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Disclaimer: I'm not one for swearing or cuss words in any shape or form but I will make an exception (of sorts) for this play because such is the name and I do believe there's a reason it was chosen. As such, I may play on the name here and there if not censor it as above. (All photos & video by Wild Rice)
In the past month, almost the whole world has been abuzz with Barbenheimer. Catching the internet fever myself, I thought little would take the Singapore stage beyond that. But that was before I watched Wild Rice Theatre's Psychob****, written by lawyer, poet and playwright Amanda Chong.
Now, for some context, I've been a fan of Amanda's writing since 2018 when 21-year-old me
stumbled into the Arts House Chamber and was completely entranced by the poem she read about a Singaporean girl growing up and being made to be conscious about her body. I immediately tracked down her poetry collection, Professions, and parsed through her words, falling in love with every metaphor, imagery and, for the first time, realising how love poetry can be more than the cliches of romcoms or Bollywood movies.
I've been awaiting her next collection ever since but with her turn to scriptwriting, I knew I could not miss out on a chance to watch her second play—and on opening night, no less.
In all honesty, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. But it was not that. Between the production level of Wild Rice's incredibly unique theatre and the technicalities of having a PowerPoint slide deck animated to a level that puts Canva to shame, Amanda's script was destined to shine within the first five minutes.
Psychobish is a one-woman play following the life of Anya Samuel as she figures out how to explain to her tech bro fiance, Galven, why she cried in public four times in the past year. As an overachieving journalist, Anya comes in clutch with a slide deck presentation that forms the main premise and bulk of the play.
Before I entered Funan Mall, I remember feeling skeptical about how one woman could embody so many characters. I had seen the summary: there was no way the actress could play both the role of the CEO fiance as well as Anya's pastor father, right? Well, it was probably because I had not yet witnessed the star-studded cast of one, Sindhura Kalidas, perform. Sindhura slipped into costumes and characters seamlessly, making me wonder how she pulled off Clark Kent-Superman moments by making me believe she was a different person just by shifting the position of her scarf. I was particularly astonished by how well Sindhura stepped into the role of Galven such that, if I had closed my eyes, I would've almost believed that a straight Singaporean Chinese guy was playing the part. But I wouldn't have wanted to—close my eyes, that is—considering how Sindhura nailed his character in mannerisms and even posture, making the audience burst into hearty laughter with her manspreading.
My personal favourite character was Paati, Anya's adorable, doting, and lovable grandmother and mother of her pastor father, Appa. Paati reminds me of my own Nenek, in the way she nags at Anya about transgressing certain Tamil Christian norms but still never fails to shower her with unconditional love.
Despite this, Anya struggles with recognising the conditional romance she is trapped in, in her engagement with Galven. As she brings us through her comical monologue about her cry-scapades, we find ourselves interrogating with her as to why she even has to explain herself at all. I find myself chuckling with tear-stained cheeks alongside Anya, recalling the last time I cried in my school's garden for reasons that are almost unbeknownst to me now. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of estrogen must be in want of a good cry. I do believe it is harmful to assume all women as emotional but it is also absurd to neglect that women may inevitably need space to feel whatever they are feeling and express it how ever and wherever they may need to. In fact, it is hardly a gendered experience, this emotional ride—the only difference being that society deems it more acceptable for women to show their emotions than men (which is a whole other article I might save for another day). So watching Anya work through the epiphany of embracing her emotions, finally beating the "pathologically emotional" allegation Galven threw in her face, is a heartening moment for myself and, I’m sure, both men and women in the audience too.
Watching Psychobish with a friend who has seen me through many teary days felt cathartic. And it was even more personally relatable having been premised on a fellow Tamil Singaporean woman. Hearing analogies of love compared to poori and gulab jamun felt surreal. Watching the complexities of a brown family unfold, the messiness that comes with genuine familial love was validating. Nonetheless, Amanda did not sugarcoat our lived experiences, brilliantly capturing the subtleties of being Indian in Singapore, racial discrimination and all. :') What was particularly beautiful, and in my opinion makes this stand out more so than anything Mindy Kaling ever wrote, is that Anya's Indian identity did not have to take center stage in this narrative but it still embellished her story of finding herself.
Overall, I ended July feeling like I needed a show that could bridge Gerwig's excellent touch on pop feminism in Barbie with the crushing, thought-provoking weight of Nolan's Oppenheimer. And the answer came in the story of an ambitious Indian woman who is at once all women, and all of us (as Sindhura exemplifies by playing all parts)!