This year, all of B-Floor Theatre's productions have been a reaction to Article 112 cases and social sanctions against those who have, or are accused of having, less-than-glowing views of the Thai monarchy. However, Bang La Merd (My Wonderfully Smiling City), written, directed and performed by Oranong Thaisriwong, is, thank heaven, the first to simply say that yes, we're talking about the lese majeste law and the constant fear and possibility of landing in jail for doing or saying anything that touches up on the monarchy.
In the first scene, Oranong tells the audience of her original intention to use the Royal Anthem in the show in a way that could possibly be considered illegal. She details her consultations with her friends who are legal experts and her discussions with other B-Floor members. The actress doesn't say what she had planned to do with the song, and after much consideration, we're going to have to deal with the fact that she has decided to censor herself. This is the first time, perhaps, that we're seeing and hearing onstage the thoughts and decision-making process of a censored person and the admission of self-censorship.
The scene is a cry of protest just as the previous B-Floor productions this year have been, but by opening the show as such, Bang La Merd (literally "area of violation") goes where the other productions have not gone: it makes it more difficult for the audience and critics to avoid the sensitive topics that she raises and to question their own self-censorship as they discuss the show or address the issue of censorship in public.
In the context of theatre or in any form of media, the act of self-censorship is an act of censoring the audience. And throughout the performance, the first-time director plays with the audience's awareness of violation of rights and infringements of space, and almost dares us to do something about it, even fight against it. Unfortunately, as a theatre audience, we have been trained all too well in the etiquette of submission _ to the constructed reality, to the will of the performer. And what Oranong challenges us to do as she invades our space or as she forces our participation is not that complicated: say something or do something to win back that space, to put ourselves in a position in which we're free to move.
If you're familiar with Oranong as an actress, then you know that when she wants to be funny, she can be frighteningly good. The first half of the show had the audience doubling over hysterically. She morphs from casually speaking to us as herself into a caricature of an over-earnest schoolteacher, improvising and interacting with the audience without a single stumble.
In her recent works, especially her collaboration with Babymime earlier this year, she demonstrated that she's not only a performer of wit and grace, but also of versatile physicality. In a scene in Bang La Merd, she smiles a ridiculous, wide smile, which then transforms into a grotesque expression of pain that has her body convulsing and gasping for air _ her transition from comedy to unrestrained agony is shocking and extremely moving all at once.
While the first and lighter half of Bang La Merd deals with censorship in both direct and over-the-top manners, the second half sinks into literal and figurative darkness as Oranong moves with forcefulness _ against her own body and the audience _ in repetitive and mechanical choreography. Sometimes she moves between tight spaces with a chair, sometimes she puts her limbs into structures with holes and wheels herself around the room without being able to see. As an audience, we're never provided with complete visual or aural information _ snippets of news footage, lectures, texts and interviews with political prisoners, event fragments of a body, emotions, and movements. All is cut up and cut short _ mired in ambiguity.
Pridi Banomyong Institute, along with small theatres like Democrazy Theatre Studio, have always provided a safe haven for political theatre, regardless of artists' political leanings. I can't help but wonder whether recent works by B-Floor would be more potent and effective if they were performed in spaces that are less safe, where they would be more likely to encounter audiences with more diverse political views. Perhaps it's time for political theatre companies to start thinking about their own physical confinements.
Bang La Merd runs until Sept 24 at 7.30pm at B-Floor Room, Pridi Banomyong Institute. Tickets are 350 baht. Call 089-167-4039, 084-713-5075, or email bfloortheatre@gmail.com.
