Written by Jit Murad in 1993 and restaged by Instant Cafe Theatre, Gold Rain & Hailstones offers insights into the complexities of identity, with socio-religious elements
“HERE we go,” says Jay/Jit in exasperation “Where are we? Where are we going? Why are we? Who are we? Hello ― we are we, just be lah!”
Wasn’t that so Malaysian a thing to say? It’s part of Gold Rain & Hailstones, a well-written play by Jit Murad back in 1993 that’s been restaged by Instant Cafe Theatre (ICT) for its 30th anniversary.
It’s so beautifully phrased and parsed in a homegrown style that the two hours or so with no intermission didn’t draw a rush for the doors, but prolonged applause.
Last restaged by Jit and Dramalab co-founder Datuk Zahim Albakri in 2006, with Jit on stage with Lin Jaafar for 13 roles, Gold Rain is about Amy (Farah Rani), Jay (Ghafir Akbar), Nina (Sharifah Amani) and Man (Redza Minhat) who return to Malaysia after studying abroad.
Amy is the last to return, and does so only because her dad is not well. The gang reconnects and of course, there are reminiscences about life and their experiences. What they did abroad, and how they found, or made or fell into, a niche at home.
“...And he taught me that the more you define yourself, the less space you have to live. . Being a clumsy mutant here is more significant than being merely an exotic hybrid somewhere else,” says Amy, as I recall the lines somewhere in the play.
Jit has given the female characters a strong voice, one of heartache, longing, bitterness and even anger. Sharifah Amani, who made her mark in film starting with Sepet, showed her versatility with her portrayal of perhaps eight characters on stage, and I am quite sure her hooker role, minor at that, is indelible to audiences!
Farah, who has performed in ICT’s Nadirah (2009) and Parah (2011), brings substance to Amy, the reluctant returnee from abroad. She rails at her lot, at her societal constraints with its mental armour, as too Nina, the dutiful wife, but the insights of 1993 have been swept under the tudung, so to speak, even after all these decades. Is the rural-city divide that big, I can’t help but ask?
Since there were so many characters on stage, and four actors, the set by Melissa Teoh worked in offering some location to the scenes. The changes were fluid, like the play itself, making the performance smooth. It had a nostalgic feeling when seeing Bapak (Redza) and Ibu (another Sharifah Amani role) sitting in one corner, as their daughter Amy spoke about her childhood and their marriage.
Elsewhere, Jay speaks how happy he is to travel, for as a tourist there are no judgments made on his choice of lifestyle and sexuality. His portrayal of a minor role ― that of a dad giving his son advice over nasi kandar ― is priceless!
Nostalgia also sang in the dialogue, I mean it was 1993, so references to Asia Jaya and cool places like Ampang Park’s cinema, well, had me smiling.
But the pith of this play is identity ― sans race, and kudos to Jit and director Gavin Yap for handling a touching subject with class.
In Jit’s play, the characters grapple with what makes you Malaysian ― in a sweetly non-judgmental manner. And that’s what makes Gold Rain relevant ― as we Malaysians are still juggling with this idea of belonging and who is a pendatang. Politics doesn’t help at all, does it?
Gold Rain & Hailstones at the Damansara Performing Arts Centre opened the same weekend as another play dealing with identity, To Which My Brother Laughed, at the Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre. The latter, a devised play, dealt with the caning of lesbians in Terengganu last year.
Inspired by the feminist writing in The Laugh Of The Medusa by Helene Cixous, director Tung Jit Yang attempted to dismantle our preconceived notions and stereotypes, of gender and identity. With indie band Shh. Diam providing narrator role as well as live music, it was a play that had the audiences crying along with the cast as the “skins” of societal shackles were cast off, or not.
Both these plays didn’t offer solutions to Malaysian societal issues, but did offer insights into the complexities of identity, with socio-religious elements. The discussions stemming from such plays can surely be only a good thing. I suggest that both plays be performed in the vernacular to bring that discussion home.