More mundane than absurd, this one-man meditation on grief winds up a head-scratcher of a commission that never commits to any one idea long enough to leave an impact.

Presented as part of the Esplanade’s Huayi – Chinese Festival of Arts, Le Jeu Studio’s Last Luncheon, conceived, directed, and performed by veteran theatre practitioner Alvin Chiam, aims to be a meditative journey into solitude, grief, and memory. Inspired by Samuel Beckett’s absurdist Krapp’s Last Tape, the production sets itself up as an intimate exploration of a man grappling with the weight of his past, his days measured out by cans of luncheon meat and bowls of instant noodles in the wake of his wife. Yet, despite its lofty intentions, the show struggles to transcend its minimalist concept, resulting in an experience that often feels more tedious than profound.

As the protagonist and sole performer, Chiam possesses a carefully-constructed physical presence, and his decades of honing his craft are evident in his control over movement and his commitment to non-verbal storytelling. This results in an oddball character who is defined by his pattering feet across the stage, his grunts and mutterings to himself, dancing to select songs on the radio, certainly an outcast or weirdo isolated from society. Throughout the play, we watch as he goes through the motions of ritual—preparing meals, replaying cassettes, cleaning house, trying to hold on to some semblance of normalcy in his grief. Occasionally, we catch a glimpse at his inner turmoil, when he dresses up in a suit, dancing with an invisible partner, or while consuming slices of fried luncheon meat, in honour and memory of his missing wife.

However, the production ultimately falters because it never quite pushes itself far enough into the absurd or the emotional. It lingers in a liminal space—neither committing to the Beckettian chaos it hints at nor offering the depth of pathos it aims to imbue in audiences. The absence of spoken dialogue, with Chiam largely communicating through grunts, sighs, and non-lingual sounds, is a bold choice. While it could have been an invitation for the audience to fill the silence with their own interpretations. Instead, it renders the character distant and difficult to care about.

In the tapes Chiam plays, dialect is primarily used as the language of choice, an interesting touch, but never quite builds towards a cohesive emotional payoff. There are fleeting moments of narration, hinting at his childhood helping his father on the farm in the kampong where he grew up, his lack of education, and a dead mother he pays respects from time to time. But there is a disjoint between these ideas, never committing to any one line of thought that makes it difficult to connect or care for this strange man, keeping is distant and detached, unable to truly access his interior world.

More mundane than absurd, Chiam’s choice of movements feel like watching a man go about his daily life, stoic, with most of the emotions kept completely sealed under lock and key, completely suppressed. Even when it seems he is about to explode from grief, letting loose a yell as if under the influence, hitting himself, he stops almost immediately, every promising moment dissipating before it can fully land. A momentary blackout is quickly resolved when Chiam fishes out a light from the cupboard, working in the dark for a while until power is restored, with no lasting consequences whatsoever. In that sense, there are no real high points or particularly memorable images that remain in our conscience after the show, leaving little impact altogether.

Furthermore, several staging choices raise more questions than they answer. There are prolonged segments where Chiam disappears offstage entirely, leaving the audience staring at an empty set, with only the radio playing. While this may be intended to evoke absence or emphasise solitude, it primarily results in a frustrating lack of engagement. Even if the smell wafts through the entire Theatre Studio, the decision to obscure the cooking of the noodles and luncheon meat, arguably the most tactile and grounding elements of the play, feels like a missed opportunity to viscerally connect us to the character’s daily rituals. An additional room, mostly blocked by a massive black set piece, is extraneous and serves no purpose except for Chiam to turn on a standing fan blowing at nothing.

Symbolism abounds—the red fan, a pink cardigan draped over a chair, the cassette player—but their meanings remain frustratingly opaque. The red fan, for instance, appears to animate the wife’s cardigan at points, but this potential metaphor is left underdeveloped. If anything, Chiam’s character is simply dealing with solitude, doing everything in his power to cope by finding his favourite songs, his oral history of his past, keeping the fans whirring. Jing Ng’s sound design includes footsteps, a low drone, and other with tiny sounds of indeterminate origin, like a low drone, might indicate how loud the surroundings feel when one is completely alone.

Towards the end of the show, Chiam plays a final tape that mentions him eating the final can of luncheon meat his wife left behind, breaking the cycle once and for all. He goes to the kitchen, sucking on a red bean Potong popsicle, before breaking the fourth wall, literally stepping out of the space he was previously confined to, and leaving the theatre, as if finally finding some solace from his grief. As he leaves, we hear the tape continue on, introducing yet another idea, with mention of the parable of Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness with no food or water. It’s an odd comparison to make, considering religion was never mentioned prior, and is the inverse of what Chiam’s character goes through, eating the same food daily as penance instead, and once again, feels disconnected from the rest of the piece.

Ultimately, Last Luncheon feels like a work still in its incubation phase, which is perhaps fitting given its development under the brand new Huayi Brewery programme. While the Esplanade’s support for experimental Chinese-language theatre is commendable, it would be worth asking what kind of guidance or input was provided to help shape this piece beyond this platform for showcase. There is a kernel of something compelling within Last Luncheon—the quiet devastation of grief, the relentless march of time, the smallness of daily rituals—but it remains buried beneath an overly restrained and, at times, aimless performance. One is left not with the aching resonance of solitude, but with the impatience of waiting for something, anything, to end the cycle.

Last Luncheon plays from 14th to 16th February 2025 at the Esplanade Theatre Studio. Tickets and more information available here

Huayi – Chinese Festival of Arts 2025 runs from 7th to 16th February 2025 at the Esplanade. Tickets and full programme available here

Production Credits:

Writer, Director and Performer Alvin Chiam Dramaturg Robin Loon Script Editor / Documenter / Archiver / Researcher Neo Hai Bin Sound Designer / Music Composition Jing Ng Lighting Designer Liu Yong Huay Scenographer / Production Design Ian Tan Graphic Designer Ric Liu