Reviewed by Hao Yang
“I know nothing but what the clergyman said, when I went to be confirmed. He told us that religion was this, and that, and the other. When I am away from all this, and am alone, I will look into that matter too. I will see if what the clergyman said is true, or at all events if it is true for me.”
Thus asserts Nora to her husband, Helmer, as she explains her reasons for leaving their house, his dollhouse.
Like Nora from Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, Anya from Amanda Chong’s Psychobitch eventually leaves an oppressive patriarchal arrangement for a journey of self-discovery and self-love. Anya packs up after an hour of monologue, deletes her presentation slides, looks away from the audience, chin tilted up, and leaves.
But to compare Psychobitch to Doll’s House would be unnecessary, even unfair to Amanda. Psychobitch is different in more ways than one: it features just one character (it is a one-woman play), it features an unconventional female archetype that has not been explored much in literature, it foregrounds race, religion and even class, and perhaps more importantly, it is written by a woman. In short, the play hits closer to home for how specific it is to the actual lived experiences of a middle-class Tamil Christian woman in Chinese-majority Singapore (and yes, these identities do matter). On the contrary, Ibsen’s Nora is largely voiceless and flat throughout the play, much like the other characters, no doubt a reflection of the times back then. It is refreshing, therefore, to watch a play that reflects the conditions of our time by offering an anti-hero as a protagonist, an ‘imperfect’ feminist, a Type A woman who, in her ex’s words, is so beautiful and successful but also so fucking insecure.
The premise itself is a stroke of creativity and originality. I shall not spoil the plot but trust me when I say you are in for a ride that combines rigorous logic and human emotion--wait, is this dichotomy valid even? Perhaps it is Amanda’s poetic streak; it is simply sublime how she is able to take the ordinary, string a compelling narrative, and inject it with big emotions, big ideas.
And, as mentioned earlier, Psychobitch is a one-woman play, and that further enhances its specificity, its raw ability to connect with the audience. Ultimately, we all experience our lives as individuals--we remember what others say, we remember specific moments, we have our traumas, our insecurities, our desires, and we form our own narrative. This also gives us unfiltered access to the protagonist’s thoughts. Yes, some might say this offers a one-sided account of a relationship, but it is an account that is seldom given attention, it is an account that is often perverted by male power. Such perversion is most evident in the titling of the play.
Psychobitch.
I expected madness. That was not helped by the description of the play as a one-woman play--it is often in soliloquies that characters descend into madness, after all. However, the woman that we come to sympathise with, to laugh with, to root for, is someone who is in complete control of herself. Why is it that when a woman feels emotion, she is called a psychobitch, even though it is only human to feel emotions? The play subverted my expectations, prompting me to question the preconceived notions I had as a male audience member.
Back to the format of the play--it is anything but stale. God does it segue seamlessly from humour to poignancy. Amanda fleshes out Anya’s narrative with music, theatrical sequences and apt props. The script itself is also rich with cultural context--another highlight of the play that gives it a multifaceted dazzle. And of course, credit must be given to the actress, Sindhura Kalidas, for pulling off the transitions between characters so flawlessly! The spreading and closing of thighs, the alternating between vocal registers and attitudes!
Anya’s relationship with her ex-boyfriend, Galven Low, is complex. It seems to be based on ambition and social success more than anything else. Recounting her time in bed with Galven, Anya reveals that she appreciated Galven’s solidity--in him, he could see marriage, pregnancy, a penthouse at River Valley, a power couple. While we cannot truly know what Galven felt, we know that Anya was in the wrong relationship, and she took a long while to realise that. After the play reading, Amanda was asked by a veteran theatre practitioner why Anya chose to stay with Galven for so long. It’s because they believe they can make it work, isn’t it? It is a challenge, after all, and challenges can be overcome--they can prove their worth. As Amanda explains, it is a reality for many women of Anya’s type.
In Galven, it is not just the patriarchy that manifests itself. Anya also has to contend with being from a minority race in a society that is multiracial but ultimately, not colour-blind. When Galven asks her, ‘Why the fuck are you so insecure? Why the fuck are you so insecure?’, it is not just due to her history of having to prove herself as a woman in the corporate world--it is also her having to prove herself as an Indian person in a Chinese-majority society. How not to feel insecure when the main thing your potential mother-in-law cares about in a bowl of chicken soup you had so painstakingly prepared is whether the chicken is frozen or not?
The family dynamics in Anya's household are also worth discussing. In her household, her father is a strict practising Christian who opposes her relationship with the non-Christian Galven and that strains their relationship eventually. Her mother left when she was very young. Similar to Nimita’s Place by Akshita Nanda, the intergenerational relationships between daughter, mother and grandmother play a large role in the daughter’s growth.
Eventually, Anya affirms her identity as ‘her mother’s daughter’, as she chooses to leave as well. And not just leave, but to leave without an explanation.
Anya rearranges the furniture in Galven’s room as if she was never there and deletes her slides, one by one from her slide-deck. She does not need to explain anything, not something as fundamental as individual freedom. What’s important is that she has understood herself.
Towards the end of the play, love goes beyond the romantic, and returns to the familial. The play ends with Anya making a phone call, saying, ‘Hello, it’s Anya.’ The identity of the other person on the line is not revealed but it is presumably he who has been messaging her religiously day after day despite the rifts. With all her belongings packed, she is ready to return home, to rediscover herself, to tidy up what’s inside before returning once more into the wilderness of romance. As Anya realises, ‘Love lets us leave when we need to, but it is always ready for our return. Love says, come, sit, eat.’ Love does not need rationalisation. Love just is.
A final point to note: Amanda weaves poetry into drama effortlessly without compromising the consistency of characterisation, as so happens with many plays where characters suddenly veer into overwrought, affected speech.
Twice, the following lines are said in the play, like a resounding echo in Anya’s head that refuses to leave, like knots untied, questions unanswered:
“What will make me come alive? What will make me leave?”
What will make me come alive? What will make me leave?
For Anya, and many women, living is in the leaving.
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