REVIEW / 'HONG SAYONG MAILEK SONG'

Immune to gloom

AMITHA AMRANAND

What are a playwright's responsibilities towards the characters they create? Even if they only exist in a satire or to be criticised, is it necessary to empathise and sympathise with them first? That is, to understand them?

Naked Masks Network's latest offering, Hong Sayong Mailek Song (Room Number Two), written and directed by Wattanachai Tridecha, is about the monotony of life in Bangkok and the complacency of its citizens, at least that's what the main character, Keng, summarises in a couple of overtly stated lines. These are pertinent topics to explore given the ever-increasing amount of sensationalism and "entertainment" that we are exposed to, which, instead of stimulating, seem only to desensitise us, leading to a state of detachment and boredom.

The play speaks of the increasingly violent nature of urbanites, their indifference to blood and gore, their dangerously high stress levels and the pathetic ways people deal with boredom. Wattanachai has recognised several symptoms of today's urban ennui, but has stopped short of seriously scrutinising them. Had he done so, the play might be a lot more incisive and its characters more human.

Hong Sayong Mailek Song is the third play in an unplanned trilogy by the playwright/director that began with Hong Sayong Mailek Soon (Room Number Zero), and was followed by Hong Sayong Mailek Neung (Room Number One). All three follow the character of Keng: A recent university graduate in the first, a young professional in the second and - in a step back in time - a university student in the third. This youngest version of Keng is creepy, calculating and cold.

One night he tries to join a club where highly strung and lonely Bangkokians gather to relieve their boredom by telling stories on themes assigned by a group leader. For Keng to be inducted into the club, he must successfully scare the members with a true story about himself. He does so, launching into a confession about a series of murderous deeds.

Wattanachai demonstrates his flair for telling an engaging story with a myriad of plot twists that would be appreciated in almost any tale. In the end, however, the narrative becomes lost in its tangle of tricks, and forgets its purpose.

Although the monologues consist of a tiresome number of anecdotes, they come from a writer with an ear for gory detail, which were finely spoken by some of the actors, and relished by the audience. The blood and guts, however, revealed little about the characters' despair and even less about the psychological state of city dwellers. Perhaps Wattanachai is seeking to criticise our appetite for violence, but with so few insights given into the characters and such little empathy written into them, the stories come across as gratuitous rather than perceptive.

Instead of being a fully-fledged character, Keng is like a creative device or alter ego of his creator, used to criticise, or rather, to condescend to other characters and - what's worse - the audience. While the method Wattanachai employs in turning the audience into active participants is relatively subtle, it does not compel us to look into ourselves. Instead, we are made to listen to Keng's criticisms, which, rather than being provocative, are pompous and judgemental. The playwright throws a hard critical punch. But with his eyes only half open to the complexities of his target and its effect on the populace, the blow falls wide and fails to deliver a knockout blow.

Bangkok Post

Last Updated : Wednesday April 11, 2007