Review: NINEEIGHT Stuns at Firehall Arts Centre

98. Seventeen years ago, Hong Kong became independent. "DEAR HK," a projector blinked to a visceral thump, as the pulsing paroxysm lingered (HK = Hong Kong). Dancers Michelle Lui, Alex Tam, and Milton Lim shook spasmodically under stroboscopic shadows.

Then, the background streamed in visual poetics. The word "CHINESE" repeated to the shape of the English flag, as bureaucratic national documents were eviscerated with instantaneous gravity. "MOTHERLAND" the projection flashed, "??". Sirens wailed to a fever pitch until a blank, white noise rang, piercing the aural spheres.

And then silence. Blinding light. The intensity of independence shrunk to the comic trio who mastered the dramaturgic brilliance of Stephen Chow. If China is the People's Republic, Chow is the People's Laughter.

Hong Kong humor, especially in the filmic tradition of Chow, is absurdist. NINEEIGHT does hilarious justice to this tradition. The wee "beautiful girl" staves off two young fighting men with nothing more than a motionless martial arts pose. Falling to the ground exaggeratedly, Tam and Lim shouted, "Lang loi!" (literally, beautiful girl).

NINEEIGHT is a play about the complicated psychology of a people who are talented onscreen, and who can smilingly welcome tourists with the best of them. Though, within the society, there is madness, rage, violence, trauma, and confusion.

From 1998 to the "Umbrella Revolution," Hong Kong is still a point of contestation among Asian people who are still very much in the thick of struggling against two oppressively dominant cultural systems: British and Chinese.

Lee Su-Feh of Battery Opera mentored choreographer Natalie Tin Yin Gan for this especially poignant thrill-ride into the heart of Hong Kong's youth, as defenders of an autonomous country, and as representative of a people on edge. Luckily, their robust sense of humor will likely sustain them far beyond the threats of the present age.

Photo courtesy of Hong Kong Exile