“Anything can happen, and edutainment did”

Reviewer: Cordelia Lee
Performance: 7 July 2019

Wild Rice’s youth division, Young & Wild, returns for a fifth iteration.

Part lecture-performance and part experimental Shakespeare, Anything Can Happen, Something Must Happen stitches a mix of performance genres and forms onto the bard’s Macbeth.

The work plays with the delivery of its canonised source text in imaginative ways, from an interactive camp segment to table-top puppetry involving edible cookies. Every so often, it breaks production concepts down into their nuts and bolts before unabashedly thrusting them into its audience’s faces.

Admittedly, this sounds like a brutal ride. But hear me out.

A pleasant surprise awaits if – and only if – you forswear the impenetrability of the fourth wall, forget about coherent narratives, and ground your disbelief. In doing so, you’ll discover the true value of this work and may begin to appreciate it for what it inherently is – edutainment.

“This is how it sounds like when the actress speaks to the actor,” a disembodied voice resounds.

The actress on stage obediently opens her mouth. Out comes her lines, and when they are done, she freezes.

The voice returns, now making a point on the quality of lighting. The scene resumes in accordance with this new direction, playing out for a few seconds before pausing for subsequent instructions.

More stage elements are isolated and tweaked, their effects made conspicuous. It’s as though we’re in a director’s head as she creates, toying with options and watching each one materialise on stage.

Granted, this is nothing novel for theatre students and practitioners. But for the general audience who too often consumes a polished product, this delightful dissection of stage elements renders them privy to the workings of theatrical magic.

There’s more.

The production devotes part of itself to making the discourse on theatre in academia tangible and relatively accessible for its audience. Theatre luminary Peter Brook’s definition of theatre, for example, is heard in the opening scene:

“A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre to be engaged.”

At this precise moment cast members traverse the performance area; the audience’s gaze follows them, held by this mundane act. They have validated Brook’s claims, whether or not they realise it. For those who have, the often-overlooked act of watching and being watched in the theatre is now made evident.

But more than that, the act of watching is made meaningful. It reveals the audience-performer relationship that exists within the performance space as an integral and valuable part of the theatre performance, one without which an act of theatre ceases to exist.

This production, unlike some others, is devoid of sensational storylines and glossy sets that coerce you into believing you’ve got your money’s worth.

Instead, it humbly offers something else of undeniable value: an opportunity to learn about theatre, through theatre. Not the most conventional mode of sharing knowledge perhaps, but an engaging one nonetheless.

And therein lies the production’s unmistakable charm.

“How is it possible to be disinterested in colonialism?””

Reviewer: Idelle Yee
Performance: 12 Oct 2019

The central conceit of Wild Rice’s Merdeka / 獨立 /சுதந்திரம் is deceptively simple. As the rest of the nation celebrates the Bicentennial anniversary of Sir Stamford Raffles’ founding of Singapore, a motley crew of six young, dissenting intellectuals – and also, it seems, aspiring thespian enthusiasts – form a reading group called Raffles Must Fall. They discuss and re-enact painstakingly researched hidden histories of this land, held onto only by a wisp of memory, negotiating with great ardency post-colonial identity and subaltern history.

As is typical of gatherings brought together by the spirit of youthful discontent, it is unclear at first what exactly this high-brow assembly is intended to achieve. The conceit of a reading group, of all the impractical things millennials get up to these days, inspires some degree of cynicism. Is this production yet another elevation of young middle-class intellectuals sitting about in tired criticism of the establishment with little actual change in sight? The set, resembling a museum exhibition, seems to lend weight to this skepticism. At certain junctures early on, the decidedly snarky, self-righteous tone adopted by several cast members veers dangerously close to obnoxiousness.

Nonetheless, the production’s strengths quickly reveal themselves in its ambitious re-enactments of stories from the past. Any skepticism regarding the set is soon remedied; the stasis of a museum gallery is transformed into a dynamic playing space for 200 years of history. The museum exhibits that frame the stage become costumes and props for this group of spirited storytellers, giving new life to tales from the distant past.

The soundscape, brilliantly crafted by sound designer Paul Searles, transports the audience across time and place, be it the ailing grandeur of Johor-Riau or the spirited Chinese students’ riots of the 1950s. The actors are intimately attuned to the nuances of rhythm and song, their bodies melding together with the soundscape in a manner that seems less rehearsed than it is intuitive. There is a sense of transcendence in the confluence of movement and sound; somehow, these stories from times past are converging with these bodies in the present. There are hints of an unarticulated intricacy yet in how these stories of the past shape and move differently the present.

As the production draws to a close, we find that these characters, and their actors, are bringing to the fore not merely heated intellectual discussions of post-colonial identity and ideas of nation. They bring also with their bodies, their skin colours and their accents their own intimate negotiations of racial narratives, the post-colonial era and the Grand Narrative a younger generation has grown up with. We see the obnoxious intellectual posturing of “woke” ideals in the light of anxieties a person from a minority culture might experience growing up in present-day Singapore. We realise just how much more we are required to question our past if we truly are to own our present independence. As the characters ask us: how is it possible to be disinterested in colonialism, when it is ever both our past and our present? How do we forge the decolonised future without courageous engagement with the colonised past? Perhaps we must first know that which from which we needed to be free, before we may truly declare with all the voices of ages past and to come: Merdeka! Merdeka! Merdeka!

“An Intimate Affair”

Reviewer: Lee Shu Yu
Performance: 7 September 2019

Ask anyone for the title of an iconic Singaporean play and you are likely to hear “Emily of Emerald Hill” – with good reason. The searing monodrama was written by Stella Kon in 1982, and tells of the trials and glories of the Peranakan matriarch Emily Gan. It has been performed more than 500 times across Singapore, Malaysia, Beijing and even Mumbai.

There’s simply no other play fit for the grand opening of Wild Rice’s new theatre at Funan Mall. But what awaited me was a riotous and chaotic first act.

This production, directed by Glen Goei, takes full advantage of the intimate thrust stage. With everyone sitting close together, Heng easily calls latecomers up on stage to tease, and singles out front-row audience members to interrogate as one of Emily’s servants.

Kon’s play requires the audience to keep up with Emily’s various personalities – tender, showy and everything in between – and the meandering chronology of events. And Wild Rice’s liberal additions of audience interaction ends up further confusing the voice of Emily.

While it is thrilling and comical when an audience member is caught off-guard, Heng’s constant breaking off from the text becomes jarring to the overall flow of Emily’s story. I find myself being distracted by his own larger-than-life persona and having to deal with too much added banter. It takes me a while to get used to the fact that I am not watching a one-woman drama, but something closer to a stand-up act involving an audience ensemble.

In a sequence where Emily reveals, through various interactions with her family, just how controlling and demanding she can be, Heng deliberately propels through the montage with added flourishes, never stopping to catch a breath. The feat yields thunderous applause and cat calls, but it feels like such glee is misplaced. In between Heng lifting up Emily’s voice and drowning it with frolics, I wonder if this play could have been titled Ivan Heng of Funan Mall instead.

Yet, for such a no-holds-barred production, its design elements are surprisingly conservative. Set design by Wong Chee Wai is uninspiring; Emily’s web of control over the home is literally conveyed by strings that go across the hulking, white façade of the house. Sound design by Paul Searles is mostly functional, coming on as predictable cues for Emily but very little else.

Thankfully, as Emily grows older, Heng too pulls back. Where he shows little to no restraint in the first half, the second half of the play finally gives us some breathing room as he flaunts his versatility. This is where Heng shows he is no one-trick pony, but a force to be reckoned with when it comes to playing the icon that he has made his own.

And while Heng’s Emily is not for everyone, the endless guffaws from the audience signal that a campy and unexpected performer can indeed refresh an old text.

Alas, one last thing pricks at my experience of the play.

In the first act, amidst the playfulness, Heng confiscates a mobile phone from an audience member trying to video-record his performance. But then, during Emily’s most powerful speech, another person’s mobile phone starts to ring. Some of the audience even laugh in anticipation of what Heng would do. Disgruntled, he momentarily snaps out of character to chide the culprit into silencing their still-buzzing phone.

His recovery from the disruption is seamless and poised, but these incidents nonetheless beget the question: Wild Rice might be ready to get intimate with audiences, but are our audiences ready to be held accountable for their actions?

 

“Supervision“

Reviewer: Jocelyn Chng
Performance: 8 August 2019

It is a momentous occasion – this performance of Supervision that I am attending happens to be the first performance of the first run of a show in W!ld Rice’s new Ngee Ann Kongsi Theatre. After three years of construction at Funan Mall and a delay in the theatre opening at the final stages, there is a sense of anticipation in the air as the theatre sees its first bums on pristinely upholstered seats.

Although not initially planned to be the opening show, Supervision seems a fitting choice for the occasion. Written by Thomas Lim, W!ld Rice’s Associate Artistic Director, Supervision debuted in 2018 at the Singapore Theatre Festival, and won the 2019 Straits Times Life! Theatre Award for Best Original Script.

Lim’s previous play, Grandmother Tongue (2016/2017), portrayed the relationship between a Teochew grandmother and her grandson in a painfully accurate and incisive critique of the loss of language and culture. In Supervision, Lim addresses middle-class privilege, the stresses of care-giving, the concerns of ageing, and the ethics of surveillance. This is a lot to handle, but he does it all in a three-character work with a relatively compact set.

The action takes place almost entirely in the apartment of Teck (Patrick Teoh), a wheelchair-bound retiree. His daughter, Jenny (Janice Koh), has hired Yanti (Umi Kalthum Ismail), a live-in domestic helper from Indonesia, to take care of Teck. In the first few scenes, we see Yanti caught between the overbearing Jenny and the cantankerous but witty Teck. Although the dialogue is often amusing, the situation gets increasingly discomforting. As Yanti goes about her first week in the apartment, she one day discovers to her horror that there are closed-circuit cameras in all the rooms, including her bedroom and the bathroom.

Actual closed-circuit cameras are installed on the set and linked to projectors, allowing the audience to see the footage “live”. While it may be fun to have a view into the bedrooms and kitchen of the apartment (that are obscured from the audience’s regular view), it also makes the audience complicit in the surveillance. This self-reflexivity hopefully spurs some reflection, especially as it is likely that the context might be familiar to many in the audience.

The play inspires thoughts about surveillance and power (recalling Foucault) that disturb me. One example: Jenny installs the cameras to watch the domestic helper, while complaining about traffic cameras, which have caught her speeding, on the public roads. She is completely oblivious to the irony. Here is a pessimistic view of human nature – that despite knowing what it feels like to be on the oppressed side, people will exercise power over others whenever they can.

I am also disturbed when Yanti has just arrived and is asked to take all her belongings out of her bag so that Jenny can inspect them. This elicits laughter from the audience – I slink slightly lower into my seat, feeling uncomfortable that at least some of the people around me find such a display of power amusing.

In any case, the work opens a window into the world of all three characters, and therein lies its brilliance. I realise that each character is struggling immensely; I feel so bad for each of them, and simultaneously feel a sense of stalemate and hopelessness. It is actually a very sad play, cleverly disguised under a veil of humour.

Lim is a playwright with an uncanny ability to transpose the nuances of real life relationships, in all their bittersweet complexity, onto the stage. At the same time he locates these relationships firmly within a socio-political context, making the implications of the characters’ struggles apparent without shoving commentary down anyone’s throats. This approach establishes first and foremost a connection with the audience on a personal level, perhaps something that is much needed in our current lives.

“Rockin’ Around Victoria Stage“

Reviewer: Cordelia Lee
Performance: 28 November 2018

A $ingapore Carol is Wild Rice’s glitzy, localised musical spin on Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, and it is everything its title alludes to.

Our Singaporean scrooge, the miserly mobile app tycoon S. K. Loo (read: Skloo), is efficiently haunted into festive generosity by the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future. The triad — a banana tree hantu, a digital screen-travelling spirit, and the disembodied voice of an autonomous Alexa — successively drag an unwilling Loo across the fourth dimension, realigning his trajectory from a certain afterlife in hell.

The production lands unapologetically in the realm of unadulterated spectacle. From skilfully dangling a cast member mid-air for added phantasmal effect, to building an impressive digitalised columbarium with oversized touch-enabled niches, A $ingapore Carol’s mise-en-scene is consistently a glossy curation of all things larger than life.

In a similar vein, the production’s musical score largely comprises a rich amalgam of catchy tunes, choreographed dance and lyrical farce. The bigger and bolder, the better.

“A Million of Me”, for example, has the Ghost of Christmas Present (Audrey Luo) crawling out of a TV screen in a Sadako-like fashion before robotically strutting to a techno beat. A trippy video edit of her character streams in the background as Luo maintains a sharp angularity in her onstage movements. It creates an effect reminiscent of a kitschy Lady Gaga music video.

My senses are assaulted by a myriad of visually and aurally arresting stimuli. But although my eyes are glued to the stage, I’m ironically too distracted to intellectually process the song’s lyrics, let alone emotionally engage with it on a deeper level.

Granted, most of the original numbers are energetic showstoppers that easily rev up the crowd. Yet, the same elements that mesmerise can also occlude. And this becomes evident as the excessive dynamism and extravagance in some numbers begin to overshadow their intended message.

As a result, I float through the two hours, consuming entertaining spectacle after spectacle without much critical thought.

“Bunga Pisang”, the hauntingly poignant song by the Ghost of Christmas Past (Siti Khalijah), is perhaps the only musical number that is distinctly affective. Hints of traditional Malay music are heard in the soothing underlying instrumentals of the piece, beautifully complementing the 1950s kampong setting that the song is performed in. It serves as a brilliant back-drop for Loo (Sebastian Tan) as he watches his younger self grapple with heartbreak and lost opportunity. An effective dramatic element that develops Loo’s character further and advances the narrative, “Bunga Pisang” is what I hoped the rest of songs would be like.

But alas, it remained a one hit wonder.

Much like an orh luak-nog or a satay turkey stuffed with ketupat, A $ingapore Carol is all in all a delightful modernised Asian fusion of a Western classic. While its overt theatricality and Singlish puns might leave you feeling a little jelak, this lively yuletide production will appeal to your inner child and keep you in your seat.

Just be sure to expect loads of jaunty entertainment, and little else.

“Press Gang”

Reviewer: Liana Gurung
Performance: 11 July 2018

In Press Gang’s revolving set – of “musical chairs”, as associate editor Tang Soon (Rei Poh) puts it – a towering stack of newspapers is the eye of the storm. It is a reminder of the loftier and more noble ambitions of journalism even as the characters orbiting around it descend into petty politics and newsroom squabbles. Tan Tarn How’s long-awaited return to the stage leverages heavily on his career as a journalist, and provides privileged insights into the chaos of the newsroom.

Yet there are moments and scenes in this Wild Rice production where Tan’s commentary is almost heavy-handed, the curtain between playwright and artwork thinning to make the latter a mouthpiece for the former’s politics.

If the name “Press Gang” refers to faction lines, starkly drawn between those who champion press freedom and those who toe the line, then a similarly stark brush has been applied to its cast of characters. Bright and bland, Press Gang’s main character Chua Kin Jek (Benjamin Chow) is a blank page waiting to be written, with the play’s pursuance of ‘politics’ filtered through his journey as a nascent reporter. Each character he meets occupies a clearly defined space along a political spectrum that spans conservative to liberal, which renders the play curiously black and white when its subject matter is so (literally) grey.

Press Gang’s cast is energetic and loud, but devoid of nuance. Contrast and juxtaposition are most commonly used to bring out the play’s larger themes: Kin Jek’s ambivalence against Mariam’s (Yap Yi Kai) conviction; political desk editor Christopher’s (Shane Mardjuki) more conservative leanings to news desk editor Aminah’s (Oniatta Effendi) tempered liberalism. It is clear where the play’s sympathies lie, with much of its conflict tied to the struggle against censorship that undergirds so much of information sharing in Singapore.

What is captured with pinpoint accuracy is the dread and fear that comes with dealing with powerful figures in Singapore – and the apathy and resignation that is a product of being a soldier in the foregone conclusion. More interesting than Mariam’s crusade to publish sensitive material are the moments when we are given access to the more banal instances of journalistic disillusionment. These smaller, slower and more intimate moments stand out in a play that is otherwise filled with furious motion, playing gleefully with props and technology to bring out parallel conflicts between the worlds of digital and print.

Press Gang is quintessentially Singaporean, filled with references that demand local knowledge into the political scene to grasp and appreciate. Though at times a little glib and pert in its commentary, the questions it asks and the narratives it traces are important ones – ones that will reveal and remake the integrity of our newsrooms, our information channels, and the mechanisms that keep the powers in Singaporean society in check.

“Vanilla Vipers“

Reviewer: Isaac Tan
Performance: 12 December 2017

Having watched Monkey Goes West last year, I was excited to see where W!ld Rice will take the pantomime.

Sadly with Mama White Snake, it has taken a nosedive.

Alfian Sa’at adapts the Chinese legend, Madam White Snake, by focusing the plot on the titular character’s son, Meng who is frustrated with his sheltered life and wants to explore beyond the medical hall on Ermei Mountain. He meets Mimi, daughter of Fahai and Madam Ngiao. A relationship soon develops. When Mimi’s parents find out about Meng, Fahai sees this as his chance for revenge.

An adaptation whereby the writer decides to spin a tale of his own, and relegate the original plot to a short scene, has the potential to cast a new light on a well-known tale. Unfortunately, Mama White Snake casts no such a light.

Apart from a tender scene between Mimi and Mama White Snake where they discuss love, none of the characters truly learn anything. The whole plot of Meng going on a journey seems much ado about nothing.

Additionally, the recurring message of a family comprising a boy and two women is no different from any other feels forced. At no point do we see the villagers object to Mama and Auntie Green Snake bringing up the boy alone. Furthermore, Fahai’s hatred for the snake sisters — as portrayed in this version — does not stem from his opposition to them as a family unit.

Acting-wise, the performances from many of the actors are serviceable and entertaining, but generally unremarkable.

Andrew Marko constantly bumbles about as Meng, and barely reacts to the fact that his mother has been kidnapped. Despite having a decent vocal range, Cheryl Tan’s Mimi is solely pitched as a girl-next-door with a tinge of feistiness. Although she sings a whole song about it, she does not enact the conflict and tension in her character when she is pressured by her parents to implicate Meng in their ploy for revenge.

Other than a different costume and a longer beard, Siti Khalijah’s gruff voice and theatrics in portraying Fahai is no stretch from her portrayal of Sandy in Monkey Goes West. (Is there a term for women playing crusty men in pantomimes?)

Zelda Tatiana Ng, as Madam Ngiao, has the shortest end of the stick as her role appears to be a convenient invention to contrast both families. She does not have manoeuvre room apart from playing a stereotypical Cantonese woman. Her character’s name is an odd choice, given that her dialogue is peppered with Cantonese and she is not exactly very “ngiao” (a Hokkien adjective meaning stingy or picky).

Naturally, the stars of the show are Glen Goei and Ivan Heng as Mama White Snake and Auntie Green Snake respectively. They carry their roles as effortlessly as they float around in their stunning scaly gowns. The banter between the sisters and their maternal instincts towards Meng are heartfelt, which keep the show afloat once the novelty of the stage effects, jokes, and cute children wear off.

While I am not saddened by Ivan Heng’s Facebook post that there will not be an extension or a restaging any time soon, it raises an interesting question: where is our next generation of pantomime dames?

No younger actor springs to mind. As Heng and Goei prove in this production, a bloke in a frock does not a pantomime dame make.

《启航了，驾驶员呢？》

Reviewer: Neo Hai Bin | 梁海彬
Performance: 1 July 2017

第四度在新加坡重演的“Boeing Boeing”，改编自1960年的法国喜剧。该剧在健力士记录被列为搬演最多次的法国舞台剧，还曾被拍成电影。野米剧场把法国剧本本土化，是一种再度创作。

把外语剧本土化不失为一个聪明的选择，观众既可以欣赏该剧的精髓，也因为剧作贴近自己的生活经验而容易认同、代入。这样的叙事方式为原剧本产生了不一样的意义，也影响观众对剧本的理解和表达。当观众能够对照不同的文本，也就产生了“阅读”／“观看”的趣味，和不一样的可能性。

要重现“Boeing Boeing”这样的经典剧，借一句剧中台词—— 很不简单！（“It’s not easy!”）；然而—— 再借一句台词—— 也不是不可能的！（“It’s not impossible!”）。只要抓得住剧本的要求，就能够抓得住一般观众的情感和反应。这趟班机已经第四次在本地启航，我好奇的是，野米剧场这次为什么要观众随着他们搭这趟班机？在娱乐效果上，它满足了观众，但是导演的声音呢？导演对该作品有什么样的审视、批判、或观点？观众再次踏上航班，可以有什么新的刺激、领悟、感受？

当野米剧场把经典剧《不可儿戏》搬上舞台，并一律用男演员演出，那是导演对经典剧的重新诠释，也是导演和经典剧的对话。观众也因此有了新的解读视角，重新认识经典剧，也重新审视自己的认知。“Boeing Boeing”少了这样的对话空间，观众也少了重新诠释的可能性，颇为可惜。

作为野米剧场的经典作品之一，“Boeing Boeing”毋庸置疑是一出成功的喜剧，这从当晚观众的反应可看得出来。我却希望下一趟Boeing航班能够带我到一个我未曾见过的领域，让我的想像力能够驰骋；让我从可预料的艺术创作中脱离，得到新的刺激、惊喜、和启发。

“Boeing Boeing“

Reviewer: Selina Chong
Performance: 27 June 2017

Boeing Boeing sets a clear flight path: to entertain the audience. That it does effortlessly. Having staged Boeing Boeing three times before, Wild Rice is an old hand at this. While every iteration is just a little different from the previous, by and large, the antics and jokes remain the same. In these economically and politically turbulent times, Boeing Boeing is a familiar and comforting experience.

The premise is simple: Bernard has three girlfriends, all flight attendants. He carefully maintains a calendar to keep them all happy and happily far apart. The troupe is completed by Rosa, Bernard’s long-suffering domestic helper, and Robert, Bernard’s university mate. What can possibly go wrong? Lots, obviously. Expect madcap antics, slamming doors, lots of running around, and more slamming doors. It’s clear that countless hours were put into rehearsals – the comic timing of the entire cast is impeccable.

Director Pam Oei’s familiarity with the material shows: the comings and goings of the different characters have been choreographed to metronomic accuracy and the flurry of feet and slamming doors keep the comedy rolling at a steady pace. She creates sufficient tension to keep me invested in what happens, but not so much as to curtail my enjoyment of the production. However, I also expected more from a female director helming the production for the first time. The 2017 iteration of Boeing Boeing is no less misogynistic than its predecessors, and that disappoints me slightly. The female characters are little more than tropes – whether they are materialistic like Ms SQ, or hopelessly in love and naïve, like Ms Air China.

That said, as with all farces, we’re not expecting enlightenment or great insight in Boeing Boeing. That is not at all to suggest that the production is not sharp: a standout line for me was when Rosa declared she’s more than a woman, she’s a domestic helper. While hilarious, the line also reflects an aspect of Singapore society that’s much less funny. The strength of Wild Rice’s production of Boeing Boeing is the authenticity of its adaptation to local contexts. Oon Shu An’s Ms SQ is everything I’ve thought about Singapore at various times: seductive, attractive, fervently nationalistic, flagrantly materialistic, and pragmatic to a fault.

2017 is fast shaping up to be the year Wild Rice gives new wings to old productions. This year, they are restaging La Cage Aux Folles, Boeing Boeing, and Grandmother Tongue. Both La Cage and Boeing Boeing are easy on the palate – the former boasting song and dance amidst spectacular backdrops, the latter a very accessible piece of comedy. Yes, it is true theatre does not always have to deliver hard-hitting truths and explore complex issues. At the same time, I can’t help wondering what Wild Rice’s choice of productions to restage suggests about audiences in Singapore and what attracts people to the theatre in Singapore.

“La Cage aux Folles“

Reviewer: Selina Chong
Performance: 22 April 2017

W!ld Rice’s La Cage aux Folles is a wonderful spectacle: the tunes are catchy, the set is stunning, and the mood is infectiously carefree.

The premise for the musical is heartfelt and heart-warming. Ivan Heng and Sean Ghazi respectively play Albin and George, long-time lovers and proprietors of a fictional drag-cabaret nightclub called La Cage aux Folles. Their son Jonathan wishes to marry his love, Anne, and needs his parents to present – and pretend to be – a version of themselves that Anne’s conservative parents would approve of. Comedy, of course, ensues.

The acting and singing are strong throughout. George’s performance of “Song on the Sand” is the standout for me: it is steadfast in its longing and tender in its desire. When Ghazi sings “la da da da”, there is so much wistfulness you can’t help but sigh. The ditties “We Are What We Are” and “I Am What I Am” are also particularly life-affirming, with the former presented by a raucous, androgynous drag-cabaret ensemble. It is impossible not to tap your feet or bob your head along to the beat, and makes for an appropriate introduction to La Cage aux Folles – both the production and the nightclub. Amidst the disciplined choreography and flurry of dancing limbs, the last thing we really care about is whether that’s a man in a dress! It feels to me like a strong statement that we are, indeed, what we are.

My only complaint is Darius Tan’s and Jo Tan’s portrayal of the brash pair running the corner kopitiam. Jo Tan’s Lily speaks with the most bizarre of accents while Darius Tan really hams up the ah beng trope playing Ah Seng. I imagine this has something to do with the localisation of the production, but their performances are so exaggerated that I cringed through most of their segments.

The stage is framed by a towering, gilded birdcage. The sets within it are beautiful – especially when George and Albin’s house gets redecorated for Anne’s parents’ visit – while the props help bring out the comedy. Frederick Lee’s costumes are also stunning: I find myself wanting to run onstage to examine every intricacy, touch every bauble, and stroke every feather. They really bring a great sense of exuberance to the stage, doing more than just adding colour to the visual extravaganza.

At its core, La Cage aux Folles celebrates love so wholeheartedly that one can easily overlook the clichéd twists. In reminding us that we are what we are, W!ld Rice also remind us that they are what they are – a foremost local company we can count on for a fabulous night out at the theatre.