That number in question is characteristic of the number of times porn star Annabel Chong (a stage name she coined) performed sex acts with 70 men within a 10-hour period in the year 1995. This home-grown Singaporean was 22 then, but already soared to fame (or infamy) for breaking existing records and bagging the “World’s Biggest Gang Bang” title under her belt, literally.
Toy Factory Theatre Ensemble’s latest production at the Esplanade Theatre Studio ends its run on Sunday, and tickets had already been sold out long ago. I didn’t think much about catching it until Cass’s friend dropped out on her and she tried her luck on me. Being a huge theatre-goer, it didn’t take much convincing for me to purchase an affordable $26 student-priced ticket and be introduced to the life of the depicted character in play – Annabel Chong, whose real name is Grace Quek.
The lead actress who plays Chong, Cynthia Lee Macquarrie, was extremely brave in challenging herself to accept this huge role, not to mention the fact that wearing a set of striking red undergarments one-third throughout the 90minute-long play must have felt cold. Yet, there was no sign of struggle with the cold, nor the 3-dimensional set where the characters enter and leave the “stage” from all 4 directions. Initially, I found it awkward to sit facing another 100 audience members on the opposite side of the set, but soon embraced the unique space that director Loretta Chen must have wanted.
In one scene, audience members were treated to a toned-down studio scene of three-way sex involving Chong explaining different positions to lover-cum-film director Gough Lewis (played by Paul Lucas) compiling a documentary for his Sundance feature. The three women in lacy undergarments stopped abruptly in the heat of things when he commented that she was another “whore”. That manifestation of disappointment was parallel to his original intention of discovering who Chong’s real self – Grace Quek – really was, as opposed to what she was.
I particularly liked an earlier scene, where the cast is a frenzy of movement as they recite Singapore’s numerous record-holding feats: largest man-made waterfall, fountain, hotel, human domino chain, and even the longest popiah. Yet, the woman herself Annabel Chong, is absent, both literally and metaphorically. Just like the omnipresent Merlion, no one seemed have payed attention to this home-grown radicalist. “Porn princess or media maverick? National pride, or national shame?” were some of the questions which begged some clarification.
“The narrative re-enacts, constructs and re-constructs seminal moments in Grace/Annabel’s life with respect to her family, friends and society at large. In particular, it allows us an insight into her otherwise unknown life as a daughter, friend and lover. It also sheds light on crucial epochs of her life that were to shape her daring exploits – namely her fascination with performance art, her relationship with her family and friends and gang rape.” – 251 sypnosis.
Brought up in a simple family, Chong soared academically, but opted for the skewed path towards “performance art”, rejecting her best friend’s plea and advise to turn to God for divine salvation (which, in one line of her prayer, was synonymous with the young "Grace" then).
In one of the beginning scenes, Grace’s father (played by veteran theatre actor Lee Weng Kee) was discouraging her from dancing as a career, and further added how a particular “Joseph Ng” in the streets once had to strip bare-naked and smash tofu with a stick. Fast forward to the last 10mins of the play, that anecdote was later manifested when she - now all grown up and having both parents discover the truth behind what she does in the name of art - appears on set to lay out 12 pieces of tofu arranged neatly on the floor, paints each letter of her name on each piece, removes her bathrobe (baring her breasts) and wields up the wooden cane ready to smash those tofu. Enter the mother (played by Amy Cheng) in rude shock, Chong is ashamed and covers up, before begging the question, “he’s left hasn’t he?” (which I presume referred to her father).
The mother was encouraging in her reply, robing her while saying how [Chong] had “dared” to go further, beyond anyone’s expectations, and she now had two daughters, “one, a woman, the other, a legend”.
Overall, I felt the small-scale production deserved a thumb’s up, for Lee’s unwavering air of confidence despite the controversial role. Otherwise, there was little hoo-hah that this play could ride, I mean, thrive on.
Oh yes, one more thing, before the show commenced, the friendly front-of-house volunteers gave out door gifts - a pair of Okamoto condoms to the guys, and to the girls, a pair of Vagisil bottles (which I initially and innocently thought was mouthwash since the description on the front was not indicative otherwise!)
Okay, enough talk, gotta hit the bed. Next up – Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit! That'll burn my entire weekend.
And yes, if you’ve read the March issue of NUSSU’s The Ridge magazine, look out for this April’s issue in the stands next week, where my 2nd (and last) contribution will be featured! Enjoy!
Toy Factory Theatre Ensemble’s latest production at the Esplanade Theatre Studio ends its run on Sunday, and tickets had already been sold out long ago. I didn’t think much about catching it until Cass’s friend dropped out on her and she tried her luck on me. Being a huge theatre-goer, it didn’t take much convincing for me to purchase an affordable $26 student-priced ticket and be introduced to the life of the depicted character in play – Annabel Chong, whose real name is Grace Quek.
The lead actress who plays Chong, Cynthia Lee Macquarrie, was extremely brave in challenging herself to accept this huge role, not to mention the fact that wearing a set of striking red undergarments one-third throughout the 90minute-long play must have felt cold. Yet, there was no sign of struggle with the cold, nor the 3-dimensional set where the characters enter and leave the “stage” from all 4 directions. Initially, I found it awkward to sit facing another 100 audience members on the opposite side of the set, but soon embraced the unique space that director Loretta Chen must have wanted.
In one scene, audience members were treated to a toned-down studio scene of three-way sex involving Chong explaining different positions to lover-cum-film director Gough Lewis (played by Paul Lucas) compiling a documentary for his Sundance feature. The three women in lacy undergarments stopped abruptly in the heat of things when he commented that she was another “whore”. That manifestation of disappointment was parallel to his original intention of discovering who Chong’s real self – Grace Quek – really was, as opposed to what she was.
I particularly liked an earlier scene, where the cast is a frenzy of movement as they recite Singapore’s numerous record-holding feats: largest man-made waterfall, fountain, hotel, human domino chain, and even the longest popiah. Yet, the woman herself Annabel Chong, is absent, both literally and metaphorically. Just like the omnipresent Merlion, no one seemed have payed attention to this home-grown radicalist. “Porn princess or media maverick? National pride, or national shame?” were some of the questions which begged some clarification.
“The narrative re-enacts, constructs and re-constructs seminal moments in Grace/Annabel’s life with respect to her family, friends and society at large. In particular, it allows us an insight into her otherwise unknown life as a daughter, friend and lover. It also sheds light on crucial epochs of her life that were to shape her daring exploits – namely her fascination with performance art, her relationship with her family and friends and gang rape.” – 251 sypnosis.
Brought up in a simple family, Chong soared academically, but opted for the skewed path towards “performance art”, rejecting her best friend’s plea and advise to turn to God for divine salvation (which, in one line of her prayer, was synonymous with the young "Grace" then).
In one of the beginning scenes, Grace’s father (played by veteran theatre actor Lee Weng Kee) was discouraging her from dancing as a career, and further added how a particular “Joseph Ng” in the streets once had to strip bare-naked and smash tofu with a stick. Fast forward to the last 10mins of the play, that anecdote was later manifested when she - now all grown up and having both parents discover the truth behind what she does in the name of art - appears on set to lay out 12 pieces of tofu arranged neatly on the floor, paints each letter of her name on each piece, removes her bathrobe (baring her breasts) and wields up the wooden cane ready to smash those tofu. Enter the mother (played by Amy Cheng) in rude shock, Chong is ashamed and covers up, before begging the question, “he’s left hasn’t he?” (which I presume referred to her father).
The mother was encouraging in her reply, robing her while saying how [Chong] had “dared” to go further, beyond anyone’s expectations, and she now had two daughters, “one, a woman, the other, a legend”.
Overall, I felt the small-scale production deserved a thumb’s up, for Lee’s unwavering air of confidence despite the controversial role. Otherwise, there was little hoo-hah that this play could ride, I mean, thrive on.
Oh yes, one more thing, before the show commenced, the friendly front-of-house volunteers gave out door gifts - a pair of Okamoto condoms to the guys, and to the girls, a pair of Vagisil bottles (which I initially and innocently thought was mouthwash since the description on the front was not indicative otherwise!)
Okay, enough talk, gotta hit the bed. Next up – Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit! That'll burn my entire weekend.
And yes, if you’ve read the March issue of NUSSU’s The Ridge magazine, look out for this April’s issue in the stands next week, where my 2nd (and last) contribution will be featured! Enjoy!
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