presented by The Substation, 18 – 19 April 2008
review by Amos Toh

The debut of Cake’s multi-sensory epic Nothing in April last year marked not only a brave and critical re-examination of director Natalie Hennedige’s artistic vision, but also a defining moment in Singapore theatre. Previously, Hennedige and her creative team could be likened to mad scientists, celebrated for their ingenuous methods, yet threatened by them. Though adept at fashioning exquisite theatre out of the mundane or unexpected, they were just as likely to lose their audience in the wake of dangerous solipsism. Nothing, a dreamlike pastiche of human relationships reflecting on death, love and longing, witnessed the coalescence of Hennedige’s characteristic energy and boldness with moments of haunting intimacy and introspection. Later that year, y grec reinforced Hennedige’s newfound restraint, delivering an enthralling interpretation of poetry on stage that reminded us of the play’s ability to go places inaccessible to other art forms.

Cake’s artistic development proves that the best experimental theatre ascribes some logic to its madness, heightening the audience’s sensitivity to the play while careful not to alienate them. The drastic changes in mood and theme from one scene to another in Nothing, for example, are convincing because they reinforce the play’s exploration of variously dysfunctional ways we cope with a failed relationship, or the imminent death of a lover. Unfortunately, in the case of Circus, logic appears to be inconsequential, and is recklessly eschewed for madness.

This multi-disciplinary collaboration between Noor Effendy Ibrahim, Rizman Putra, Sabrina Annarhar, Fredi Sonderegger and Emanorwatty Saleh aims to convey several observations of torture through subverting the traditional aspects of a circus, attempting a daring theatrical experiment reminiscent of Cake’s earlier efforts. Abandoning most conventions of the stage, this unusual conflation is also an artistic apologia of sorts; the message that seems to unify Circus is that there isn’t and shouldn’t be one. Unfortunately, the artists’ perceived “message” fails to conceal the fact that they have no conceivable idea of how the production should unravel or, more fundamentally, why it should.

To be sure, the production’s flaws have very little to do with the artists’ individual talents. Local indie singer Sabrina’s smoky, mellow vocals imbue the production’s interludes with a haunting poignancy: she is the sort of songstress that can sing a phonebook and make it sound good. But with nearly indecipherable lyrics like “I am having sweet coarse hair / an added bonus cigarettes and coffee / I cup your millipede and winged cows / with Teflon coated psychedelia”, which doubles as the written introduction to the play, she might as well have been singing just that. Similarly, one could wax lyrical about Fredi’s mastery over the bass trombone; but his performance could just as easily pass off as a sterling solo rendition, or random notes strung together during practice that sounded good for no particular reason.

Circus takes significant liberties with plot, theme and structure at the expense of cohesiveness, attempting to shock and unsettle with no discernible purpose. When asked about the play’s construction during the talkback, Effendy offered Sabrina’s song interludes and the artists’ untidy sketch of ideas (reproduced in the programme) as guidance for the action on stage. The songs we already know are painfully obscure; a page hastily scribbled with words like “sensation”, “spectacle” and “epilogue” even more so.

The result is an untamed expressionistic beast bloated with too many sequences, theatrics and layers squeezed into a running time of barely under an hour. One minute the artists, running on the spot with cages on their heads, would be screaming “Torture!”; the next they would be on their backs stamping the floor, laughing deliriously and throwing milk and sawdust at each other. And as if this wasn’t messy enough, one artist or another would put on a clown suit and play an instrument, or suddenly erupt into boisterous dance or song.

Not all parts of the play are as indulgent; in fact, several moments offer fascinating insights on torture. However, with little focus or direction, the Circus troupe conceals such potentially intriguing issues with bizarre logical twists that arise only because they want so desperately to believe that these amount to theatre. In one such sequence, Effendy whips the ground with stunning force and intensity, his body clenched with incommunicable pain and frustration. Eventually, he seems to realize the futility of his actions and ties the leather rope around himself, quivering with exhaustion and defeat. Although fertile with ideas of aggression and self-alienation, the artists have no notion of how to explore them. Instead, Rizman proceeds to strum furiously on his guitar, singing, “Johnny, I’m really sorry, there’s nothing left to do but sing!” Ironically, this encapsulates the play’s essence, or the lack of it.

These disparities expose a more incriminating neglect. An interview with youth.sg ominously entitled “Circus: No Plan, Just Spontaneity” reveals that the group will “react and respond to the environment during the performance, creating some unexpected moments that will make the experience memorable”. This was reinforced during the talkback, when the artists consistently asserted that Circus was a no holds barred experiment, intent on pushing the audience’s expectations and the limits of the stage. However, such casual artlessness is false basis for the artists’ lack of a “plan” or any coherent rationale. If every movement or speech on stage can mean anything the artists or audience want it to, there are no limits to what is considered valid and sensible discourse cannot occur. Thus, experimenting for experimentation’s sake ends up ringing rather disingenuous here. Consequently, the production does nothing to inform the audience of the artists’ reasons and motives, except to dump large amounts of abstract ideas and emotions which are never defined or elaborated upon.

Circus is a grave lesson in the perils of re-inventing theatre. As agents of change, artists should persistently question and re-evaluate artistic and social conventions. However, if the artist’s duty is to merely indulge in his slightest whim and fancy with no regard for the audience’s ability to keep up, then art becomes impenetrable, and particularly ill-suited to the live, shared experience of theatre.

Amos Toh will read Law at the National University of Singapore in August 2008. He is also a reviewer for the theatre and dance magazine The Flying Inkpot.