Portrait

Censorship in any of its many vile forms is a threat to civilized society, except in the rare situation where it serves to protect the public from experiences so heinous that by their very disruption of rational thought they could pose a more significant threat to the functioning of society than that posed by censorship itself.

Last weekend this author was subject to two situations that in his opinion would have warranted censorship.

The first such incident occurred on Saturday night, when the country’s leading television news channel showed unedited video of a suicide bomber detonating. This author who was at that moment engaged in a bout of inebriating activity with two likeminded friends promptly lost his dinner. Snuff films, or their equivalent in the news media, should not under any circumstance be made a part of the public’s entertainment palette and should - in the opinion of this author - be subject to the strictest censorship.

This display of malefic gore however was eclipsed by something the author had the dire misfortune of experiencing on Sunday night. This assault on the theatrical sensibilities and good taste of the gentlepeople of Colombo was carried out at the hallowed Lionel Wendt theatre under the banner of ‘a play’. It was masterminded by the famed theatre director Feroze Kamardeen and was titled ‘Thank You For Voting’.

The play claimed to be political satire. But this author has doubts as to whether the performance that he witnessed could even be described as a play. Excusing for a moment the banal slapstick and witless dialogue that we have come to expect from any piece of theatre that has Kamardeen associated with it in any way, ‘Thank You For Voting’ did not even engage the very basic facilities allowed a dramatist by the dimensions and nature of the proscenium medium. This author found himself on unfamiliar terrain when he sat at the Wendt unable to find words to describe the scene that was unfolding before him, till a dear friend came to his rescue. ‘Machang this looks like a radio play being put on stage’.

Let us for a moment consider what about this particular production made the above statement true. The setting for the performance was a television studio, and the performance was largely a dialogue between an actor playing a politician and another playing a talk show host. At no point during this discussion did either of the actors, or those around them, use the stage for any purpose other than as a platform to stand on. The host and the politician both occasionally engaged the cameras, which made it decent television, but not theatre. The image captured by the cameras on the stage - which were not mere props - was projected onto a gigantic distraction of a screen situated right behind the two main characters on the stage. How director Kamardeen and his crew thought they would be able to pass as a play an inherently unfunny script that would have had some chance of success had it been on television or radio continues to intrigue this author.

But the blame here lies not only with Kamardeen, but with every other dramatist in the Colombo English theatre scene who has experimented using video projections to enhance their production and - without exception - failed miserably. To cross the bridge between the theatre and video requires an understanding of the inherent nature of both as mediums of expression. Even skilled dramatists have failed at this obstacle because they lack insight into the possibilities offered them by video, and attempt to merely use it as a screening separate from the motions on the stage, and disconnected from the theatre experience as a whole. With ‘Thank You For Voting’ however Kamardeen has taken this a step further, and given prominence to the screened image, forgetting completely the requirements of the humble patron who pays money to see a play because they wish to seek pleasures outside the Ran-Depaya.

With the 20-20 hindsight that this author has been gifted with it clearly was folly to expect success in this long running battle to marry the two mediums from someone who understands neither.

The performance was interspersed with slapstick most degenerate. It distracted from the talk show being put on stage, and added nothing to the production. It lacked humor in any sense of the word and extorted giggles from none but the prepubescent girls who had paid good money to see their beaus behaving in an asinine manner in public. Perhaps this is the chosen aphrodisiac of this generation bred on the crumbs of mediocrity. It would certainly not entertain anyone who had experienced the side-splitting physicality of the humor so skillfully dished out to us from Monty Python through Friends.

However, none of the transgressions mentioned above was the cause of this author almost losing his dinner on two successive evenings. As this author was settling blissfully into a state of vegetation till he could escape from the Wendt during the interval, and thanking all concerned above and below that the silver lining on this most dark cloud was that the situation could not possibly get any worse, Kamardeen struck again. This assault came from an altogether unexpected quarter, and left this author reeling and desperately searching for the light at the top of this pit that Kamardeen had just dragged Sri Lankan English theatre into. Kamardeen had reached into the depths of the barrel, and further still, and dragged out ‘product placement’.

At first when this author heard what might have been an advertisement for a certain brand of laptops worked into the script of the play he dismissed it without much thought. But repeated it was, and the second time around the name of the local distributor was also mentioned. A few minutes later the script also worked in publicity for their media sponsors. And if this debasement were inadequate, Kamardeen added icing to this cake of prostituting his craft by showing video advertisements from his sponsors during the scene changes. While other dramatists have dappled with this concept earlier, none had gone so far as to screen advertisements during the production itself. While advertisement bombardment is nothing new to anyone who has watched television for more than five minutes, what most infuriated this author was that during the performance at the Wendt one did not have access to a remote control, which at home would resolve any issue pertaining to the viewing of advertisements. Perhaps it was Kamardeen’s ploy all along to trap unsuspecting theatergoers into a nightmare television experience.

Unable to stomach this tripe any further this author stumbled out of the theatre during the interval. The fact that Kamardeen is able to fill a house even after having developed a reputation for producing original b-grade material - or butchering adaptations - speaks volumes about the nature of Colombo’s theatergoing citizens. But that is another tale of woe that this author would not choose to delve into at this point.

A friend who chose to stay till the end of the performance quipped that he did not have a choice but to stay. His statement received an apt reply from another friend who was also on his way out with me. Quoting Spiderman he said ‘you always have a choice’.

This author too had a choice, and will have choices in the future with regard to theatre experiences. The only thing that is now certain is that if ever such production be associated with Kamardeen in any way, the choice will be a very clear ‘No thank you. I’d rather be drawn and quartered’.

upon reading this, i felt, with great urgency, that it needed to be published. although electra.blogsome.com is hosting a guest blogger for the first time and it was something i had sought not to do, i felt this called for me to reconsider my notions. please leave comments, and i will ensure that the writer of this article sees them. thank you.