’s performance in By the Book as an actor disgruntled by the restrictions imposed by a “by-the-book” director is powerful and gripping. Rizman performs the role of an “over-acting” actor skillfully, exaggerating his lines and movement so that they are just believable enough. He also executes the physical theatre elements well, never missing a beat nor letting his weariness show. Overall, Rizman’s one-man show is outstanding, infusing the right balance of comedy and seriousness. This performance prompts the audience to think critically about our tendency to conform to a script in the play of life, such that we all become indistinguishable robots in the end.

#IstillwantmyPR by Shida Mahadi and the Art of Strangers
This segment is based on the struggle Shida Mahadi continues to face in attaining Permanent Residence status in Malaysia, years after marrying her Malaysian husband. This performance’s autobiographical status lends an emotional authenticity which is  deeply moving. Shida’s voice as a modern Malay woman, and more importantly a modern Singaporean woman shines through in the show, raising questions about the struggle to embrace culture and modernity.  The performance also questions what “home” truly means, if one’s homes of Malaysia and Singapore can at times be the very thing that seems to push one away. Shida’s control over her emotions and the way she owns the meaning behind her lines is truly what makes the show memorable.

Cabut by Elvira Holmberg and Emanorwatty Saleh
Emanorwatty Salleh’s collaboration with Elvira Holmberg explores the lives of contemporary Malay women: gender roles and expectations. Emarnowatty’s character traverses time, tracing the adventures of a girl who is a “warrior princess” with a thirst for adventure who turns into a disgruntled wife, questioning where the love between her and her partner that she once though was so strongmhas disappeared to. She demonstrates control over her character, showing both the inner whimsical self of her character as well as the pained frustrations of the older self equally convincingly. This is probably one of the strongest performances of the night.

Jump the Q by Hirzi Zulkiflie and Izzat Yusoff
The final show of the night, Jump the Q is a fitting end to a night of skits that pushes the audience out of their comfort zones. The emotional performance by Hirzi Zulkiflie, who plays the role of a suicidal man’s ruminations on the afterlife, has the audience captured from beginning to end. Hirzi and his ability to move fluidly to showcase both the darker and more light-hearted facets of his character, makes the performance an engaging one from start to end.

All in all, Projek Suitcase 2016 is a well-thought out collection of stories, performed by a cast with great emotional range who truly create tangible characters with emotional depth—making for a night of poignant and powerful theatre.

“少数与多数之间的互换与碰撞”

Reviewer: Zekson Tan | 陈迦笙
Performance: 19 July 2016

虽然因应本地多元种族的环境而设置的集选区制度立意良善，可是往往有效的系统和体制都是把双刃刀。尤其其中对于“少数和多数族群”的二分法常引起人们的讨论。而《GRC》这部剧有趣的地方就在于把现实中“少数和多数”的族群做个对调，以轻松诙谐但不失严谨的表演让观众在看戏的时候除了去思考集选区制度的种种面貌，也同时重新审视一直以来对于“少数与多数”的直接定义和看法。

虽然《GRC》要探讨的课题看似严肃，但在故事情节上喜剧元素却占了绝大部分。这部剧恰到好处的拿捏了以本地和邻国政治时事为背景的笑料和讽刺。戏里引人发笑的梗像是对于领取少数族群证明过程的调侃、邻国政客的揶揄和风趣的马来语竞选短片等都是观众所熟悉的。虽然不多，但这部剧在严肃情节上的处理并没有敷衍带过。尤其在戏的后半部，以代表少数族裔的华人竞选者在群众大会的脱稿发言为导火线，让观众有机会一窥充斥着利益、无奈和妥协的政治角力和算计。而戏的结局更是带出了政治中“没有绝对的承诺”这一现实。

但就如同集选区制度一样，这样的情节和內容编排对于《GRC》想要引起观众对于“少数与多数族群”的思辨来说却也是把双刃刀。除了以幽默风趣为主调的呈现方式，《GRC》并不直接点出“少数与多数”间的碰撞和矛盾，而是借着呈现政治现实的局限性，希望观众能够主动的去反思平日里对于“少数和多数”那理所当然的定义。

但这样的氛围和说故事的方式却未必能夠在观众的心里留下足够且深刻的冲击，进而引起观众对于“少数和多数”的思考。当然并不是说单凭一部戏就希望观众能够对于这样的议题展开激烈的思考和探索。但是除了笑声和对政治现象的嘲讽，观众在离场后还能留有多少关于“少数与多数”的思考，就是见仁见智了。

然而就我而言，《GRC》除了让我带着欢笑之后的好心情离开剧场，也让我发觉就算处境对调，不管谁是少数谁是多数，问题还是会存在。所以即使在数据和现实上依然存在“多与少”的不同，但唯有不再以“少数与多数”来自我标签和区分，似乎才是成熟理性的多元种族社会该有的面貌。

“Chasing our dreams…together?”

Reviewer: Jocelyn Chng
Performance: 15 July 2016

Geng Rebut Cabinet (GRC), first staged in December 2015, is revived as part of the W!ld Rice Singapore Theatre Festival 2016. With the latest general election barely over in September 2015, both productions (just over six months apart) ride on raw memories and emotions associated that fateful event.

The premise of GRC is quite straightforward – playwright Alfian Sa’at imagines a world in which the percentages of ethnic Malays and Chinese in Singapore’s population are swapped, making ethnic Malays the overwhelming majority. Against this backdrop, the play traces the activities of five characters, members of the fictional Workers’ Action Party (WAP), as they campaign their way to eventual success during an upcoming general election.

The cast is strong overall, believable as political party candidates, each with their distinctive quirks. There is the experienced but slightly obnoxious minister with the bad jokes, the motherly grassroots leader, the superficial overseas scholar, the capable lawyer with a secret, and of course, the “token minority” candidate.

The effectiveness of the play, despite its overall simplicity, manifests in how uncomfortable it makes me feel within the first few minutes. As the party members have a meeting to plan their strategy for the election campaign, all of them instinctively communicate and banter in Malay, oblivious to the fact that new party member Catherine Seah is ethnic Chinese. It is only after awhile that a fellow new member, Maisarah Hamdan, reminds the rest that they may be being insensitive, prompting Catherine’s slightly apologetic reassurance to the group that she can understand them even though she may not be able to speak Malay well.

Such a scenario would conceivably be all too familiar to minority groups in real-world Singapore. Being part of the majority ethnic group, this forthright demonstration of taken-for-granted insensitivities, succeeds guilting me into reflection.

The play continues along these lines, throwing out every tacky racial stereotype of the Chinese you can think of, such as liking red and having a penchant for gambling, naturally frowned upon in the play’s Malay-Muslim-dominant world.

As is typical in Alfian’s work, the various sensitive issues mentioned in the play are nestled within an overarching cloak of humour. Much of the commentary is amusing in its familiarity to most Singaporeans, from jibes at how Group Representation Constituencies (GRCs) make no geographical sense – complete with cheery Powerpoint demonstrations – to a deliberately cheesy music video showing the WAP candidates mingling with their constituents.

If there is one thing to gripe about, it would be the intrusiveness of the sound effects, which at times get in the way of the already effective script.

However, if anyone can make you laugh heartily and feel terrible at the same time, it is Alfian Sa’at. There are no easy solutions to the issues presented, so perhaps the best one can do is to recognise as much and laugh along.

“Sweet Concoction”

Reviewer: Muhammed Faizad Bin Salim
Performance: 3 May 2015

Teater Ekamatra kicks off their 2015 season with a showcase of the works of two graduates of their playwright-director mentorship programme and if this double bill is a sign of things to come, then it sure looks like it is going to be a stellar year for the company.

The first offering ‘Tart’, written by Nabilah Said and directed by Irfan Kasban, is delectable on so many levels. The script authentically captures the social milieu of the modern-day Malay Muslim demographic and is chockfull of astute depictions of the community’s concerns. These range from the very trivial phenomenon of makciks calling in to radio station deejays to the more serious chasm between the tudung-ed and non tudung-ed members of the community and how they view each other.

It is quite clear that the playwright (Nabilah Said) has an excellent ear for dialogue as the repartee between the three characters is on point from start to finish and is further enhanced by the convincing portrayals by all three actors, who give committed performances and do not veer into gross caricatures.

Under the guise of a simple reunion ten years in the making, to bake pineapple tarts together, we bear witness to how the three protagonists of Shiq (Umi Kalthum), Marina (Tini Aliman) and Huda (Nessa Anwar) go through this rite of passage together, to exorcise their inner demons and to shake off ghosts that still haunt them from their past.

This theme of having to go through an acid test of sorts and coming out stronger is further reflected in the inter-textual reference in the form of a recording of Irfan Kasban’s ‘Tahan’ that was running in the background as a television show being screened in Marina’s living room as the play went on.

The second play, ‘Abu’ written by Hazwan Norly and directed by The Art of Strangers, is definitely broodier compared to its earlier counterpart. We are presented with two siblings (played by Ruzaini Mazani and Siti Zuraida) who are facing strained ties because Kakak upped and left the family a long time ago due to extenuating circumstances, which we later find out is probably to escape from an abusive father. The prodigal daughter only returns home to reunite with her younger brother upon the demise of their mother and so begins their journey of rekindling their strained relationship. Do they wish to go down the same destructive path or would they emerge as phoenixes from the ashes of their checkered past?

Because of the short turnaround time, the sets for both plays are simple but they do not feel minimalistic. In fact, the designers are ingenious in creating two very believable live-in spaces for the characters by outlining the floor plan on stage. The hanging props in ‘Abu’ also seemed to mirror the baggage and unresolved issues that are hanging in the air between both siblings.

I am on tenterhooks; eagerly anticipating future offerings by these new talents that I am sure will be as sweet smelling as the aroma of pineapple jam that greeted us as we entered the theatre.