It is 2058
and Singapore has suffered the wrath of "fire and brimstone from the
unremitting heavens". Ken Kwek's Apocalypse: Live! fashions
political drama out of post-doomsday clutter, envisioning the dangers
current social and political perversions pose to a country in crisis.
Political egotism and self-righteous evangelism are taken to their extremes:
a bumbling military General attempts to impose a new tyranny on the
post-apocalyptic wasteland; the only intact religious institution of
the country seeks to proselytise its faith to the disillusioned through
massive reclamation efforts. The ensuing debacle of blood, guts and
power unfolds around hapless newscaster and protagonist David Fong,
an island of quiet decency in the sea of howling prejudice and hypocrisy.
Entering the theatre, the stage arrests you immediately. Wong Chee
Wai scatters television screens, telephones, radios and other personal
effects across a wilderness of clothes, capturing the devastating emptiness
of a world frozen in chaos. Smoke and disaster linger in the air; a
slow, visible process of decay has set in. Grainy, black-and-white sketches
of Singapore's eponymous skyscrapers magnify the hollowness of
a city so quickly distressed and depopulated.
Wong's spectacle of debris enhances, and to some degree upstages the
production. While fertile with ideas of censorship, autocracy and dispossession,
Apocalypse conveys them in fits and starts, depriving Wong's
stage of its obvious promise and failing to cohere into a fluent work
of theatre.
Rather than contemplate social and political realities through the
lenses of the future, Kwek gleefully rips through age-old debates about
staying and quitting, restricted press freedom and religious fundamentalism,
straining to revive them under the cover of easygoing irreverence. Kwek
endows Apocalypse's characters with poker faces and acid tongues,
dutifully firing potshots at national landmarks, political figures and
religious institutions of our apparently "small but self-important nation".
The result is a script that shamelessly exploits the same satirical
tricks that countless other Singaporean plays have used and abused.
Major General Abdul Aziz often digresses from his fervently patriotic
speeches to bark tired observations about our "charred durian" and the
purported terrorists that have sent "our microscopic pool of talent
to where the sun doesn't shine". Pastor Seetoh and his wife resort to
talky inanities like "Goddess bless" and other pseudo-Christian aphorisms,
rendering Kwek's religious commentary mortifyingly obvious and contrived.
Apocalypse's satire is governed less by the spirit of observation
than by the angst of a bitter, disillusioned citizen. If the main characters
are merely ciphers in Kwek's allegorical scheme, the minor roles scattered
across the play fare even worse, conveying a blind anti-nationalist
rhetoric that fails to inform Kwek's rigorously pessimistic view of
Singaporean life. When David pleads with viewers to express their opinions
of the unfolding events on air, he receives calls from a typical Singaporean
auntie and a "constitutional lawyer" enquiring about the Great Singapore
sale and en bloc sales respectively. That a typical bystander of such
devastation will continue to dabble in everyday trivialities boggles
the imagination. In the face of ethical dilemmas that inevitably arise
in any crisis, human apathy and ignorance might mutate into more insidious
forms. However, Kwek chooses to stretch his conceptions of typical Singaporean
behaviour past the limits of caricature, rendering his interpretation
of a Singaporean's response to tragedy simplistic and unrealistic.
The persistent din of socio-political rhetoric also obscures a more
incriminating neglect. Apocalypse's messages often drown out
its stories, depriving characters of the depth and emotion that lend
tragedies poignancy. Apocalypse's second-act collapse into
predictable tragedy and sentimentality attempts to correct this. Halfway
through the play, David realises that his sister is missing, but is
stuck at the news centre covering the disaster. He sends correspondent
and confidante Lisa on a frantic and ultimately futile search through
the rubble. Both characters become rapidly disillusioned by the unfolding
crisis, musing out loud, "should I stay or should I go?" These scenes
are often overwrought and implausible, acknowledging certain token dramatic
elements (the requisite sighs, pauses, trembling voices) and lapsing
into a self-serious didacticism that takes no real interest in the tragic
interconnectedness of a population affected by disaster. When David
exasperatedly proclaims, "Am I the only one who is worried about our
country here?" his plea ends up sounding rather disingenuous.
Under Samantha Scott-Blackhall's direction, or the lack thereof, Apocalypse
treads as gingerly around Kwek's script as the actors do around the
debris on stage. Characters fade into Wong's spectacularly arranged
clutter of clothes, bags and television screens, devolving into a landscape
of surprising stasis. The motley crew of young starlets and old hands
stumble through their lines uncertainly, infusing the "live coverage"
of crashes and mayhem with antic, purposeless energy. Gene Sha Rudyn
milks the crass military stereotype for all its worth, but fails to
go deeper or any further. As a devout evangelistic couple that Kwek
eventually and predictably exposes as frauds, Janice Koh and Loong Seng
Onn often flail between forced cheekiness and unearned sentiment.
The result is a production that relies heavily and dangerously on its
protagonist David Fong to generate pace and direction for its otherwise
static mishmash of narratives. Brendon Fernandez nonetheless obliges
with a performance that radiates gritty reserve and nervous charm, drawing
you into a slippery world where ideals are readily compromised, and
tragedy lurks at every turn.
The premise of Apocalypse is enterprising, attention-grabbing.
Unfortunately, the production also plays out that way, more curious
than compelling, more strenuously creative than revelatory. So what
kind of a play is Apocalypse? A frustrating one: full of heart
and devoid of life; crudely manipulative when it tries hardest to be
subtle; and profoundly complacent in spite of its intention to unsettle
and disturb.
First Impression (***)
It is 2058 and Singapore has suffered the wrath of "fire and brimstone
from the unremitting heavens". Ken Kwek's nihilistic construction
of the aftermath rips through a familiar checklist of social and political
gripes, straining to revive age-old debates about staying and quitting,
restricted press freedom and religious fundamentalism under the cover
of easygoing irreverence. While fertile with ideas of censorship, autocracy
and dispossession, Apocalypse: Live! renders them in fits and
starts, failing to cohere into a fluent work of theatre. The persistent
din of socio-political rhetoric also reveals a more incriminating neglect:
Apocalypse's messages often drown out its stories, depriving
characters of the depth and emotion that lend tragedies their heartbreaking
poignancy.
Under Samantha Scott-Blackhall's direction, the production treads as
gingerly around Kwek's script as the actors do around the debris on
stage. Characters fade into Wong Chee Wai's spectacularly arranged clutter
of clothes, bags and television screens, devolving into a landscape
of surprising stasis. The result is a production that relies heavily
and dangerously on its protagonist, Brendon Fernandez's uptight newscaster
David Fong, to generate pace and direction for its otherwise static
mishmash of narratives. Fernandez nonetheless obliges with a performance
that radiates gritty reserve and nervous charm, drawing you into a slippery
world where idealism yields readily to compromise and tragedy lurks
at every turn.
The premise of Apocalypse is enterprising, attention-grabbing.
Unfortunately, the production also plays out that way, more curious
than compelling, more strenuously creative than revelatory. |
"A production that relies heavily and dangerously on its protagonist
to generate pace and direction for its otherwise static mishmash of
narratives"
Credits
Playwright: Ken Kwek
Director: Samantha Scott-Blackhall
Cast: Brendon Fernandez, Janice Koh, Risa Okamoto,
Lee Weng Kee, Loong Seng Onn, Gene Sha Rudyn
Set Designer: Wong Chee Wai
Costume Designer: Moe Kasim
Hair Designer: Ashley Lim
Lighting Designer: James Tan
Sound Designer: Shah Tahir
Producer: Tony Trickett
Production Manager: Purpink Chung
Technical Manager: Teo Kuang Han
Stage Manager: Elnie S Mashari
Photography: Albert Lim KS
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