It’s almost there in some ways and absolutely not there in others.
In Grandma. Gangsta. Guerrilla., emerging playwright Abi Padilla interweaves three storylines. The core story is about Lola (Grandma) Basyang, who is succumbing to dementia. Her grandkids Nika and Jun-Jun have placed Basyang in a care home, but she escapes. This storyline is sometimes naturalistic, but often cartoon-like: although she’s 90, Basyang possesses the strength and combat skills of a video-game warrior, for instance. That’s how she manages to bust out of the care home. Completely farcical, the second storyline bears no relationship to reality: having escaped, Basyang gets involved with a drug-running gang called the Gorilla Gorillas who wear gorilla masks when they commit crimes. In stark contrast, the third storyline is historically based and horrific. It delves into the past to explore Basyang’s experience as a 14-year-old sex slave, or “comfort woman” to Japanese soldiers during WWII.
The result of all this is that, stylistically, the script is a mess. The horrors of sexual enslavement fit awkwardly with the broad comedy of the other narrative threads. In the domestic storyline, for instance, Basyang gets triggered when she encounters Nika’s Japanese fiancé Ken. In that essentially light reality, Ken, who’s played by actor Terrence Zhou, is baffled. But then the scene flips, we’re in the past and Zhou is playing a Japanese soldier who’s commanding a teenage Basyang to submit to him sexually. The night I was there, this juxtaposition provoked laughter from some members of the audience, which was not Padilla’s intention I’m sure.
A second example: in intercut scenes, young Basyang pledges allegiance to the Filipino resistance during WWII, while, on the other side of the stage, a drug-gang recruit pledges allegiance to the Gorilla Gorillas. Both scenes are about commitment, but the moral circumstances are completely different — as are the tones of the two worlds — so, to me, the parallel presentation, which suggests some degree of equivalency, feels superficial, not thought-through.
Still, I did say that Grandma. Gangsta. Guerrilla. almost works in some ways. There’s admirable ambition, even audacity, in Padilla’s attempt to address dementia and enslavement in a single script. And, if you scrape away the stylistic dissonance, you can see that there’s considerable technical craft in the script’s architecture, in the ways in which the past narrative informs and overlaps with the present narratives.
There’s formal adventure beyond the braided storylines. There are a couple of rap numbers, for instance, that are among the most satisfying elements of this production.
As they would in life, the characters often flip between English and Tagalog.
And, under the direction of Leslie Dos Remedios, everybody in the cast delivers solid work. Padilla herself plays Basyang and, unsurprisingly, since she’s the playwright, she’s at home with her script’s multiple elements: the rap, the martial arts, the comedy, the touching vulnerability of both old and young Basyang.
Playing Nika, Yorlene Bernido has drawn the toughest assignment: as written, Nika is a relentless — and repetitive — nag to her younger brother Jun-Jun but, to her credit, Bernido manages to find the softness beneath Nika’s flint.
With Jonathan Kim’s lighting and Andie Lloyd’s projection designs enlivening Kimira Redy’s flexible set, the physical production is reasonably handsome.
As we left the theatre and then the day after, my companion and I fell into a discussion about what dramaturgical choices might have helped Grandma. Gangsta. Guerrilla. achieve more of its potential.
My sense is that this script would have benefited mightily from a more defined stylistic language.
More sustained use of rap could have helped to establish a more distinct — and capacious — artistic sensibility, for instance.
And I think the most crucial task would have been to integrate comedy and horror throughout. In horrifying situations, including war, humour — often very dark humour — can be a vital and sustaining response. There’s a kind of absurdity in overwhelming awfulness, after all.
There’s also horror — and dark humour — in dementia. This version of Padilla’s script treats dementia gently, even sentimentally sometimes. Going deeper on this front might have might have made Grandma. Gangsta. Guerrilla. more rewarding.
But that’s all theoretical.
In its current state, Grandma. Gangsta. Guerrilla. is stylistically problematic in my view. But Padilla’s writing also shows a great deal of promise and potential.
GRANDMA. GANGSTA. GUERRILLA. By Abi Padilla. Directed by Leslie Dos Remedios. A Ruby Slippers Theatre production presented in association with the Shadbolt Centre for the Arts at the Shadbolt Centre for the Arts until February 8 (tickets and information) then at Presentation House Theatre, where it is co-presented by Blackout Arts Society and Presentation House Theatre, February 13 to 16 (tickets and information).
PHOTO CREDIT: Dealing with her future son-in-law, Basyang misapplies her martial skills. (Photo of Terrence Zhou, Yorlene Bernido, and Abigail Padilla by Moonrider Productions)
0 Comments