[Listing] Opera in the Park 2018

The Singapore Lyric Opera brings opera outdoors once again on 23 June 2018, 6 p.m., at the Shaw Foundation Symphony Stage, Singapore Botanic Gardens.

Celebrating the 11th season of its outreach programme, SLO aspires to bring the opera experience to a wider audience through this free outdoor event. This collaboration with SPH Gift of Music Series allows an environment that encourages everyone from all walks of life to join in and immerse themselves in opera music while having a picnic with family and friends. This breaks the formal barrier of a traditional opera setting and brings opera closer to the audience.

2018 is a very special year as it marks the 200th and 100th anniversaries of two special composers—Charles Gounod and Leonard Bernstein respectively. The programme line-up for this year features several classics from these two legends including Gounod’s Romeo et Juliette, Faust; and Bernstein’s Trouble in Tahiti, West Side Story. Another popular favourite, Verdi’s Aida, would also be performed.

Joshua Tan, an emerging star conductor from Singapore, will lead the Orchestra. The concert will also feature soloists from the SLO–Leow Siak Fah Artists Training Programme: Cherie Tse, Zhang Jie, Chieko Sato, Zerlina Tan, Jack Sun, and Dennis Lau. The SLO Chorus and Children Choir will also make a guest appearance at the concert.

Programme
Now in its 11th year, Opera in the Park celebrates the anniversaries of Gounod & Bernstein, with a selection of classical favorites you don’t want to miss.

Gounod   Romeo et Juliette
• Overture
• Je veux vivre (soprano)

Gounod   Faust
• The Jewel Song (soprano)
• Avant de quitter ces lieux (baritone)
• Faites-lui mes aveux (mezzo)
• Soldiers Chorus

Bernstein   Trouble in Tahiti
• What a movie (mezzo)

Bernstein   West Side Story
• I feel pretty (soprano)
• America (soprano, mezzo)
• Tonight quintet

Verdi   Aida
• Gloria all’Egitto (SLO Chorus)
• Egyptian March
• Vieni, o guerriero vindice (SLO Chorus)

Programme not in order of performance
Artists and Programme subject to change
This concert is subject to weather conditions
Concert-goers are advised to take public transport

FREE ADMISSION

Sponsored by
Singapore Press Holdings
SPH Gift of Music Series

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[Theatre Review] More Than Fist-Pumping and Finger-Flicking

Pooja Nansi and Jessica Bellamy navigate the complexities of their lives and how hip-hop figured in it.

Photo: Crispian Chan / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

Thick Beats for Good Girls
Checkpoint Theatre
17 April 2018
Drama Centre Black Box
5–22 April 2018

I never had any affection towards hip-hop. While I appreciate its origins in protest, self-expression, and instantiation of one’s existence, the modern ones that are popular enough to be broadcast constantly seem to be excessive.

Furthermore, whatever ingenuity that reside in the lyrics are often drowned out by brash beats. The majority that pulsate to them seem to do so solely for the largely repetitive beats, and only hardcore fans would bother to look at the lyrics.

As such, it is no surprise that my arms are folded as Checkpoint Theatre’s Thick Beats for Good Girls began. But as the show unfolded, so do my arms.

The show, co-written and performed by Pooja Nansi and Jessica Bellamy, does have its share of railing against society and middle-finger-flicking. But at its heart, it takes particular instances of their personal struggles, and how hip-hop serves as a refuge and an outlet of expression, and compels the audience to consider how this has wider resonances.

The chief merit of the show is its ability to go from relaying very personal anecdotes, such as discovering one’s sexuality vis-à-vis the strictures of their religious upbringing, to speaking about the oppression of the Jews throughout history—a particularly arresting moment by Bellamy.

What is refreshing is their critique of politics, and the illiberalism of certain people who are purportedly advocating for social justice. While the duo do not make an overt connection, the parallels between the prescriptivity of their religions stipulating what makes a good girl, and insinuations of what makes a good feminist (to some, listening to hip-hop is definitely not an ideal trait) are striking.

Through the oft-quoted line of the show in which the pair asks whether one’s feminism is big enough to encompass them, they advocate for a more inclusive movement through an intersectional lens.

While this leaves open the questions of what constitutes an intersection and whether a movement must truly account for all intersections, even if they conflict with each other, the pair must be thanked for introducing an often overlooked nuance in the debate.

With this being a very personal show, it is buoyed up by the friendship that the performers share. While Pooja Nansi, started off somewhat cautiously, she soon got into the groove (what is the hip-hop equivalent?) of things. From then on, there is an ease of interaction on stage and both happily role-play various characters in each other’s anecdotes, which makes it all the more entertaining.

That said, like the music they love, the show does have its excesses. While I appreciate the conscious effort having parallel stories for every theme, not all of them are as impactful as the ones presented by the other. Additionally, the choice of transition in which the performers ask whether good girls should do certain things starts off as an intellectual provocation, but it soon turns into a trope. After a while, one stops listening to the question and simply waits for the next anecdote.

Even though my arms are unfolded, one will not see me gyrate on the dance floor or pump my fist in the air anytime soon. However, if there is an incidental encounter with hip-hop music, I would be happy to strain my ears and tease out the thick message within the thick beats.   

Other Reviews

The soundtrack of their youthby Olivia Ho, The Straits Times Life! 

Sisters are doing it for themselvesby Christian W. Huber, Centre 42 Citizens’ Reviews

‘Thick Beats for Good Girls’ Keeps it 100by Patricia Tobin, ArtsEquator

Thick Beats for Good Girlsby Naeem Kapadia, CrystalWords

Thick Beats for Good Girls: A Love Letter to Hip-Hop | Singapore Theatre Reviewby Arman Shah, The Everyday People

Review: Thick Beats for Good Girls by Checkpoint Theatreby Richard Neo, Bak Chor Mee Boy

Thick Beats for Good Girls: Breaking Down Social Constructs with Hip Hop by Teo Dawn, Popspoken

[Theatre Review] A Love Letter to Waterloo Street

Four Horse Road
The Theatre Practice
12 April 2018
42, 48, and 54 Waterloo Street
4–28 April 2018

Ghosts in school hallways; a showdown at a Chinese restaurant; a drunk man believing himself to be Jesus; mutinous sepoys—these are some of the 11 stories regaled by The Theatre Practice about Waterloo Street and its immediate vicinity.

Performed in various nooks and crannies of Centre 42, Chinese Calligraphy Society of Singapore, and The Theatre Practice (situated at 42, 48, and 54 Waterloo Street respectively), Four Horse Road is playwright Jonathan Lim’s love letter to the area where he grew up, studied, and occasionally worked.

In these stories, Lim employs some artistic license in creating vignettes that are inspired by true stories and historical facts about the surrounding area.

With several groups of people walking around three relative small compounds, it is nothing short of a logistical marvel that I did not encounter human traffic problems or delays in the various performances.

The novelty of some of the lesser known stories is complemented by generally excellent performances of the cast (full cast list). Two standout performers are Andrew James Mowatt and Johnny Ng.

Mowatt plays Dr Van der Hoot, a teacher of Dutch descent who is staying at the Nantina Home for the Aged and Destitute, and Major Wortmann, an SS officer.

For the former, the audience enters the scene on the pretext of a monthly tea session and we are supposed to spend time with the residents. We are allowed to choose which resident to converse with based on how comfortable we are in the language the resident converses in. As Dr Van der Hoot, Mowatt exudes a friendly but slightly shifty demeanour, as we later find out that he had to leave Singapore due to a scandal with a student. Despite facing a generally reticent group of visitors, Mowatt keeps the conversation alive, interspersing some jokes with his scripted lines.

Where one really feels Mowatt’s presence is when he is the German officer, Major Wortmann. In the May Blossom restaurant (a lovely set-up done at the courtyard of Centre 42), Major Onishi (Johnny Ng) and Major Wortmann are important guests, given that their armies currently have the upperhand in the war. Wortmann is stony-faced and occasionally accepts the drink offered to him by a Japanese girl. Suddenly, his eyes flickers and he catches sight of me sitting at the opposite table. This compels me to immediately look away, not wanting to draw unnecessarily attention to myself, much less a Nazi officer.

Onishi soon enters, but the festivities do not last long. We soon learn that the restaurant has been infiltrated by the anti-Japanese resistance, and they soon ambush Onishi, pressuring him to release their leader, Lai Teck. Despite being surrounded, Johnny Ng as the Japanese officer exudes a certain knowing calmness that unsettles everyone. He plays with the intonation of his text, turning it into a veiled threat, thus ratcheting up the tension. This is an excellent display of an actor milking the text for all its worth.

On the whole, this scene tempo of this scene is taut and we soon find ourselves at the heart of the conflict. As an indication, I started flinching and preparing to cover my ears when the guns are pulled, thinking that the actors would fire blanks. It is only after leaving the scene that my scant military knowledge reminds me that authorities would never approve of actors firing blanks at such close range because there is still a high risk of severe injury. Such is the general immersive nature of the show.

Alas, there are some weakness. Rather than enumerate them, I will respond to Corrie Tan’s criticisms of the show as a starting point. After all, when the usually even-tempered Corrie Tan thoroughly excoriates a show, any local critic worth his or her salt must take notice.

To unjustly sum up her points: there is an imbalance of representation in terms of languages and characters; characters from minority races are often reduced to tropes; it sidesteps any political issues and generally perpetuates the myth that Singapore has successfully overcome the barriers of multicultural interaction.

Had this show meant to represent the history of Singapore rather than a neighbourhood, I would wholeheartedly agree with Tan’s critique.

First, Tan’s point about an imbalance of languages represented is heavily based on her and her friend’s experience. As such, I believe that she slightly overstates her case. Her sheer comfort with the languages is due to her linguistic talent.

It is important to note that the Southern Chinese languages are not completely mutually intelligible. Her point about the language composition of the show privileging the Chinese may apply to those of an older generation who are conversant in two Chinese languages, while having some knowledge of the others. However, being half a generation younger than Ms Tan, I do struggle with the Southern Chinese languages and have no idea what the character is saying, save for a few words.

That said, there is no reason for the convent school students to be conversing in Mandarin, as they worry about there being an Orang Minyak in the hallway. The milieu that they would have grown up in would mean that it is highly probable that they would be speaking in English. With this change, there will be three scenes that will be completely in English (assuming that you choose to speak to Irwan or Dr Van der Hoot when you visit the Nantina Home).

With regard to the imbalance of characters represented, that would depend on the availability of historical research on places such as the Bras Basah gaol. Even if there were lack of credible historical records, I agree with Tan that the non-Chinese characters are often linked to ghosts and other mystical exotica.

The criticism of the show’s reluctance to address political issues and perpetuating a myth of complete inter-racial social cohesion may be true, but is it a fair one? It is tough to decide.

For starters, despite the scale of the production, it has the modest aims of telling the audience lesser known stories about the place and impress upon them that our history is more colourful than we think. In the programme notes, director Kuo Jian Hong writes that the show “paints of colourful and complex tapestry [sic] of Singapore’s cultures, thus enriching our understanding of the past and allowing us to reflect on what it truly means to belong to a place.” Additionally, playwright Jonathan Lim implores his audience to “please, please remember [the stories].”

Hence, it is clear that the show is not focused on interrogating, as Tan puts it, “contemporary structures of race, ethnicity and language.” Besides, to do so, one need not focus extensively and exclusively on history as this show has done. Should a critic then criticise something that is not clearly within the aims of the production? Personally, I struggle with that question because saying that a show should stretch its ambitions beyond what it has presented can be a valid point.

Yet, one still can ask, what is the point of remembering these stories beyond personal edification? Why these particular stories? If remembering history is so important, why did the playwright blend fact and fiction in the various scenes? How does having a knowledge of history allow one to understand what it “truly means to belong to a place”, especially when there is a distinct disjuncture between the past and present in Singapore?

The show leaves those questions out. The closest thing to painting a complex history that the production achieves is a throwaway line by a Japanese Mamasan in a scene where a gaggle of prostitutes regale the events of the 1915 Sepoy mutiny in all its camp glory. It goes along the lines of let it be known that the Japanese and Singaporeans fought together to bring peace to the country—a weak attempt to address the perception of the Japanese are evil in the past due to its invasion of Singapore in WWII.

As quickly as that line is forgotten, it is likely that these stories will share the same fate. But this does not preclude a fun night out with the great cast of Four Horse Road.

Selected Reviews

Four Horse Road: A fun take on Waterloo Street’s historyby Benson Ang, The Straits Times Life!

‘Four Horse Road’: buried histories and blind spotsby Corrie Tan, ArtsEquator

Patchwork Histories by Jevon Chandra, Centre 42 Citizens’ Reviews

Four Horse Road 四马路by Teo Dawn 

Review: 四马路 Four Horse Road by The Theatre Practiceby Bak Chor Mee Boy

[Theatre Review] Dancing Beautifully on a Knife’s Edge

Potong is a gem of a play that deals with several issues subtly and sensitively.

Potong
Teater Ekamatra
22 March 2018
Malay Heritage Centre Auditorium
21–25 March 2018

Theatre exists in many guises and is constantly undergoing tremendous amounts of change. Despite the constant flux in tastes and aesthetics, a common aspect that often recurs is the theatre-makers’ appetite for addressing social issues.

However much we must applaud their valiant efforts, we often get pieces that screech at the choir; spread thin in trying to cover as many issues as possible; or renege on its promise to present, as Scottish theatre critic Joyce McMillan puts it, “a new and original version of the world.”[1]

Johnny Jon Jon’s Potong is none of these. Not only does he avoid the usual traps, his ambitions of addressing issues of dementia, traditions, and gender identity in a single play is akin to navigating a minefield on a pogo stick, while being blindfolded, with one leg in a cast, and his dominant hand being tied behind his back. For some reason, he navigates it without a scratch.

His plot revolves around Adam, who is of mixed heritage, being asked by his mother to return to Singapore from Australia to go through two rites of passages: circumcision and National Service. He is tasked to find his uncle, who turned out to be a transvestite, and he also discovers that his grandmother is suffering from dementia. Apart from dealing with the culture shock and finding out about his extended family, Adam struggles with fulfilling his mother’s wishes. Perhaps the biggest shock would be finding out the actual reason behind his mother insisting that he goes to Singapore, and geographical distance does not preclude similarities in circumstances.

Despite the gravity of the issues addressed, Johnny exhibits his razor-sharp wit in filling the lines with double entendres, jokes, and quick retorts. Apart from creating a certain sense of familiarity amongst the characters, the levity of the lines eases the audience into poignant moments, such as the phone conversations between Leha (Adam’s mother) and Salleh (Adam’s uncle), where the latter urges the former to return to Singapore; to return home.

Additionally, they prevent the audience from crumbling into an emotional wreck, thereby abandoning reflections on some of the unanswerable questions implied by the play. For example, who is Salleh given that his mother rejected him when he dresses up as a woman, but having been stricken with dementia, recognises him as her daughter, Leha, and effectively forgetting her son?

Despite the complexity and the hard-hitting themes of the play, the actors took their roles with a certain lightness of touch.

Having largely seen her in abstract and devised pieces, Farah Ong as Leha is refreshing. The subtlety in her approach gives one a sense that not all is well, but one only knows what that is towards the end. This makes the show all the more poignant, and it is an excellent display of Ong’s versatility and maturity in her craft.

Salif Hardie’s earnest portrayal of Adam is a nice counterweight to the general sombre atmosphere surrounding Leha and Salleh. It is interesting to see the evolution of his innocence to realising the gravity of the situation and the weight of responsibilities that he has to bear.

While Dr Dini, the circumcision specialist, is much less flamboyant than Munah Bagharib’s YouTube persona, she attacks the role with a sparkle in her eye. Munah’s knack for comic timing is apparent and her repartee in contrast to a bemused Adam provide a much-needed interlude to the heavy play.

Mohd Fared Jainal as Salleh really hits all the emotional buttons. He threatens to reduce audience members to a sobbing mess whenever he speaks to his sister or explains to Adam about the family situation. The tenderness mixed with a tinge of wistfulness and resignation speaks of the sacrifices a caregiver makes, and of duty and love that drives him to carry on. At the same time, his campiness when in drag injects much hilarity in the first half of the play. However, the novelty does wear off a little and it almost teethers on being monotonous later on in the play.

At this juncture, it is apparent that realising the playwright’s vision is no mean feat. Not only did director Irfan Kasban realise Johnny’s vision, he deserves additional plaudits for his for having the actors break the moment and exiting or transiting each scene with a certain slowness. This artifice not only signifies time passing as a character despite the actor exiting and entering the scene within minutes of each action, it also creates a certain porousness within the static set. This allows different characters in different settings to exist within the same space.

That said, some of these moments of rapture from the generally naturalistic nature of the scenes are not well-timed. As a result, some of the most emotional moments were prematurely cut off, and the actors have to build the emotional trajectory from scratch again. Despite the minor flaw, the actors did manage to do so, which is a testament of their skill.

Potong (which means cut in Bahasa Melayu, by the way) it any way you like, this show is truly a gem of a play. It is abominable that Johnny Jon Jon has suggested in the programme notes that this might be his last full-length play. One hopes that his muses make haste and compel him to write another.

[1] McMillan, Joyce. “Jotters.” In Theatre in Scotland: A Field of Dreams., edited by Philip Howard, 50. London, UK: Nick Hern Books, 2016.

Other Reviews

Teater Ekamatra’s Potong: When ties to the past are cutby Akshita Nanda, The Straits Times Life!

‘Potong’ by Teater Ekamatra: Of Kin and Skinby Akanksha Raja, Arts Equator

Review: Potong by Teater Ekamatraby Bak Chor Mee Boy

[Interview] Pooja Nansi and Jessica Bellamy on Good Girls and Thick Beats

Photo: Joel Lim @ Calibre Pictures, Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

To kick off their 2018 season, Checkpoint Theatre presents Thick Beats for Good Girls. To find out what exactly are “thick beats” or “good girls”, I decided to interview writer-performers Pooja Nansi and Jessica Bellamy.

Both of you come from different cultures. What do you think is your culture’s view of what constitutes a good girl?

Jessica A good Jewish girl is respectful. She doesn’t draw too much attention to herself. She accepts the rules taught to her by her community. She is, of course, allowed to have fun, to express herself, to find joy—but she is also very aware of how her community might feel about some types of behaviour being more acceptable than others.

Pooja: A good Gujarati girl knows how to make the perfect rotli. She puts her community before herself and considers how others will see her before making choices in the way she dresses, who she dates and the things she chooses to say.

What was your first encounter when you were told or felt that you did not fit into society’s definition of a good girl?

Jessica:  Before I started making theatre, I was in a Jewish monoculture “bubble”. I went to a Jewish school and had Jewish friends. It was only when I took up student theatre in university that I encountered a much wider array of different personalities. Suddenly I realised there was a wider world out there than just being a good Jewish girl. And out here, I could do whatever I wanted.

Pooja:  When I was about eight years old, my maternal grandfather passed away and it was the first time I was told that women were not allowed to perform certain rites in the funeral. It was then that I realised that I lived in a world where women and men couldn’t do exactly the same things. But I remember thinking, “Who is going to stop me from doing exactly what I want?”

What was the first thick beat that you really resonated with? Why?

Pooja: It was hearing “Rumpshaker” by Wreckx-N-Effect at Killimanjaros on Boat Quay on the 27th of Nov 1998. It was my 18th birthday and I had never before experienced anything quite as euphoric as a whole room full of people chanting to the same beat and the same song.

Jessica:  Kanye West’s album, 808s & Heartbreaks, straddled too many genres for me not to notice it. It was an album of lovesick, heartbroken ballads. I knew that sort of music very well from the blues and roots music I loved. When I realised this music could be teamed with dexterous lyrics, cheek and swagger, I was sold.

While some hip-hop and gangster rap are expressions of protest, there are some that have themes of gratuitous violence and sex. Given your strong interests in social justice, how do you reconcile both sides of the genre?

Jessica: There’s nothing wrong with writing about violence or sex. The problem is performing violence as well as non-consensual sexuality. It is important for people to recognise that all rap artists have the ability to write fiction. Just because their lyrics are presented passionately or crudely doesn’t mean this particular person did those things. But, evoking a world where people behave in this way is important, because it does exist. It holds a mirror to life, where the colour of your skin might determine the education you receive, your treatment by the criminal justice system, and your ability to survive a traffic stop. Like the best literature, rap music forces us to think deeply about our values.

Pooja: If you are living in a community in which you constantly feel the threat of violence and aggression against yourself and against the people that you love, it’s not surprising that the art that you make would reflect this reality.

I think the question we need to ask is: What’s the bigger problem? The violence in the lyrics, or the fact that there are entire communities in that position to begin with? I also think that sometimes when you’re up against a wall, the only way to exact change is to skip the perfunctory polite conversations and use anger instead. Writer and civil rights activist Audre Lorde says that anger expressed and translated into action, in the service of our future, is a liberating and strengthening act of clarification. Anger can be a powerful source of information and energy, and that for me is hip-hop at its best.

While both of you are no strangers to theatre, you are primarily known as writers. What is one thing that actors can learn from writers and vice versa?

Pooja: I am discovering the ridiculous amount of stamina you need as an actor!

Jessica: And in particular: actors who can also dance! HOW DO THEY DO IT?

Pooja: There’s also that interesting tension between thinking about the text as a performer and wanting to constantly tweak it as a writer. The thing about wearing both hats is that you can keep shaping the piece infinitely, which can be both exhilarating and exhausting.

Jessica: Any creative process is a beautiful tussle however, and I’m enjoying this internal tussle very much.

As this is a very personal play, are there any personal discoveries about yourself or each other that have arisen in the course of rehearsals?

Jessica: Pooja introduced me to her hairdresser and I love him. Now I have to fly to Singapore every time I want my hair cut.

Pooja: Jess wears print on print with so much swagger, it is ridiculous.

What is one thick beat that everyone should listen to right now?

Jessica: Nicki Minaj’s “Feeling Myself”. It’s an essential reminder for self-love during a time of struggle.

Pooja: Kendrick Lamar’s “Alright”. It’s the hope we all need in a difficult time.

Thick Beats for Good Girls runs from 5–22 April 2018 at Drama Centre Black Box, National Library. Tickets from Sistic.

A First Serious Encounter with Carnatic Music

Swathi Orchestra musicians with their mentors.

Due to my earlier acquaintances with Bhaskar’s Arts Academy (BAA), I was recently invited to attend Sangeetha Sagaram, a Carnatic concert by BAA’s Swathi Orchestra. While it was not my first time listening to Carnatic music, my previous encounters have always been in the context of a dance performance. As such, it is my first time simply listening to the music and letting it speak for itself.

Established in 2015 with the aim of promoting the growth of Carnatic music in Singapore, the orchestra consists of some music students from BAA’s education arm, Nrityalaya Aesthetics Society. It comprises 13 performers: five vocalists (Greeshmah Paramesuaran, Keerthana Babu Gopakumar Nair, Lalitha Rajandran, Sathiyan Sahana, Sreelakshimi Subramaniam), two vainikas (Preetashini Nagarajah and Raja Sankar Vasudha Sankar), two violinists (C Abhilash Mohan and Vismitha Rajeev), two flautists (Kalaiselvam Panesilvam and Logindran Govindarasu), and two percussionists (Arul Kumaran Gun Shekeran and Prashanth TR).

The concert has eight items, and as with tradition, it opens with a Varnam. Composed by Tachur Singarachari, it starts with the violin before the mridangam and kanjira enter with a strong rhythm. Such a counterpoint encapsulates the beauty of Carnatic music—the instruments have a distinct function, and while the different timbres and rhythms played appear to be in conflict, they somehow come together quite beautifully.

In “Sri Sakala Ganadhipa” by Balamuralikhrishna, which is a devotional song that invokes Ganesha, Hanuman, and Sri Krishna, we have a meditative invocation by the flute. That is mirrored by the vocalists in the starting portion, before picking up the pace of what turned out to be a vibrant and delightful song.

Speaking of vocalists, “Paripalayamam” by Swathi Thirunal, a famous Maharajah in the 19th century, best illustrates the difficulties that the vocalists have to deal with. This devotional may appear simple with its repetitions, but the singers have to be absolutely stable in maintaining the tempo, and not be carried away by the intoxicating drumming. Furthermore, the vocal ornamentations, such as the bending and oscillations of the notes, seemed to be subtler in this piece. However, I am happy to report that vocalists managed to meet the demands quite admirably.

My favourite piece of the whole repertoire has to be “Kapali” by Papanasam Sivan as various sections of the ensemble are given a little solo to show off their musicianship. The song starts off with a relatively simple but soulful melody. But the mettle of the musicians was soon tested as there are a few quick passages that required some coordination across the various sections, and they were handled with aplomb.

While it is generally known that musicians are required to improvise within certain constraints, it was impossible to tell which sections were actually improvised as they all seemed so intricate and well-coordinated. Perhaps, that is a testament to the skill of this young orchestra, as the concert leaves any outsider wishing they had more knowledge of what was going on, or the meaning of the words, so that they could appreciate it at a deeper level.

Swathi Orchestra is certainly off to a good start, and one hopes that it will grow and continue to nurture the next generation of local Carnatic musicians.

Sangeetha Sagaram was performed on 18 March 2018 at Goodman Arts Centre Black Box.

[Flash Theatre Review] Much Ado About Very Little

History is contingent and written by the victors—so what?

Blood & Rose Ensemble

Shakespeare’s Wild Sisters Group

25 February 2018

Esplanade Theatre Studio

23–25 February 2018

To illustrate the contingency of history, this production is shot through with meta-theatricality.

Several art forms [Foley sound effects, Shuang Huang (双簧), movements from Chinese opera, pop music, etc.] are employed to continuously highlight the performativity of the piece as well as the history of War of the Roses.

While it is generally intriguing and entertaining, the novelty of it fades after a while. Yes, in some senses, history and life as a whole is contingent—so what? It’s much ado about very little.

Furthermore, the lightness of touch erases the humanity of the characters, which what makes Shakespeare’s Henry VI part 3 and Richard III interesting.

You don’t need two hours to tell us that out lives are contingent and—in the grand scheme of things—our desires, struggles, and strife are petty.

[Dance Review] More of a Fairy Tale than Andersen’s Original

Podesta’s feminist retelling of The Little Mermaid strips the tale of its interpretative possibilities.

Photo: Crispian Chan

The Immortal Sole

Edith Podesta

18 January 2018

Esplanade Theatre Studio

17–20 January 2018

We often describe something as a fairy tale to mean that it is fanciful or one-dimensional. If that is so, then Edith Podesta’s latest attempt to retell The Little Mermaid is more of a fairy tale than Hans Christian Andersen’s original yarn.

The initial portion of the original tale sees the mermaid visiting the world inhabited by human beings. She falls in love with a prince and saves him when a storm hits his ship. As the prince is unconscious, he does not know of her existence. On finding out that humans have an immortal soul, she seeks out a witch. Despite learning that she can become human exchange for an excruciating physical sacrifice, the mermaid consciously agrees to go through the pain.

Such a tale raises questions such as what it means to be human, and whether the mermaid made her choice because she loved the prince or she wanted immortality.

In The Immortal Sole, Podesta appropriates this tale as an allegory of what one must go through to become a woman.

As such, Little Mermaid (Koh Wan Ching) does not fall in love with the prince, but develops an unhealthy obsession with him, and wails lyrics to “Toxic” by Britney Spears to a Ken doll.

Instead of being given a choice, Podesta’s mermaid is cajoled by the witch and her posse (Ma Yanling, Dapheny Chen, and Yarra Ileto) to fit in, as the former endures the group campily lip syncing to Spears’ “Work Bitch”. A similar sequence, but this time with Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money”, occurs towards the latter half of the show, when the mermaid fails to make the prince fall in love with her.

In terms of movement vocabulary, while there are some beautiful synchronised movements in the shallow pool of water (wonderfully designed by Adrian Tan), we see the choreographic shorthand for internal turmoil—body convulsions and silent screams.

Unfortunately, they are not effective as they have been employed by one-too-many choreographers. Furthermore, these moments are not well-earned as the major conflicts in the story are diluted by the abovementioned lip sync sequences.

In another scene, having attained human legs, we see the mermaid being pressured by the witch and her posse to cock a hip and strike various poses—a patently obvious reference to body image issues that plague women. As the soundscape (also designed by Adrian Tan) intensifies, I thought the scene would culminate into a disclosure of something more profound. But all one gets is the use of strobe lighting, and we see snatches of the whole ensemble striking different poses in mid-air whenever the light flashes. This goes on for quite a while—a waste of technical wizardry and the performers’ athleticism.

In sum, The Immortal Sole is merely a reiteration of broad talking points, but it adds nothing to the discourse.

Worse still, Podesta strips Little Mermaid of her agency and, like a fish out of water, she is completely helpless against the seemingly malicious demands of society. Unlike the mermaid of the original tale, this mermaid hardly elicits any sympathy, and the show does a disservice to women out there who have truly struggled and pushed back.

Leaving the theatre, I realised that I would have a much better understanding of the difficulties women face in society by having a heartfelt conversation with my mother over supper.

More importantly, the ticket price of $27, which came out of my pocketbook, would have made for a rather hearty supper.

Other Reviews

“Notions of ideal beauty gone in a splash” by Germaine Cheng, The Straits Times Life! 

“M1 Fringe Festival 2018: The Immortal Sole by Edith Podesta (Review)” by Bak Chor Mee Boy

[Dance Review] Innovative Adoration

Bosque Adora
Rocío Molina (with Eduardo Guerrero and Fernando Jiménez)
27 October 2017
Esplanade Theatre
27–28 October 2017

The conflict between the purists and innovators in dance is a long one that crops up in any genre. Had both sides shared a box during Rocío Molina’s Bosque Adora, they will be confused… in a good way.

Conceptually, the rituals of hunting and mating, and the dynamics between the masculine and feminine are staple themes. Additionally, fans of Molina’s usual abstract approach to flamenco would be surprised by the almost linear progression of her work.
Yet, the work is far from letting the general audience shouting olé at the end of each segment, or the aficionados from clapping the rhythms of the dance. So far, in fact, that we find ourselves in the heart of a forest, after watching an intricate film of Molina racing across the landscape on horseback before being thrown off while she tried to cross the river.

From there, she emerges as an enigmatic and long-snouted vixen, with a mask on the top of her head. A British counterpart likens it to the Teumessian fox. Be it a mythical animal that cannot be caught, or a sleek and alluring animal, this patch of land is clearly hers, and she easily dominates the men (Eduardo Guerrero and Fernando Jiménez). This starts the process of hunting, seduction, mating, hangover, solitude, and being hunted.

Throughout the 90 minutes, Molina employs a movement vocabulary influenced by modern dance, cabaret, flamenco and many others. But rather than cautiously picking out certain things based on genre, her allegiance is to what she is trying to convey.
Even within the flamenco idiom, she is keen to push the envelope by breaking body lines, flexing one’s feet, and having an echo audio effects that would annoy any purist who believes that rhythm is the heart of flamenco.

All these culminate in a thrilling display of corporeal virtuosity that evokes the animalistic nature in all of us. This is complemented by her fellow dancers. Eduardo Guerrero is a suave feline on the prowl, while Fernando Jiménez emanates strength and machismo. Molina manipulates them by straddling the former and snatching an orange from the latter’s mouth, but she soon finds herself entangled in a power play—the hunter and the hunted are both sides of the same coin.

If the dancers are the main course, the music is the sauce. The trombones, electronic effects, and percussion dominate the first half, which create a heady atmosphere for the rituals of hunting and mating taking place. The percussion also adds to the hypnosis when Pablo Martín Jones adds gamelan-like quality to the sound by playing various rhythms with the instruments scattered on the floor. The lilt of the guitar comes in the second half which eases the tension slightly and brings us back to familiar ground.

While the dream that we are thrown into ends abruptly in the final scene, one leaves the theatre with a pleasant hangover; unsure of what just happened, but ever so ready to be thrown back into the forest again.

Other Review

“Bosque Ardora (Forest Worship) – review” by Stephanie Burridge, FiveLines

Interview

“Rocío Molina ‘my work is intuitive’, interview” by Ezekiel Oliveira, FiveLines

[Listing] Fun Home by Pangdemonium!

To round off their 2017 Season, Pangdemonium is performing FUN HOME, the stunning musical about a family that’s nothing like yours and exactly like yours.

Based on Alison Bechdel’s best-selling graphic memoir, the piece interacts with Bechdel at three different ages. Moving between past and present, it reveals her unique childhood, a growing understanding of her own sexuality and how she handles her uniquely dysfunctional family. FUN HOME is a gripping portrayal of a daughter’s determination to connect with her volatile, brilliant father whose temperament and secrets have defined her family and her life.

“FUN HOME is an exhilarating, heart wrenching, and moving musical which will resonate with anyone who has ever felt different, even within their own family. The story—based on real life experiences of Alison Bechdel—is a roller-coaster of comedy and tragedy, and the songs are sublimely beautiful. Be prepared for a truly unique and unforgettable musical theatre experience.” said Adrian and Tracie Pang, Artistic Directors of Pangdemonium.

Winner of five Tony Awards, including Best Score and Best Book, the haunting melodies of Jeanine Tesori and poetic lyrics of Lisa Kron set a foundation for this refreshingly honest musical.

Starring Adrian Pang, Monique Wilson, Nikki Muller, Elena Wang, Benjamin Kheng, Gail Belmonte, Chloe Choo, Elly Gaskell, Aria Zhang, Damien Weber, and Bjorn Haakenson.

Named Best Musical of the Year by the New York Times, FUN HOME is a daring and innovative work about seeing your parents through grown up eyes. The Singaporean debut of this intimate and emotional theatrical experience is not to be missed!

FUN HOME runs from 29 September–15 October at the Drama Centre Theatre, Rated R18, Tickets from Sistic