Reviews

[Theatre Review] No Man’s Land by The Necessary Stage: Soapbox Contestations

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

Dissecting masculinity / Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

No Man’s Land
The Necessary Stage
12 June 2025
Esplanade Studio Theatre
12–15 June 2025

In the programme notes, playwright Danial Martin tells us that “No Man’s Land is not an answer; it is a confrontation” about different ideas about masculinity and how that plays out in society. This is wonderfully realised in the opening physical sequence where five performers enter a circle in grey singlets as they confront each other mano a mano to Ng Jing’s primal, guttural soundscape.

Unfortunately, unlike the flexed muscles and tensed sinews in the movement sequence, the dramaturgy and writing could have grappled with the complexities of masculinity a little more. 

Co-directed by Sim Yan Ying and Alvin Tan, with Lim Shien Hein as dramaturg, this interdisciplinary devised piece has several vignettes peppered amidst the physical sequences. 

Flexed muscles and tensed sinews of Shahizman Sulaiman (left), Michael Tan (centre), and Neo Hai Bin (right) /
Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

Initially, these vignettes seem to comprise actors playing stock characters, highlighting the broad issues of masculinity:  body image, dealing with infidelity,  parental expectations, responsibilities to a woman and child born out of wedlock, sharing intimate photos and videos of women without their consent, kinks, etc.

Imagine my surprise when it later becomes clear that the characters are not one-off, but are related to each other. We do not see them struggling with the implications of their circumstances as things seem to happen to them. Although the characters are not meant to have a naturalistic character arc, the lack of struggle then leaves us with merely examples of men behaving badly. This forgoes the opportunity to invite for us to understand what led them to behave this way.

Men behaving badly / Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

Another device meant to get the audience to confront ideas about masculinity is the metatheatrical moments when the actors comment on the play in two instances. In the “intermission”, which is specifically stated to be slightly over seven minutes, Shahizman Sulaiman explains—or, as the modern lingo would have it, mansplain—the first half of the show to “align” the audience with the artistic intention, thereby resisting alternative interpretations of the show. Some might feel that this parallels the patriarchal narratives of one’s lived experiences.

The other instance is when Suhaili Safari complains that she is the only woman in the cast who not only offers the token female perspective, but also takes on many roles in which she  either does the physical or emotional labour in service to men. Neo Hai Bin then laments that he wishes that he lived in a society where this is not so. While it is undeniable that this parallels the experiences of women worldwide, it does not go beyond a complaint. 

The lesbian sister (Suhali Safari) and her gay brother (Vishnucharan Naidu) deciding if she should return to Singapore /
Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

In the same scene, Vishnucharan Naidu also apologises to Suhaili saying that his character (a gay man who plays the role of the dutiful son despite his mother not recognising his sexual orientation) has made used of her character (sister who is lesbian who left for Korea because she wants to live life on her own terms) to rediscover himself.  This presumes that the self is formed and evolved on one’s own, almost in a vacuum, when we often discover parts of ourselves when encountering a particular situation or interacting with others.

Thus, there is a stronger sense of wondering aloud, rather than a clash of ideas, perspectives, and trade-offs in the show. 

The Empress Dominatrix (Suhaili Safari) controls her Eunuch Client (Neo Hai Bin) /
Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

That said, there is much to commend the show for. 

In the movement sequences, Hafeez Hassan blends various traditions (bharatanatyam, martial arts, wrestling, hip hop, contemporary, etc.) to come up with a cohesive vocabulary for his choreography. Even though there are some performers who are not movement trained, they appear as a synergised ensemble and everyone actively participates in the movement sequences.

The text by Danial Martin may be simple, but there are occasions when it hits one right in the gut. In a scene where an unnamed victim of an explicit Telegram channel (Suhali Safari) delivers a monologue, she mentions that while not all men would indulge in something so sordid, but with 44,000 pairs of eyes on her, it feels like it could be so. In one line, Danial slices through the polarities, and elicits sympathy for the trauma that many girls have experienced. 

The way creative captioner Su Paing Tun designs the text to pulse, fade, and appear with accompanying graphics is truly creative and an art on its own. 

Michael Tan (centre) tenderly reflects on his journey as a man in a letter to his younger self /
Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

Michael Tan has a certain tenderness in the delivery of two monologues about looking back at his life as a man and discovering self-pleasure at 15. He considers that to be quite young, even though the younger generation will consider it to be quite late; a missed opportunity to explore conceptions of masculinity according to different generations. 

Suhaili Safari’s versatility is a treat to behold as she plays characters of varying ages, backgrounds, and a rousing number about men to the tune of “Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend”.

Shahizman Sulaiman (left) and Neo Hai Bin (right), teach Vishnucharan Naidu (middle) how to behave like a man /
Photo: Tuckys Photography / Courtesy of The Necessary Stage

Shahizman Sulaiman and Neo Hai Bin sparkle as fairies teaching Vishnucharan Naidu how to behave as a man. It is refreshing to see Neo in a camp role, but there is also depth to his performance in a silent scene with his father where he cycles the whole gamut of emotions before breaking down. 

Shahizman also displays a wonderful physical deftness in the various physical sequences, while Vishnucharan has a subtlety that opens up to tenderness in the scene when he asks his sister to return to Singapore after their parents have died. 

While the show could have prod us further to consider the complexities of masculinity, it still exposes us to the possibilities of interdisciplinary performance in examining important issues.

Further Reading

Programme booklet for No Man’s Land

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Theatrical and funny, No Man’s Land questions ideas of manhood” by Clement Yong, The Straits Times Life! (Article is behind a paywall)  | Transcript of review

“【艺评】《无人之境》的意义在第四堵墙裂缝之处” by 孙靖斐, Lianhe Zaobao

“Review: Suria on No Man’s Land by Sim Yan Ying “YY”, Alvin Tan & Danial Matin (The Necessary Stage)” by Suria, Critic’s Circle Blog

“Review: Cheng Nien Yuan on No Man’s Land by Sim Yan Ying “YY”, Alvin Tan & Danial Matin (The Necessary Stage)” by Cheng Nien Yuan, Critic’s Circle Blog

“No Man’s Land: Siapa ajar lelaki jadi begini?” by Pengkritik Sandiwara

“No Man’s Land” by Naeem Kapadia, Crystalwords

“Review: Review: No Man’s Land (The Necessary Stage)” by Aileen Tang, The Flying Inkpot

“[Theatre Review] The Necessary Stage’s “No Man’s Land” Takes on Modern Masculinity, Perfect Watch for Lonely Male Dudes This Father’s Day Weekend” by Alvin Lim, Alvinology

[Theatre Review] Hard Mode by Checkpoint Theatre: Heartfelt Mission with Too Many Side Quests

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

L-R: Arissa (Janine Ng), Adam (Chaney Chia), Maya (Kyra Lefebvre) / Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

Hard Mode
Checkpoint Theatre
24 October 2024
SOTA Drama Theatre
18-26 October 2024

In Faith Ng’s Hard Mode, we are drawn into a world of BTS, Discord, TikTok dances, and buying multiple copies of the same album just to have all the variations of the album’s cover art. 

But it is also a world of neglect, self-harm, uncertainty, and unhealthy relationships. 

In primary school, shy Adam formed an unlikely friendship with the clownish Rian, and nerdy XY, as they call themselves the Sengkang Gang and go on all sorts of adventures. Adjacent to the boys are Arissa (Adam’s older sister) and Maya (Arissa’s best friend and Adam’s love interest).   

As the quintet goes into their teens, the academic and societal pressures become more acute, while they also have to navigate diverging paths, emotional baggage from their parents, and school politics. 

Ng’s meticulous year-long research into the struggles of local teenagers is evident as she carefully weaves many of them into her characters’ lives. Unfortunately, her tapestry is so large that most of the struggles are presented as highlights; quick mentions or hints in some monologues.

But Ng’s ambition does not stop there. She added a metatheatrical element in which characters are occasionally aware they are in a play to resist the sense of inevitability that realism brings. 

Additionally, the timeline of the play toggles between different points in the future and the present. This is indicated by a crew member walking across the stage with a sign showing the year, which adds an unnecessary cognitive load to the audience; we have to do the mental arithmetic to figure the age of the characters and reorientate ourselves. 

Perhaps, these additions are Ng’s way to reassure her largely adolescent audience that they are going to survive their teenage years somehow. But with a run time of 135 minutes, Hard Mode has simply too many side quests. 

Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

Yet, it must be noted that, for a generation that is often derided for their miniscule attention spans, the teenagers were engaged throughout the show. 

It may be easy to put that down to BTS’s discography that signals scene changes or Ng having Gen Alpha’s lingo down pat, which send the teenagers grooving or chortling in their seats.

But it would be remiss of me not to point out director Claire Wong’s ability to build a tight-knit ensemble out of the cast: Chaney Chia (Adam), Izzul Irfan (Rian), Janine Ng (Arissa), Kyra Lefebvre (Maya), and Matthias Teh (XY). A strong chemistry is evident across all cast members as they effortlessly pick up on each other’s cues, and keep the energy going. 

Kudos should go to the cast for their subtleties in their physicality as they shift from being unsure and slightly jittery to being more self-assured in their 20s. That said, the choice to speak in a higher pitch to portray youth sometimes limits the dexterity of their vocal timbre, which hampers the impact of certain emotional moments.

During the particular performance I attended, sign language interpreters Azzam and Fang Shawn share the stage with the cast. They are not merely relegated to the sides, but are placed close enough to the action, but not obstructing the characters. The inclusion of the interpreters are thoughtful and not a tokenistic gesture. 

The expressiveness of the interpreters adds an interesting alternative to what is going on stage, and I found myself referring to them at a particularly emotional or tense scene just as a comparison. 

This makes me wonder how do d/Deaf audience members experience the show as it is difficult to watch both the interpreters and actors at the same time. 

Sengkang Squad: Rian (Izzul Irfan), Adam (Chaney Chia), XY (Matthias Teh) / Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

The costume choices by Max Tan and hairstyling by Leong adeptly aid in changing the looks of the characters at different ages. 

For example, Rian morphs from the graphic t-shirt and circular, almost bowl-shaped hairstyle (achieved through a partial wig) of his jocular youth to the plain short-sleeved shirt and a crisp side parting of his corporate adult life. How the change is achieved, especially the hairstyle, in such a short time is no mean feat. 

Set and lighting design by Petrina Dawn Tan, in collaboration with lighting co-designer Tan Zi Feng, creates the feel of a K-pop music video. 

The set comprises three rolling L-shaped platforms in pastel colours that make up the dining, living room, and bedroom of the house that Adam and Arissa live in. There are light strips that run across walls of the platforms that form what looks like a sunrise or sunset. In certain scene changes, the light strips light up gradually, as if ushering in the entrance of a singer in a pop concert. There are also laser-light effects that demarcate the stage for scenes in other settings. 

The juxtaposition of the whimsical set and laser-like effects against the struggles of the teenagers places the latter in a liminal space—there is tension between the demands of reality and the comfort of K-pop fandom, make-believe, and dreams. 

Seeing the teenagers in the theatre taking countless selfies and hand swiping to APT. by Rosé and Bruno Mars, it is easy to dismiss them as disruptive and irrational.

But be it going to BTS’s Magic Shop or retreating to nostalgic reverie; a quest to the boss level or life’s odyssey—perhaps it is about embracing these polarities and truly listening to each other so that life need not be on hard mode all the time.  

Further Reading

Programme booklet for Hard Mode

“Checkpoint Theatre’s Hard Mode takes Gen Zers and Gen Alphas on their own terms” by Clement Yong, The Straits Times Life!

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Hard Mode gives youth and its obsessions full, unprejudiced treatment” by Clement Yong, The Straits Times Life! (Review is behind a paywall. Read the partial transcript here.)

“Review: Wong Yong En on Hard Mode by Faith Ng (Checkpoint Theatre)” by Wong Yong En, Critics Circle Blog

“[Theatre Show Review] Finally, a realistic depiction of Singapore’s family units in ‘Hard Mode’, a play about Gen Alpha” by Marcus Goh

[Theatre Review] tick, tick… BOOM! by Sight Lines: Tick… Tick… Pop…

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

Turning 30 and not achieving one’s dreams / Photo: Bernie Ng / Courtesy of Sight Lines

tick, tick… BOOM!
Sight Lines
6 July 2024, 3 p.m.
KC Arts Centre
5–14 July 2024

The onomatopoeic title of Jonathan Larson’s semi-autobiographical musical refers to the existential angst of not achieving one’s dreams. Throw in pesky everyday realities—the AIDS epidemic; keeping the lights on; and age creeping up on you—and it feels like life is going to blow up. 

Written before Rent (1996)—which gave Jonathan Larson the recognition that he wanted, albeit posthumously—Larson expresses his frustration of his musicals not being accepted by Broadway through a rock monologue, originally performed as a solo act with backing musicians.

Preston Lim as Jon, a struggling musical composer / Photo: Crispian Chan / Courtesy of Sight Lines

On first hearing the songs from tick, tick… BOOM!, it is easy to see why Broadway in the 1980s–early 1990s were not receptive to his music: overly repetitive melody lines, shoe-horning more words into a bar than necessary, and rock music being a relatively new genre in the world of musicals. 

Yet, on further listening, it becomes clear that Larson does this on purpose with a glint in his eye, rather than a lack of skill. “Sunday” proves he is adept at gorgeous harmonies; “Therapy” shows his comic chops with a country twang; and “Come to your Senses” testifies that he can write a heartfelt, soulful song. 

After his death, playwright David Auburn was brought in to revise the script to include Michael (Jon’s best friend) and Susan (Jon’s dancer girlfriend) with some dramatised scenes in between the songs. This allows the show to be performed by other actors, expanding the dramatic possibilities of a rock confessional to a full-fledged musical.

L-R: Eric Larrea, Vanessa Kee, Preston Lim, Ryan Ang, Beatrice Jaymes Pung / Photo: Bernie Ng / Courtesy of Sight Lines

Unfortunately, in Sight Line’s production of tick, tick… BOOM!, director Derrick Chew did not explore the dramatic possibilities of those scenes to the fullest extent. They feel rushed and are not allowed to settle before the song comes on. This impedes us from sympathising with the characters, especially in pivotal moments such as Michael revealing a very personal predicament to Jon.

 While Preston Lim (Jon) hits the right notes in his singing, his portrayal of the struggling composer is quite studied. One does not feel the stakes of Jon needing to complete the musical before the showcase; or not wanting Susan to leave him in “See Her Smile”; or his disdain for the self-important customers in the diner where he worked, before slipping into “Sunday”, a comic satire. 

Perhaps it might be the nerves of the opening weekend, but one hopes that Lim can enjoy the process more and, like the person he’s portraying, throw himself into the role in the subsequent shows.

Jon (Preston Lim) in “Sunday” / Photo: Bernie Ng / Courtesy of Sight Lines

That said, there is much to commend the production for. 

Ryan Ang’s (Michael) camp antics serve as a nice counterpoint to the neuroses of his best friend, Jon. The sheer abandon in his tomfoolery in “No More”—as Jon and Michael explore the latter’s apartment after Michael gave up acting for marketing research—makes you long for your teenage years and those hours spent mucking about with your best friend.

Despite the best friends getting the most stage time, Vanessa Kee (Susan) and Beatrice Jaymes Pung (Karessa, an actress in Jon’s musical showcase) steal the show with a stirring rendition of “Come to your Senses”—a brilliant mix of technique and emotion that expresses longing.

Both women also display a great deal of versatility. Witness Kee’s marionette-like movements while singing quickly in “Therapy”, a song that encapsulates the misunderstandings and absurdities of a couple’s quarrel. Pung pulls off both the experienced Rosa Stevens (Jon’s agent who has a strong Brooklyn accent), and flirtatious young actress, Karessa, like it is a walk in Central Park.

Apart from proving that he can portray middle-aged men of all kinds (from the jaded bodega owner to the camp dance instructor), Eric Larrea has a strong singing voice with a bright tone. It is a shame that one could only hear a few solo notes from him in “Johnny Can’t Decide”, and I would love to see more of him in future productions. 

Susan (Vanessa Kee) and Jon (Preston Lim) quarrel in “Therapy” / Photo: Bernie Ng / Courtesy of Sight Lines

Despite the small performance area, it is wonderful that choreographers Tan Rui Shan and Hafiz Hosni are not constrained by it. The clever use of space, playful partner work, and dynamic transitions kept the energy high, and the audience engaged.

Set designer Eucien Chia achieves the remarkable feat of recreating Larson’s grungy Greenwich apartment while ensuring that several other locales in New York can be easily configured by shifting a certain set piece or prop.

No detail is neglected as the posters in the alley reflect the socio-political zeitgeist of the time, and the papers that Jon handles are facsimiles of Jonathan Larson’s actual notes.

Add the light trusses and prominent lighting rigs by lighting designer Michael Chan, and we get a larger-than-life quality to the show—the struggles of an artist writ large.

Jon is besotted with Karessa (Beatrice Jaymes Pung) / Photo: Crispian Chan / Courtesy of Sight Lines

While Sight Lines’ foray into musical theatre was not a homerun (who gets it on the first try?), it definitely has potential. With its ambitious 2025 season on the horizon, one cannot wait to see what the earnestness and boldness of the company yields.

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Tick, Tick… Boom! is fun and relatable to Singaporean audiences” by Charmaine Lim, The Straits Times Life!

“[Theatre Review] Tick, Tick… Boom! Resonates with Singaporean Audiences” by Alvin, Alvinology Media

[Theatre Review] Dream of the Red Chamber by The Finger Players—Beautiful Fuzzy Dream

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Courtesy of The Finger Players

Dream of the Red Chamber
The Finger Players
20 June 2024
Drama Centre Black Box
20–23 June 2024

Chong Tze Chien’s adaptation of Dream of the Red Chamber is nothing short of back-breaking. 

Apart from retelling the 18th century Chinese classic in English, and whittling the plot down to focus on a love triangle amidst the declining fortunes of a prominent family, the actors are bent double as they enter the performance space, and emerge from a lotus pond made out of organza lily pads when their characters make an entrance throughout the two-hour performance. 

But is all the back-breaking effort worth it?

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Courtesy of The Finger Players

Like a visually arresting dream, it is amazing how much technical mastery is packed into a small space. 

The lotus pond (conceived by Chong Tze Chien and realised by Grace Lin) lends a surrealistic flavour, and all the actors shuffle around in that tight space, manipulating rod puppets (designed and created by Daniel Sim with assistance from Ling Jia Le and Shawn Kho Yzelman) for the minor characters or doing mask work for the major ones.

Projection of motifs on white cloths suggest the interior of the family mansion, while shaking of the white cloths with Ng Jing’s sound design of waves crashing and rocks crumbling bring out the gravity of the family’s decline. 

Max Tan’s costumes add riotous dashes of colours with an extravagant collage of styles. Think Chinese opera costumes, kamishimo triangle shoulders, poofy Carmen Miranda-esque sleeves, and European lace motifs and cravats. Despite the unlikely combination, they all seem to fit in this world alongside the white masks by Loo An Ni. 

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Courtesy of The Finger Players

But like many dreams, there are some fuzzy elements one has to contend with. 

Playwright and director Chong Tze Chien was judicious in focusing on the love triangle of Jia Baoyu (Joshua Lim) and his cousins, Xue Baochai (Ellison Tan) and Lin Daiyu (Ashie Singh), which makes the plot easy to follow. However, some context is missing. 

Baoyu only made his choice after being chastised by his maid that being equally nice to everyone, and making them (including the maid) fall for him, is unfair to all parties involved. It is also unclear why he chose Daiyu over Baochai, and why Daiyu is so devoted to him to the extent of crying endlessly when he is unwell. 

This is best expressed by a fellow audience member wondering out loud to her friend after the show as to why Baoyu would “fall for a crybaby”, when there is a significance to Daiyu’s crying. 

The lack of sympathy one has for Baoyu makes the final ruse the family pulled on his wedding night, to secure the family’s financial future, less tragic than it should have been. 

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Courtesy of The Finger Players

In terms of performance, all the lines are pre-recorded and the actors (Ashie Singh, Ellison Tan, Jamil Schulze, Joshua Lim, Tan Guo Lian Sutton, and Tan Wan Sze) move according to the cadence of lines. The coördination and timing are impeccable so much so that I took many double-takes throughout the show. 

That said, there does not seem to be a cohesive approach in the mask work or the way the lines are delivered in the recording. The choices made by the actors do not seem to be guided by the personalities or the type of character they are playing.

The movements of the actors while wearing masks range from bobbing one’s head to every single syllable (which was quite irritating after a while) to naturalistic movements. The intonation or accent of lines range from imperious to everyday Singaporean English. 

Thus, like a beautiful fuzzy dream, one is intrigued by the sights, but more needs to be done for us to—in the words of Chong Tze Chien—“contemplate the universal themes of love, loss, and the fleeting nature of life”.

Further Reading

Programme booklet of Dream of the Red Chamber by The Finger Players

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Dream Of The Red Chamber re-enacts Chinese classic with masks and puppetry” by Clement Yong, The Straits Times Life! (Article is behind a paywall)

“The Finger Players’ Dream of the Red Chamber: The Love of Craft and the Craft of Love” by Ang Kia Yee, Popspoken

“Xu Caifang on “Dream Of The Red Chamber” by The Finger Players” by Xu Caifang, Critics Circle Blog

[Theatre Review] Little Shop of Horrors by Sing’Theatre: Bloomin’ Entertaining

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Sing’Theatre

Little Shop of Horrors
Sing’Theatre
14 April 2024
SOTA Drama Theatre
12–28 April 2024

If you think about it, Little Shop of Horrors is ludicrous. 

The plot is an over-the-top cautionary tale about the insatiable nature of ambition and greed personified (or “botanified”?) by an ever-hungry man-eating plant. The references in Howard Ashman’s lyrics and Alan Menken’s music are indulgent pastiches of their favourite aspects of 1950s and 1960s pop culture.

Seymour is a bumbling and innocent orphan who was taken in by Mr Musnik to work at his flower store. His interest in exotic plants leads him to acquire an odd plant which he names Audrey II, after his colleague whom he has a crush on. In a chance encounter, Seymour discovers that the plant seems to only thrive on human blood, and things go downhill as the plant grows along with its voracious appetite.

So why would one sit through two hours only to be given a superficial message of not feeding the plant? 

The energetic and delightful performances by the cast. 

Andrew Marko is endearing as the earnest Seymour who goes out of his way to do anything for the plant and Audrey. He proves to be quite versatile being able to sing, dance, puppeteer Audrey II (when it was small), and react to Audrey II wanting to bite others.

While the characters in this musical are largely sketches, Audrey is given more character development. She presents herself as a ditzy airhead due to a low self-esteem and trauma from abusive relationships, but deep down, she wants more out of life.

Vanessa Kee portrays the ditzy side of Audrey with high-pitched squeaks and tottering on high heels, but adjusts her vocals—due to the exigencies of singing—to deliver a wistful and heartfelt rendition of “Somewhere That’s Green”.  The contrast is too stark and it feels that Kee is playing two different characters rather than showing different facets of the same person. 

On top of his directing duties, TJ Taylor somehow manages to find time to understudy the role of Mr Mushnik and gives him more depth than just a grumpy old man. 

Photo: Poh Yu Khing / Sing’Theatre

AJ Alingalan (Crystal), Nurulhuda Hassan (Ronette), and Marissa Vojodi (Chiffon) rich vocal harmonies and sassy attitude as the street urchins are entertaining. And Honey Gluttony (aka Tony Tong) voicing Audrey II is great fun and unnerving at the same time.

Benjamin Koh plays Orin, Audrey’s sadistic dentist boyfriend, and a slew of characters offering Seymour lucrative deals in “The Meek Shall Inherit”. Koh plays all the characters to the hilt, lending the show grittiness and hilarity equally. 

To top it all off, given that the musicians (Elaine Chan, Jane Foo, Lee Lin Chow, Lee Fengheng) are hidden behind the set, and do not have a direct view of the performers, the spot-on coördination across the music, singing, and other cues is impressive.   

While the stage seems quite small for a musical, Wong Chee Wai’s set design cleverly makes use of every space available to bring Skid Row to life. The main set piece is the interior of Mr Mushnik’s store, but with just a screen coming down, we are immediately sent to the back of the store. Other neat tricks like the moving hands of the clock and a quick tap on the wall to change the store sign adds to the overall delight of the show. 

Just as Seymour got his strange plant after a “total eclipse of the sun”, I caught the show a few days after a solar eclipse by coïncidence. But what is not coïncidental is the thought, skill, and talent on display. 

While we all know the main warning of the show, Sing’Theatre has the wherewithal to water the plant just a little more. 

Other Reviews

Theatre review: Stellar vocals and comedic timing in Little Shop Of Horrors by Charmaine Lim, The Straits Times Life!

Sing’theatre’s Little Shop of Horrors delivers a gritty charm and stellar performances by Xiao Xing Wan, TimeOut

‘Little Shop of Horrors’ review: Audience will eat up every note of this musical by Sing’Theatre by Beverly Anne Devakishen, SG Magazine

Sing’theatre’s ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ is a Musical Feast by Derrick Lim, The Flying Inkpot

[Theatre Review] The Chair by ITI: Not at the Edge of One’s Seat

/ Isaac Tan / 1 Comment

A woman demands justice from the mayor as her husband holds her back / Photo: Bernie Ng

The Chair
Intercultural Theatre Institute
1 September 2023
Drama Centre Black Box 
31 August–2 September 2023

An original piece by the graduating cohort of the Intercultural Theatre Institute, The Chair revolves around a seemingly nondescript town that is rocked to its core when James, scholarship recipient and pride of the town, kills a few children. 

According to the law of the town, the execution must be carried out by the family of the victims. 

A woman (Swathilakshmi Perumal) keen on revenge pressures her husband (Choy Chee Yew) to take on a role because he is a butcher. But despite him being adept at slaughtering chickens, he feels uneasy about taking a human life.

The mayor (Mika Oskarson Kindstrand) quickly absolves herself of the responsibility by claiming it is merely a duty for her, but it is healing and an act of justice for the others, including the wider public. 

A recluse elderly woman [Cheng Kam Yiu (Yolanda)] has the unenviable position of grieving over the loss of her grandchild, while being the town’s appointed counsellor to the chosen executioner. Things take a strange turn when the butcher and her are chosen as the executioners.

James’s mother (Abinaya Jothi) struggles to make amends with the rest who have always shunned her as she works as a cleaner. 

Throughout the course of the show, questions about the nature of justice are raised as the characters grapple with grief, anger, and guilt. 

Tensions run high between the mayor and James’s mother / Photo: Bernie Ng

Unfortunately, this proved to be a tall order for the actors. We get enough from them to understand the plot, but not enough to sense that the characters are actually grappling with and trying to keep these emotions under control. 

Given that this is an original work, it is puzzling as to why the young actors are given such overly demanding roles. 

However, we are compensated with a good synergy in their movement work. 

In one scene, the characters are frantically trying to search for the children in the river, depicted by just a black patch on the floor. As they tumble over each other, the characters take turns to raise up the children’s belongings. How the actors manage to hide and retrieve the props is a wonder to this reviewer. 

The strong synchronicity between the actors’ movements and the sound (designed by Meng Jiaoyang) and lighting effects (designed by Faith Liu Yong Huay) also contribute to the simmering tensions which leads to a couple of climatic moments, signalled by perhaps an overuse of strobe lights.  

The butcher mulls on the grave task ahead / Photo: Bernie Ng

Kudos to director Li Xie for pulling together the seemingly disparate elements of a sparse set (black patches on white floor); striking props by Puny Life Form (think a striking red telephone with cord that doubles as a noose while hanging on sharp hooks); and guiding the actors through the devising process to create a coherent world. 

Despite the dungeon-like atmosphere, the consistency of the visual, audio, and performance languages allow us to buy into the idea of the characters being in an odd little town. 

While I was not on the edge of my seat, The Chair still intrigues as one considers the nature of justice and how it should be meted out. 

Other Reviews

“Review: ‘The Chair’ by Intercultural Theatre Institute explores the death penalty, justice and grief in a twisted small town” by Yaiza Canapoli, SG Magazine

Review: The Chair by ITI 2023 Graduating Cohort by Philippe Pang

★★★☆☆ Review: The Chair by Intercultural Theatre Institute by Bakchormeeboy

Further Reading

[Interview] Pulling Up a Chair with Li Xie and ITI Students

Digital Programme of The Chair

[Theatre Review] The Tug and Tussle of Relationships in Tender Submission by Checkpoint Theatre

/ Isaac Tan / 1 Comment

Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

Tender Submission
Checkpoint Theatre
20 August 2023
Drama Centre Black Box 
17–27 August 2023

In the second production of Checkpoint Theatre’s 2023 season, we are invited, once again, to witness a drama unfolding in real time as the action takes place in one room without intermission.

Unlike Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes, which takes us on explosive highs and lows, Lucas Ho’s Tender Submission—as the title suggests—is dramatically meek. But the unearthing of human frailties and desires in the context of faith and marriage is no less affecting. 

To escape the heat of the church’s annual general meeting, Catherine and David find themselves in the cry room, where parents can attend to their crying children without missing or disrupting the church service. 

A key agenda of the meeting is a vote on whether the church should support a tender submission by Transformation Welfare Services, a community service group within the church in which Catherine (Neo Swee Lin) is actively involved. 

She believes that building a community services centre would allow the church to care for the masses. Apart from seeing this as what a church should do, as opposed to the status quo; having a self-satisfied, well-heeled congregation. She also finds fulfilment as her involvement affords her a sense of agency—something she has lost in the midst of being a mother and a wife. 

Failure to understand and articulate one’s needs / Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

David (Lim Kay Siu) fails to understand her underlying desire. He sees the tender submission as a rushed undertaking, and an inefficient measure of outreach, as it does not necessarily mean more conversions to the faith.  

The failure to understand on David’s part, and that of articulating one’s needs on Catherine’s part, send the couple on a tail-spin as all the unresolved conflicts and unmet needs in their thirty-year marriage come to the fore. 

Set against the matrices of church politics and differing interpretations of faith, every tug and tussle in the dynamics of a relationship can be seen. 

Being married for almost as long as their characters, Neo Swee Lin and Lim Kay Siu bring out the nuance of every parley, push, and pull with much aplomb. 

Lim’s David often sulks with folded hands or quickly dismisses his wife, but is stunned with his mouth agape when Catherine reveals the intensity of her hurt or frustration. 

Neo’s Catherine tries to keep a lid on her internal frustration and couches her bids for connection in questions that annoy David. While she tries to maintain a calm exterior,  she delivers the most brutal lines when the centre cannot hold. 

Neo Swee Lin and Lim Kay Siu play out every push and pull of a relationship / Photo: Joseph Nair

Directors Huzir Sulaiman and Chen Ying Xuan keep the ninety-minute text-heavy performance taut with tight pacing and ensuring the actors made full use of space. Additionally, the choice of when the characters clear up the toys or the mess in the room are inspired choices as it provides a symbolic weight to what is going on in the scene. 

The highlight of Petrina Dawn Tan’s set is the three empty frames along the fourth wall, which suggest the big windows that those in the cry room could look out into the congregation during the service.

At first glance, it emphasises a goldfish bowl effect as it reminds us that we are looking into the scene, which is too on the nose. However, on further thought, it also affords some potential for blocking as characters could look out into the empty hall (often called sanctuary in Christian parlance), and face the audience head-on while being physically framed. 

Moreover, the frames also designate the space where the audience is as the church congregation in the world of the play. But as the theatre audience, we are a kind of congregation as we bear witness to what is going on. 

Towards the end of the play, Catherine and David try to find ways to tenderly submit to each other, but the messiness of relationships mean that their long-standing problems and insecurities will not go away. 

Far from merely subjecting us to witness a couple’s quarrel, Tender Submission reminds us of our own frailties and foolishness in how we relate to people that we love. 

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Stellar acting in Tender Submission, but it preaches to the choir” by Shawn Hoo, The Straits Times Life

“Review: ‘Tender Submission’ delves deep into the heart of faith and marriage” by Yaiza Canopoli, SG Magazine

“Review: Azura Farid on Tender Submission by Lucas Ho (Checkpoint Theatre)” by Azura Farid, Critics Circle Blog

“‘Tender Submission’ by Checkpoint Theatre” by Corrie Tan, the intimate critic

“Tender Submission“ by Naeem Kapadia, CrystalWords

“Theatre Review: Tender Submission, An Original Singaporean Story That Probes Deeply Into Relationship And Religion” by Xushuang Chen, Weekender

“In Praise of Growing Through Checkpoint Theatre’s Tender Submission: A Review” by Charmaine Tan, Men’s Folio

“Review: Tender Submission by Checkpoint Theatre” by Bakchormeeboy

Further Reading

[Interview] Lucas Ho talks about his latest play, Tender Submission

[Theatre Review] ‘Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes’ by Checkpoint Theatre: The Joke’s on All of Us

/ Isaac Tan / 3 Comments

Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes
Checkpoint Theatre
24 March 2023
Drama Centre Black Box 
23 March–2 April 2023

A musician, an activist, an academic, and a therapist walk into a politician’s house on the eve of an election. The showdown that ensues is unexpected as the characters, save for the politician, thought this was just a group of friends catching up for old time’s sake.

There may be a sense of camaraderie in the shorthand that one develops with friends, but without examining the intention and context that underlie them, the in-jokes, nicknames, and quips soon become barbs. 

As Tesh, an aspiring member of parliament, enlists the help of his friends due to a looming political scandal, friendships are pushed to the limits, and intentions are questioned, as old or unresolved conflicts emerge. Barbs and hands fly quick and fast. 

It is in this messy slugfest that playwright Myle Yan Tay interrogates race, politics, class, and censorship. Issues such as minority representation in media and politics; what constitutes the brown community; and whether cancel culture is going too far—among other topics—are unleashed on us in unrelenting waves.  

The topics covered might make the production seem like an argumentative essay in costume, but it is far from that. The topics are raised organically, depending on what the characters clashed about, and we are not brow-beaten into any position. 

But where we really see the playwright’s skill is that as we lean towards all the characters being complex and irreducible to a set of identity markers, we are yanked back to the reality that there are some issues affecting all of them simply on the basis of their skin colour. One is unsure of one’s stand, but as a Chinese man, I find myself keenly absorbing every nuance and complexion presented.

Not turning a provocative play into something overly didactic or having a woe-is-me protagonist, while offering several insights to mull on is difficult for any playwright, let alone for one debuting his first full-length play. 

L-R: Dev (Krish Natarajan), Adam (Shahid Nasheer), Tesh (Gosteloa Spancer), Scott (Ebi Shankara), Fizzy (Adib Kosnan)
Photo: Joseph Nair / Courtesy of Checkpoint Theatre

As most of the stage time mirrors real time, and all the action occurs in Tesh’s living room, it is easy for the show to be derailed into an endless shouting match. The sophistication in Huzir Sulaiman’s direction coupled with the sheer commitment from the wonderful cast mean that every moment is filled with pregnant intensity. 

Our attention is drawn to different parts of the room when the fissures occur. But if one were to cast an eye on the other characters observing the situation, you can feel the simmering tension, as you wonder what would happen next. 

Gosteloa Spancer’s portrayal of Tesh may be slightly tentative initially. But by the time he delivers the key monologue, he has the audience latching on to every word. 

Ebi Shankara’s Scott, a therapist who moved to the US, may be the most easy-going of the lot, as he bears the brunt of jokes about him escaping Singapore or adopting Americanisms. However, domestic troubles gradually bubble to the surface. Witnessing how Shankara allows his character to stew in his problems until the inevitable revelation is a delight. 

Krish Natarajan plays Dev, a musician who provided most of the comic relief due to his cheeky demeanour. But one should look out for the handling of Dev’s character arc as he becomes more circumspect when Tesh’s predicament compels him to reflect on his past.

Watching Adib Kosnan play Fizzy—an ardent activist seeking to effect change via social media—is a refreshing change to his mild-mannered character in a previous collaboration with Checkpoint Theatre, Keluarga Besar En. Karim. This is also a testament to his versatility as an actor.

Adam, a jaded academic caught in an unjustified social media maelstrom caused by Fizzy, is understandably sceptical and guarded. Shahid Nasheer’s keen sense of timing allows Adam to play devil’s advocate as he curtly interrogates everyone’s intentions.

The other cast members—Isabella Chiam (Marina, Tesh’s wife); Lareina Tham (Caroline, Tesh’s assistant); Vishnucharan Naidu (Ravi, Tesh’s intern);  Hang Qian Chou and Chaney Chia (cameramen)—serve to emphasise how politics is heavily reliant on optics.

The Singapore theatre canon is no stranger to tackling race issues. Only time will tell if Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes will be added to it.

However, with so much to think about, the joke’s on all of us if we don’t move the conversation forward on race issues, and figure out ways to coëxist better. 

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes offers detailed characterisation and serious themes” by Ong Sor Fern, The Straits Times Life! (Review is behind a paywall. Read a partial transcript here)

“Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes“ by Naeem Kapadia, Crystalwords

“Review: Dia Hakim on Brown Boys Don’t Tell Jokes by Myle Yan Tay (Checkpoint Theatre)” by Dia Hakim, Critics Circle Blog

[Theatre Review] ‘The Puppets are Alright’ by The Finger Players: Puppets Revealing Humanity’s Frailties

/ Isaac Tan / 2 Comments

Doreen Toh in ‘My Father The AI Machine’ / Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

The Puppets are Alright
The Finger Players
26 February 2023
Drama Centre Black Box 
22–26 February 2023

In my email interview with the creatives of The Puppets are Alright, the common theme of working towards a piece in which the puppet is crucial to the story-telling came up consistently. 

The puppets used in the triple-bill are created by Sim Xin Feng, Loo An Ni, and Marilyn Ang during their respective year-long residencies at The Maker’s Lab. 

When the audience enters the black box, they will see Sim Xin Feng’s puppet seated at the dining table, facing them directly. It is the size of a large doll, its head resembling a bald, bespectacled, middle-aged man. 

With its big eyes and indecipherable mouth, it has an enigmatic presence throughout My Father The AI Machine. In the piece, it is a machine which supposedly contains the brainwaves and memories of a deceased man, an innovation by the government-backed Revive the Dead Programme.

The man’s wife (Doreen Toh) treats it like her actual husband, and takes on multiple jobs, hoping to eventually afford the upgrades to make this machine more human-like. This leaves the son (Neo Hai Bin) contending with treating the machine like his father, and not having a proper relationship with his mother.

Neo Hai Bin plays the son who is unwilling to treat the machine as his father
Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

With its movable eyes, controlled by a joystick, and a button at the mouth to print ten words at a time on a ticker tape, dispensed through its chest, the puppet is not completely inanimate, but hardly human. 

The liminality of the puppet is the crux of this poignant human drama in which one is clinging on to what is lost at the unknowing expense of slowly losing what one has.

Playwright Chong Tze Chien keeps the plot and world-building of a near future simple, which allows us to focus on the human drama. Unfortunately, Liew Jia Yi’s direction and the performance by the actors is just short of realising the drama to its fullest potential. 

For a woman who desperately wants to keep her husband alive, and treats the machine as her husband, Doreen Toh is slightly tentative in handling the puppet as they slow dance to the couple’s favourite song. Even when the son threatens to destroy the machine, her desperate pleas do not feel like her son has just threatened to kill his father with a long knife in hand. 

At the end of the play, when the son makes an irrational decision that contradicts his previous beliefs, Neo Hai Bin portrays the son to make that decision a little too easily. 

That said, the play is engaging and touches on a very human struggle. 

Alvin Chiam plays a man who is haunted by the spectre of his wife / Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

As a counterpoint to the opening piece, Loo An Ni’s puppet in Parting only appears in the middle of the piece. Instead of using the original puppets she created for her residency, she created a new one based on insights gained from her research into modularity. 

While I am slightly disappointed as she is modest in her ambitions with the life-sized female mannequin with detachable limbs,—as opposed to her original interests in exoskeletons and modularity—the puppet serves as the spectre that confronts us with our sins. 

In this non-verbal piece conceived and directed by Oliver Chong, a man (Alvin Chiam) writes a parting letter to his wife and removes his wedding ring. Three creatures (Angelina Chandra, Jo Kwek, Rachel Nip) dressed in black appear and they seem to represent the man’s personal demons. As they scamper and scramble about the room to frolic and cause mischief, the man gets increasingly affected.

The timing between the creatures shifting the body parts of the puppet, and the man wondering they are constantly being misplaced, is incredibly taut. This brings out a sense of dark humour. We get the horror trope of things moving about and seeing the dark forces causing mischief, while also getting the comedic element of child-like creatures playing pranks.

The creatures (Angelina Chandra, Jo Kwek, Rachel Nip) seem to represent the man’s personal demons
Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

Chiam’s slightly understated approach is a nice touch as this contrasts with the creatures suggests how he is trying to control what is going on internally as manifested by the creatures on stage.

The creatures also double as puppeteers. When the mannequin is assembled, it becomes the spectre of the man’s wife, and he is confronted with what he did. As the ultimate act is committed, the puppet is crucial in showing how violent we can be. This may be a little too uncomfortable if such violence is enacted on a human actor. 

The promotional materials describe this piece as “high octane”, but the initial menacing quality of the piece is not ramped up towards the climax. While one might worry about how much the audience can take, I think there is still more room to push this further. 

Ian Tan handles and gives voice to the rod puppet, Paul. T. Saitharan plays Paul’s father
Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

The Bench brings us back to familiar ground with Marilyn Ang’s rod puppet which plays the son, Paul, whose relationship with his father (T. Sasitharan) is strained.

Having lost his wife, the father has to raise his son alone and tries to connect with him by creating an environment that the father thinks is beautiful—building a bench that can play sounds when touching different parts of it, and telling him stories or quotes by luminaries of the past whenever Paul needs some guidance. 

Paul drifts from his father as he tires of the cryptic wisdom provided by his father, which does not seem to help him navigate through the thickets of life. 

In this wistful play, written by Ellison Tan and directed by Myra Loke, we see Paul grow from an infant to a young adult through the sensitive puppeteering and line delivery by Ian Tan. 

One of the key features in Marilyn Ang’s design of Paul is a mechanism in the chest which allows it to emit bubbles. At a few points in the play, we see Paul emitting a stream of bubbles from his chest, as if he is pouring his heart out. Just like the stories and quotes from his father, they appear beautiful, but are fleeting and do not exist long enough for a connection to be made. 

Delicate performances from T. Sasitharan and Ian Tan / Photo: Benson Lim / Courtesy of The Finger Players

T. Sasitharan, as Paul’s father, has an unmistaken presence and one could listen to him tell stories for hours. Despite him likening acting with and reacting to puppets as a high-wire act sans safety net, he does it effortlessly.

However, even when the relationship is fraying, the father still resorts to quotes and anecdotes to communicate with his son. One wishes that the audience with some sort of indication—either through the text or direction—as to why the father could not speak from the heart, despite being very eloquent in relaying wisdom from the past.

With a few beautiful moments sprinkled in the piece, which brings out Marilyn Ang’s exploration of tactility and bubbles, the piece is an elegy of father-son relationships, and the missed opportunities for connection. 

Despite needing a few tweaks, everyone involved in the triple-bill must be congratulated for creating works that incorporate the puppets in an organic way, while throwing humanity’s needs, desires, and frailties into sharper relief. 

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: The Puppets Are Alright is sophisticated storytelling about grief and love” by Charmaine Lim, The Straits Times Life! (Review is behind a paywall.)

“To Make is To Care” by Lee Shu Yu, harmonicstagebeams

“The Puppets Are Alright” by The Finger Players—and I know the outgoing artistic directors will be alright too” by Corrie Tan, the intimate critic

“Response: Alex Li on The Puppets Are Alright by Ellison Tan, Oliver Chong, and Chong Tze Chien (The Finger Players)” by Alex Li, Critics Circle Blog

Further Reading

[Interview] Creatives shed light on ‘The Puppets are Alright’ by The Finger Players

[Interview] Ellison Tan and Myra Loke celebrate their stint as co-artistic directors of The Finger Players with The Puppets are Alright

Programme booklet of The Puppets are Alright

[Theatre Review] Puppet Origin Stories by The Finger Players: Of Remembrance and Reïnvention

/ Isaac Tan / Leave a comment

Courtesy of The Finger Players / Photo: Tuckys Photography

Puppet Origin Stories
The Finger Players
9 November 2022
One-Two-Six Cairnhill Arts Centre
9–13 November 2022

The site of Cairnhill Arts Centre was originally an estate surrounded by nutmeg plantations. The building was also once Anglo-Chinese School and the Teachers’ Training College, among other things.

I am aware of those facts not because I am well-versed in local history, but it was shared with us by the co-artistic directors of The Finger Players, Ellison Tan and Myra Loke, as the prelude to Puppet Origin Stories, a triple bill of performances by artists from various disciplines using puppets from the company’s repository.

With that rather surprising prologue, Puppet Origin Stories is more than a puppetry experimentation or reïnvention; it is also about remembrance and the company’s way of looking back at its history. 

Remembrance and reïnvention are present in all three works.

Chai Jean Yinn as Shadow (left) while Liew Jia Yi manipulates Peng (right) / Photo: Tuckys Photography

In “Jabber”, movement artist Hairi Cromo takes his childhood experiences and creates a piece whereby a boy interacts with a strange creature, which is a physical manifestation of his unresolved feelings. 

Liew Jia Yi deftly handles Peng, the puppet of the boy, by slipping into his feet like slippers while manipulating his hands and head through the rods attached to them. Liew’s movement work is quite detailed as she successfully creates nuances in the boy’s movements such as creating the illusion of distance as the boy greets his friends when they pass him by in school.

Chai Jean Yinn plays the teacher, who strips the boy of his prefect position after he was caught playing a fool in class, and the amorphous creature, Shadow, that haunts the boy. The former is portrayed by wearing a mask, while the latter is portrayed by Chai wearing a headscarf made from different cloths and an oval cookie tin for a face.

Apart from the sweeping movements which creates a ghost-like quality in the creature, Chai also haunts the boy by collapsing her body which lends the creature an amorphous quality.

While one can see the resemblances to Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, which is one of the main inspirations for the piece, it does not have enough thrust in which the boy is working through his feelings. As it stands the boy has a slight revelation and asks the creature to leave him. 

One hopes that this piece will be developed further in future and, if it could really tell the story from the boy’s point of view, it will fulfil the main goal of emphasising the importance of adult’s acknowledging the feelings of children.

Tan Beng Tian visits Ah Ma (handled by Yazid Jalil) in a museum / Photo: Tuckys Photography

“AH MA” by film-maker Tan Wei Ting remembers the past and invents a (hopefully) fictional future when puppetry is no longer practised, and it exists only as artefacts inside a museum display. A puppet, Ah Ma, is chosen to be preserved, but when Tan Beng Tian realises that Ah Ma is unhappy, a museum heist ensues.

Ah Ma is a rod puppet created for A.i.D, Angels in Disguise (2010). As she is suffering from dementia in the original production, she has a jewel inside her head that represents her memories. With a flick, expertly done by a puppeteer, the jewel is flung out, and Ah Ma loses her memories.

The theme of remembrance manifests in many ways. In the context of the piece, will we suffer a kind of cultural dementia as our performance practices die out from the lack of support? Are we truly remembering a performance tradition if it is no longer practised? Is curation a kind of reïnvention?

Tan Wei Ting traverses the past and the imagined future through the interplay of archival footage of A.i.D and having Tan Beng Tian—veteran puppeteer who was involved in handling Ah Ma in A.i.D, and has been with The Finger Players since the beginning—perform in the piece as she navigates a world in which puppetry is dead.

Yazid Jalil doubles up as the bureaucratic curator and the grumpy, but sympathetic security guard who assists in the heist. He displays versatility in both puppetry work and acting as he has to switch characters at a (sometimes literal) drop of a cap.

The duo also showcased some sensitive puppeteering. As the lines of Ah Ma are delivered through a voiceover, the timing has to be absolutely right with details such as breathing or crying added in.

Apart from a sense of poignancy, there is also a sense of child-like playfulness. While Ah Ma steals the show, there is also some—for a lack of a better term— “informal puppetry” going on. 

Tan would sometimes hold and move the curator’s spectacles or security guard’s cap while Yazid delivers his lines before quickly changing characters. This harkens back to the games of make-believe we play as children—perhaps carelessly moving a soft toy while giving it voices might be our very first contact with puppetry.

Mitchell Fang (left) and Deonn Yang (right) handle Moon Baby as it stands on the body of Becca D’Bus / Photo: Tuckys Photography

In line with the provocative title, “Suck Sweat Dry, Baby!”, drag queen Becca D’Bus does not hold back and questions the premise of the whole endeavour. In her first monologue of the piece, she asks what is there to remember for a company with slightly over 20 years of history, and suggests that something only has monetary value if it has a history. 

While that might be incredibly cynical, one cannot help but wonder if there is a kernel of truth when most arts companies are so reliant on state funding, and they have to constantly justify their value to stay afloat.

Beyond the usual drag act of lip-syncing to Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire, the provocation continues in a pastiche of scenes with different puppets. 

In one scene we see Moon Baby hiking up Bukit Timah Hill, represented by the contours of D’Bus’ corseted body. In the course of people-watching, a taxonomy of hikers is created, as Moon Baby wonders about human behaviour and the image that we are trying to portray to others.

In another scene, we see Sponge Girl inadvertently hooking up with Samsui Woman. And we soon see both puppets laying on top of each other while Deonn Yang and Mitchell Fang, who are in full drag, create sound effects that suggest copulation.

In most puppetry traditions, the puppets are often seen as performers themselves and are often treated with a sense of reverence. As such, it might be initially uncomfortable to see the puppets in this new context, which veers into the profane. 

But it is the same reverence that allows us to imbue them with human qualities, and the provocation soon becomes an exploration of human frailties and desire.  

One leaves the piece unsure of what one has just witnessed, but there is a tacit understanding of the need for human connection. 

With Puppet Origin Stories set to be a yearly fixture, the premise and overall direction of the first instalment is a good start. I cannot wait to see how this platform evolves in years to come. 

Other Reviews

“Theatre review: Open-ended challenges in Puppet Origin Stories that linger” by Charmaine Lim, The Straits Times Life! (Review is behind a paywall.)

“关于守护的问题——观 ‘Puppet Origin Stories'” by 杨明慧, 剧读 thea.preter

“到经禧艺术中心作客—— 观《偶起源故事@126》” by 梁海彬, 剧读 thea.preter

“Teaching an Old Puppet New Tricks” by Lee Shu Yu, harmonicstagebeams

Further Reading

[Interview] Puppet Origin Stories: Same Puppets, New Stories — My interview with the creators of the pieces.

Digital Programme of Puppet Origin Stories

Puppet Origin Stories: Peng — An article about how Peng, which is featured in “Jabber”, came to be.

Puppet Origin Stores: Faceless Maiden — An article about how Faceless Maiden, which is featured in “Jabber”, came to be.

Puppet Origin Stories: Ah Ma — An article about how Ah Ma, which is featured in “AH MA”, came to be.

Puppet Origin Stories: Moon Baby — An article about how Moon Baby, which is featured in “Suck Sweat Dry, Baby!”, came to be.

Puppet Origin Stores: Sponge Girl — An article about how Sponge Girl, which is featured in “Suck Sweat Dry, Baby!”, came to be.

Puppet Origin Stories: Samsui Women — An article about how Samsui Woman, which is featured in “Suck Sweat Dry, Baby!”, came to be.