PHASE #9. FULL PANIC MODE ON

Back in week 8 a class of twenty had panic attacks simultaneously.

S W A G

What do you mean we have to put together a full ten-minute play, to be conceived, scripted, perfected, and performed in four sessions?!

Despite our perfectly mirrored reactions (as if planned, but no), we broke into groups and scrambled to come up with a story that would both be captivating and incorporate the stunningly different approaches to theater we had learnt about in the weeks before. 

Clearly I remember that first day. I hadn't been feeling well and when I stepped post-bomb-drop into the Blackbox my groupmates had already decided on a setting. It would, simply, be set at a bus stop. 

Our favorite 'makcik'

It was quiet brilliance. I loved it. Sure, you may think: how boring; what's so special about a bus stop? To be honest, it was what I would've thought, too, eight weeks ago. The old me would very possibly be drawn to novelty (as wacky and out-of-the-world a setting as you can!), always striving for uniqueness to capture the audience's attention. But after eight weeks I discovered that when done right, the most ordinary of settings could appeal to the audience with familiarity, and express the most profound of ideas.

Take a look at the bus stop we've created. Just a bus stop, no fancy decorations, no funky sci-fi time warp. Five ordinary characters, five lives crossing briefly without rhyme or reason. With only ten minutes to explore these relationships, we keep it bare, with minimal dialogue and explanation. 

Something we've learnt that I'll always bear in mind - to make that onstage instant the most important, rather than back stories or discussions about the future. Doubtlessly the latter would play a huge role as well, but these would better be explained through push-pull actions rather than line after line of speech. Looking at the concepts crafted by the other groups, it is not difficult to see how we've all picked up the motto that less is more, with our simple premises and action-driven performances.

Yet, all this is easier said that done. We had a tough time toning down the dialogue we felt was necessary to drive the plot along in the first two weeks. We would speak as we saw fit, then stop and lament about how we seemed to be speaking too much. Our little performance simply didn't feel theatrical and dramatic enough! Shuming's awkwardness would get too real, I would forget to take my time with my shopping to-do list of actions like we'd learnt in class. We kept rehearsing, but something just didn't click.

Not sure how this came about . . .

Until Andrew came over to breathe new life into us. With a couple of magical advice, he reminded us to take a step back and rethink our strategy. Why focus so much on back stories when they didn't help explain the onstage scenario? Why paint the fabric and fill the gaps when the audience should be allowed free interpretation from the material provided? 

In the last two weeks, we finally saw the light. Tension was more effective than conflict after all, so we focused on creating just that - from space, actions, non-verbal interactions and the lack thereof. 


Bam! It was like we had a whole new product in our hands. It was nothing like the end product I'd imagined all those lessons ago. Script? We didn't have to pen a word. Everything came naturally from the interactions of the character sketches we crafted. Intriguing storyline? Nope, only a caricature of an everyday event where five people share a rare moment of intimacy at a bus stop. 

But see through the eyes of our CDP101 class and you'll discover so much more. The allegorical bus stop setting is an allusion to the journeys we all set out on, and the five (un)fortunate characters symbolize the different stages in our lives and how our decisions eventually shape us. All of this, without any overt explanation. We hope to convey our message quietly, wordlessly. 

My Little Ms Radiant!

Andrew helped debunk my assumptions that acting is all about being laden with clashing emotions, or that a good play is made from clever dialogue and good enactment of scenes of interaction.

A stellar play goes so much further beyond that. It is a culmination of emotions rooted in reality, the push-and-pull factor, lots of pent-up tension, and genuine reactions that bounce from character to character. Monologues are no less affecting than a quarrelsome scene; good dynamics are no less important than a well-written script.

We are attempting to arrive at this level of theatre with our little play. We chose to not write out a script at all, instead reacting in that moment and capturing the essence of the interactions between characters. We have kept dialogue to a bare minimum and reduced it to a supporting role, as a purposeful catalyst to the story – to gently nudge it along rather than being a driving force. And we are prepared to react accordingly to ever-changing circumstances that could befall the scenario during our performance. 

My biggest takeaway from this wonderful module, however, must be the notion that nothing is ever too trivial to be dramatized. I could not be thankful enough for the quirky, lovable classmates who accompanied me on this personal discovery journey through theater class. And of course, our tutor Andrew, who brought us to a different bend in the road, opened my eyes and showed me a brand new perspective.

The best class ever!

It's been crazy wonderful ride, CDP101. So thank you, and I'll never regret being part of you.

PHASE #8. how to write a story

How To Look Dramatic 101

Before we get to actually penning our very own scripts, Andrew wanted to demonstrate two different methods to go about doing it.

First, we got to write disjointed pieces of dialogue on a huge piece of mahjong paper with minimal context and comprehension of the line before that. We then tore the paper into shreds and had to wordlessly form a coherent (as possible) story with our group mates. Hilarity ensued.

Next, we had to work backwards – to spontaneously get into positions, before shifting into the next one and the next, and to replay those positions until we could form a story.

While working through and experimenting with the various methods, Andrew’s nugget of wisdom came through. Both methods hinge on the magic ‘if’, and ‘if’ is absolutely the best word to ask ourselves at any and every stage of the creative process. It helps us access the imaginative part of our brains so we can effectively lie – I mean, come up with a credible story.

And these methods work because there is always pressure on any actor in any performance to behave in a certain way. Whether as a reaction or simply as in-character behavior, an actor is never static or allowed to be so, contributing to the dynamic shifts in the storytelling.

As a person who isn’t very creative, I definitely preferred the first method.

On a side note, I can’t wait to finally begin working on our performance pieces! After eight full weeks of preparation, I think I’m almost ready. My only regret is that we didn’t get to spend more time with Sa’at’s brilliant piece. I would’ve loved to perform that with our class!

PHASE #7. of fluid sexualities and Japanese boy toys

Alfian Sa’at has his way with words, and that way sure is making things interesting. Most of us had devoured the entire script through the recess week break, and were super pumped for the read-through! Seems like we were all harboring a secret passion for roleplaying transsexuals and Japanese boy toys.

It was fun like we’d thought it would be. Spencer liked to pretend-squeak playing a Malay she-male. But of course, there was depth to the laughter.

In merely reading out the scenes, we didn’t put much thought into the push-and-pull we were so familiar with. Andrew reminded us that dialogue ought to be not just scripted words but the end result of something more charged than the surface value of said words. It comes as a natural reaction to a previous action and should contribute rather than form the main bulk of the push-pull dynamic.

We then had to tell our group a story and act out the most interesting one in our own ways. I remember Shuming’s story about his obsession with hair that eventually led to a DIY IPL session. Who knew that guys could be so high-maintenance as well?

As we saw the same story unfold in myriad ways multiple times, I realized that the art of storytelling is fluid and constantly subject to changes. A difference in perception, a different focal point – these could all as easily lead to an entirely separate piece of work. What is important is to pick and stick to your own focal point and to try your very best to not deviate from it.

Also, while we got hands-on with a genuine theatre piece, we toggled between our idea of what acting was and what it should be. Andrew taught us the staggering difference between movie-acting versus theatre acting. While film acting allowed for NGs and retakes, and space for editing and cutting, theatre is always one fluid seamless motion; there is no room for trials and errors, even if one did commit a mistake, the only way to correct it is not to stumble but to improvise on the spot and to cover it up with impromptu acting. Theatre actors are often presented with a much bigger challenge than silver screen actors. There is no take two.

Sounds scary, huh?

PHASE #6. sex.blood.violence.gore

That's right. An all-female cast.

I have a penchant for post-modern local writing, and so when Andrew handed out the stack of papers (yes, the stack I’ve been dreading from the beginning) I was delighted to find a piece by Alfian Sa’at.

It was an assigned reading. But I was more than happy to read the whole stack in one sitting.

However, Andrew’s word of advice – that the script is important, but acting is more than a played out version of script analysis.

To illustrate this very concept, he handed out another sheet of paper; thankfully, with barely over fifty words.

There were five or six scenarios, each with two lines of dialogue. We were to create our own logical circumstances surrounding those lines and to act it out. Naturally, we spent most of our given time thinking up ‘creative’ situations and had fun play-acting them. But when we performed it before Andrew, he was less than impressed.

He told us that we were too focused on the wrong thing. The circumstances shouldn’t shape the dialogue; rather, the dialogue should shape the circumstances. We were allowing the setting to control and limit our abilities to improvise as actors. What, instead, we should do, was to simply come up with minimal setting and let it go from there, all on the spot.

We tried it out again, to incredibly different results. As we said our lines, we were able to go beyond the initial dialogue and let the interaction flow naturally. This, Andrew later remarked, was to actually listen to your fellow actor and let the moment be rooted in reality. Our acting felt much more real, without all the pomp and circumstance we had been so excited to create. And, ironically, it became so much more interesting and engaging to watch because as audience, we could relate.

We asked Andrew why the lines were so limited. His response? That dialogue should never be the main focus of any play. Sure, it is crucial as a catalyst of the plot. But we are able to create expression on more platforms than the verbal one. Our body, voice, imagination and the surrounding space are all equally important in building up certain emotions and charging up a scene, and we should never neglect the use of the other three for the voice spectrum alone. We have to learn to control and curb our impulse to speak out and explain everything through verbal cues to set our performances apart from the rest.

Trust Andrew to turn twelve lines of three-worded dialogue into such a powerful teaching tool!

PHASE #5. why do I always miss the fun things

Somehow, I have a knack for missing the best things.

Suffering from the after-effects of pulling an all-nighter, I couldn’t make it on time for class today as I woke up with a pounding headache and a slight fever that left me bounding in the opposite direction towards the campus clinic instead of the NIE Playhouse as usual.

Yet, from what I’d gathered from the best bunch of classmates ever, class was held in the Blackbox today! The actual Blackbox! Imagine my angst. All the glorious equipment that I could’ve touched and messed with, all the theatre feels and dramatic twirls I could’ve had in that space!

My classmates told me about how they’d put up a mini-performance, a homework piece left over from the previous week. They also further practised the onstage depiction of character relationships, and how to actually work that push-pull factor to ‘make’ your fellow actor do something. Instead of it being a round-robin turn-taking exercise to recite your own lines, actors should in fact listen to one another speak and react accordingly. Actor A, in order to push the plot along to Actor B turning around in dismay, should scream in a way that would in real life cause someone else to turn around in similar dismay.

And the biggest takeaway of the day – that comedy and tragedy are in fact closely related. Who knew that Julius Caesar and Bottom the Ass-head had more in common that they (and we) thought? When Andrew brought it up, everyone was confounded.

Of course, it’s not so simple or difficult to comprehend. Both require great levels of tension in the body and between characters, as we studied in a previous lesson. Furthermore, both must be truthful and rooted in reality to be relatable. Dramatic collapses and piercing laughter may be easy on the eyes in a theatre space, but will fail to evoke genuine reverberation from the audience without a particular sense that this could actually happen. As Andrew commented on the different short pieces, he remarked that it mustn’t all be pretend; that there is a certain difference between acting and performing where the former is simply pretense while the latter is laced with threads of reality.

PHASE #4. a Cinderella story

When I grow up, I wanna be a princess.

Ever dreamed of being a Prince Charming or Disney Princess? I got my chance in theatre class. Today’s theme was the various ways to tell a story. Andrew picked a familiar tale and left us to reconstruct it in groups. His rationale? That we already knew the story by heart and could be free from recalling details and instead focus on how we wanted to tell it.

We began by picking a single moment from the famous fairytale, and then worked outwards to build a series of moments that would serve as the skeleton to our little performance. Eventually, we reconstructed the entire story, from the renowned fairy godmother scene through the oops-my-glass-slipper scene, all the way till the very end.

And from there, we learnt that chapters are instrumental in dividing the story – or play, in context – into actor- and audience-friendly segments that would also allow the director to pick out scenes to focus on.

Zhengliang was hilarious as the Prince Charming waiting in his castle as he idled by doing nothing. But thanks to him, we learnt about how to create a shopping (or a to-do) list of actions, to express emotions or otherwise. Contrary to popular (and my) belief that we should act out emotions, Andrew put it quite plainly that you cannot, as amateurs, effectively act out emotions. In verbatim, ‘What if I’m supposed to pretend to be sad, but I’m actually not sad?’

/combs hair /breath spray /mirror check

It was thoughtful, and all the more thought-provoking. An emotion is intangible and spontaneous, so how could one so simply pretend to have a lightbulb moment of sadness? From where could that imaginary sadness possibly stem if you’re not in fact sad? It’s like saying we could pretend to be the creator of lightbulbs and give an accurate firsthand description of the invention process. I.e. we cannot, unless we are, or we are extremely skilled liars (a.k.a. actors).

Therefore, it would be easier to act out a list of actions that symbolize or constitute a certain emotion, quote unquote. Every little action contributes and is part of the action on stage, and therefore we have to all the more be psychosomatic – a constant awareness of everything we do in front of an audience. For example, to act out ‘happiness’, you could be 1. throwing your hands in the air just because; 2. grinning from ear to ear just because; 3. bouncing about with a spring in your step just because, etc., etc.

Shopping - for actions

We tried it out in a replay of our Cinderella stories. It worked like magic, no pun intended.

It’s amazing how a moment of clarity like this could affect our pre-conceived notions of how we should be going about doing something. I’ll be sure to teach this nifty trick to my very own cast.

PHASE #3. from a jellyfish to a tragic character

Today’s lesson was so much fun! We spent a large part of the three hours going back and forth between being a complete wobbly jellyfish to ridiculous caricatures of Hamlet. Sounds made up? I assure you it’s not.

It’s all about expression of the different levels of tension.

Level #1: jellyfish – where there is nary an ounce of strength in your body. We wobbled about the rehearsal space like invertebrates and fell apart all over the floor.

Flea fly jellyfish!

Wish I was this cute when I wobbled everywhere!

Level #2: Californian – ever watched a drunken American swagger and stumble over the pavement? Yup, that’s us, practising a more human, but still completely paralyzing level of tension.

Level #3: normal human being – how we walk every day. Kind of like a leisurely stroll, or walking without much purpose or destination.

Level #4: stealthy – James Bond with less swag. Maybe a lesser criminal, or an assassin making his way to his target. Significant tension, but suppressed to make room for tiptoeing around.

Not sure how you're supposed to be stealthy with that huge ring.

Level #5: alert – James Bond or Bourne on a mission. Tense enough due to a constant lookout for potential targets or enemies with a gun. We had fun pretending to be in a movie.

Level #6: comedic – what a BEAUTIFUL day! I want to sing a song about the beautiful green grass! Everything was in exclamation marks as we pranced about the space dancing. You might argue that a comedic or happy character requires less tension, but this is not true, as actions must always be pronounced and seemingly lax gestures are in fact laced with direction and force for the stage.

Level #7: tragic ­– Hamlet. Slow, purposeful? dramatic? steps, marked with pronounced grief and unspeakable regret. Many thuds were heard as we fell to our knees.

'Give me your best tragic Hamlet impression.'

Why is tension so crucial to theatre, you ask? Well, we learnt that tension, not conflict, is what’s central to drama. And tension, unlike conflict, requires nothing more than body language to be expressed. A simple push and pull between characters could speak volumes without explicit explanation of back stories, which could get unnecessarily complicated and possibly even boring.

Of course, apart from our own bodies, the room itself imposes a meaning on us and takes on different values every time we change the setting; space is always loaded with meaning and allows us to make do with imagination and creative absence to make up for any possible lack of logistics. Sometimes, we choose to use space instead of actual equipment to evoke a certain sense of theatricality.

What a big takeaway from a simple, fun exercise.

PHASE #2. highs and lows

Just when I’d thought it wasn’t possible, today’s class took me by surprise again! The local education may have turned me into a bit of a cynic, but I stepped into the rehearsal space expecting some seriously draggy and dread-worthy tasks. Yet again, I was wrong.

We began with the exercise on creating frisson. I loved how we could so easily share a magical bond with nearly complete strangers; after all, I’d barely known my classmates beyond the first lesson. But we were able to walk past one another, sharing smiles like we were keepers of a common secret. I suppose this had something to do with our shared passion for works of theatre and how we were less afraid to make mistakes in front of one another.

We began to leak information, as Andrew liked to call it.

LEAKING . . .

We were leaking all over the place, laughing at Crystal losing the ball of energy and Jannah being the last to stop while we walked (or strolled or ran) across the space. I remember Andrew telling us that it is more essential to be genuinely bad at something – and then improving, of course – than to try too hard to be perfect from the very beginning, because the former allows for much more space to grow and to learn.

I think that I discovered that for myself today. To be honest, I consider myself to be somewhat of a formal person: I’m always polite and always politically correct, and embarrassing myself in public would probably fall slightly below eating worms on my list. But in the little space we had, I actually felt okay, maybe even comfortable making mistakes and being bad at the exercises. It was liberating. As I felt myself loosen up, expression could flow more freely, and I became more prepared for the performance I knew was coming at the end of this module.

My favorite exercise of the day was the activity that taught us about levels. While Andrew turned us into paupers on their knees and kings with their noses in the air, we understood the significance of different levels, created by our bodies or other physical objects, in theatre. Apart from simply differentiating between characters, levels could also signify varying social statuses in a literal way, as well as illustrate the relationship between said characters.

We had so much fun experimenting with highs and lows. For one activity we buddied up, and we had to take turns to close our eyes and place utmost trust in our partners to guide us around the classroom with chairs and tables as obstacles. Kind of like Aladdin showing Jasmine the world on his magic carpet.

Yup.

To say it was scary would be an understatement. Thank goodness my buddy Zhengliang took good care of me, without forgetting to be playfully annoying as he brought me to slide under the table and come out from the other side.

With our eyes closed, we could embrace the standing up and kneeling down without reservation. Though we as actors might be aware of character statuses and relationships, we could transmit that same idea to the audience with our body languages, via levels. At the end of the lesson, I emerged with a much clearer idea of what it meant to communicate onstage ideas to offstage audience.

PHASE #1. oooh's and aaah's

What if it doesn't work out??

screamed the voice in my head as I stepped across the imaginary boundary between NTU and NIE for the first time. Oh, and seriously, where is that rehearsal space??, too. 

It should probably explain my reaction when I mention that I am in no way seasoned when it comes to theater. Sure, I've had some experience, being the assistant director to the lovely Hall Productions committee of the university's Hall #2. I've worked with the backstage crew, messing around with the audio system and the script and stage makeup ( which looks truly ghastly in normal lighting, I must say ). I've worked front stage with a talented cast ensemble, while picking up a few things about stage directions and theatrical expression myself. But nothing could have prepared my stage-fright-laden heart for what I should expect in this module. 

Yet when I finally found my way to the central corridor, chiding myself for being late, my fears were drowned out by inevitable excitement. I liked what I saw. Our tutor was jolly and looked really fun! There were no stiff lecture chairs and wordy slides! We were going to begin by sitting around in a circle!

Kids, gather around now!

As my classmates streamed in and I was acquainted with their diverse backgrounds, our tutor - affectionately known as Andrew - handed out the lesson plans, I thought, oh, here it comes, the theory talk. He's going to throw us a script and assign us characters. Stage fright seeped in.

But guess what - it never happened! 

Instead of a thick stack of papers full of words, Andrew preferred to go back to basics. He took us to examine space and to interact with it. No rigid memorization of scripts, only Andrew leading us in turning the little rehearsal space magical.

The best part about class that day was the exercises. As a member of the audience, I liked to imagine that every movement and reaction on stage was fictional. Until that day. Andrew taught us a few nifty activities. Simple, but nifty indeed. I remember sending a ball of energy forward and backwards around in a circle with a clap of my hands and the aaah feeling in the air as it was passed on without stopping. More memorable still was the walking activity. Yes, walking. As we took ownership of the space at different walking paces we had to stop randomly and hope for telepathy with the class before restarting, again hopefully in unison. When that did happen, we were overcome with an oooh feeling.

We called it frisson. 

And that was when I learnt that the best on-stage reactions came not from well-scripted lines or even flawless acting, but these genuine ooh's and aah's that transpire between actors.