A tribute to our unsung heroes

AWARD-winning playwright Ashwin Singh’s one-man play, Reoca Light, celebrates the indomitability of the human spirit and pays tribute to unsung heroes in contemporary South Africa as well as those from the country’s recent and distant past.

Performed by multiple awardwinning actor Rory Booth, the play is co-directed by Singh and renowned director and theatremaker Ralph Lawson.

The piece depicts a young man, Sunil Mohan, who is presiding over the closure of his parent’s convenience store after a series of robberies.

He is approached by a local journalist for the story behind the story about the store which became known as the “light of Reoca”.

Mohan recounts how his parents started trading from a little hut before purchasing the store and how they were inspired by his great-great-grandfather, who dreamt of starting a convenience store while working on the sugar cane plantations in the 1870s.

Mohan also relives his exciting experiences with the three men who most influenced his life – his father; his mentor, Uncle Johnny; and his parents’ employee, Themba.

Combining storytelling, cutting-edge character drama, a variety of comedy styles and bold visuals, Reoca Light is a unique theatrical experience.

It is filled with humour and pathos and is sure to entertain audiences in the vein of Singh’s other major works, such as To House, Spice ’n Stuff, Marital Blitz, Shooting and Beyond the Big Bangs.

Reoca Light shows at The Playhouse Loft at 7.30pm from April 5 to 8 before embarking on a national and international tour.

Tickets cost R100 (with concessions for students and pensioners) and can be booked via Computicket on 0861 915 8000 or online at www.computicket.com.

Alternatively, call the Playhouse box office on 031 369 9540/369 9596 (office hours). HE’S BEEN a journalist, a columnist, a film-maker, an MC, an actor, a singer and a stand-up comedian. If you asked him what his first love is, though, he’ll say comedy.

“It’s given me back as much as I’ve given to it. I put my soul into this art and it’s given me a career and helped me pay my bills,” he says.

At 32, and with a decade behind him as a professional stand-up, Masood can still remember his first foray into live comedy. “It was an open mic show at varsity and I swore way too much” he recalls, “Basically I put jokes in between the curses. It was terrible. Back then I thought that was what comedy was about. I guess I watched too much Richard Pryor”.

Since then, he’s cleaned up his act, figured out what works and what doesn’t, and has learnt a few tricks too. “You learn to read your audience, to adapt quickly to change things up when things aren’t working,” he says. “You look at the faces in the room and try to figure out really quickly what matters to these people.”

It might be tempting to assume what matters to people. So what, I ask, is the key with Durban?

“Durban loves to laugh” he says. “They let you know when you’ve been really k**. They’re just brutally honest. When a joke doesn’t hit, they give you painful silence, no pity laughter or polite chuckles... nothing. We don’t necessarily laugh the loudest, but I think in terms of SA, Durban has the best comedy support in terms of numbers. They are a little more reserved than elsewhere, but overall it’s fast becoming the comedy capital of Africa.”

So does that mean he stays in Durban, or does he write a whole new show if he intends to move? Do comedians prefer to tour or set up residency?

“If you have a generic show you can go anywhere with it”, he says. “Ideally comics should be writing for a global audience, but it does help knowing a little about the place you’re performing in to get the audience on your side and make the show more personal.”

If there’s one thing that teaches you the fine art of comedy, it’s surely experience: being thrown in the deep end and giving it the best doggie paddle you have. And 10 years must come with all sorts of experiences.

“I did a show not so long ago at a Hooters restaurant, which is probably the last place you should be doing a comedy,” he says. “There were like 10 people and three were drunk Irishmen, the rest were from Alberton. I think, like, three jokes worked. It was a disaster. It was the kind of show where you question why you’re even in the business. I didn’t say a word in the car on the way home. Really soul-sapping.”

Fortunately, the bad shows are rare, he says. It takes a lot to come together to make a bad show happen: a location not typically known for comedy, an unreceptive audience, bad timing and outdated material.

“Joke writing can be quite technical” he says, “but there’s also a lot of free styling. There’s different types of comics.One liner comedians, dead pan, storytellers. I like doing a bit of everything.”

In terms of material, he says there are definite no-go zones, but it’s all a bit up in the air. “I wouldn’t joke about rape, for instance. Some comics get away with controversial stuff but I guess you have to have a sense of place. Some audiences want the comic to be as dark as possible, but others don’t dig it at all.”

On the flip side, when everything comes together, it can be a life-affirming experience.

“One of the best nights I ever had was a gig at Suncoast, where I knew from the start it was going to be amazing. The moment I walked into the room, I felt people had been waiting for me – the cheers I got when my name was announced. I got on stage and everything I said met with raucous laughter.”