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[singaporeanarmchair]

Discussion: Davis’s Deferment

There have been recent news of a certain deferment application being rejected. Specifically, a young man (let’s call him Fulham boy) who has obtained an offer from an English football club tried to get permission from Mindef to defer serving his national service (NS) obligations. 

For the uninitiated, NS is Singapore’s conscription policy where young men around the age of 18 (give or take) have to serve two years in the armed forces. After those two years, they continue to be liable to return to the barracks once or twice each year (if and when they are called upon) until they reach a certain age.

The public consensus seems to overwhelmingly support this boy. The narrative here is simple: Singapore has long bemoaned the lack of sporting talent. Now comes a boy who has caught the eye of world-class recruiters but the government is unwilling to budge in deferring his NS liability. This, they say, is offensive not only to the government’s vision of developing alternative talents but also to general sensibility given the opportunity cost for this boy. Further, they invoke the previous example of Joseph Schooling, where the government had granted deferment to a swimmer who ended up winning Singapore its first-ever Olympic gold medal. 

I remain unimpressed.

Won’t granting deferment to him increase our chances of winning the World Cup?

It would. But the question is by how much? The most hopeful situation we can have is that we allow this boy to defer his NS, he goes to England, participates in the local football scene, and then becomes some kind of super-pro. He then chooses to return to Singapore on his own free will (abandoning his otherwise stellar and lucrative career out of pure patriotism) to join the local football team after X number of years and his presence will make so much of a difference that it is sufficient to bring an entire team of 11 to the World Cup. This is so much of a crapshoot I don’t even know where to begin.

But a glimmer of hope is better than none.

Yes, but at what cost does that glimmer come at? It would be a mistake to view it as simply allowing one person to defer -- end of story. This is one sportsman from a single sport. Let’s say that about 10 sportsmen from 20 different sports each decide to apply for the same. We then add 8 artists from 10 different kinds of performing arts. We multiply that by 10 rounds of conscription. We would effectively be allowing thousands of people serve their NS at a sub-prime age. 

This doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t be allowed. Who knows? Perhaps letting thousands of people defer their NS may be worth it. But just be sure that this is something that we really want. What I predict is that, if we have a lax deferment policy, 1) there will be far more people complaining that some Tom, Dick or Harry undeservedly got to defer (cue typical complaints of bias/”white horse treatment”/poor bureaucratic judgment) 2) a good number of those who defer choose to abscond and then there will be a whole lot more whining 3) the sporting/aesthetic achievements are not forthcoming despite the deferments and these people who got the deferments are put under undue pressure and criticism by the citizenry if they fail to perform.

But it’s not thousands of sportsmen we’re talking about here. It’s only one. And this one’s been endorsed by Fulham.

The issue here is the principle. Our government needs to be consistent about the kind of people we allow to defer. It has to be so stringent that the numbers are not only very low, but also represent people who we are very confident of being able to bring material benefits to the country as a whole. Schooling’s swimming records are clear for all to see. These are objective benchmarks that are quite undeniable. Further, the pinnacle of swimming as a sport is the Olympics, which Schooling could only participate in as a Singaporean representing the nation. 

On the other hand, this isn’t necessarily so in soccer. The sport in the mainstream (i.e. apart from in the World Cup) is effectively part of the entertainment industry. Players are like celebrities and get paid huge amounts for their efforts. Many of these players are 100% fine with not participating in the World Cup -- after all, they’re happy just making a boatload of money.

And I also take issue with the idea that we should make an exception for this boy because he’s been endorsed by Fulham. I suppose this links back to the point that Schooling’s records are objective while the judgment of Fulham (which, by the way, I emphasise is a privately-run foreign entity) is subjective. If my father owned a certain football club and I didn’t wish to go for NS so early, could I ask him to recruit me too? 

I’m not saying that this boy isn’t talented. But we must execute our deferment policy in a way that is sensible and that actually benefits the country. The assessment of this should be pegged to our own analysis of the case at hand, not whether some external body decides this boy is talented.

But it’s such a waste to bury a young man’s talent for NS.

What you sound like you may be taking issue with is NS itself -- that young men shouldn’t have to sacrifice two years of their lives for NS. This is a debate that ought to be had. However, just note that this isn’t an issue solely for our Fulham boy here. We have thousands (if not more) of super talented men who enter the army knowing full well that it must in some way or another compromise their prospects. Heck, even someone who is going to medical school will know that serving two years in the army is effectively asking him to cut his career short by two years. That is two additional years of salary (calculated at the end of his established career rather than at the beginning) that he is sacrificing. If this guy’s a good surgeon, he risks losing millions. The only difference between the surgeon and Fulham boy is that the latter’s opportunity cost is front-loaded and more obvious to the average observer. Anyway, if that’s really what you think, deferment isn’t going to solve the problem unless we are agreeable to defer Fulham boy’s NS until a ripe old age when he can’t play the sport professionally anymore. Because there will always be a cost. 

Further, I suspect that part of the reason why there is such a kerfuffle about this issue is that it’s soccer. The mix between the fact that it’s World Cup season and that many Singaporeans like to indulge in watching the sport on television (coupled with the fact that they recognise the name ‘Fulham’ as an identifiable brand) has resulted in a lot of sentimentality. I am quite sure no one would bat an eyelid if a similarly talented frisbee or softball player was denied deferment. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Discussion: Press Freedom in SG

I recently watched a play about press freedom in Singapore. A friend who watched it with me asked, “what would you do if you were a civil servant and had the ability to employ tactics to pressure the press into avoiding sensitive topics? Would you do it?”

My answer was yes, I would. And I don’t say so lightly and here’s my reasoning.

The overarching duty of all civil servants is to impartially proffer the necessary expertise and take the requisite steps in order to support the government of the day. On a personal level, each civil servant is assigned particular duties that he/she has a professional responsibility to carry out to the fullest extent. Should any civil servant feel that the duties assigned are so contrary and offensive to his/her own moral beliefs or ideology, then that civil servant should first bring this up to a superior and seek to convince that the ordered course of action is incorrect. If the superior rejects the protest, the options are to resign or request to be transferred. Should he/she feel a strong need to protest the duties publicly, then he/she must resign and then do so in a personal capacity. So with regard to whether I would avoid pressure tactics despite it being what my duty entails -- the answer is no. There is no such option. The options are either to exercise such tactics or leave. There is no third option of, “I will do my job, albeit not in the most effective manner because of my personal beliefs.”

The next question, of course, is why would I be so willing to exercise such tactics rather than choose to leave? Does it not run so counter to my beliefs that I should choose to resign? Again, the answer is no. For me, moral beliefs lie on a spectrum ranging from apathy to my strongest moral convictions. And as you might imagine, press freedom lies more to the former than the latter. 

To me, journalists aren’t vulnerable people, in that they aren’t uneducated or unprepared for the artificial obstacles they would face upon entering the industry. Certainly, the environment can never be characterised as permissive, but they are not absolutely curtailed in their freedom to report. At the end of the day, the choice to publish (or not) lies with them. One could say that the oppressive environment makes this a false choice; that the multitude of laws and informal pressure points render the press choiceless in their capitulation. I disagree. Save for exceptional pieces of legislation that allow the government to directly put a stoppage to publishing certain content (which the government will not be able to invoke at every slightest instance without rousing discontent amongst the citizenry), all other forms of pressure are informal or come in the form of ‘traps’ such as through the Sedition Act or defamation laws if the writer is foolhardy enough to spring them. 

I’m not saying it’s easy to be a journalist who wishes to report the whole truth about every events. In fact, it’s frighteningly difficult and I could not imagine myself doing it. But much as the civil servant has his duties, so does the journalist. And any journalist who decides that her life’s goal is to report the whole truth must find the means to do so no matter how difficult. This applies now more so than ever with the advent of social media. Lone journalists who are out on a mission are more well-equipped than ever to complete it. Sure, this isn’t a license to shoot from the hip; one can envision the bureaucracy coming after these people with all its might. Sure, it’s going to be a bumpy and uncomfortable ride. But if every journalist in history wallowed in self-pity and despair at each juncture that their government attempts to stonewall them, there wouldn’t be much of the fourth estate left today. 

Everyone wants to be in a lax and permissive environment. Everyone wants to do as they please. It is only when interests of different parties clash that an equilibrium is reached. Will that equilibrium always result in a satisfactory result? No. But it is dissatisfaction with the status quo coupled with the conviction and ability to outwit and outplay that help to shift that equilibrium. And for now, I only see the former. The oppressive environment is insufficient to explain the lacklustre efforts of those who claim to act in the interests of truth and freedom of expression. One can continue to bemoan and claim, “we shouldn’t even have to fight for these things” but the moral high horse is dead and flogging it won’t bring us anywhere. 

It is not from the benevolence of the system that we expect a free press. Step up or go home.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Discussion: I Am Not Madame Bovary

*I’ve been told my pieces are not, in fact, reviews but discussions due to how in-depth I go into the facts and themes of the movie without actually discussing its merits thoroughly. I have therefore renamed this a ‘discussion’ for accuracy*

I Am Not Madame Bovary (’IANMB’) is a Chinese film produced in 2016, and released for Western audiences in 2017. It follows Li, a young woman, as she attempts to seek redress for her ex-husband’s wrongdoings towards her -- through both the legal and political systems in China. There are personal and emotional aspects to this movie, especially in terms of Li’s grievances. However, these serve predominantly as a jumping board when contextualised through the Chinese political setting. Let me elaborate.

*Spoilers henceforth*

First, some context. Li seeks to annul a divorce that she legally effected with her husband, because that divorce was a ruse for them to obtain further subsidised properties. In the meantime, however, her husband remarries and leaves her in the lurch. Li’s first encounter with the system is when she brings her case to the court of first instance and loses due to a lack of evidence that the divorce was a sham. The rest of the movie follows Li as she petitions higher-ranked officials and judges, all the way until she reaches the country’s capital, Beijing, where some political bigwig fires all the officials Li petitioned along the way for their ineptitude. However, for the next 10 years, Li travels to Beijing to find different officials to petition her case, as the divorce is not eventually annulled despite the officials being fired. 

Several themes stood out to me throughout the movie -- the first was with regards to female empowerment. It is evident to the audience that all the judges and officials Li petitions are men, and there are multiple occasions where an official remarks that it is unthinkable that a ‘mere woman’ is capable of holding their careers hostage. Some also take a different approach and question why they should be unable to solve a single woman’s problems if they are capable of tackling the most urgent and large-scale problems the country faces. It is evident that they see the divorce of a single woman as the most basic of issues that should have long been settled in the dusty corners of a rural courtroom. And yet, the audience takes delight in seeing how the persistent Li continually outwits and frustrates these officials. What is also notable is how Li does not in fact have a real legal case -- the court at first instance and all courts and officials after that had correctly passed judgment in deciding that Li lacked the necessary evidence to annul the divorce. In an obvious way, Li’s doggedness was motivated by belligerence and emotion rather than law and rationality -- a stereotype of women that some like to raise. However, it is undoubted that there is power in those emotions that manifest in the very real circumstances. In a sense, I think there was a spotlight that shone on the power of frailty and irrationality in a framework that favours logic and strength. 

Another key theme was evidently that of Chinese bureaucracy at its finest -- I think Western audiences will gain a much better insight of how the Chinese political actors work their domestic stage and the attitudes they take towards governance. To a large extent, there is an emphasis on abstract ideas that play an everyday role in solving problems. One senior official remarks how Li’s case is a precious lesson that the government needs to be able to focus not only on the ‘big’ but also the ‘small’, to which his underlings all nod and parrot. Ironically, the problem is only worsened after this very official has a face-to-face meeting with Li. In the face of a woman who doesn’t act according to conventional wisdom, all the philosophising in the world did not seem to do him any good. The irony intensifies when the movie ends with another of his reflections, especially when the audience knows for a fact the whole matter was resolved with no thanks to his efforts. 

Finally, I think the idea of the individual against the Chinese state mechanisms is also another key theme. Chinese political philosophy places emphasis on harmony and the individual’s compliance for the betterment of the whole. Li’s story works against this narrative, and acts as a thought experiment. On one hand, the system places emphasis on harmony. But on the other, it also tries to claim that its systems are capable of doing justice where justice is demanded. Li’s case clashes these two ideas and tries to comment on how officials are in fact ill-equipped to deal with these mental gymnastics. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: The Skull Mantra

*Note: I’ve endeavoured to preclude spoilers in this review, but the extent of exposure will depend on your sensitivity to spoilers*

The Skull Mantra (’TSM’) is a detective mystery novel published in 1999 by Eliot Pattison.

The story is set in Tibet at a politically tumultuous time, due predominantly to Chinese oppression. The narrative follows Shan, the Han Chinese protagonist who is a prisoner in a lao gai camp. For the uninitiated (and as Pattison explains in the novel), lao gai literally means “reform through labour”, and was a political method of the Communist Party to sentence dissidents and criminals to hard labour. The reader is told that Shan was a corruption investigator in the Chinese capital before being sentenced to lao gai and the story begins with the military leader in charge of the area asking him to investigate a curious murder at one of the camps. 

I’ve always believed there is much difficulty for a writer to write of a setting that is simultaneously existent and foreign. It takes no stretch of the imagination to say that a fictional setting or a local and familiar one are both easier to describe with accuracy. However, Pattison’s novel amazed me with its depth of sensitivity towards the cultural and historical intricacies of the Tibetans given its entangled situation with the Chinese government. It is no secret that Tibetan culture is intertwined with its religion and sense of spirituality -- there is almost no ‘Tibetan identity’ to speak of in the absence of religious teachings. I am quite ashamed to admit that I half-expected when I cracked open the novel to find Western romanticised versions of Tibetan mysticism and some vague sense of condescension towards the cultural practices of the characters. Instead, the novel is written through the perspective of Shan; while he is not by any means Tibetan, he very evidently has developed a sense of appreciation for the spiritual culture. Through the eyes of Shan, one can sense the deep-seated respect Pattison has for Tibet as a whole -- its history, religion and people. 

I could go on and on about how impressed I am about Pattison’s sensitivity and knowledge, but all this would be rendered pointless if the main plot -- the mystery -- is not well-developed. Pattison manages to weave the setting with the plot flawlessly, and there is a strong sense of each driving the other. The reader is able to easily follow the thought patterns of Shan as he pieces together the evidence he collects, although there are times when Pattison chooses to first introduce a foreign term or idea without explaining it, leading the reader to wonder if he has missed something, before explaining it a few pages down the road. This is not necessarily a bad device, as long as one expects it. There was a couple of times when I kept the unfamiliar term at the back of my mind, and then later have Shan expand on what it means. If anything, it keeps the reader on his toes!

Overall, I can recommend The Skull Mantra to anyone who isn’t simply looking for a superficial mystery novel. If you’re only in it to quickly have a crack at the mystery, TSM is not for you. On the other hand, if you want to experience through Shan’s journey the thoughts and behaviours of the Tibetans given the unfortunate circumstances, then TSM perhaps represents an opportunity far beyond what you would find, even in a non-fiction book on Tibetan history. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: La Strada

Frederico Fellini’s 1954 film is quite the masterpiece.

*Spoilers throughout*

The film follows the journey of Gelsomina, an intellectually dull but quirky woman, as she is practically sold to a gruff travelling street performer Zampano by her mother, due to the family’s dire financial circumstances. Prior to this, the audience hears but does not witness that Zampano had previously recruited Gelsomina’s sister, Rosa, who he says had died whilst on the road with him.

This setting provides a unique view on how Gelsomina is seen as a character from the outset -- she is contrasted with Rosa although the audience never gets to meet the latter. Her mother says that while Rosa was bright and talented, Gelsomina is slow on the take and ‘special’ (in a negative way). Gelsomina is seen as an inferior substitute, almost objectified as a mere performer’s assistant as she is beaten by Zampano due to her inability to swiftly master her duties. I think the audience quickly notices that despite Zampano’s harsh treatment, he never explicitly compares Gelsomina and Rosa -- on the contrary, it is Gelsomina who constantly feels the need to ask what his relationship with Rosa was like. This relationship dynamic between Zampano and Gelsomina is further explored throughout the film, as we see Zampano softening his stance and growing in physical and emotional closeness to Gelsomina. 

I’ve been told that one of the major themes of the movie is redemption, and I agree. However, I don’t think this is one of those stories where a character is specifically redeemed. Instead, redemption is mostly framed as a continuous process -- especially for Zampano. The hot-headed character lives from town to town and at one point chases Il Mato, a character who constantly teases him, with a knife. He is eventually sent to prison for a few days for the assault, and Gelsomina chooses to wait for him to be released although she could have gained her freedom in the meantime. Despite Gelsomina’s dull-wittedness, it is evident that she represents a form of salvation, a potential turning point for Zampano. Conversely, Zampano’s increasing willingness to establish a rapport with Gelsomina makes the audience hopeful that perhaps, out of the gray, nomadic lifestyle the couple leads, it would be possible for the characters to find meaning, solace and self-improvement through each other’s company. 

Furthermore, Zampano’s imprisonment was not the only opportunity for Gelsomina to abandon him -- on more than one occasion, the audience sees Gelsomina returning to Zampano with a warped sense of loyalty. Only once does Gelsomina attempt to leave him for good, only to be forcefully coerced by Zampano to return to him. All these events lead to a strange magnetic quality between the two, where there is constant push and pull between the characters. Fellini himself suggested that the movie evoked a “feeling [which] suggested two people who stay together, although it will be fatal, and they don't know why.” Most notably, the theme of redemption is least subtle in the scene where a nun in a church the pair takes refuge in the for night offers Gelsomina the chance to join the sisterhood. Gelsomina declines, and one feels a mixed sense of apprehension and hopefulness. 

Certainly, the relationship between the two is evidently not a healthy one, but it constantly carries a seedling of hope that would perhaps one day sprout into a mature relationship of mutual salvation. To me, this was really the crux of the movie -- a simple abusive relationship would not have been capable of evoking such a strong sense of melancholy in the audience. The fact that Zampano is a travelling performer who has nowhere to call his home only strengthens the apparent need for a human connection on the road in the form of Gelsomina. Until such time when that human connection is fostered and matures, there is deep loneliness in spite of the mutual accompaniment. 

At the end, tragedy strikes. The pair meets Il Mato on the road and Zampano inadvertently kills him. Gelsomina is shaken to her core and becomes evidently mentally disturbed. Uncharacteristically, Zampano takes time off his job to try and nurse Gelsomina back to health. His failure to do so, however, leads him to abandon Gelsomina -- but not before leaving her with some money. Again, this behaviour is uncharacteristic given his past selfishness and attachment to money. It is obvious that Zampano’s salvation is cut off before it can come to full fruition.

The show ends with a fast-forward to years later, when Zampano is still performing the same tricks despite having aged considerably. He finds out that Gelsomina never recovered, and eventually died some years back. For the first time in the movie, we see Zampano showing grief as he breaks down on the beach -- a juxtaposition to his cool exterior the first time he met Gelsomina outside her family home, also on the shore. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: An Autumn Afternoon

An Autumn Afternoon (’AAA’) is a 1962 movie I caught as part of the Barbican’s Japanese House series. The protagonist is an office worker in his later years who has to wrestle with the expectation of having to marry his daughter off, as was the common tradition and expectation at the time in Japan. 

*Spoilers throughout*

The film delivers a sense of realism by providing no clear answers to the protagonist's dilemma. At the beginning, he adamantly tells his friend that his daughter does not want to get married, and he is not prepared to marry her off anyway. We see that the daughter takes care of him and his younger son at home later on, as his wife has passed away. The daughter herself reaffirms that she has no wish to be married and seems sufficiently happy taking care of her ageing father. However, we later see several scenes in a row that deviate from this sense of assurance. The protagonist meets an old classmate who has married a woman the age of his daughter, a friend repeatedly tells him that he is doing his daughter a disservice by not marrying her off, the elderly teacher who comes to the protagonist’s school reunion has a spinster daughter who cries on her own beside her father’s drunk, limp figure. We do not see the protagonist doubting himself at every turn -- after all, that is not how things work in real life. However, we do see doubt creeping in and the audience members themselves are pulled into this process of considering whether or not that daughter should marry someone soon. 

I think it would be remiss to not address the issue of arranged marriages that plays a central role to the premise of the film. To many Western audiences (as were present last Sunday), it might seem as if the film is embarking on tackling the issue of the female autonomy to marry who she likes. I would venture to say that this wasn’t really the central issue that the filmmakers would have had in mind at the time, given that this was a common tradition in Japanese society at the time. Moreover, this issue of autonomy is not directly challenged in the film either -- the daughter ends up admitting that she has someone she fancies and the protagonist tells his eldest son to approach the man to ask if he is interested in going out with his daughter. He also emphasises that the daughter need only marry if she fancies her prospective partner. I feel the need to say this because there was laughter in the audience at times when the issue of arranged marriages was brought up, as if there was some punchline I had missed.

Overall, I think the film is in line with the ‘slice of life’ genre that is so popular in Japan, where there really isn’t a climax per se and the audience simply lives the characters’ lives through the silver screen. To audience members not used to the genre, the movie can seem slow at times. I think there is a need to really give yourself up to the film rather than actively and eagerly search for themes and issues in such cases.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Arts Education in Singapore

There has recently been talk about how a significant proportion of SOTA graduates don't actually pursue an artistic field. My first reaction to the news was one of curiosity, but not shock. I never expect students pursing an education in some artistic field to certainly stick to it. After all, we don't expect physics students to definitely go on to become physicists. There is a general misconception in Singapore that there people can only have one (or very few) passions in the subjects they study, and that these passions either then mature into careers or they wither and drop out of the students' lives entirely. I think these expectations link back to the pragmatic conception of what an education represents: a stepping stone to getting a job. Apparently, even an arts education which many people often readily recognise has little economic value is no exception to this conception -- study theatre? "Be a career actor," they say. Perhaps I've gotten this phenomenon entirely backwards - maybe people assume that you must have chosen theatre because you're really passionate about it, and this must translate to you wanting to do it for life. Regardless, I think all this stem equally from a misconception over what education is about. Even from an instrumental, economic point of view, there seems to be quite a lot of evidenxe to suggest a wholesome education system that wishes to churn out highly valuable business workers should not focus on producing one-trick ponies. Instead, thoughtfulness, critical thinking, an appreciation for multi-disciplinary approaches to problem solving, are increasingly valued in the modern economy. And going by this benchmark, we desperately need to change how Singapore views education. There is a Chinese saying that roughly translates to "there is a champion in every trade." I think this holds true now more than ever -- this is no longer simply a time when reacting to market demands is sufficient. We see a push for creating products and services that have never even been imagined before, and building new markets therefrom from scratch. In this regard, I have no doubt that most of these SOTA graduates who chose to pursue other disciplines have benefited from their arts education, even if not through the substantive content that they learned. If there is one silver lining to me out of this news story, it's the fact that students who have gone through an arts education would probably be more capable than your average Singaporean student in rising above the uninformed criticism and carrying on with whichever path they fancy. A spirit of curiosity and excellence remains as is, regardless of whichever field it chooses to venture into.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: The Great Passage

The Great Passage by Shion Miura is a recently translated Japanese novel about a department in a Japanese publishing company trying to create a new dictionary. While the premise seems dull, I assure you that the novel is surprisingly rich and meaningful.

There are few characters in this short novel, all of whom work in the department apart from 3 or 4 others. The author is not ambitious in creating a massive plot, but that is entirely beside the point. Instead, she focuses on the things that really matter: the pride the characters take in their work, what the dictionary and words in general mean to them, the wonderful working relationships. Everything works to build towards the readers rooting for the characters, if not because of their dedication then because their efforts represent what is possible through thorough commitment and passion.

As I finished reading the novel, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and I look forward to embarking on my career. “It’s the little things that matter,” someone, sometime, in your life must have told you. This novel not only reminds the reader of this, but also demonstrates the power that such little things bring.

Overall, I recommend this novel to anyone feeling dejected about their job or project, or if you feel like you are alone in your quest for something more important than yourself.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: Don Juan in Soho

Don Juan in Soho is the modern take on an infamous character known for his philandering ways. I admit I was full of curiosity before the play: what was it trying to achieve? I suppose this question is paradoxically meaningless and meaningful at the same time. What does any work of art seek to achieve? Does it seek to achieve or simply influences the audience by being what it is? Leaving these questions aside, my practical concern was whether the play sought to pursue a sensitive, sentimental and introspective take on Don Juan, or was it simply trying to extend the Don Juan tradition, albeit in a modern context. It turned out to be the latter, with a twist.

When one chooses to tackle a classic character and/or story, one has to make several artistic choices -- especially if the story seeks to: 1) provide a modern take on a classic 2) create a story from scratch rather than a direct adaptation. The challenge, then, is to strike a balance between retaining elements of the classic that make it immediately identifiable and at the same time fulfil certain artistic objectives that are otherwise not represented or capable of being reached by remaining within the paradigm of the classic. This is most often seen where the adaptation seeks to remain relevant by modifying the plot/script. This is as opposed to where it is realised by a producer/director that a classic is of renewed significance given modern circumstances and therefore stages it as it is. For instance, Nineteen-Eighty-Four would be precisely such a piece which would undoubtedly be identifiable and relatable given threats of Big Brother governance these days. That leavs the question, what of Don Juan?

I think it wise and not derogatory when I say that not everything is immediately obvious to any given audience. Plots require edits and modifications if plays wish to make a purposeful impact on the audience. This is exemplified in Don Juan in Soho, where the play makes painfully stark the point it tries to deliver. Don Juan (by Tennant) often has extended monologues on what he deems to be the state of the world, and the justifications for hedonism that flow from it. The plot is simple, even simplistic, but the devil is in the exchanges between Don Juan and his butler, who represents the dubious moral counterweight to the Casanova's philandering ways. Relative to these exchanges, the other characters fall away and fade into the background, serving merely as bases for context. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing, depending on your expectations of the play. 

The play hits the points of raunchy humour one has come to expect from any Don Juan production. The emotional climaxes channelled through the medium of Don Juan’s butler are oddly satisfying. Modern political references and direct critiques, however, seemed forced and unnecessary (although certainly attracting much applause and cheering from the audience). Overall, I think this is a production worth catching, even if it wouldn’t be hard to give it a miss. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: Frantz

*Spoilers*

Frantz is a 2016 film that narrates post-World War I events. A German girl, Anna, and her boyfriend’s parents, the Hoffmeisters are still grieving over the loss of Frantz, the boyfriend/son, in the war. A Frenchman, Adrien, visits Frantz’s grave and meets Anna and the Hoffmeisters. Adrien claims to be Frantz’s friend while they were living in Paris together, and the bereaved characters urge him to narrate the on-goings in Paris in order to relive Frantz’s experiences.

The most obvious feature of the film is how it is shot in black and white but in moments of flashbacks or reminiscence of memories of Frantz, the scene gradually regains colour to depict how the characters feel more alive again during their bereavement. 

[The following is the real spoiler -- last chance.]

However, it is later discovered that Adrien was lying, and the memories he narrates never happened. The audience, along with Anna who discovers this, feels emotionally cheated by this. However, the joy it brings to the Hoffmeisters are undoubtedly real, and both Anna and the audience are forced to decide whether Adrien’s lies were in fact a blessing. 

As it turns out, Adrien was Frantz’s killer in the war, and the former was simply trying to seek forgiveness and resolution in visiting Frantz’s grave and family. The movie does a great job in showcasing the effect Frantz’s death had on the family, although he is never actually depicted in the flesh. A line from Adrien is particularly unforgettable, as he says that the more he learned about Frantz, the more he fell in love with the man he killed. The same goes for the audience, who feels more and more attracted to Frantz as a person even though we only hear second-hand accounts that ultimately turn out to be false. Furthermore, the audience is later led to wonder if Frantz really is even the dedicated lover to Anna that his family thinks he is, although this is not clarified or expanded upon. 

A major theme of the movie is the emotions, comfort and discomfort that memories can bring, regardless of their truthfulness. In this regard, the movie does a superb job in its narration and sequencing. The acting is also top-notch.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Review: The Woman in the Dunes

*Spoilers throughout*

Teshigahara’s movie, The Woman in the Dunes (’TWD’), was first released in 1964. I caught it at the Barbican as part of the Japanese House series. 

The story of TWD depicts a researcher as protagonist, who collects samples of desert insects in the sand dunes who misses the last bus home, and is tricked by the villagers into being trapped at the bottom of a quarry so he can help a widow who lost her family in a sandstorm. 

The widow’s only task each day is to continually shovel the sand within and around the hut so that it doesn’t get destroyed by the sand. The film focuses on the widow’s Sisyphean task, the researcher’s attempts to escape the quarry and the relationship between the two characters. Although the audience never gets to see the researcher in his natural habitat of Tokyo, the differences in attitudes towards life and ideas like freedom are starkly demonstrated through his derogatory reactions to the widow’s assertions about the physical environment as well as her way of life. Despite the protagonist’s apparent predicament, the audience finds it difficult to feel sympathy for him due to his condescension. 

The film could be categorised as a psychological thriller -- it builds up tension through the expert use of light (and lack thereof) and musical score. The dynamics between the protagonist and the widow is very unique: while it is obvious the latter adopts a deferential attitude attributable to what she (and her society) perceives her gender represents, the protagonist constantly fights a losing battle against the environment and ultimately submits to the widow’s exhortations to shovel the sand, despite initially dismissing it as a pointless task. The power dynamics between them reaches several peaks, especially in scenes where there is sexual contact between them. 

Overall, the entire experience was enlightening -- the film’s themes of escape and capitulation are surprisingly subtly delivered in what would otherwise be a near-Absurdist scenario. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Refer to a thought-provoking post at ConsensuSG here. The argument and concept put forth are simple -- weighted voting produces a more representative, and therefore better, result when it comes to the Singapore presidential elections. Intuitively, this is very sensible. Logically, the writer makes a cogent argument. However, I have my doubts. I do not know if these doubts are valid, but they remain to be questions that have to be thoroughly answered. Most of them have to do with how a theoretically sound system works in an imperfect world.

The first assumption that a weighted voting system makes is that people are keen and able to research every available candidate as they ultimately have to place a vote for every one. For instance, if there were 4 candidates such as in the previous election and the weighted system was adopted, each Singaporean voter would have to decide for themselves how they wish to rank them. Of course, one would say that voters have the duty to research every candidate and come to an informed decision. But how many people actually do so? How many voters attend multiple rallies rather than just the one they support? When voters are made to rank the candidates despite not knowing what some of them stand for, there is the possibility of things going the exact opposite of what was intended -- that the candidates receive votes that are unrepresentative of voter sentiment. 

The second assumption is there will be a lack of strategic and extreme voting. The danger that flows from this is that, in elections where some candidates are known for opposite views that are divisive in our society, a typical voter will rank the candidate whom they feel is most aligned to their beliefs first and his opponent last. Those in the middle could simply be ranked by luck of the draw. Where an election is particularly divisive and the two lead opposing candidates are equally matched, there is a chance that their heavily weighted votes will be cancelled out by corresponding light weighted votes. The one who stands to gain is the man in the middle, who wins by sheer absence of holding a view on a divisive issue. There is one possible way to solve this -- by making the heaviest-weighted votes count for more than the middle-weighted votes. So if you’re ranked first, you get 100 points. If you’re ranked second, only 40, then 10 and then 0. However, let’s not forget that the more extreme the votes are weighted, the likelier for the system to closely resemble a first past the post one. 

The third assumption is that the differences between candidates that are important to a typical voter are right-thinking, well-intentioned and true. The author raises the example of how majority of Singaporeans could have preferred burgers but a fried chicken joint would be voted in because of the multiplicity of burger joint options diluting the vote count. What if this analogous ‘difference’ between presidential candidates was that of race or gender? Of course, there is the very valid point that the presidential elections do not exist to prevent racist and sexist votes. It is supposed to be a neutral arbiter that ultimately aims only to achieve one thing: to produce a winner who is more representative of Singaporean society. But I fear, perhaps on an unfounded basis, that in reality things may not be as straightforward. Take, for instance, a female candidate with 40% of the heaviest-weighted votes and three other male candidates with 20% of the heaviest-weighted votes each. If the female candidate received the lowest-weighted votes from the other 60% of the population and a male candidate won as a result, whilst it is true that this would be more reflective of the warped nature of our society than a failing of the electoral system, there would be little doubt that the winning male candidate would assume the presidency based on negative connotations of sexism. Of course, something similar could happen for the current voting system, when there are very tight margins between candidates of, say, different genders. But it would also be less pronounced. Again, what does it say about the ability of an election to represent the choices of society when a candidate is able to garner 40% of the heaviest-weighted votes but is unable to win?

The fourth assumption is that the calculation of votes in a weighted voting system will be uncontroversial. Specifically, an attractive feature of a democracy is its transparency. When we incorporate complex mechanisms to turn out a winner, these mechanisms may sometimes be controversial, difficult to understand, or entirely misunderstood. These mechanisms also represent additional opportunities in which a single-party Parliament could manipulate in order to turn the tides in the favour of a candidate they are pushing for the win. Overall, the point is not that a weighted voting system must be unfair, or comprise of unfair mechanisms. The point is there is a much higher chance of voters, particularly in a tight race, viewing the result as unfair. Perhaps the author is correct in saying that Singaporeans ought to be sufficiently intelligent to understand why the system is what it is. But there is a part of me that cannot rid itself of the doubts I have about voter sentimentality -- ultimately, elections can be very emotionally-charged events. The straightforward nature of a first-past-the-post system invokes a primal sense of clarity that aids in fostering an attitude of begrudging acceptance that could perhaps be a healthy thing for a society. 

As an ending note, I would like to make a final disclaimer that I suppose would have been more apt if I included it at the beginning: my mathematical considerations could actually be seriously flawed, or there could be actual ways that are easily formulated to circumvent the risks I mentioned above. If so, I would appreciate it if any of you could let me know: I would certainly defer to your expertise once you show me the maths. Finally, regardless of my inhibitions, I must agree with the author on one point: there is too little debate about this in Parliament. 

[singaporeanarmchair]

Reflections on Chinese Tourists

This article nicely sums up quite a large part of what I think of Chinese tourists: https://www.hongkongfp.com/2017/04/30/shouldnt-look-nose-chinese-tour-groups/

To cut things short, the author makes the case that there are cultural and historical reasons why Chinese tourists behave the way they do, and their perspective on travel is different from that of their Western-influenced counterparts. I don’t think I have anything to add to his case, except that this is to me symbolic of a greater trend/pattern that I find commonly recurring in various other issues. The idea that Western and Oriental conceptions of big questions and issues like poverty/prosperity and freedom are fundamentally different. I recently attended a lecture by Hina Jilani and when she was asked by an audience member about what she thought of Pakistani conservatives claiming that Asian values were different from Western ones, Jilani said she took offence at that stance given how much her family members before her sacrificed to fight for freedom and equality in Pakistan. I felt conflicted by her statement because, on one hand, I knew where she was coming from. She wasn’t making some superficial point about how because she and her relatives sacrificed more that they were right. She conceives human rights as a universal concept that holds moral superiority, and it is this that has driven their spirit of sacrifice and resistance. That wasn’t surprising to me -- one who doubts the universal validity of human rights could never have fought, and continue to fight even to this present day, so valiantly and sacrificed so much as Jilani did. On the other hand, I know of the dangers of moral absolutism and objectivism. How can one who begins with the stance, “my moral standard is the moral standard”, connect and convince? Furthermore, even if there is an objectively correct moral standard, how does one come to know what it is, or more importantly isn’t? I don’t hold the exact same views as Jilani -- I believe that human rights in the personal sense are not the only rights worth protecting. There are collective rights, rights that a society ought to have at large that translate into sub-rights and sub-obligations that individuals in that society will have. This collectivist idea, as you may well have realised, resonates with left-wing ideas. But I also realise the importance of personal rights, and how an ideal society must balance between the two -- rights flowing from the individual to society at large and vice versa. This doesn’t mean I reject either side -- I understand their points of view and constantly doubt my own. Part of this doubt stems from the apparent certainty that their points of view seem to possess. I have no easy answers, and I doubt I ever will. The question that plagues me the most is whether there really is no place of importance in the world for a (self-proclaimed) centrist filled with uncertainty. Must one really take one stance or the other, or otherwise drop out of the discussion? Is “arguing both sides” an instrument reserved only for academic articles and has no part to play in the everyday workings of society?

[singaporeanarmchair]

The Importance of Self-Doubt

I have never thought of myself as a very confident person -- at least not in the manner that others have. I can say that every decision I make is tinged with at least a little doubt. I constantly question my assumptions, my motives and what my thought process reflects on me as a person. Let’s take a simple example: am I being chivalrous or chauvinistic when I open the door for a lady? Am I equally obliged to open the door for a man? What about someone who doesn’t identify with a traditional gender? All these questions go through my head when I hold the door at Marks & Spencer. As you can imagine, thinking deeply about this drags one down the rabbit hole -- one starts taking into account ideas like societal norms, gender constructs, social rules, the value of etiquette... And I never come to a definitive conclusion. But at the end of the day, I still need to decide if I ought to open doors -- my thinking about the issue, however deeply, doesn’t relieve me from the practical dilemma that gave rise to it. Furthermore, this is just a single instance. Multiply that by a hundred and you have a day in my life. 

My purpose in writing this is not to inform you, the reader, of my obsessive overthinking (although you are now officially warned). One constant question that tugs at me at the end of every one of my little runaway thought trains is whether I ought to be thinking so deeply about an otherwise mundane action. Young people are constantly told that self-confidence is a valuable asset that they ought to be equipped with when they step out into the real world. Uncertainty and doubt is systematically despised in the world we live in today, seemingly because they represent weakness. I would go so far as to attribute this mindset to our popular culture and television.  As we look around us, we are constantly bombarded with advertisements for self-confidence. The typical plot of works of entertainment will include a Hero and a Villain -- the two seem so sure of their roles and there is rarely any doubt. Prince Joffrey looking pensively into a mirror thinking about what a virtuous leader ought to do does not make for good entertainment. We also often see world leaders exhibiting confidence in their postures and speech; the public won’t be too happy to hear Theresa May saying, “I’m not entirely sure how we should carry out the negotiations” after the Brexit vote. Audiences are more than happy to witness external conflicts, but not internal ones. 

I think there’s a psychological reason for this. 

Human beings constantly try to simplify the world so we can understand it better. Our brains are not wired to accept an ambiguous state of affairs as it is. The same goes for understanding other people; knowing where your conversational partner stands, what she believes in, what for her is “going too far”, gives us an easier time in responding. As time passes, we realise it’s easier to package the way we communicate so it’s easier to understand and accept. Opinions are polished so that doubts we feel are less important to the person receiving those opinions are removed. After all, this seems to only be the courteous thing to do. 

In the appendix of Orwell’s 1984, the new simplified language Newspeak that was introduced to narrow the citizens’ range of thought to make dissent impossible proved to be the downfall of Big Brother because our language that represents humanity’s ideas is too expansive and nuanced to be simplified. But I think it goes both ways -- our simplification of thought will lead to the degradation of language. When we choose not to voice our doubts or at least ignore them in our minds and refuse to have, at minimum, that mental conversation, we are slowly eroding our ability to express and think in a manner that takes these doubts into account. This is not simply some abstract philosophical problem. A lack of self-doubt is, in itself, a form of extremism. My point is not the content of this extreme view, but in the extremeness itself. It forces us to pick up a rifle and choose a side to take. Just look at into the comments section of any controversial news story. It goes beyond an adversarial system that aims to promote diversity of thought to become a self-identification process that excludes empathy and tolerance. It forces the world into a false binary landscape, an us-or-them scenario. 

We need to question the source of our confidence, the basis upon which it is based, for every issue. We need to examine for ourselves ideas we deem truisms: why is democracy good? Why do we need human rights? Why am I a liberal? What is a country? All these questions are not abstract issues left to philosophers and academics. The process of thinking through them gives us a reason to be confident in our views. Doubt must precede confidence. Scepticism must precede belief. That is the only way for us to move forward.

[singaporeanarmchair]

Influencing Influencers

Many ought to be aware of the recent debacle about social media ‘influencers’. This is a short response to another that comments on the true nature of the influencers’ motivations. I do not disagree with the overarching message the author sends – that many of these influencers are out to become famous and rich. On the contrary, I think the author has overestimated the value, potential and ambitions of the industry. And this in itself highlights to me a more troubling issue.

The author begins with how he has always been cynical about local influencers’ claims that their primary motivation is to create content as opposed to garnering fans and sponsors. He then dismisses these claims by virtue of the fact that the content they create are mostly unoriginal, especially when compared to quality YouTube channels like Crash Course. Several things here:

1. The author overestimates the level of ambition these people have with regards to their desire to ‘create content’. To put it crudely, they only claim to create content, not create content that is inspiring, motivational, moving or even original. To place any kind of expectation on these people would be artificially setting the bar too high. Mindless television shows are dime a dozen, as are books devoid of originality and quality content – but these are content created nonetheless. The influencer industry is no exception.

2. The author overestimates the threshold required to entertain the average Singaporean. He claims that only teenagers (those in their early teens, at that) would be entertained by the content put out by these influencers. Assuming he is right, would it not be wise of these influencers to push out more mature content suited to a wider range of audiences in order to expand their reach? After all, these influencers are most susceptible to market forces given how profit-driven they are. A quick look at the more popular local YouTube channels will also show that their fanbase extends beyond the early-teens segment. Evidently, the status quo is acceptable to these local influencers, because the status quo already captures a significant target audience.

3. The author conflates quality content and the necessity of political opinions. This is the only area where I feel I must defend the local influencers regardless of their standards, ambitions and motivations. This has little to do with the actual state of affairs in Singapore or anywhere else – the sheer idea that quality content must be politicised is false. The two can and often do coincide because a lot of good art is driven by strong emotions and views. But that isn’t to say that it has to be. Nobody wants to be exposed everyday to someone on a screen lambasting the sad state of affairs with regards to LGBT rights in Singapore. Having a platform is not in itself a reason to use it for political means. My belief is content creators who systematically push out a certain kind of content and amass a following have an unspoken contract with their followers – while it is entirely within the right of the creator to suddenly introduce entirely different content altogether, many creators know and value the relationship they have built with their fanbase. It is entirely within the realm of understanding that these creators choose not to politicise their channels, guided by the cliched advice that these is a time and place for everything. They simply feel their channel is not that place.

So at the end of the day, what can we gather from this? I guess the first two points above lead me to a more important overarching message – that there is dissonance between what some view to be the entertainment preferences of Singaporeans and the actual preferences of Singaporeans – regardless of whether these are viewers or creators. There are Singaporean channels that I can see strive to bring real value to social discourse, like Bryan Victor’s interviews with interesting Singaporeans who have made their mark by deviating from the status quo. But look at the number of views his videos have accrued. Yes, some parts are unpolished and clumsy – but the sheer value of the content is certainly not proportionate to the number of views. And this, I think, is the takeaway: popularity in general has never been the measuring benchmark of quality.

The author suggests that it is the viewer who enabled, and is continuing to enable, the materialistic industry of influencers. He is correct. But at the end of the day, the perpetuation of the industry is symptomatic of a larger and more fundamental issue. Support for these influencers will not stop overnight, and are likely to continue indefinitely. In Singapore, we speak of meritocracy and equal education opportunities, as well as catchphrases like “every school a good school”. But what the few expect of the many is indicative of the culture gap that exists in our society, that is in turn driven by a socio-economic or education gap. This is not exclusive to Singapore – when I hear a distinctively posh English accent on the tube mocking people who watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians, I don’t share that sense of superiority. What I hear is a cultural gap that can only be bridged by empathy and understanding.

Why are programmes we consider crude and empty popular? What is it about such content resonates with Singaporean viewers? Until we ask ourselves these hard questions, I reckon we can only look on from the outside and wag our fingers.