Arsikland! The Musical: Free with mirth; but missing a serious jolt
StageLight&Magic had whipped up a musical satire of our infamous constitutional coup- before all that drama and outrage would get cooled on its rack. It paraded in that riotous cohort of characters we know from Pusswedilla’s Arsiklandplayed now by a whole new cast.
Did we miss some of the star turns- Dominic Kellar, Pasan Ranaweera or Gehan Blok? With the usual loyalty we have to the ‘original cast’- yes, but this is not to say the new faces in the musical were less freeflowing with mirth. Cyril Nitharamasuffering, the bumbling bumpkin of a secretary played by Tharusha Kumarasinghe, was still the centre of all hilarity- master of malapropism (and mispronunciation)- godfather of the gaffe. Other highly commendable acts included the cutely soft spoken, genteel but rather crafty Wickrema Nikamsinghe, and of course Trymee-pala the President who was depicted in a complex way (he himself seemed unsure at times whether he is tricking or being tricked- so subtle and volatile his situation).
The orchestra was the first to parade in, with the conductor rigged out as the Speaker of the House- a juicy twist seeing as everyone then had to dance to his tunes (though this of course not in keeping with the actual spirit of the coup). Also, the pugnacious Miriskudu Pranaandu (Asanka Sahabandu) was not above threatening the orchestra during the play for not keeping the tune in tandem with the changing moods of the parliament.
It was a laugh-out-loud night, even though the humour sometimes tended to be far-fetchedwhen not relying on the bad English of the characters: Trymee-pala’s two henchmen hasten to explain to the English journalist Robert Westernthinking that ‘aabaade’ (Sinhala for ‘defect’) means ‘a day when you have listened to too much ABBA music’.
But the audience roared all the way- it was obvious they were having a rollicking evening. There were many cracking good moments- most of it grinding down to hilarious verbal gymnastics.
There was also the usual spot of Arsikland crazy dancing.
Even granted that Sri Lankan English theatre has a long tradition of laughing at English as wielded by the less sophisticated, from the colonial “Well Mudaliyar, How!” downwards, whether you can call this tradition true satire is a problem, seeing as the audience is not laughing at themselves but at the incompetency of the ‘other half’. An Englishman may laugh at a cockney accent or an Irish brogue, but for all posh Colombo, to drive in their Audi’s and BMW’s to laugh at bad English, is a different matter entirely.
The play let unfold the whole drama of the coup, as followed by a shocked though in no way unamused public glued to their TV screens. But a political satire should not be all about hilarity- a mere brew of farce, puns and malapropisms. There should be the all-important dark (ergo serious) element- to disturb and make us contemplate change. Also, one felt that the actual course of the coup was too closely adhered to- all the wonderful, colourful, creative invention they could have indulged in and explored- abandoned in sticking strictly to the time-line.
President Trymee-pala was in for a treatment that seemed merciless. It looked as if everyone got their just desserts, but Trymee-pala was given a faceful of something sticky that was more than his fair share. He was portrayed as a dimwit at times, and his English was made the cause of much mirth.
The songs were aptly chosen, from ‘Prancing Queens’ for the ‘Samanalayas’ cause célèbre (the most colourful episode of the coup), to ‘Super Jumper’ when it came to a certain scion of a great family who proved to be of rather bouncy nature by switching parties blithely.
It was a night of chortling laughter, appreciated to the fullest by the audience, but it could have been even better with a streak of imaginative invention thrown in and, basically, a serious jolt (even among all the humour).