Promenade theatre piece exploring the horror of being and existence within the rules and regulations of society.

As part of their Industry Project initiative, Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (NAFA) is once again collaborating with local theatre company Emergency Stairs to give the graduating students of their Diploma in Theatre (English Drama) programme a chance to work with professionals in the theatre industry. This time around, they’ve collaborated with Malaysian theatre-maker Seng Soo Ming on original, devised work My Body is (Not) My Body, an unusual, experimental promenade theatre work that explores the body as a subject and site of inquiry into power structures and agency.

My Body is (Not) My Body stars Alyssa Hon, Celine Min, Clarice Eli Fong, Min Razak, Judah Kan, Livia Mariabella Qushey Wahab, Muhammad Asyraf, Aqilah Azman, Sakai Hanako, Steph Gomas, and Yingxuan, and breaks all the traditional rules of theatre. Registering at the lobby of NAFA, audience members begin by choosing one of three coloured tags, determining the group they’ll be following for the rest of the night —an act that subtly introduces ideas of consent, choice, and consequence from the start.

The performance itself begins suddenly, unexpectedly, as a group of performers begin to move, beckoning the audience to surround and watch them, while passers-by snatch fleeting, curious glances. This act of observation and being watched already creates an interesting dynamic – by bearing witness to this performance without participation, are we already establishing that we are in a superior position to these students?

The opening sequence quickly establishes themes of confinement and control, with performers unwinding ribbons tied to chairs, trying—and failing—to break free. The more they attempt escape, the more they’re bound, physically and metaphorically, tugged back by a ‘master’. This early image encapsulates the core struggle: the performer’s body as an object, moulded, directed, and constrained by unseen systems of authority. This is further emphasized when performers don iPads hung like modern yokes, through which their ‘masters’ Zoom in to command them to “breathe.” The surreal visual—live bodies mediated by screens—echoes our relationship with technology: ever-present, alienating, and compulsive. It’s a chilling embodiment of the ways control has become virtual, yet no less visceral.

It is at this point that we splinter off into our respective groups, determining the order of movement and locations visited. While some of these spaces required a fair bit of travel time, given the size of each group, it remains impressive how the team managed to organise and sync up all these simultaneous performance spaces around NAFA, with minimal waiting time or overlap between groups. Even during these traveling times, our ‘leaders’ stays in character, telling each other to ‘breathe’ as they communicate via iPad, or yelling at each other to come back, and not stray too far, offering glimpses into relationships never fully explained, but always charged and unsettling.

Across all three segments, the storylines and performances are brutal and visceral, set up with old costumes, almost like a ritual ground for the students to conduct some kind of sacrificial exertion of energy, or those that came before them. Each of these segments are incredibly physically taxing for the performers involved, where their bodies become subject to strain as they leap, dash and pull and tug, seemingly caught by inescapable, invisible nooses that prevent their freedom.

Violence appears in glimpses: a story about a crab, a runaway cat, something processed, something severed. Theatrical logic breaks down, and we can only watch on in horrified fascination as these students go through performed pain, not only physically, but emotionally as well, displayed on their tortured faces, with dread never too far from what we’re feeling. The spaces all feel curiously isolated, like the liminal spaces of internet backrooms lore, whether it’s the bottom of NAFA’s studio theatre lobby, with blind spots everywhere, or the corner of an upstairs space between classrooms, all devoid of people gone home after class. Travelling via elevators, there is almost the sense of teleportation as we transit between spaces, creating an uneasy sensation. Heavy, mechanical whirring and beats play in the background, further adding to a dreadful environment.

In essence, much of this all amounts to a degree of existential horror. Watching these performers hit their heads repetitively against the wall, while we hear stories of abuse of power, the constant sense of resistance and being pummelled into submission and obedience, it feels as if the performers are all trying to reclaim some semblance of personal identity and their own agency. Certainly, all three spaces, in their abstraction, begins to feel repetitive to a degree, and watching the performance becomes an exercise in endurance for both students and audience. It is never “pleasant,” and that’s okay; it’s a theatrical work that allows itself to plumb and explore the darkness of human nature. If anything, it is interesting to see how these performers adapt to the spaces, and use site-specificity to enhance their performance with greater meaning and symbolism.

There is little levity throughout these segments, but when all three groups reunite in the studio theatre, we see the performers finally get their long-awaited revenge, as they overpower their captors and masters, who are spun around helplessly on wheeled tables, on the verge of a scream as they’re watched and punished by the others. Yet it remains unsatisfying, with no real sense of catharsis, to see violence beget violence, and we are left to wonder if the cycle then continues, if all that is left is the exchange of power with no peace between parties.

My Body is (Not) My Body isn’t trying to be accessible, and that’s part of what makes it valuable. For young artists still defining what it means to make performance, this kind of deconstruction is vital. It tests not only what theatre is but what it could be—and what it costs to make. In that sense, the piece functions less as a finished performance and more as a portal into a process. That is its power, in allowing these young artists to understand their bodies more keenly, and perhaps, emerge from it with greater knowledge of their own abilities inherent within them, and find the solution to the violence set by this work.

My Body is (Not) My Body plays from 9th to 13th April 2025, and Fake Performance is (Real) Performance plays from 17th to 20th April 2025, both at the NAFA Studio Theatre. Tickets available from Peatix

Production Credits:

Curator / Creative Producer Liu Xiaoyi Director Seng Soo Ming Production Manager Vivi Agustina Sound Designer Meng Jiaoyang Stage Manager Cheryl Lee. Assistant Production Manager Marilyn Chew Assistant Stage Manager Muhd Haziq Kwee Assistant to the Director Leoni Safitri Leong Project Coordinators Chen Yitong, Tay Qing Xin Graphic Designer Huang Suhuai Sound Design Mentor Jing Ng Performers Alyssa Hon, Celine Min, Clarice Eli Fong, Min Razak, Judah Kan, Livia Mariabella Qushey Wahab, Muhammad Asyraf, Aqilah Azman, Sakai Hanako, Steph Gomas, Yingxuan, Natalie Linn Titus (u/s)