Grief is no new topic for the world of theatre. One of the most fundamental human experiences, it is endlessly relatable, never faltering in its supply of new material. Of course, because grief has been explored before, it requires some level of reinvention to allow it to be interesting — A Chinese Christmas in this regard, went above and beyond. In a 70-minute, yet deceptively thorough dissection of what it truly means not to mourn someone, but miss them, Director Monica Sayers and Writer/Lead Trent Foo hold our hands through a gentle exploration of how to reconnect with something larger than ourselves in our moments of destruction.
Set on the traverse stage of KXT Broadway, the audience enters into the slightly desolate warmth of an apartment. Cardboard boxes are scattered through the space, along with clutter that could or could not be entirely meaningless. Long lines of fibrous twine cut diagonal lines through the air, and natural fabrics are draped over chairs and lamps, cultivating a grounded and stylistic flair within the room. The hourglass was a particularly interesting touch, subtly elevating the stakes in a very grounded and practical way. The space is both carefully put together, in hanging lamps and the dangle of a microphone, and crucially dilapidated with the peeling wallpaper— setting the mood for our lead’s mental state. Much praise must go to Amy Lane here for her impeccable and considerate use of space. Further, her costume design for Lady Dai was also incredibly impressive, giving Jolin Jiang an almost inhuman energy with the shimmering gold over her eyes.
Production design continued to impress through lighting and sound; Jiang playing five or six instruments live through the show, which drew our attention back to the events on stage without ever becoming jarring. The use of colour and spotlighting from Cat Mai both elevated the moments of drama, and softened the piece into an almost dreamlike state when necessary. Cameron Smith’s sound design, along with Jiang as the composer seemed to almost communicate with both the moment, the emotion, and sometimes the characters themselves. Jiang’s work as a musician and composer, and also her physical work on stage, was so strong, in fact, I was almost left wishing the character she portrayed — Lady Dai — was an unspeaking role, as she created an untouchable mysticality around herself that was at times undercut by her less confident vocal work. However, I understood why the choice was made through the end reveal (which I won’t spoil). As a whole, the piece was incredibly beautiful, and production deserves many of the flowers in both matching and creating the emotional journey of the show. Between set, costume, lighting, and sound, the show moved aesthetically beyond the theatrical, settling into the cinematic.
Foo, in turn, gives us a spunky, naive, and energized portrayal of Heepa — a young man trying to bring his entire extended family together for Christmas. His physical work was very strong, clean movements and confidence through stunts created great moments of comedy and underlined his intentions well. His study of stage combat is very clear in this regard. In many ways, A Chinese Christmas functioned for the most part as a one-man show, and Foo effectively utilized this style to engage with his audience. Watching impassively, we were the ancestors coming to visit — always judging, never quite as helpful as he wanted us to be. His voice was clear and strong, and carried us through the show through his excitement. However, I would’ve liked to see him relax on stage, even only about 10-20% — as his energy manifested as a tendency to struggle with connecting with the words or the emotions, performing through them instead. This, although working for moments of comedy, left moments of grief falling slightly short. His performance was the most beautiful at its moments of stillness, slowness, and simplicity, especially in times of reflection. One of my favourite moments of the night in this regard was when the lights on the makeshift Christmas tree weren’t quite turning on, and we watched a very human awkwardness and frustration come out through humour.
Tiang Lim supports the show through her portrayal as PawPaw, the matriarch of this tiny family. Lim gave us a beautifully subtle study of the way that many of our older generations simultaneously ignore their emotions, whilst being swept up and ever affected by them. Although her vocal work leaned slightly into patterns, her work was so incredibly vulnerable that those flaws were easily ignored. Her scene with Foo in the car was particularly effective, both in her wisdom and sympathy, and the recorded monologue of her letter left the crowd very much misty-eyed. PawPaw, although not being quite human herself, was easily the most complexly human character of the show.
With such a common topic, it would be easy for A Chinese Christmas to lose the attention of its audience — but this show succeeds in leaps and bounds both in its cultural accessibility, and how it uses that cultural accessibility to draw in its audience. Although some of the emotional work did lean slightly demonstrative, and some of the connective tissue between moments was a little weak, Foo and Sayers have given us a deeply earnest exploration into loss that excites without excluding. It reminds us beautifully of the ways that we are loved, even if we cannot understand how that love is communicated. All the while, it simultaneously allows for those on stage, and us in the audience, to, as a collective, reach that final stage of grief: acceptance.
To book tickets to A Chinese Christmas, please visit https://www.kingsxtheatre.com/a-chinese-christmas.
Photographer: Robert Miniter
