I found myself
warily approaching Moon Story when I found out it was performed
Cantonese and Mandarin. I had chosen to review the play because its
title and synopsis captivated me - and even with the linguistic barriers,
the performance did indeed engage me from start to end.
When you have a cast as small as four people and a setting as barren
as a subway station, you pay attention to the details. The entire set,
with its yellow boxes and diagonally parallel yellow lines was reminiscent
of stiff, clinical places such as the Esplanade and the North-East Line.
Thought had clearly gone into its design as the ceilings of the subway
platform transformed into a rooftop for a suicide scene. Now that I
think about it, the sound of traffic in the distance far below was present
during the rooftop scene, but it complemented the action so well I found
I hardly noticed it... And in this way, Moon Story kept
things simple, with sound and music always present but so skilfully
unobtrusive that you focused on the heart of the story: its people.
Yau Ting Fai was most outstanding. He was the male lead who finds himself
trapped in the subway, unable to catch the train or return to the surface.
In this urban limbo, he is stuck with a stranger whose continual accusations
that he is a pervert drum up uncomfortable humour. He turns out to be
a perfectly harmless soul with a penchant for physical comedy: when
bored, he resorts to stretching and mimicking runners, swimmers and
other sportspeople (the high point of which is a physically taxing and
utterly hilarious impersonation of an Olympic gymnast). Even simply
walking around, Yau possessed a commanding stage presence that made
him extremely watchable. Yet, despite his sincerity and devotion to
his friends, he is an outsider, an oddity, bullied and called a pervert
by the girls he longs to impress.
It was in his seamless interaction with Jo Kwek, the female stranger
in the subway, that Yau shone brightest. The pair's timing was
flawless yet seemed spontaneous, and the two actors moved smoothly from
distrusting each other in a comic chase scene to revealing personal
details in a tender moment. Kwek, in turn, is a credit to local acting,
especially considering how she managed to integrate herself with the
three other players from Hong Kong, and to give life to the Cantonese
text. Trapped in this underground hellhole, her outwardly professional
demeanour is stripped away and she is left a simple human being. And
during a dinner-date flashback with her boyfriend, she shows how awkward
their relationship is as they begin aborted sentences with perfect synchronisation
and then lapse into difficult silences.
Ensemble member Wang Wei played the oblivious, Blackberry-obsessed
boyfriend well. His unconscious pushing-up of his spectacles, his silly-boy
smile and the awkward fit of his overlarge business suit clinched the
role for him. But the actor becomes even more impressive when he plays
another character and his gangling gait transforms into a confidence-oozing
stride
There is a genre of Hong Kong comedy called "mo lei tou", which translates
roughly as "no head or tail", where words and actions are carried out
for reasons of comedy or rhythm, but mean nothing logically. The characters
in Moon Story are goofy, and the comedy they produce is often
far-fetched, reminding one of Stephen Chow's early movies. It is like
watching children at a playground, except these are full grown adults
in corporate suits, heels and ties. Yet, through it all, the actors
bring to their performances a depth that makes us sympathize with them
while we laugh.
The actors' thoroughly convincing use of non-existent props such
as cutlery to eat invisible meals on an intangible dining table seemed
a way of bringing form to a barren space, just as the characters feel
the need to fill their own lives, however artificially.
Towards the end, the play took a turn for the serious: our couple stripped
down to their underwear, relinquishing their material concerns - and
then their train finally arrived. Moon Story managed to pull
off this heavily symbolic and potentially comical moment precisely because
it had shown us the concrete lives of the characters. We had laughed
and cried with them, and now we shared in their enlightenment.
Watching the play, I found myself pondering how tight modern schedules
and social mores are trapping us in narrow spaces, forcing our spirits
underground. I thought about how we are always able talk to each other
but rarely to communicate with each other, and I imagined how everyone
around me would be without clothes: less constrained, less judgmental;
braver in believing the impossible, in relinquishing the superficial. |
"I imagined how everyone around me would be without clothes: less
constrained, less judgmental; braver in believing the impossible, in
relinquishing the superficial"
Credits
Co-Directors: Kuo Jian Hong (The Theatre Practice)
and Fung Wai Heng (Hong Kong Repertory Theatre)
Playwright: Paul Poon
Set Design & Technical Direction: Eddie Lam
Costume Design: Annabel Yan
Lighting Design: Lau Ming Hang
Music and Sound Design: Yuen Cheuk Wa
Starring Yau Ting Fai (Cast A), Jo Kwek (Cast A), Jeffery
Low (Cast B), Wong Wai Chi (Cast B), Wang Wei, and Rosa Maria Velasco
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