The Writer's Impetuosity
There is no culture without violence.
What is the driving force of the play? Who is the driving force of the play? Let me answer the former first: "We". And the answer of the latter: "We". This ambiguous pronoun emcompasses all those who worked their backsides-off for this production. I'm not going to name names simply because my memory sucks with labels. The "We" of The Tiger Pass Gate are those individuals with a tenacity and endurance that are on par with Olympic Athletes. Why, you ask? Try working 18 hours a day with no sleep, aggravated eye-bags and chasing after individuals who find work ethics hard to comprehend. Unlike the Olympic champion, "we" know how to multitask. Unlike the Olympian champion, "our" muscles are hidden behind layers of brain goo and mass.
My reason for writing this play is three-fold. One: to feed my masochistic taste for verbal abuse. Someone is surely going to hate the play. That's cool. Two: Simon (your beloved director) blackmailed and used telepathic empathy to recondition my mind. And three: I can't shut-up. I have tried and failed and so now I resign myself to the immutable condition of dissidence. The truth is, I love Singapore and that logically infers that I must also hate it too. You can't love something without being dissatisfied.
And so I have come in media res to this blog to give a tidbit of perspective. To my dearest audiences, come with a box of tissues. You're going to need it. Bring a ventolin inhaler while you're at it. To my dearest cast and crew, I love you all in my sick, sick way. (Laughing manically). You are the brain, the bone, the spine and the muscle of the production. I am merely the parasite that's doing Cuban Salsa in the intestines. Drop-by sometime to say "hi".
Chris