After its work-in-progress performance at the M1 Fringe Festival 2019 in January, The Adventures of Abhijeet by Patch and Punnet has received much criticism of its portrayal of migrant workers’ experiences in Singapore. Bakchormeeboy commented that the show ‘comes off as potentially offensive’, while Lee Shu Yu from Centre 42 thought that the migrant workers are portrayed as ‘nothing more than society’s stereotypes of them’.
This is a review of the second iteration of the show, in August, after the team had taken some time to consider the feedback they received and rework the show.
Part 1: First Impressions – Fun, Laughter, Comfort
When we first enter the small black box theatre, what I really appreciate is how casually the whole space is set up. There are mats and cushions on the floor of The Arts House’s Play Den that are fluffy and comfortable to sit on. The people around me are mostly young, excited and full of energy. When Astley Xie, co-founder of Patch and Punnet, comes out to introduce the show, his introduction feels unscripted, as if this were a showcase for a small group of his close friends. This informal tone sets the mood for the rest of the show, an invitation to the audience to let their hair down and enjoy the performance.
The show starts with a heart-warming scene between Abhijeet, or Jeet, (Jit Dastidar) and his daughter (Shanice Stanislaus) back home in Bangladesh. We get a glimpse of their loving relationship – tender, yet playful. At the end of the scene, we realise that Jeet’s daughter is ill, which is what spurs him to find better opportunities in “Singaland”, a reference to Singapore. He soon finds himself on an adventure in the land where ‘dreams come true’ – lyrics from the song that welcomes him into the country.
On this journey, Jeet meets two other Flower People, a euphemism for foreign workers in Singaland: Filipino lab worker Gloria (Day Cutiongco) and Chinese cucumber farmer Ling Ling (Lynn Chia). Gloria is purple-skinned because her employer is a witch who turns a part of her skin purple whenever she makes a mistake. Ling Ling has a cucumber stuck to her hand after long periods of picking cucumbers on a farm. Jeet, too, has hurt himself because of a workplace accident. Together, the trio journey through Singaland to find the ingredients required to brew a special potion that might heal their afflictions.
The audience roars with laughter throughout the show, and I find myself laughing along, wanting to sing and dance along to the catchy musical numbers. As we follow Jeet on his journey to save his daughter, The Adventures of Abhijeet pokes fun at the entire Singapore experience, from its humorous reworkings of popular national day songs to allusions to anything and everything Singaporean. The entire show was packed to the brim with allegory from start to end, leaving me with little space to breathe, because I was either laughing or rolling my eyes.
I leave the show thoroughly entertained, but there’s a lingering sourness to my laughter as I contemplate its implications over the next few days.
Part 2: Immediate Thoughts – Helplessness
Two days later, I take some time to dissect what I feel about the show. I’d scribbled down some notes immediately after the performance. It began with:
“Seldom have I watched a show and come out confidently saying that I loved it.”
“I enjoyed the farce, irony, playfulness, childhood references. The urgent issue of the mistreatment of migrant workers thinly veiled behind colourful costumes, unnatural accents/voices, cartoon theme songs and dances. Hidden right behind my laughter was intense guilt, sorrow, empathy, helplessness – all these, I have chosen to ignore while I was enjoying the show, only to have it all rush back while writing this note. I feel helpless: guilty for feeling helpless, and helpless about feeling guilty.”
I’d found many of the jokes in The Adventures of Abhijeet funny because I understood those parts of the Singaporean culture, because I am part of it. I laugh at the jokes of our tissue paper ‘chope’ culture that was casually incorporated in the landscape of Singaland that the Flower People had to navigate. I wonder if this is a joke that migrant workers will also understand.
“About being complicit in causing the suffering of these people. About not knowing how/what I could do to help. I am reminded of the migrant construction worker I met on the MRT, still in his uniform and dirt on his shoes. He stood up immediately when he saw me and walked quietly to the side of the carriage, near the doors. At that point, I wasn’t sure whether he had given up his seat for me, or if he was preparing to alight.”
While on the train, I’d sat in his vacated seat and taken out my laptop to catch up on some very urgent and important last-minute work before going for my undergraduate class on Shakespeare. It made me wonder: How many of us in the audience have had real interactions with migrant workers and tried to understand what they have to go through when working in Singapore?
“I was hoping that he stood up because he was going to get off at the next stop, but he stood there for at least a few more stops.”
I sat there for the rest of the journey to the west, typing away on my laptop.
“I am reminded of the auntie who scoffed and refused to sit beside a migrant worker on the train. And of how she made him stand up and move away so that she could take the empty seat beside him.
I am reminded of an article I read about the workers who were sleeping at a void deck during their break, who were reprimanded by an angry uncle. I am reminded of how I felt when I read that it happened just a few blocks away from where I live, along the path that I take to get to school every day. I am reminded of how I swore to stand up for them if I ever come across situations like these. Of how I even came up with a script and role-played in my mind what I would say and do to help them feel better and to chase such angry uncles away.
I am reminded again of feeling paralysed when the man on the train gave up his seat for me.”
Apart from reading or sharing on social media the recurring anecdotes of the xenophobia and hardships that migrant workers face in Singapore, what more are we doing to incite change? After so many years of trying to raise awareness of the mistreatment of migrant workers in Singapore, why are we still hearing the same story? After clapping for the actors at curtain call, the lights dimmed unexpectedly for an epilogue. I sat through the final scene, where the king of Singaland gives orders to sweep everything that had happened to Abhijeet under the rug so that no one will ever hear of it again. Is this yet another story of their experiences that will disappear when the curtains close?
“I am helpless. I remember all of that, and yet I laugh.”
Part 3: Beyond the Narrative – What can we do?
Looking back, it feels so ironic – me paying to sit in the theatre, laughing at the plight of a migrant worker bullied by the systems in Singaland/Singapore, and now me sitting on my bed in an air-conditioned room, typing on my laptop. And still feeling helpless.
I still can’t decide if the humour in The Adventures of Abhijeet was distasteful – or not. Perhaps it is the informal, casual tone of the performance that has provoked much criticism on the show – Are the experiences of migrant workers exploited for our enjoyment? Or perhaps the creators’ had to make the choice between yet another grim portrayal of their experience, and one that is more hopeful. I did some research on Patch and Punnet’s process of developing the show, an earlier iteration of which was staged at the M1 Singapore Fringe Festival in January this year:
On their Instagram page (@patchandpunnet), the theatre company explained how the show was a response to performance artist Suzann Victor’s Still Waters, a piece she’d performed at the Singapore Art Museum in 1997. They were fascinated by ‘her use of the drain as a “metaphorical repository” for the abject and unwanted’, which made them think of migrant workers and ‘their plight as second-class citizens in an otherwise opulent society’. However, they are ‘adamant about not engaging in a pity party about migrant workers being mistreated … nor did [they] want to remind [their] audience about how the daily luxuries that they enjoy is very much built upon the broken backs of men who’re just looking to build a better life for their own families’. Instead, the team thought that what Singapore needed was a story where migrant workers were the protagonists, not the victims. They wanted Singaporeans to root for migrant workers as the heroes of the tale.
The team also acknowledged the criticism they had received, after their first iteration of the show, about how their ‘comedic style and farcical tone came into conflict with the otherwise somber and socially sensitive topic of migrant workers’. For this iteration, the team reminded us that they had seriously considered those perspectives and eventually decided to trust their initial instincts.
I appreciate Patch and Punnet’s intentions to retell the stories of transient workers so that they can become the protagonists instead of the victims. I also appreciate their attempt to avoid guilt-tripping the Singaporean audience members. The team was courageous in their attempt to use comedy to address the hardships faced by transient workers without heightening the guilt of Singaporeans. However, these intentions did not come through in my experience of the show.
In their attempt to make the Flower People the heroes of the tale, while still entertaining the audience, the supposed protagonists are drowned out by the references to the Singapore system. Instead of telling the stories of these transient workers, the show seems to become a show about Singapore – about the quirks of the Singaporean culture and the ironies in our political system.
Patch and Punnet was very successful in making their audience laugh, but perhaps a different set of jokes would be more appropriate – one that keeps the focus on the experiences of the migrant workers, rather than one that simply plays on allegories of Singapore. As detailed in Part 2 of this review, my laughter and enjoyment of the show had triggered even more guilt towards my inactivity in this situation.
Beyond telling the stories of this community of transient workers, beyond feeling guilty about our privileged positions, what more could we do? This is a question that I found myself desperately wanting the show to address.
Perhaps a first step is to give agency to the migrant workers, allow them to tell their own stories, and listen to what they need. On that note, I shall leave you with an initiative that I feel has been more successful in listening to the voices of the people who need to be heard:
In an effort to give voice to the community of migrant workers, the Migrant Worker Poetry Competition holds annual competitions as a platform for them to express themselves. We can read submissions and watch videos of them performing their works on their website, or find the winners’ published books in various local bookstores.
Exploring Theatre Criticism 