[Dance Review] Bharatanatyam and Thai Classical Dance Take Flight

Bharatanatyam and Thai classical dance truly intertwine in this production laden with significance. 

Photo: Vilvam Ramu

Manohra
Bhaskar’s Arts Academy and independent Thai artistes
9 September 2018
Esplanade Theatre Studio
8–9 September 2018

Manohra, a mythical Kinnari (bird-human creature), who was chanced upon by a hunter; captured and sold to a prince; became a princess; was asked by the king to sacrifice herself while the prince was at war, but escaped; and wooed back to the palace by the prince is certainly an epic tale.

But not many would know that the transmission of the tale matches the grandeur of the plot.

The tale is one of many Jakata tales, which form part of the Buddhist literature that is native to India. It travelled to Thailand and soon became an iconic dance-drama. A chance encounter of the tale in 1990 inspired Mrs Santha Bhaskar, artistic director of BAA, to interpret it through bharatanatyam and make it a mainstay of BAA’s repertoire, thus returning it to Indian culture through dance.

It is in this context that Manohra has truly come full circle in this third iteration, as we see bharatanatyam and Thai classical dance coming together to tell the story.

It is a partnership in all senses of the word as Mrs Bhaskar’s choreography intertwines both art forms, rather than allowing it to merely co-exist.

This is clearly seen in the first half of Kinnari dance with certain hand gestures, the signature cocked leg, and shuffling of feet before transiting into the second half, which sees more rigorous movements and footwork. While the dancers (Chayanee Sunthonmalai, Davinya Ramathas, Malini Bhaskar, Montakarn Roikaew, Priyadarshini Nagarajah, and Sarenniya Ramathas) are clearly more comfortable in their respective art forms, all of them dance beautifully and regally among plumes of smoke. 

The Mythical Kinnaris. (Photo: Tan Ngiap Heng / Courtesy of Bhaskar’s Arts Academy)

Another thing that stands out about this interpretation is the space given to Manohra’s thoughts and feelings. This augurs well with the expressiveness of Bharatanatyam in terms of movements and facial expressions. Shruthilaya Ramachandran, as Manohra, steps up to the plate admirably as she is able to convey the depth of emotion needed without making it a sob story. Set against Prince Sudhana’s (Puwapon Pinyolapkasam) subtler movements, it is clear that Manohra drives the plot.

Pinyolapkasam is defined by stillness with an active presence. And in it lies an excruciating exactitude in the execution of his movements. His fingers are constantly arched backwards, and every step is slowly placed on the ground, activating every bit of muscle in his feet.

Despite the movements being gentler in nature, his virtuosity shines through in quicker sequences such as when the prince is being put to the test of identifying Manohra among her Kinnari sisters in order to bring her back to the palace. He has to pulse his body and execute small steps to a rather quick tempo, while maintaining the stillness in the carriage of his upper body, and exuding an overall sense of grace and style. Like a thrilling illusion, one cannot stop wondering about the technique behind what one sees.   

Shruthilaya Ramachandran (left) as Manohra and Puwapon Pinyolapkasam (right) as Prince Sudhana (Photo: Tan Ngiap Heng / Courtesy of Bhaskar’s Arts Academy)

The other principal characters do not pale in comparison. Sarinprapa Bhutrachinda, is serpentine and flexible as Spirit of Doom; Nishalini Lakchimanathas indulges in moustache-twirling villainy as the cunning minister who advises the king to get rid of Manohra; and the energetic Bala Saravanan Loganathan who plays the hunter and King Adityavamasa to equal aplomb.

As if there aren’t enough to take in, contemporary choreography, possibly by Malini Bhaskar and Pallavi Sharma (as they are cited as having provided additional choreography), is performed by an ensemble of younger dancers who represent the obstacles that the prince has to overcome. On the surface, bodies on the floor shooting up at different times into a sort of a crunch may seem like an aberration when it is set against classical Asian music. But for some reason, it works and it is a testament to the innovative streak of BAA.

Speaking of music, the composition by Ghanavenothan Retnam, in close collaboration with Dr Anant Narkkong, mirrors the dance. Both classical Indian and Thai music have their solo moments, but it is when they come together that something exciting happens.

The percussion of the tabla (played by Hem Kumar) and mridangam (played by S Harikrishnan) provide the heartbeat while the ranat (Thai wooden xylophone played by Tossaporn Tassana) provides a snappy and cheery lilt, which harmonises with the veena (played by TK Arun), violin (played by TV Sajith), flute (played by Ghanavenothan Retnam), and vocals (Ampili Pillai and Arasakumari Nagaradjane). Other featured instruments include the Saw Duang and Klong Tuk (played by Dr Anant Narkkong).

This culminates in a ritualistic but jovial music as Prince Sudhana dances with the Kinnaris in order to identify who amongst them is Manohra.

Another highlight sees the inclusion of lyrics and vocalisation that almost sounds like a rap in Tamil and Thai to introduce the cunning minister.     

While there is a wonderful balance in the movement and musical vocabularies, the same cannot be said of the story-telling. Certain key dramatic moments are not given enough emphasis. It is tough to tell when Manohra actually falls in love with the prince as she goes from being hesitant and unwilling to suddenly smiling and striking a pose with him.

Additionally, the scene of the court dance and the subsequent escape is so bare—only the king, his minister, and Manohra are present—that it feels as if Manohra is playing a prank, rather than escaping from her impending doom. It is also unclear that she is asked to sacrifice herself in order to avert disaster befalling on the kingdom.

In contrast, the scene with hunter hunting for food before falling asleep, while wonderfully performed, goes on a little too long.

That said, one cannot underestimate how this iteration of Manohra is laden with so much significance due to the origins and transmission of the tale. One hopes that it can travel to Thailand to see how the locals take to it.

While Manohra chooses to return to the palace, Bharatanatyam and Thai classical dance have certainly taken flight in this production.

Advertisements

Dr Anant Narkkong on the Significance of Manohra

In the final interview of this series, Isaac Tan speaks to Dr Anant Narkkong, an ethnomusicologist from Thailand, on the significance of Manohra, and the collaborative process with Bhaskar’s Arts Academy. 

Dr Anant Narkkong (standing row: second from right) and composer Ghanavenothan Retnam (standing row: second from left), with musicians involved in Manohra. (Photo: Tan Ngiap Heng / Courtesy of Bhaskar’s Arts Academy)

What is the significance of the tale of Manohra as well as the dance drama to Thai culture?

The Jataka tale, Manohra, holds a very important place in Thai culture for both royal and folk arts. In the royal court, there was a position of royal playwright for a genre of theatre called Lakhon Nok  between the 16th-18th century (known as the Ayutthaya period). There were many forms of visual arts created around the story of Kinnaree/Manohra too, as seen by the sculptures and paintings of Kinnaree that decorate many famous temples and royal palaces.

The story of Manohra is a firm favourite within the Lakhon Nok canon. The theatrical elements of music and dance always win the hearts of audiences. The role of the female heroine, Manohra, in Thai Lakhon Nok is very important, and comparable to other male lead roles in other Lakhon stories.

In folk arts, especially in the Southern part of Thailand, Manohra, or in short “Nora”, has ritualistic significance such as a shaman in trance, dressed in human-bird (kinnaree) costume, singing and dancing to music and a particular rhythm. Southern Thai people also believe in the magical powers of Manohra. Somehow the male Nora/Kinnaree has a higher status than the female one, and has gained much respect from their society. I should also mention that there are  versions of Manohra in the Northeast Isaan and North Lanna regions. The performance elements differ from one place to another.

In modern Thai  or urban culture, we can still find Manohra depicted in many PR materials, advertisements, tourist spots, hotels, shopping plazas, fashion, and so on.

As an ethnomusicologist, do you see any similarities between music for Bharatanatyam and Thai classical dance? Did you work closely with composer Ghanavenothan Retnam on the music?

So much of the dance and musical relationship between India and Thailand can be seen through this process of collaboration. We share many similarities between our dance vocabularies: gestures, movements, rhythm, melody, emotions, and aesthetics. This also proves the long history of Indian culture that has existed in Southeast Asia, and how Thai artists in the past have adapted Indian  elements, as well as from other cultures, into our unique set of art forms.

I worked closely with Ghanavenothan Retnam in the process of music making, and with our dear Mrs Bhaskar in the choreography. I have learnt a lot from them and from their wonderful artists. It is a new experience to be able to  understand the beauty of Bharatanatyam and Raga-Tala, It was a real pleasure to share my knowledge and the ideas from my Thai artists with the Singapore team.

Has this collaboration made you look at the tale in a new way? 

It is a wonderful experience from an artistic and humanistic points of view. The arts always have a special impact on our hearts. In my earlier works I have reinterpreted the story and the destiny of Manohra by incorporating socio-political views such as human rights, feminism, and sex abuse. I have even made my own version of Manohra which did not follow the original storyline and it did not have a happy ending!

However, when we relearn the significance of Manohra through this particular production, it is a big inspiration and it motivates us to continue developing.

We—be it Singaporean, Thai, Kinnaree, or human—are born with differences in terms of ethnicity, politics, economics, language, religion, beliefs, environment, etc. But we can share and can live together. I wish the audiences of Singapore can find their inspiration from the love between Prince Sudhana and Princess Manohra in this regard.

Manohra runs from 8–9 September 2018 at Esplanade Theatre Studio. Tickets from Bhaskar’s Arts Academy.

Other Interviews from this Series: 

Mrs Santha Bhaskar on Manohra — A Singapore-Thailand Collaboration

Shruthilaya Ramachandran on Playing Manohra

Shruthilaya Ramachandran on Playing Manohra

Having interviewed Mrs Santha Bhaskar to find out more about Bhaskar’s Arts Academy’s (BAA) production of Manohra, I approached Shruthilaya Ramachandran to find out about her thoughts on playing the titular role.

Shruthilaya Ramachandran (left) as Manohra  and Puwapon Pinyolapkasam (right) as Prince Sudhana (Photo: Tan Ngiap Heng / Courtesy of Bhaskar’s Arts Academy)

How do you feel playing such an iconic role in Thai classical dance as well as BAA’s repertoire?

It is indeed an iconic role. I have to admit that I was a little daunted at first because I have watched BAA’s previous generation of dancers portray it so sincerely. Also, the level of sanctity and spirituality that the role holds in Thai culture does not make it any easier. I am honoured and happy to be selected for this role, and am grateful to my gurus who entrusted the role to me!

What are the similarities and differences in movement vocabulary between bharatanatyam and Thai classical dance?

It’s impossible to master the nuances of any art form  within such a short span of time. But based on what I managed to glean from the techniques taught by our fellow Thai dancers, I can safely say that both bharatanatyam and Thai dance seem to converge on laasya (grace), even though they are actualised in different ways.

In bharatanatyam, we tend to use movements that are more rounded, and they flow from one to the next by bending our body, hands, and legs. However, Thai dancers seem to keep their body, back, and shoulders upright, while still achieving the grace in their movements.

Both art forms also rely on mudras (hand gestures) to convey meaning. Some common ones between the two art forms include ‘suchi’, ‘pataaka’, ‘ardhachandra’, and ‘hamsaasya’. However, those are done with minimal or no facial expressions in Thai dance.

Another characteristic difference is the aramandi (bent knee) position. This is fully opened up in bharatanatyam, but executed in different degrees of openness in Thai dance. There is also an accompanying bounce or pulsating jerky accent that adds to the beauty of their movements.

Has this collaboration given you a renewed appreciation of your own art form?

This collaboration has certainly heightened my appreciation for bharatanatyam. I was already aware that both art forms could have drawn on common influences, and hence, share some similar movements. However, getting to directly interact with the art form by learning it from a Thai professional helps us see the nuances and unique differences that give it its identity.

Personally, a big takeaway from this collaboration is that, as dancers, we not only have to be physically agile and flexible, but mentally so as well. For example, it is very interesting to know that Thai dancers follow the rhythm being played, and they just seem to know when to strike a step or a movement without the use of a rigid eight-count system. It did take us a while to get accustomed to their musical style.

What was truly heartwarming was that the Thai dancers modified their teaching technique, and started counting in beats of eight to helps us learn the steps during training sessions. I am thankful for such amicable exchanges, which not only exposes me to new art forms, but it also enhances my understanding of my own art form, bharatanatyam!

Manohra runs from 8–9 September 2018 at Esplanade Theatre Studio. Tickets from Bhaskar’s Arts Academy.

Other Interviews from this Series:

Mrs Santha Bhaskar on Manohra — A Singapore-Thailand Collaboration

Dr Anant Narkkong on the Significance of Manohra

[Theatre Review] A Patchwork of Surprise and Abhorrence

Isaac Tan reviews two shows featured in M1 Patch! A Theatre Festival of Artful Play. One is deceptively simple, while the other is literally what the title says it is. 

Immortalx
The Theatre Practice
8 August 2018, 2 p.m.
Practice Space
1–12 August 2018

The Ordinary and the Unspectacular
The Theatre Practice
16 August 2018
Practice Space
16–19 August 2018

In collaboration with M1, The Theatre Practice (TTP) launched M1 Patch! A Theatre Festival of Artful Play which took place during the whole of August at TTP’s facilities. It promises to be a festival of theatrical experimentation in the spirit of play.

Every time when anything is touted as experimental, I get two extreme reactions. The first is apprehension. The show might be self-indulgent—a private game played amongst the creative team. To them, if the audience did not get it, they are simply not working hard enough, or they are not open enough to cast their prejudice aside.

The other reaction is excitement. Could this be something new, powerful, or at least surprising? While I will stop short of saying that I have seen something revolutionary, I will admit to being surprised a few times in my reviewing career.

Immortalx and The Ordinary and the Unspectacular evoke both reactions in me simply because they did not deliver what they promised in the programme notes.

With its 60-minute duration, colourful aesthetics, and students being its target demographic, one expects Immortalx to be a fun romp of what-ifs featuring figures from Chinese mythology.  However, I was surprised that it provokes questions about secularisation, playing god, and what becomes of myths and legends once we appropriate it.

In this imagined world, the gods have lost their powers, some of them have been scattered all over and forced to live mortal lives, while others have vanished. The Jade Emperor (Hao Wei Kai) seems content as he focuses his attention on pursuing his 10th PhD. Ne Zha (Ng Mun Poh), on the other hand, is intent on reclaiming the glory days as he painstakingly teaches the descendants of the immortals various supernatural skills.

The immortal descendants include Mysterious Aw (Windson Liong), son of Dragon King; Ray Girl (Ang Xiao Teng), granddaughter of Thunder God; and Poppy Chang (Frances Lee), granddaughter of Lady of Forgetfulness. 

Things come to a head when Ne Zha invents a machine that could restore the powers of the immortals. This disrupts the balance of nature, thus wreaking havoc on the world. The descendants thus have to curb their teacher before things further spiral out of control. But could they do it?

The central conflict ostensibly seems to be between Ne Zha, who takes his personal convictions to the extreme, and the descendants who doubt about their abilities. While these issues are flashed out quite clearly, I am more interested in various other issues that seem to be suggested by the show.

 The immortals lost most of their powers because of the increasingly secularisation of society. What roles do these figures have in our society today? What does that make us? Have we succeeded the immortals with our technological progress?

The last point could not be more ironically apparent with Ne Zha’s machine that created an imbalance in the natural order as all sorts of disasters, including the Orchard Road floods, occur.

Furthermore, the reference to the Monkey King being captured and placed in the zoo for the entertainment of mortals raises questions of how we appropriate these myths and legends. The Monkey King is very much with us through all sorts of media. But our experience of him is very different from that of our ancestors, who believe that his spirit truly exists. Are these mythological figures merely meant for our entertainment, and are merely kept alive because they vaguely belong to something called culture?

With these thoughts percolating in my mind throughout the show, imagine my surprise when the programme notes only mentioned human self-doubt and the need for balance.

Throw in a riotous performance from an excellent cast and the action taking place at various corners in the theatre-in-the-round set-up, it is a fun ride.

If an earlier review of the original staging is anything to go by, kudos should go to the creative team, headed by director Kuo Jian Hong, for revamping the show quite thoroughly.

Contrary to my colleague’s opinion that there are [n]o divine epiphanies,” I did not expect to get so much out of an hour’s performance.

In contrast, the gobbledygook that is the English programme notes for The Ordinary and the Unspectacular promises a profundity in the quotidian—a meditation on old age and the need for slowness in a chaotic age.

But all we get is a self-indulgent show that is more of a physical theatre exercise that should have never left the rehearsal room. The supposed exploration of facial expression, energy, physical vocabulary, gesture, posture, alignment, proxemics, tempo, and weight is superficial.

Even in slowness, there are so many possibilities for physical dynamics. However, the cast (CHIA, Julius Foo, Goh Lay Kuan, Jalyn Han, Lim Chiong Ngian, Lok Meng Chue, Wong May Lam), save for one of them who changes the set, all look like spectres hovering a few feet from their graves.  

To make things worse, the constant motif of walking into the light in the first 30 minutes of the show threatens to send this reviewer into a coma. It is no wonder four audience members walked out.

Is there anything interesting in the show at all? Well, there are a couple of scenes—Julius Foo clutching his red flip flops, and four women jostling for space with kitchen utensils. A friend, occasional critic, and namesake postulated that the former is about life and death, while the latter is about women’s struggle.

His interpretation is valid, but the two scenes do not redeem the show as a whole. More importantly, while they are intriguing, they do not add anything new intellectually or experientially.

The only novel thing about this purgatorial torture is the reverent silence from the audience. Perhaps it is due to the fact that the cast consists of well-respected veterans in the industry, and one hopes that something more could be gleaned from the performance.

This makes it all the more reprehensible as we are strung along with no end in sight.

That said, The Theatre Practice should be faulted to the extent that their two offerings do keep to the theme of play. It is just that one is playfully clever, while the other merely plays the audience.

Other Reviews of Immortalx

“Theatre Review: In Immortalx, gods losing their powers make for lively entertainment” by Olivia Ho, The Straits Times Life! 

“Immortalx: Full of Artful Play and Adventure” by Victoria Chen, Popspoken

“M1 Patch! 2018: Immortalx by The Theatre Practice (Review)” by Bak Chor Mee Boy

Other Reviews of The Ordinary and the Unspectacular

“Slowing down and taking too long” by Akshita Nanda, The Straits Times Life!

“M1 Patch! 2018: The Ordinary and The Unspectacular《平淡无奇》 (Review)” by Bak Chor Mee Boy

Mrs Santha Bhaskar on Manohra — A Singapore-Thailand Collaboration

Photo: Tan Ngiap Heng / Courtesy of Bhaskar’s Arts Academy

Over the past few years, Bhaskar’s Arts Academy (BAA) has been collaborating with various classical dance troupes in Southeast Asia, to create intercultural works based on stories from Asian myths and legends. 

For the third and final project, BAA is working with Thai classical dancers and musicians to stage Manohra, an iconic work in Thai dance drama. Artistic director of BAA, Mrs Santha Bhaskar first encountered it in 1990 and was inspired to reinterpret it using bharatanatyam. With this being the third iteration of the work, Manohra has become a key work in BAA’s repertoire. 

I interviewed Mrs Bhaskar to find out more about this iteration of the work. 

Mrs Santha Bhaskar

Manohra is part of a trilogy of works that sees BAA collaborating with other classical dance troupes from Southeast Asia. How did you go about choosing the works to be performed?

I enjoy reading the epics, myths and folktales and learning about the characters which are popular in Southeast Asia. It serves me well for experimenting and choreographing in the language I am comfortable with. Collaborating with our neighbouring artistes, understanding their culture, and sharing the knowledge with the audience has always been important to me and for BAA. 

The birth of “Vinayaka” was chosen when we collaborated with our Indonesian counterparts as the elephant-faced one is popular in that region. We actually collaborated twice—once with artistes from Bali with performance in Bali (2010) and the second time with artistes from Java with performance in Singapore (2016). It was very interesting for me and for my dancers and musicians to work with these two very different collaborators, and understand the similarities and differences in each style.

For the second work of the trilogy, we collaborated with Cambodian artistes. I chose to tell the story of Brihannala because it is not known to many people. It is about an interesting transgender character from the epic, Mahabharatha, who Arjuna transforms into. That helps him pose as a dance instructor in Virata’s kingdom for the final year of the Pandavas’ exile where they were to remain incognito.

You were first introduced to the tale of Manohra in 1990. What is it about the tale or the performance you saw that made you want to stage it over and over again?

The tale of Manohra touched my heart when I was in Bangkok. My mother used to tell me stories about the Ghandarvas (heavenly musicians) who enchant musicians and beautiful ladies on earth especially on a full moon night. She also told me stories about Kinnaris (heavenly birds) coming to earth to take a bath in a pond named Manasassaras.

In Bangkok I discovered the story of Manohra and was surprised that this story is not known to India. This is the reason I want to repeat this work—it is in the hope of passing the story on to the next generation of dancers and audience.

What makes this iteration of Manohra unique from the previous stagings by BAA?

The story itself is unique. With each staging of the work, more life courses through its veins, and more ideas sprout in how we can communicate the work to the audience. Some of the first and second generations of dancers are here to witness the tale’s transformations. For the third generation of dancers, their aspirations to learn the dance of the Kinnaris and to be a part of Manohra is coming true through this collaboration.

Manohra is one of BAA’s landmark works with original music composition and choreography. And now with our Thai partners, with the blending in of Thai music and Thai dance movements, the life and energy of the work transcends to a different level.

 

Manohra runs from 8–9 September 2018 at Esplanade Theatre Studio. Tickets from Bhaskar’s Arts Academy.

Other Interviews from this Series: 

Shruthilaya Ramachandran on Playing Manohra

Dr Anant Narkkong on the Significance of Manohra

[Theatre Review] Too Clever a Character

There is hardly anything Rebekah Sangeetha Dorai cannot do. But this honest exploration is trapped within its own meta-theatrical devices.

Building a Character
W!ld Rice
Part of Singapore Theatre Festival 2018
7 July 2018, 7.30 p.m.
Creative Cube, LaSalle College of the Arts
5–8 July 2018

In my review of Actor, Forty by The Necessary Stage, a monologue performed by Yeo Yann Yann, I noted two things. First, it is “the show is Yeo’s performance CV”. Second, it is “shot through with meta-theatricality”.

Building a Character, performed by Rebekah Sangeetha Dorai, certainly rivals this.

The show is an honest look into Rebekah’s life, highlights of her career as an actor, and the struggles that she faces as an Indian actor in Singapore.

To prove her point about the last issue, Rebekah regales a portion of the countless insensitive incidents she faced. These include being asked to act “more Indian” in auditions, or people wondering why she was there in the first place; the paucity of roles in casting calls; and the general lack of representation in the media.

In the course of doing so, she mimics various people she encounters and creates a spectrum of “Indian-ness”—from the slight accent to a full-blown head-shaking, hand-twisting caricature. Apart from revealing the biases within the entertainment industry, she displays an immense versatility that is rarely seen.

A parallel occurs in her personal life as we hear anecdotes about being called San-San by her teacher, as said educator did not bother to clarify the pronunciation of Sangeetha; or being told to close her legs. Again, we see more of Rebekah’s skills and versatility, so much so that she could simply make an outstanding acting reel by stringing together 10-second snippets of every scene in the show.

But what makes this one-hander not fall into a trap of being a woe-is-me exhibition of self-flagellation?

To the credit of playwright Ruth Tang and director Teo Mei Ann, it all starts with a little self-awareness. In the programme notes, Tang explained that she was wary of simply going for “emotional catharsis”. Instead, the show from the fact that Rebekah is an actor and used the characters that Rebekah played as entry points into her life. Rather than forcing us to sympathise with Rebekah, we are invited to see how the she relates to the character, and to draw wider resonances for ourselves.

Perhaps, what is most refreshing is Rebekah interrogating the ethics of being in a show about her life that is written and directed by someone else. We see her talking about the script or even staging choices, as in one scene, we see her mumbling, forcing us to read the text on the screen. Such a dynamic compels one to consider not just her particular situation or story, but the difficulty of playing out our lives with aspects that are not within our control.

The meta-theatricality of the show also extends to the choice of having various gadgets such as voice-distorting microphones, mixers, and lamps, as we see Rebekah constantly play out the various situations she faces. The show is enhanced by her ability to gauge the audience in the room and immediately lighten up the atmosphere or bring the room to a sudden hush based on the topic at hand.

That said, the cleverness of the show is also its weakness. Certain parts of the show are merely riffs of a theme of building a character, which does not add anything to the discourse. For example, after a somewhat long monologue on being asked to be “more Indian”, we suddenly see Rebekah reappearing on stage as a wild rock star, lip-syncing to a song, only for the section to be cut short by a voiceover—also done by Rebekah—asking her to be more Indian.

Additionally, certain transitions consist of her dropping the topic and moving on. Given her sheer facility in picking up and dropping her characters so rapidly, I start to wonder if the anecdotes presented actually happened to her, or that they happened to someone else, but the creative team decided that it was important to present it on stage.

Furthermore, certain choices are a little gimmicky such as the decision to sprinkle confetti at the very end, when she came to a realisation about her abusive father. While I understand that there was a very conscious decision not to reveal every single detail about a sensitive issue, it dilutes the gravity and poignancy of the situation.

Despite all these flaws, a question constantly lingers in my mind: “She is clearly that good. How is it that I have only seen her in two shows in the past six years of being a reviewer?”

With such an irresistible character presented, let us hope that she builds a more illustrious career after this.

Other Reviews

“Singapore Theatre Festival: Building A Character shines spotlight on race issues” by Akshita Nanda, The Straits Times Life!

“Singapore Theatre Festival 2018: Building a Character (Review)” by Bak Chor Mee Boy

[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

[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