“Human, After All”

Reviewer: Liana Gurung
Performance: 1 August 2019

The energy, from the first, is dazzling. Audience members step into what looks uncannily like a miniature National Day Parade, waving paper flags while red-clad youths shimmy and strut across the stage. Even the arrangement of the seats is coliseum-like, circling the heart of the stage: a minimalist void deck, which transforms over the course of the performance from gathering spot, to classroom, to Malayan kampong. This transformation re-impresses the point: this place is what you make it to be.

The Community Theatre’s Block Party is a series of vignettes, strung together by the overarching question of what community is. Sometimes uproariously funny, at other times painfully raw, the polish of the performances belies the experience of its young and talented cast. By looking behind the closed walls of the eponymous blocks and tunneling into the hearts of our ubiquitous HDBs, the work gives us access to another kind of reality altogether.

In a particularly wrenching scene, we see a father separated from his daughter by officers patrolling the void deck of their flat. Digging through some refuse, he unearths a parang, and relives in a rush a moment of remembered glory and emancipation. Before the kampongs of the city closed and our resident population was walled into blocks and districts and regions, he says, we were people of the land. The stage darkens; a single spotlight shines on him. But to the policemen watching, he is only a man holding a sharp, unsheathed knife with his small daughter watching on. The criticism is clear: there is always more to every story, something those who do not care for context will never be able to fully understand.

Moments of empowerment and purpose in the play are bookended by scenes showcasing the systemic shackles that keep poverty and disparity in place. Another striking scene is the more artistic exploration of the double-bind of getting “help” in Singapore. With lighting drenching the stage in National Day-red, a sharply-worded song begins to play as a couple seeks “help” from figures representing a mode or stage of assistance in Singaporean society. Here, the musicality of the production serves to emphasise the rote and routine nature of the process of receiving aid. At each juncture, they are asked to lower expectations, or told to let go of their dreams altogether. Echoing our society’s more recent conversations, the audience is left to consider: what is the price of dignity?

Throbbing beneath the cheer and dazzle of the production is the anger. But it isn’t the anger of resignation or capitulation – it is an anger that pushes, propels, and progresses. And while Block Party is unflinching in its crystallization of its cast’s experiences, it is still a party. The production challenges and celebrates community in a breath, encapsulating well the complex relationship with the reality of Singapore as a place they (and we) call home. What makes a community? What builds a home? It might be something we might have the power to create, block by block.

(Reviewer’s note: I didn’t want to write too much on The Community Theatre’s background in the body of the review itself because I wanted my focus to be on the power of the production’s technicality as separate from its social mission. But it is definitely an amazing project – please do check them out!)

 

“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.

“Triple Bill“

Reviewer: Selina Chong
Performance: 1 August 2017

I love the concept of Peer Pleasure. I first encountered it at the M1 Singapore Fringe Festival in 2014, and am happy it has since developed into a full-fledged festival that provides a platform for school groups to stage productions in collaboration with seasoned theatre practitioners. The theme for the 2017 edition of the festival is “The Other”, and Triple Bill explores the concept of alienation, both as a form imposed on an “other”, and as a state experienced by the self.

The first of the three performances is Nonsense. It is devised and performed by young people with Down syndrome and other intellectual differences, and it is impossible not to be moved by the courage of every single performer onstage and to silently cheer on their efforts. Nonsense is a story of people displaced by war. While the concept is pressingly topical, especially in light of increasing anti-immigration sentiments in the US and Europe, I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable throughout the performance. There is little clarity and coherence to the show, and I found myself asking what the audience is supposed to get out of the experience.

The next two performances – The Box by St Anthony’s Canossian Secondary School and How Did I Mess Up This Bad: An Analysis by Unsaid – are punchy. Each expresses a clear message: the former urges us to consider how young people struggle with issues of physical imperfection when they are inundated with images that are unrealistic, while the latter crowd-sourced stories and shows us snapshots of what it means to live with depression. Both performances deliver their respective messages indubitably. Each performance represents, for me, the power of the stage in helping audiences empathise and learn when the production is uncluttered and the message is straightforward.

As an educator, I see young people negotiating their place in the world and figuring out what they stand for on a daily basis. As an audience member, I am very heartened to see so many groups of young people care enough to come together and speak out, to leverage the spotlight and force viewers to think and wonder. To the performers in Triple Bill, thank you for reminding me that it is never foolish to hope.

“Without Reason”

Reviewer: Casidhe Ng
Performance: 4 August 2017

“The darker your skin is, the uglier you are” echoes throughout the space only a few minutes into Without Reason, a statement that is as bold as it is incisive and startling. It is uttered by Vanessa (Jelaine Ng) in response to a question regarding dating someone of a different race. This dilemma becomes the fundamental premise of the show as we see budding couple Wei Yi (Cheryl Tan) and Hazmy (Hafidz Abdul Rahman) navigate the social stigma, familial expectations and deep-rooted stereotypes dating someone of a different race brings. On top of that, Hwa Chong-groomed Wei Yi is to study in Cambridge in a year’s time, which adds further complications to the mix.

We jump back and forth in time, from mid-July to February, in due process seeing how their relationship evolves. Six environments, each indicating spaces Wei Yi and Hazmy inhabit, occupy the stage and facilitate the fragmentary nature of the story well. In one scene, the couple is faced with breaking the truth to their parents individually (Hazmy to his father, Wei Yi to her mum). The scene offers a comparison of different domestic worlds, due in no small part to the wonderful performances by Noor Effendy Ibrahim as Arif, and Tan Wan Sze as Siew Ying, a typical Chinese tiger mum. Domestic scenes where Hazmy and Wei Yi discuss these choices with their conservative parents work more because of the actors than the writing.  Here is an example where the script seems to hinder the work.

The play appears to lose momentum after its second act, becoming repetitive as it belabors the points against Wei Yi and Hazmy’s relationship. Other subplots (such as one involving Hazmy’s wayward brother) aren’t sufficiently fleshed-out, making their scenes feel little more than shouting matches to the audience. The heavy-handed script, which litters lines like “there will always be pork in her blood” and “you know how [Malays] are, they work three days and rest four days” call to attention pertinent stereotypes and prejudices but on occasion detract from the believability of characters. In a scene detailing how Hamzy and Wei Yi met, Wei Yi exclaims, “you guys have such a rich culture!” and “I’ve been to Kampong Glam and Arab Street”: these seem surprisingly unexpected for the scene in question. Nevertheless, it does raise issues of overt and covert xenophobia and racism; and how these under/overtones influence our perspectives and behavior.

Cheryl Tan and Hafidz Abdul Rahman helm the show with wonderful chemistry and intimate moments that encourages the audience to root for their tumultuous romance. Special mention must also go to Dalifah Shahril who embodies the witty and loving Malay mother with exceptional ease while providing the occasional comic relief.

As a whole, Without Reason is hard to fault for the myriad of themes it addresses, even if it may have bitten more than it can chew. There are excellent moments of comedy amidst the heavy-handed messages, and the weak script is rightly compensated by the commendable performances all round. Most importantly, it captures a quintessentially millennial situation: no other generation seems better equipped to do away with the limitations of tradition. As National Day approaches once more, it’s perhaps uplifting to know that by staging works like Without Reason, the coming generation will hopefully be one that requests halal food for a party of “100 Chinese and 1 Malay”.