18 October 1999
Day&Night
Queen Emily
by Sherry Siebel


SOMEBODY HAD TO DO IT! Somebody simply had to strap on a pair of bogus mammaries and give Emily of Emerald Hill something she deserves: a big injection of testosterone. And who better than Singaporean uber thespian-cum-camp maestro Ivan Heng to take on the Nyonya mantle and all but waltz down (erstwhile) Bugis Street with it, singing in a very loud falsetto?

Having seen Pearlly Chua scrape the bottom of the bucket of pathos and pain as a virulently controlling yet pathetic Emily who inspired love, pity and sorrow, Ivan's outing in Emily's skin was an altogether different ball game.

In lvan's version of the Nyonya tow kay nyor, tears of shared empathy a la Joyluck Club were obviously not director Krishen Jit's chosen modus operandi. Rather, in grand ah kua style, we were swept along on a very gay magic carpet ride of classic female impersonation in the good ol' Baba tradition.

But do not even once imagine that he tried to be a woman. Instead, he transformed himself into that wonderfully effeminate creature with the covetable twin attributes of forked tongue and testicles that we women so adore. You see, we love strong women and we love seeing men try to imitate us. How can such sincere flattery not be passionately appreciated?

Of course, the definitive Emily is unlikely to ever be other than the poignant close-to-the-bone incarnation originally given her by Leow Puay Tin. But to see Ivan as an uninhibited Emily who revels at bitchery, excels at winching herself up the rungs of the hierarchical power pyramid upon which sits her betelnut-chewing, cherki-playing mother-in-law, and who has perfected the guerrilla art of insinuating a helpless need of her presence in everyone within her immediate sphere of influence with such a luscious misuse of feminine wile, was indeed an unalloyed joy.

I myself have never seen Puay Tin's Emily, but for all Ivan's caricatured "Tootsie" theatrics, he still managed to portray an Emily whose brittle gaiety and hair-trigger temper betrayed a woman who was very frightened and, therefore, very frightening.

His Emily did not ask for pity, in fact, rejected it and only appeared to hanker after superficial whimsies society calls status - a husband she could propel ever upward, many sons and the Albert King dress she sensationally changed into behind a screen, after ripping off her beautiful baju panjang to the sexy sound of Velcro and the glimpse of creamy shoulders, making more poignant her secret need for love and a constant affirmation of her female existence.

Ivan, to risk sounding extremely crude, lent Emily his balls. So, instead of the usual portrait of pain, we got a rollicking Emily, riding roughshod over all prim-and-proper expectations and unashamedly wallowing in the unctuous unguent of gender-bending.

Ivan as Emily also showed off his mastery at regurgitating lines at lightspeed, simultaneously impressing us all no end with his frenetic and hilarious simpering poses. This runaway train treatment resulted in a bit of flubbing, but let it be said that Ivan flubbed with the finesse of a consummate professional. Anyway, I giggled until even my legs were flailing around. I swear it got to the point that all it took was for him to mince across the stage and cast a single coquettishly meaningful look at the audience for us to crack up, so in the palm of his hand were we.

Apparently, Ivan's baju panjang popped open by accident on a following night, revealing a lacy black corset which prompted him to ad-lib coyly to his hooting audience, "Eh, for RM35, you think you can get to see all of me?" What can I say but wish that I had been there.

Little tasty treats abounded in the form of topical asides ("Yes, babi buah keluak! No ayam buah keluak! No ikan buah keluak! BABI'), the decidedly masculine "voice-overs" of both Emily's booming, Anglophilic, cigar-champing, crotch-grabbing father, and the emasculated pipsqueak trill of her second son, plus the inspired idea of the market scene enacted at The Actors Studio entrance where theatre-goer and thespian alike were mercilessly harangued by Ivan, the Rampaging Nyonya.

Exuberantly experimental and 100% enjoyable, Ivan Heng as Emily (or should I say, Emily as Ivan Heng) was a delight, a chocolate eclair, a sticky, salty and-wet (the literal translation of ham sup, didn't you know?) morsel of fun.

The set by Raja Maliq was something of a surprise. Instead of the usual opulent Chinese antique furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, etc., we had opulent Chinese antique furniture - wrapped up in bandages. There was no mistaking the quality beneath the cotton swathes, however, and the overall effect gave an ephemeral spookiness to the mansion about to lose its lustre, and gave Ivan, who is a very "big" character, the space and spartan surroundings he needed. Also, a retreat from perennially used museum pieces was quite welcome.

Krishen could not resist reintroducing one of his favourite devices - shadows of leaves at the beginning and end of the play reminded one of his "puppetmaster" wayang kulit fetish. But, "blatantly theatrical" is what he promised, and I'm still gasping.

His direction of Emily's flashbacks, so expertly effected by "booting" Ivan into the stark spotlight for his wrenching soliloquies - Emily's abandonment by her mother and the lump-in-throat-forming Daddy's girl rendition scene of Old Kentucky Home, especially were flashes of genius, although I must admit that the most wretched scene, where Emily receives The Telegram, hit me in the gut much harder when Pearlly did it.

Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's because she's a woman, maybe it's because I was not prepared for the shock. Whatever it was, towards the end of the two-and-a-half-hour monologue, there were moments when I completely forgot about Emily's sexuality, so successfully had Ivan's maleness fused with her femaleness.

A coup, indeed.

By SHERRY SIEBEL (DAY & NIGHT - October 18-24, 1999)

Go to the Dramalab website archive of Emily of Emerald Hill.