White Soliloquy

Toy Factory

Esplanade Theatre Studio

To commemorate its 20th anniversary, Toy Factory has chosen to pay tribute to veteran stage and television actor Bai Yan, now 91 and retired.

At first glance, this seems like a strange choice given that he does not have a particularly strong association with the theatre company. But the playwright, Toy Factory’s artistic director Goh Boon Teck, has used Bai’s lifelong career as an actor to broach broader themes about acting and the state of the performing arts in Singapore.

In contrast to its other current production, the musical December Rains, White Soliloquy – a translation that plays on the Mandarin characters for Bai Yan – is intimate in set-up. The only props on the stage are a large dirty mirror and a few empty wooden chairs, while the weight of the show rests on Nelson Chia (above), the only performer seen on stage.

Yet the scope of what this play tackles is epic. There is the narrative arc of biography, beginning with how China-born Yan Boyuan was mesmerised by the travelling Yin Yue Music And Dance Troupe and then taken in by them after being roped in as a stand-in.

Chia, dressed all in white, is an engaging performer as he tells the tale, alternating between the roles of narrator, Bai and an assortment of other characters ranging from a dedicated fan in Penang speaking Mandarin with a Malaysian accent to a director on the set of a MediaCorp series with a strong Hong Kong accent.

What comes through most strongly is Bai’s unflagging spirit, which is mirrored in Chia’s indefatigable performance. Bai ekes out a living through the years of the Japanese Occupation, loses his savings in an investment after the war and then starts afresh, performing at several venues a night in order to support three families – his own in Singapore as well as his parents and his in-laws in China.

Through it all, he perseveres, holding on to the mantra that a man’s back must shoulder immense burdens before he can soar. The problem, though, is that Bai ends up seeming too saintly to be true.

Goh and director Jalyn Han also weave in vignettes ruminating on various aspects of the actor’s life. It was telling that some of these scenes provoked a bigger reaction from the crowd than when the story was simply about Bai, suggesting the biography portion could have been further tightened.

One such interlude was about a MediaCorp (or perhaps it was TCS then) A-lister, Cao so-and-so, throwing his weight about on set and generally behaving disgracefully. It certainly piqued interests and ears pricked up.

At one point, Chia started reflecting on his own experiences as an actor, adding yet another facet to the piece. What was rather jarring however was the diatribe against clueless bureaucrats and the constant struggle to justify spending on the arts. While the tirade did raise a few laughs, it ultimately felt out of place.

One caveat for those planning to catch the production. It is largely in Mandarin, with snatches of song and dialogue in other provincial dialects, and there are no English surtitles.

If you are caught off-guard, Chia’s musing about whether an actor’s dialogue is all in vain (bai le yan yu) will end up being unintentionally ironic.

(ST)