Twisted Sister
Like watching François Ozon’s 8 Femmes with added tudungs.
Holy crap, this show is hilarious. Kakak Kau Punya Laki (Your Sister’s Husband) tackles issues of cultural erosion through the genre of farce – it’s almost like watching François Ozon’s 8 Femmes with added tudungs.
The play’s inspired by the Malay community’s soul-searching over the figure of Jemayah Islamiyah terrorist Mas Selamat. However, playwright Alfian Sa’at’s decided not to focus on religious fundamentalism but “racial fundamentalism” – the idea that, in assimilationist Singapore, it is as much an abomination to be too traditionally and stereotypically Malay as it is to plot to blow up MRT stations in the name of God.
Our story thus revolves around Maslinda bte Selamat (Najib Soiman), a 40 year-old virgin curry puff-seller, and her younger, far more upwardly mobile sisters: Hasnidah, Zuraidah, Junaidah and Rashidah. There’s loads of laughs to be had here, with the audience roaring over the caricatures of tai-tais shopping online for Birkins and makciks obsessed with herbal oil, as well as cracks over the government’s “no civil servants in tudungs” policy.
But the real drama erupts when the sisters discover that Mas has a fiancé – a decidedly lower-class fiancé with dubious financial and moral intentions. Their cruel plot to erase this stain on their family reputation parallels the Singapore government’s paranoid pursuit of Mas Selamat the terrorist, provoking pathos and a fair amount of guilt on our own parts – how much of our own cultural identities have we sacrificed for the sake of modernity?
It’s to Najib’s credit that he never exaggerates the femininity of his character, presenting her as a mannish yet sentimental woman rather than as a pantomime drag queen – and yet his clownish physical skills are strongly brought to the fore. The female cast is just as delightful to watch – and it’s honestly heart-warming to see actresses Mastura Ahmad, Noorlinah Mohamed, Farah Ong and Maimunah Bagharib (aka Munah), from the worlds of TV, theatre and YouTube, coming together on the same stage.
I’m a little unsure about director/set designer Mohd Fared Jainal’s expressionist interpretation of the script. Certainly, I like that it’s stylized and surreal – the cast is clad in costumes of black and white (even the SIA stewardess!) and they periodically freeze or pose in alarmingly angular attitudes as electronic noise screams and the multi-hued lights beam down on them, playing out their tale on a white stage where the walls are gradually closing in. But his interventions are often jarring enough to be distracting, especially when the moving walls bump up against the furniture.
As a final note, I’d like to say how glad I am that Alfian’s made a return to farcical comedy. We haven’t seen this side of him since the turn of the millennium, with plays like Madu II, The Miseducation of Minah Jambu, sex.violence.blood.gore and Asian Boys Volume One: Dreamplay. It’s also true that his writing has previously focussed on Malay Singaporeans primarily as an underclass, while newer playwrights have explored the quandaries of the upper middle-class Malay in works like Ahmad Musta’ain bin Khamis’s Serunding and Zizi Azah’s The Gunpowder Trail.
This script therefore breaks new ground for him – and it’s a treat for audiences, too. Given that it’s sold out all its evening shows already, I’m hoping Teater Ekamatra’s planning a revival soon. This is one comedy you’ll be sorry if you miss.