Modern take on Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde problematises society’s obsession with gender and performativity.

In the novel Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, author Robert Louis Stevenson uses the core narrative of a kind man hiding a sinister alter ego to pass commentary on the stress of conforming to strict moral codes and social norms in Victorian-era London. In suppressing our true selves, it builds up a pressure cooker of emotions, risking an explosive consequence if left unattended.

Singaporean actress Jo Tan seems to understand this scenario all too well, as a woman having to live up to all the conservative Asian expectations of her gender, from colleagues to even complete strangers on the street who might judge her for drifting even so far as an inch from the norm. It’s no wonder then that it’s led her to creating an entire show revolving around gender and performance, with King.

First produced and presented as a digital livestream back in 2020, King now makes its debut as a live, in-venue performance for the first time. Written and performed by Jo, and directed by Irfan Kasban, King follows shy, awkward Geok Yen, an OL (office lady) at a PR agency who just wants to keep a low profile and write her press releases in peace. But when she attends an office fancy dress party in the guise of a man, a brand new character takes her place instead – the brash, outspoken Stirling da Silva.

Through the medium of a one-woman show, Jo has found the ideal vehicle to showcase her range and talent as a performer, primarily via her stellar character work. Already as Yen, her voice constantly quavers and trails off into a mumble, her body language awkward and uncertain, always allowing others to dominate as she has no choice but to listen in silence. On the other hand, Stirling provides a clear contrast as he moves with a cocky arrogance, leaping about while almost yelling, obnoxious as he blatantly flirts with women or passes bordering-on misogynistic comments, a man-child with no filter you can’t help but gawp at for the sheer audacity.

The stark difference between Yen and Stirling is primarily what drives the narrative, as Yen increasingly relies on Stirling to give her a boost to her confidence. Where things get more complicated is when Stirling attends a local drag cabaret night, and somehow ends up a regular performer on the line-up, thanks to a stellar impromptu performance to a Cantonese wuxia theme song, and her real life workplace superior Ethan leading a double life as a drag queen (‘Anita Hero’) at the club. With that, Yen continues down her rabbit hole of contradictions and even greater stress, now that she finds freedom with Stirling as an outlet for her repressed feelings, while also having to hide this secret side to her from all her colleagues and husband-to-be.

In many ways then, King highlights how gender is essentially a performance, seeing as while Yen remains a biological woman, her transformation into Stirling draws both the respect and ire of people around her, and gives her newfound opportunities. Jo herself seems to embody this in her dressing, where, wearing only a comfortable crop top and pants, there is something inherently androgynous in her presentation, with short hair and clearly visible abs, which allows her to prove to us that simply playing up her voice or physicality veer the way we perceive someone as more ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’.

Beyond playing Yen and Stirling, Jo also winds up playing an entire medley of other characters, from Yen’s hapless, boring fiancé, to a colleague with zero awareness of his own racism. There are many things to be impressed with by witnessing this, but above all is how she achieves all of it without any costume changes, not even a wig. Because this is a full-on script, where characters have entire dialogues and conversations with each other, Jo has the difficult task of quickly switching between Yen and her brethren, and given how we can practically see the transformation without visual aid, while still ensuring every character is fully committed to, each one as genuine as they come with how they carry and express themselves.

These characters may primarily feel like caricatures, but in Jo’s hands, there is a stinging element of truth that laces each one of their portrayals. The audience may find humour in the chain smoking office slut, or the over the top Malay drag queen throwing shade, but even with the easy stereotypes, there is an undercurrent of discomfort as we recognise certain problematic facets in ourselves we may have learnt to ignore or accept as part and parcel of the social contract. While Yen and her superior may be the most obvious characters to lead a double life as drag performers, it feels as if every single character in King is inherently unhappy with themselves, hiding their true selves for fear of behaving out of line, or performing exaggerated versions of their own gender to please those around them.

All of this leads to the realisation of how harmful it can be not to realise when we’re suppressing parts of ourselves without a healthy outlet, leading to a kind of self-destructive behaviour. None of these characters make us particularly want to root for them, considering how obvious they make their own hypocrisy feel. We see this most clearly in Ethan’s story, where he goes from a confident drag queen no one can touch to a sobbing wreck later on, unable to reconcile his own self-hate for ‘femme’ gays with the fact that he is one himself. Other characters also display this trait, and perhaps what is so fascinating is that despite Stirling being so rude and so unabashed, his mere presence and daring in being so completely, totally himself is what forces the other characters to question their own behaviour, and confront the facade they’ve been putting up all this while. For Jo, to play this many toxic, despicable, problematic characters would naturally take a toll on any actor, and to keep up that energy, fully embracing and performing their terrible personalities and embodying them in all their awfulness, is no easy feat.

In terms of staging, Irfan’s set-up is simple, with only two cubes and a few choice props lying around, allowing all our attention to be fully focused on Jo and her performance, who rises to and overcomes the large cavernous space of 72-13. Irfan also doubles as lighting and sound designer, and integrates these well into his vision for the show, alongside Brian Gothong Tan’s use of pre-recorded media and live filming projected on the wall at the back. Highlights include when Jo performs lipsyncs and choreography to perfectly timed numbers such as ‘Fantastic Baby’ (with the projection showcasing her in full male K-pop star drag while she dances onstage), or when a particularly emotional scene is amplified by a performance to Linkin Park’s ‘In The End’.

Most of all, the live film elements often present multiple shots of Jo at once, each one lagging just a little more than the next, as if internally, Yen is trying to consolidate these multiple personalities within her. Irfan’s lighting also effectively frames Jo as and when necessary, expanding her shadow to a massive silhouette, or casting a harsh rectangle on her, as if representing feelings of entrapment. Irfan’s lighting also divides the set into two clear sides – a red and blue corner, as if a boxing ring where Yen is battling between her two personas, deciding if she wants to let Stirling come out, or remain quiet and unnoticed as her usual self. These also help with our imagination as they subtly demarcate clear zones that depict scenes such as the smoking corner of her office or her cramped HDB apartment. In a particularly tense scene where Yen is literally arguing with Stirling, we see twin projections onscreen showing two sides of Jo, and her moving between two zones lit red and blue each time she shifts character, to highlight the internal battle she faces within herself.

King feels deliberately subversive, a fantasy what-if scenario where a straight Chinese woman’s eyes are opened to the truth behind gender and sex through her introduction to the art of drag. Jo never shies away from the ugly side of every character she’s sketched out, and in that sense, it is refreshing to see how brazenly she holds up a funhouse mirror to depict our own faults and delusions. No one in the play is exempt from biases or deep internalised assumptions of gendered roles and behaviours, and King is all about unearthing that ugliness and toxicity for all to see.

At some point, we must realise that keeping up the act and putting on a constant performance will eventually exhaust us, and it becomes essential to ensure that we let off steam in some way or another before our monsters take over. King shows that gender is a construct, and we should absolutely tear it apart. But with Jo leading the charge, it doesn’t have to be a violent affair, but a fun journey as we begin to heal from the frameworks and structures society has forced upon us.

Image courtesy of T:>Works

King plays from 10th to 13th August 2023 at 72-13. Tickets available from Peatix

Production Credits:

Writer/Performer: Jo Tan Director/Lights/Sound/Stage Design: Irfan Kasban Producer: Noorlinah Mohamed Multimedia Designer: Brian Gothong Tan Choreographer: Mitch Leow Technical Manager: Andy Lim | ARTFACTORY Stage Manager: Jasmine Khaliesah Sound Engineer: Raymond Goei Lighting Programmer: Yap Seok Hui Technical Team: Ed-linddi, Roland Seah, Roy Teo