Country Fried
Ultimately, I believe I can accept Fried Rice Paradise for what it is: a pageant.
Make no mistake: Fried Rice Paradise is being presented as a national musical. It's co-produced by People's Association to celebrate the institution's 50th anniversary, wedged between the dates of the National Day Parade and the Youth Olympic Games, and performed in the nation's grandest theatre. It's even programmed with an agenda of establishment patriotism: a strategically multiracial dramatis personae, frequent mentions of community centres, and even a speedy performance of Singapore's history in Rasa Sayang, with everyone dressed in ethnic costume: a segment my friend described as "NDP in five minutes".
Nonetheless, I'm rather won over by this government-funded, bread-and-circus extravaganza, partly because it's so wonderfully lavish. It's a feast for the eyes, with gloriously gaudy nostalgic hues plastered all over Lai Chan's bell-bottomed, pointy-collared costumes. Also note the extremely believable shophouse exteriors and interiors created by set designer Francis O'Connor - it's amazing how he's managed to shrink the three storeyed-architecture into a size that fits the stage.
Then there's the cast: a star-studded bunch, supported by an ensemble chorus of twenty disco-dancing and ronggenging lads and lasses. Kudos to the choreographer, Jeffrey Tan, who's created some truly lovely spectacles, such as the sequence centered on Bee Lean's 21st birthday preparations, as well as the gymnastic pas de deux of the disco contest. As for the principals, the names alone impress: where else can you catch Taufik Batisah, Alemay Fernandez, Sebastian Tan, Lim Yu-Beng, Hatta Said and Rahimah Rahim, all on stage at the very same time?
Those of us expecting a faithful revival of the original 1991 production have our hopes utterly stymied, though. A total of two characters survive from the first iteration, which was about a middle-aged lady named Bee Lean bequeathing her fried rice stall to her daughters. Now, Bee Lean's been shrunk into a mousy 21 year-old, opening her stall in the '70s – a happy time, when community centres were still actually relevant. But faithfulness be damned: I found the show delightful, joyous, fun.
Yet I can't argue much with anyone who disses the production. Because truth be told, its fundamentals are a mess. Look at the songs. The score is decent, but forgettable – nothing sticks in the mind except for two songs: Rasa Sayang (from Dick Lee's 1989 album The Mad Chinaman) and the eponymous Fried Rice Paradise (the one and only song brought over from the 1991 version). The remaining pieces are generic lyrics set to generic, occasionally disco-themed music – none of the specific wit and vibrancy that might make us truly warm to a ditty.
Look at the story. It just isn't satisfying. For one thing, the focus isn't on the rice itself, as the song would suggest. Bee Lean's main motivation is to save her father's shophouse from being sold to the evil magnate Rickson Tan; marketing her famous fried rice recipe is only a means to this end. There's never an indication that she's passionate about the dish itself, nor is there a real revelation about why she loves the shophouse so much. We desperately need a soul-wrenching solo from her, drawing on the facts that her late mother invented the recipe and brought her up in the house, in order to render the narrative truly emotionally compelling.
Instead, we've a flimsy love story: Rickson's son, Hennessy, is assigned to spy on Bee Lean by feigning interest in her, but ends up falling for her in earnest. This doesn't hold our attention because love isn't part of Bee Lean's quest: her primary project is her get-rich-quick-with-nasi-goreng scheme. Anyhow, their dialogue is rather badly written, and chock-full of misplaced innuendo: during a sequence when he's helping her hang up coloured lights, there's even a "well hung" joke.
This lovers' narrative has a number of twists and turns, as betrayals are discovered and alliances are forged. Still, they're of little interest compared to the big twist in the main plot at the end - one of the truly gripping moments that unfortunately comes too late to really matter.
Then there's all the subplots which elude logic. We don't see how Bee Lean's father becomes romantically involved with community centre worker Devi; we can't understand how tenants Siti and Osman can be duped into giving up their spaces in the shophouse by an obviously rigged disco contest; and we see zero development on the subject of neighbour Johan's unrequited love for Bee Lean. And while I don't mind the pandering to PA, I was disgusted by how the script sucks up to corporate sponsor Prima Taste. The whole section where Bee Lean packages her spices to sell for easy preparation of her fried rice at home, just as Prima Taste does with laksa and sayur lodeh powder, is blatantly anachronistic and unneeded.
One last area of criticism: look at the use of the cast. These stars are not being properly employed, even though the creation of an original script means that there should have been plenty of room to design roles for each of them. Rahimah Rahim, for instance, doesn't get a single solo as Siti. Nor does Alemay Fernandez as Devi. These are two iconic Singaporean singers from two different generations, each of whom was a force of motivation for ticket sales, and they're being sidelined in favour of the main characters, all of whom happen to be Chinese.
Even Taufik Batisah, who receives top billing in the role of Johan, is marginalised. True, he's given the opening number, a version of Fried Rice Paradise, surrounded by a bevy of chorus girls dressed as Bee Lean, as well as the disco karaoke solo Dreamgirl, yet his character barely matters to the plot - he's not even cast as a narrator, which would have given him more stage time with little trade-off. Of course, those who remember Taufik's poor TV acting skills in Shooting Stars might say it's a blessing he doesn't have to act much. Yet, the role of being a lovelorn outsider really doesn't require heavy acting skills. His main shortcoming in this show, in fact, has nothing to do with acting, but his singing: I simply cannot hear his words.
Fortunately, we get to see some rather good comic acting from some of the principals. Darius Tan stands out as the beng-ish, conniving Rickson, seldom failing to provoke a laugh as he murders the English language. Amanda Tee and Jacqueline Pereira, meanwhile, are outrageously funny in their minor roles as the bitchy moll Campari and the domineering health inspector Miss Moo. Character acting, however, is another story. Lim Yu-Beng's role is unfortunately too limited to be worth remarking upon, as is Fernandez's – though she does keep up her exaggerated Indian accent splendidly. And sadly, Denise Tan and Sebastian Tan have little chemistry in their roles as the lovers Bee Lean and Hennessy.
Given all these flaws, you must be wondering why I'm sticking to my guns in defending the show as an actual pleasure to watch. After all, in critical terms, it's a mediocre product dressed up in fine clothing - not quite the artwork you'd want to have representing Singapore. And thinking about it, I believe I've pinned down the key reason.
You see, unlike a number of blatantly propagandistic artworks, Fried Rice Paradise has a soul. It does push the non-establishment agenda, on occasion, obliquely mocking Rickson's plans for an integrated resort-style hub in Bee Lean's neighbourhood, and indirectly criticising the government's past policy of demolishing our architectural heritage.
It also has its roots in a genuine strain of patriotism that evolved counter to government endorsement. When Dick Lee wrote the original Fried Rice Paradise song for a Rediffusion Singapore contest in 1973, it was actually banned from the airwaves for its use of Singlish. Lee had tapped into the vernacular and used words like "shiok" nine full years before Paik Choo formulated the first standard Singlish lexicon, Eh, Goondu! The censored song nonetheless became an underground hit. You can't tell me that's not punk.
Then there's the simple truth that we could do with a national musical, given that there aren't a lot of good candidates. Many successful local musicals don't even take place in Singapore - Chang and Eng, Forbidden City and If There're Seasons, for instance - while in others, non-Chinese characters are absent or featured only in the most token of roles - consider Lao Jiu: The Musical and Beauty World. (Anti-establishment musicals like Oi! Sleeping Beauty and Sing Dollar do surprisingly well on these counts, though. Perhaps they'll become canonical in a few decades' time.)
Ultimately, I believe I can accept Fried Rice Paradise for what it is: a pageant. Perhaps it wasn't perfectly executed, but it's one of the rare indoor theatre performances that's received the complete blessing of the government while not being devoid of integrity. Not every work of theatre is going to induce social awakening, after all; some of it's going to be circuses. And we in the arts industry are part of that circus. We fry the grains that provide the country with a temporary paradise.
Fried Rice Paradise is both gorgeous and joyous, bathed in the Technicolor nostalgia of 1970s Singapore. The dazzling costumes and splendid sets are matched only by the enthusiasm and energy of the twenty-strong chorus of young performers, disco-dancing their way through a tale of friendship, ambition and intrigue in the shophouses of Jalan Calamansi.
What's problematic are the fundamentals. The plot isn't truly satisfying: Bee Lean's dream of selling her famous fried rice lacks real emotional weight, and the conclusion leaves us with a number of loose ends. Few of the songs stick in the mind, other than Rasa Sayang and the good old Fried Rice Paradise itself. The leads have only shaky chemistry, and pretty bad diction - I could hardly hear anything Taufik Batisah was singing. Plus, certain performers are terribly under-utilised - Rahimah Rahim doesn't have a single solo!
Surprisingly, the occasionally lame jokes and less-than-subtle People's Association themes don't really grate on the nerves. They're a reminder that this is a homegrown musical - flawed and a little flashier than necessary, but still an earnest attempt to describe ourselves on stage. (Remember, many other Singapore musicals, like Forbidden City, If There're Seasons and Liaozhai Rocks, aren't even set in Singapore. Let's give credit where it's due.)
Ng Yi-Sheng, 25 Aug 2010 (3.0 out of 5)