“With eyes wide open”

Reviewer: Lee Shu Yu
Performance: 28 April 2019

With almost no information about the work available publicly, participants of Lemon & Koko’s immersive experiences take a leap of faith by showing up at secret locations and travelling to strange fictional worlds.

But I am no stranger to Secretive Thing’s modus operandi. It is a risk I willingly take, and I am excited for something more than yet another show in a black box. At the designated time of our appointment for Secretive Thing 11, my two companions and I are led to the third level of an old and unassuming metal works building.

Alas, I get another kind of box: a shoe box.

A guide hands us small instruction booklets. We are residents living in a small temporary shelter, waiting to be given citizenship in a post-war society. The mission? To live day-to-day and to build a home.

If this sounds simplistic, let us not forget it is precisely what many Singaporeans strive, and fail, to do.

It is said that theatre holds up a mirror to society, but Secretive Thing 11 goes further than that. The experience itself is a microcosm of society, and its mechanics are clear and effective: each participant needs to be a productive member of the district, with specific tasks to carry out. Along the way, we are fed information and required to make some difficult choices. By the end, participants are driven to reflect on our own positionality as individuals within a collective.

Without divulging too much information and spoiling the fun, it suffices to say that Lemon & Koko display a great understanding of human psychology in the design and gameplay. They skillfully graft aspects of capitalist society into the experience and turn participants into competitive, goal-oriented rats racing against time. It brings out the worst in me: unthinking and blatant selfishness. The gameplay is so sublime that I barely recognise myself and my decisions afterwards.

The most terrific part of the experience is its transparency. Time is taken to ease us into an enjoyable routine that seems simple enough, but it becomes the most insidious apparatus toward the very end. Although I entered with my eyes wide open and my guard up, Secretive Thing 11 shows how easy it is to be trapped as a sleeping member of society.

The gruffness of the experience is in itself a strong statement. It proves theatre-making does not need a loud and sleek appearance to achieve maximum impact – only strong ideas, clever execution, and good use of the active audience.

“Hush Hush for a Harrowing Ride”

Reviewer: Lee Shu Yu
Performance: 19 August 2018

Secretive Thing 215 starts with a marketing gimmick: a suspicious email invitation with a not-so-subtle title.

There is no pertinent information available, creating some measure of suspense in this reviewer. But in this way, the performance has already begun. By the time I am at the site – an unassuming suburban neighbourhood disclosed via text only the day before – paranoia has set in.

I soon learn all this is not a mere gimmick: this experience is not for the faint-hearted.

The creators of Secretive Thing 215, “Lemon and Koko”, have created an immersive psychological thriller. The experience lasts between 30 and 60 minutes, depending on one’s own progress. Each participant roleplays with a fictional storyline and receives instructions to complete simple tasks via a Whatsapp channel. There are crucial moral decisions to make as the conflict slowly unfolds.

From automated texts to completing tasks at seemingly unmanned stations, there is hardly any direct connection with another human being.

Everything is remotely controlled and understated. It is difficult to tell where the theatre starts and real life ends.

This is Secretive Thing 215’s fear factor, and it is executed seamlessly. To passers-by, it does not look remarkable. Yet, as I receive timely instructions that accompanies each, I am very aware that I am being watched.

I tune in to a radio network that the team has created to set the context of the play, marveling at the detail. The audio quality can be clearer and more consistent, but it is an effective way to create suspense and warn of antagonists lying in wait to thwart my journey.

Weaving through shopfronts and bus-stops, I am painfully aware of how the theatrical “safe space” no longer exists.

And to be honest, I miss that security.

I catch a glimpse of an envelope similar to the one I am clutching sitting inside a suspicious black sedan and I recoil from it in fear. A passer-by brushes by me and I startle. Every element of the public space has become a threat.

But just as the plot hits its climax, the experience is over. As much as I am left slightly disappointed and wanting more, I am relieved and exhausted.

Secretive Thing 215 has used technology dramatically and theatrically, staging the tensions between information overload and virtual loneliness. The plot of the performance needs more exploration but the paranoia generated by the dramaturgy sufficiently occupies the audience not to notice the plot weaknesses.

The artful distilling of the mystery and suspense that swells into an overwhelming crescendo while the world remains oblivious is unnerving.

One exits the experience like stepping away from a dream, never to know its elusive alternative endings, or confirm it even happened.