God Proposes, Millennial Disposes
In a stylish nook on Mosque Street is a newly opened book-café cum creative space, The Moon. This is the trendy setting of young theatre collective Patch and Punnet’s second production, Stupid Cupid.
Unlike the collective’s debut show 2042, which was a solemn look at the future, Stupid Cupid is quite the interdimensional ruckus.
Our Cupid (Jit Dastidar) – a boozed-up, diaper-wearing wretch – is in a slump, and not even Tinder can save his falling match rates. Eventually, he is given an ultimatum: 10 chances to match a successful couple or be erased forever. Thus begins a whirlwind of parodic vignettes. Cupid’s attempts to bring familiar couples (played by Melanie Bickham and Krish Natarajan) together are thwarted time and again. Pop-culture lovers will have a field day with ridiculous enactments from Disney’s Pocahontas, High School Musical, Titanic and more, complete with off-key duets and memes.
Stupid Cupid is frivolous and effortlessly entertaining, but there’s nothing stupid in all of this. In fact, it cleverly embraces the “trashy aesthetic”, to use the millennial speak.
Perhaps they are restricted by production limitations, but this collective uses these limitations to their advantage. Take, for example, the quirky cardboard set pieces that drop into place with impeccable comic timing. Each is delightfully hand-made, almost looking like they are taken from a crummy school play to mock the dramatic scenarios. Even the gravest of characters, Grim Reaper, is a puppy-eyed Gothic-Lolita, played enthusiastically by Ong Yi Xuan.
Throughout the show, the company rarely falters. Comedy comes naturally to the young bunch. Melanie Bickham’s performance as the sweet old lady Pam easily steals the show and Nisa Syarafana’s expressiveness even in minor roles makes her a joy to watch.
With an energetic cast fully committed to the gags, transitions and even late-comer cues turn into unexpected parties. But the icing on this rainbow cake is Stupid Cupid’s final scene. It is set in a futuristic euthanasia centre where two elderly Millennials fall in love. Lightning fast jokes slow to a hobble, and ruminations about regret and second chances replace uproarious laughter. It is a stirring conclusion to a well-paced and confidently executed work.
With a funky new rebranding, this is certainly the collective to watch. Patch and Punnet promises irreverence and delivers it with a cheeky, but by no means shoddy piece of work: all while shaking their humble cardboard fists. As the riotous bunch make farces of love, fate and drama, it seems that one thing is clear: Tinder did not kill romance, romance was already dead.
Talk about #brokebutwoke.