The Projector’s closure: A crushing blow for local arts
And it’s a cultural scene that already seems to be existing defiantly on perpetual life support
WHEN my play, Trouble Came, was staged two years ago, one of my major points of conflict was, how cheap can we make the tickets while still being able to pay everybody and execute the show? How can we expect Singapore to birth new playwrights, if they cannot even afford to watch the thing they seek to make? The same goes for directors, stage managers, production or sound designers. In a desperate attempt to survive, theatrical companies here often feel forced to price their tickets beyond the means of many.
This week, something even more dangerous happened. And not dangerous in a pernicious way, but in a way that is immediate and blanketly corrosive. When independent cinema operator The Projector abruptly ceased operations on Tuesday (Aug 19), being able to afford a ticket to the show was also eliminated as an option. Now you just simply cannot see it at all.
It is a crushing blow for a local arts scene that already seems in so many ways to be existing defiantly on perpetual life support. Only, in this case, there are no doctors, and the people who need the life support have no choice but to perform it on themselves. In a hut. With no electricity. And no tools. Upside down while their mother voices her disapproval over family dinner.
I used to go to The Projector once a week. Every Wednesday, I would get a single aisle ticket in the middle of the day and watch a movie alone. I was grateful for the space to see foreign films, or indies, or even old films that I had been too young to see in a cinema.
Sense of belonging
But for many people, it was even more: it was a place where they met and made life-long friends, forged communities, and felt like they belonged. It was a place where they could do stand-up comedy, or improv, or black box theatre. There’s really nothing like seeing your hard work displayed in front of an audience. It’s what makes the hard work worth it. It was inspiring.
If The Projector was ultimately not a sustainable business and was forced out of operation as nothing more than a casualty of capitalism, that is one thing. But to choose not to support its existence on an infrastructural level is another. That is a statement. And that statement is that what The Projector offered is not of any particular value. It simply isn’t worth saving.
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Eventually, a Singaporean will win a Pulitzer, or an Artes Mundi Prize, or an Academy Award. There is too much talent, and too much passion not to. Whether that is in our lifetimes, or many generations later. The question now is: will it be as a result of their having grown up in Singapore? Or in spite of it? And what would we prefer? Do we care?
Working in the film industry in this country is in many ways like being in a long-term abusive relationship. You love this thing. But you know it will never love you back. Your friends and family counsel you to give it up. Move on. You could be happier elsewhere. In fact, I know a handsome, nice young career from a good family that I could set you up with for coffee this Saturday if you like? Make sure you wear a collared shirt.
A blessing and a curse
It’s at once a blessing and a curse. It means that every artist working here is a real one. A hardened, resolute, true artist devoted to the craft that bleeds Tarkovsky and Kurosawa. However, it’s mostly a curse because almost all of them will work their entire lives and never be paid, or respected, or appreciated as much as their work and commitment deserve. Also, many of those who might have won that Pulitzer had to give up halfway up their Mount Everest because they needed to buy groceries in the second most expensive city in the world. In light of that, I find legendary acting coach Stella Adler’s reminder pertinent: “Life beats down and crushes the soul, and art reminds you that you had one.”
I wrapped filming on my last movie, The Sandbox, a few months ago. After you finish shooting a film, you customarily have a wrap party. It’s part celebratory, part farewell to all of these people whom you have worked with every day. I’m a loner, so I spent most of the party alone in the corner, watching everybody else have fun. Then, around midnight, I quietly left. I didn’t bother saying bye to anybody. I knew it wasn’t final; I knew I would see them again in a few months when the film premiered.
And that would be a real celebratory event. As previously noted; there’s nothing like seeing your hard work on the big screen with an audience. It’s what makes all the hard work worth it. And that would all happen in a few months. At The Projector.
Well, not anymore.
And until there is a fundamental change in attitude towards the importance of the arts to society in Singapore, then maybe never again.
The writer is a screenwriter, playwright and published author
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