“一言两语“

Reviewer: Lim Wei Bin | 林维彬
Performance: 23 January 2016

这部戏是因一幅画于1959年间的画而得到启发，剧情分成三个环节，均于1959年间（日期乃黑板上所注）上的三堂课。原本只是来看戏的我，也成了戏里的学生，当真在上一堂马来语课。一开始演员与观众互动教我们马来语。后来，这几幕戏反复学习同样几句。

戏里的老师和学生也在争论一幅画，后者强调画里的浪漫气息，前者却认为那幅画根本不理解他们的语境，听不到他们说的话。1959年，课室内发生这样的紧张与对持使我联想到当时的华人是否渴望拥有属于自己的一片天空，语言的选择方面得到自由，不应被马来亚束缚，而老师那份“现实”的语气清楚地让学生知道只要身在马来亚，便需学马来语，以融入社会。

直到第三场，蒙太奇的戏份登场。师生二人犹如唱大戏般兜圆圈，同一时间用不同的语言叙述同样的故事，老师以马来语叙述，学生则运用华语。这场蒙太奇式的体现，把演出提升到最高点。

当两种语言同时混合出现时，这导致了一种模糊，一种选择。观众是倾听马来语还是华语的部分？最直接的说法是马来观众会听马来语，而华人族群则听华语，简言为各自理解或觉得“舒服”的语言。这不禁让人深思，能运用两种语言的华人会选择听哪一种语言？马来语或华语？

这种选择表面是语言上的选择，背后却隐藏着一种身份认同，课上所学的两句马来语，分别译成华语则是“你叫什么名字？”与“你住在哪里？”这在1959年，还属于马来亚时，本岛上的华人需要学习马来语，在这种语境下，到底自己是什么身份？当时的华人也陷入窘境，可见自我和他者与国籍概念在1959年之产生。这“你住在哪里？”的问题是否也挑战了华族寄人篱下的难处，别有选择，住在别人的地盘，为谋盛，得庇护，就得学习自己并不喜欢的语言吗？他们会浪漫式地回答自己来自中国，还是以现实做考量，述说自己来自马来亚？

我立标题为“一言两语”有一语三关之意。一来、戏里的对白与教课的内容不多，而且简单，来去都只有同样几句话。二来则是因为课上的内容主题相似，却运用了两种语言来表达。最后从微观的角度来看，可见当时的华人能展示两种不同语言的能力。

“National Language Class”

Reviewer: Andrew Yuen
Performance: 22 January 2016

In National Language Class, the meaning and format of the play is established early on. The play’s programme guide resembles a school exercise book, and on the first page is a reproduction of the painting upon which the play is based. As I enter the doors of the City Hall Chamber, I am greeted by the same pastel yellow walls depicted in the painting. As we take our seats, the assembling audience is greeted by a character in the play, a student in white dress uniform. It is clear from the beginning that the border between audience and actor will be a hazy one.

The play exists within a historical present of sorts – the two characters exist within a classroom in the year 1959 and interact with an audience in 2016. It is based on the painting mentioned, and takes place as exchanges between the student, teacher and audience. Adorned on a blackboard is two central questions permeating the play: “what is your name?” and “where do you live?”

The play uses the two questions as a guiding motif. The teacher accosts the audience with the aforementioned questions, and the play is conducted as if we are students in the classroom (in the painting). The question is passed along the room, with each audience member answering with his or her name. Any form of audience participation triggers social anxiety, and yours truly began to sink two inches in his seat.

The performance builds into the typical call and response cadence of a typical classroom. We begin to repeat phrases in Malay to the teacher. I begin to grow frustrated. Why are my fellow audience members so quick to ‘play ball’?

The vocal miming ultimately becomes repetitive. It borders on being too kitschy, too precious. A more charitable, less cynical version of me will say that the very nature of the play has to function with repetition. It allows for a surreal communion between language, teacher and student. The teacher within the play uses a mix of odd miming – at one point he crouches, forming a peace sign with a hand extended. It is ultimately revealed that this odd gestures represent how sound travels, and how students learn a language. It is this very aspect of theatre that makes some lean forward and others to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

This brings me back to the meditation on what national language really is. Perhaps it isn’t something uttered, but performed. In the midst of the cadence of call and response from the audience, perhaps that language has been spoken.

That language is to remain seated.

Remain seated and be compliant.