“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.

“Maid Live Under Surveillance“

Reviewer: Cordelia Lee
Performance: 13 July 2018

My palms turn numb from 30 seconds of uninterrupted applause. But for the first time, applause alone feels insufficient. I feel my bodyweight shift to my feet as I inch forward, rising from my seat.

It finally happens – my first standing ovation.

Written by local playwright Thomas Lim, Supervision comes after his acclaimed debut play, Grandmother Tongue, played to full houses in 2016 and 2017. Repeating what he does best, Lim approaches macrosocial concerns by exploring the effects they have on a micro level, within the familial sphere. Prevailing anti-foreigner sentiments and misplaced fears about migrant and domestic workers in society have led to wary locals labelling them as a dangerous “other”. Lim encapsulates these tensions through the complex characters and painfully honest dialogue in his script, exploring how this scepticism of the “other” drives local employers to infringe on domestic helpers’ privacy within the home.

Lim’s thought-provoking script materialises beautifully in the theatre, thanks to the production’s strong cast. The 90-minute performance is kept extremely tight. Lines are delivered clearly, rolling out successively without any lags; this makes even the longest dialogues easily digestible for the audience. Umi Kalthum Ismail puts up a noteworthy performance as Yanti, an unassuming Indonesian domestic worker. She effortlessly embodies familiar characteristics of the average domestic worker without falling into the trap of clichés. In addition to maintaining a consistent Indonesian accent, she pays careful attention to her physicality throughout her performance, varying it as her character faces different situations. She scurries with her head bowed in one scene, docile and obedient as Jenny (Janice Koh) sharply beckons her. In contrast, she appears more relaxed when alone with Jenny’s father, Kian Keong (Patrick Teoh), and is respectfully outspoken in their conversations. By layering her character, Umi creates an organic, multifaceted Yanti that leaves an impression on the audience.

Set and multimedia design also aptly complement the play. Regardless of where they are seated around the stage, audience members are unable to view the action unfolding in at least one of the four rooms situated at the corners of the stage. At one point, live footage of Yanti crying in her room plays on the overhead screens as hidden surveillance cameras reveal what is blocked from my view. I inevitably participate in this panoptic gaze by simply watching, and, together with Jenny, become complicit in the invasion of Yanti’s privacy. This unique directorial decision places the audience in an uncomfortable position, actively provoking them to reevaluate the validity of such normative practices in households.

To find a production that hits all the right notes thematically and performatively under two hours is a rarity. To find one that does all of that without a single glitch is to hold up a middle finger to Murphy’s Law. And as impossible as it sounds, Supervision does just that.