Stood Up
Last night was the final performance of the show DanSing Thru Broadway. It was staged at Panggung Bandaraya, Kuala Lumpur, a theatre built in 1896 by the British in the Moorish architectural style. Though the theatre was gutted in 1992 by fire, the reconstruction and restoration respected its ornate and regal appearance and it still possesses the spirit breathed into it through countless performances.
Panggung BandarayaShortly before the final performance began I was told of a ghost that called this theatre home. The ghost was of a Japanese lady who met death idly waiting for her in a ground floor seat after she fell from the balcony into his lap. The theatre caretaker claims to see her every day and on one occasion, she said, was even shoved by the Japanese lady. There was a chair reserved for this phantom in the balcony, back in the rear corner, safely away from the balcony’s edge. This was her preferred seat for the performances and a 'Reserved: Do Not Sit' sign was permanently placed on it’s back.
Well me being me, the can’t leave well enough alone guy, waited until everyone filed into the hall and took their seats before sneaking through the side curtains and up the old staircase. I eased open the door and carefully inched my way through the darkness lightly patting the back wall as guidance across the dark space. There were only about three people I could see sitting up in the upper section and they were lounging over the railing near the front looking down onto the stage, impersonal silhouettes against the spilt stage lights.
I saw the chair wedged in the corner and was a bit surprised to see that it was not a part of the regular regimental seating layout. It was a chair set-aside especially for the spiritess. The handwritten sign absorbed by the darkness was just a fuzzy white patch on the backrest. The chair was clothed in a gritty feeling red velvet material that bulged from the seat and stiff, upright back. The armrests were sleeveless, made of dark wood ornately carved and ending in two drooping fists.
I respectfully, carefully sat down; back upright, legs together, feet placed firmly on the floor and hands draped lightly over the chair’s fists. I was a figure study for right angles. I sat in this position and watched most of Act I. I enjoyed the first part of the show without interruption or disturbances.
After selling programs during the intermission I revisited the chair for Act II, but approached it less carefully, and less respectfully. I thumped across the back of the balcony. The tops of the silhouettes near the edge were still there and shifted slightly at the sounds of my carelessness. I dropped on the reserved seat making the chair sigh and saw firefly sparkles of long undisturbed dust fly upward twinkling in the spillover stage lights. My body was slouched, legs crossed, hands clasped behind my head. At the end of each scene I shouted, blew my whistle and clapped till my hands were sore.
And when the show ended I must admit a certain disappointment. Not a chilled breath or gentle spinal caress did I feel. Not a papery whisper of 'konichiwa' in my ear did I hear or faint kimono shaped light did I see. The lady it seems stood me up.
Well me being me, the can’t leave well enough alone guy, waited until everyone filed into the hall and took their seats before sneaking through the side curtains and up the old staircase. I eased open the door and carefully inched my way through the darkness lightly patting the back wall as guidance across the dark space. There were only about three people I could see sitting up in the upper section and they were lounging over the railing near the front looking down onto the stage, impersonal silhouettes against the spilt stage lights.
I saw the chair wedged in the corner and was a bit surprised to see that it was not a part of the regular regimental seating layout. It was a chair set-aside especially for the spiritess. The handwritten sign absorbed by the darkness was just a fuzzy white patch on the backrest. The chair was clothed in a gritty feeling red velvet material that bulged from the seat and stiff, upright back. The armrests were sleeveless, made of dark wood ornately carved and ending in two drooping fists.
I respectfully, carefully sat down; back upright, legs together, feet placed firmly on the floor and hands draped lightly over the chair’s fists. I was a figure study for right angles. I sat in this position and watched most of Act I. I enjoyed the first part of the show without interruption or disturbances.
After selling programs during the intermission I revisited the chair for Act II, but approached it less carefully, and less respectfully. I thumped across the back of the balcony. The tops of the silhouettes near the edge were still there and shifted slightly at the sounds of my carelessness. I dropped on the reserved seat making the chair sigh and saw firefly sparkles of long undisturbed dust fly upward twinkling in the spillover stage lights. My body was slouched, legs crossed, hands clasped behind my head. At the end of each scene I shouted, blew my whistle and clapped till my hands were sore.
And when the show ended I must admit a certain disappointment. Not a chilled breath or gentle spinal caress did I feel. Not a papery whisper of 'konichiwa' in my ear did I hear or faint kimono shaped light did I see. The lady it seems stood me up.
Interior of Panggung Bandaraya
No comments:
Post a Comment