Everything but the Brain
Action Theatre
Esplanade Theatre Studio| 18 - 28 January 2007

It is not difficult to imagine why this play has been so unanimously praised by reviewers and well-liked in equal measure by theatre-goers. For the former, Jean Tay’s script, in the context of the local theatre scene, offers a new way — through its wildly imaginative plot — of talking about the human condition. For the latter, the play satisfyingly deals with themes that they can easily identify with.

My own opinion is that Tay’s script occupies that position in a playwright’s early career in which the elements of future achievement are visible: it is a happy position, in so far as one can feel there is more to look forward to. Other than this, I’m almost tempted to say there’s nothing much more this particular reviewer would want to say about the script, or this particular production. But perhaps one must still go on: it’s like remaining in one’s seat, out of a plebeian courtesy, sitting through a pedantic production that has nothing to say, other than, perhaps, a reminder that it will somehow end, and one must, well, go on.

No doubt, the script contains some rather poignant scenes. I especially like the scene where Father explains the theory of relativity to a young Elaine using an anecdote of a family of bears, which goes something like this: Papa Bear and Little Bear are on a train travelling somewhere; in their carriage, Papa Bear stands at a distance away from Little Bear, who runs towards him; Papa Bear times Little Bear’s speed with the stopwatch on his wrist; while father and daughter are carrying out their experiment in the train, Mama Bear is carrying out her own experiment with Little Bear outside the train; she stands watch from a distance, timing Little Bear’s speed as the train carrying her away cuts across her vision to nowhere she would follow.

This little episode demonstrates Tay’s ability to underscore the sad truths we do not want to admit to ourselves even as we are being forced to confront them. We disguise them with the fabulistic trappings of fairy tales, as if promising ourselves the happy ending we very well know will never happen. Like the scent of lilies at the funeral of a loved one.

We know that Father is not really talking about physics. Maybe “dynamics”, but it’s the dynamics between a father and his daughter, both of whom were recently abandoned by his wife and her mother, the person they will miss but can never love in the same way ever again. Love, still, but with diminishing sentiments.

My ambivalence about the script is due, to a great extent, to the actual production which I saw. I can’t say that it was well executed. Although I would not hesitate to applaud the dynamic performance of an incomparable Pam Oei. Having said that, Pam’s virtuosity, admittedly, was partly attributed to the deflating performances that surrounded her like misshapen flowers on a bundle of laurel. The trio who played the Bears was unbearably irritating.

Tay’s script is not an easy script to dramatise: given its great reliance on expositions and the juxtaposition of ludic elements with darker, more sombre ones, it’s easy for the execution to slant towards that which exudes that feeling one gets when watching a production of an amateur troupe, which was what I got whenever the Bears emerged from their silence to emote. To say I was thoroughly irritated is to put it mildly. It was also unfortunate that Gerald Chew’s award-winning performance did next to nothing to salvage the experience I had; though a well-studied portrayal, his performance lacked an emotional resonance.

Shall I put in a last word about Timothy Nga? Nah, forget it. If I did, it would be an eulogy.