Monday, July 28, 2008

What’s Wrong With Local TV Drama?

I’ve been an avid fan of local TV drama since I knew what this thing called a television set was.

I could sing all the songs and memorise the lyrics by heart by the last episode. Usually I achieved that way before.

I must have enjoyed those serials then. Looking at the numbers, I guess one can say that. Yet, when I recall all those drama that I’ve watched, which one is my favourite? Or is there any particular show that has left a deep impression on me, or has moved me so much that I would be thinking about it for days or even weeks after it has ended?

Instead, I can be so shaken (yes I use the term shaken because some dramas actually got me shook up with their unpredictability and a sudden twist and turn in their plot) by the dramas from places like Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan, Korea and US.

Seems like all except this country that I call my own, Singapore.

Why?

I did a bit of analysis and discovered some points, or rather differences between them. For easy reference, let’s call the local drama the “usual one” while the ones that really moved me, the “shaking ones”.

The most obvious one I noticed was that the “shaking ones” made use of music to their benefit a lot of times. Music, or the theme songs really created a powerful effect for a viewer to easily relate to the story, or those particular moments when they were played throughout the drama.

Even when the show has ended a year (or much longer), whenever I hear the songs, I remember those dramatic moments, literally. Songs are great anchors, and too bad the “usual ones” didn’t notice this yet.

I can’t really say much about the way a drama is directed because technically I’m not a director. But it’s just an observation that I had. The ways the dramas have been directed differ in each country, and it’s not difficult to see some standard patterns emerging after watching a few serials.

But I can feel that how a director directs a drama can really score or deduct points on how sensational the show will turn out to be.

Another reason I thought could be the intensity of the emotions that the plot engages a viewer in. Not that I’m into those where the female or male lead has to contract a terminal illness and thus create lots of hoo-ha around him or her but rather the way the characters develop and the passionate relationship they share with the other roles in the show.

Hence, when a viewer’s time and emotion has been invested into that person, our feelings get swayed together with how he or she develops into. I guess local TV drama tend to lack this. What’s the reason I really can’t say for sure, but I do feel this way.

Oh, one more point to add. Chemistry between the actors! I guess it’s also got to do with how the characters develop so they can build up their on-screen chemistry and really let their roles do the talking.

I guess at the end of the day, when the plots contain some extremity, be it startling, melodramatic, sensationalist, plain hilarious, or a total unpredictable twist, plus a strong cast, then I will be shaken by the show and left there stoned for a few days, wondering why that happened to that lead and why they did that to him or her!

Yes, when some emotions have been ruffled, I guess that’s when the drama is a successful one.

I’m still waiting for a local drama to put me on such a roller-coaster…

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Good Girls, Bad Boys

This is a lethal combination, and the popularity is still unchallenged in the universe of TV dramas.

But no, it’s not only confined to the reel world. We see such a grouping in our genuine and authentic lives too. The bad boys always get the nice girls, and the nice boys will be left to wonder by themselves why they aren’t as attractive as their hardly nice counterparts.

Now, let me tell you why. Once when I was a girl, I was deeply attracted by a few guys who would, without a doubt, fall under the bad boys category. Probably the only redeeming factor about them was that they were not so nice guys. Ironic I know, but that’s the sad fact.

I ran into danger a few times in my teenage years, and I was besotted. If I were born a decade later, maybe I would have made my feelings (what feelings? They are but blind infatuation! But at that age, one can’t know better) known so that I would stand a chance to be in the queue! But with my strong principle of not wooing a guy, I didn’t do anything at all. I merely stood there and salivate. I mean, stare. I only stared, I swear!

It’s quite hard not to let the blood pump to my face though, as I believed my heart must be working so hard then that anyone standing next to me would hear the thump-thump.

Since I can’t make the first move physically, I can do it virtually right? Hence began my odyssey of love fantasies, all created and carried out in the wondrous zone in my mind. I imagined myself to be the female lead and he will be the lead, and we’ll have such a bombastic love affair that nothing will be able to stop us.

Though they were merely fantasies, but they had to be credited for helping me to pass time easier during class.

So why was I attracted to them?

In hindsight, I believed it was the innate motherly nature in women that makes us want to nurture this man who is full of potential. She wants to be the one who can melt his tough exterior and bring out his softness. She wants to be the one to transform him, and she gets her satisfaction when his friends say: “I can’t believe he did this. He won’t do this for any girls. You must be really special.” This makes her day. 

Another likely reason is he is able to bring lots of fun and laughter to the relationship, because of how free he is – he isn’t bound by rules, and he is more likely than anyone to break them. For a teenager or even a young working adult, isn’t it truly fun to be able to break some rules and still escape from punishment? It is a thrill, and only bad boys can give us that. It brings the nice girls to an entirely different universe from the one they are staying in, and this, spells intense charm and appeal.

Therefore, despite the high risks of suffering from heartaches in the later stage, girls still overlook the consequences and dive into the dangerous liaison. Only the heart rules, forget about logic, or reality. They live in the moment.

What happens when girls grow up? Does the saying about nice guys finish last ring true?

The answer is, more often than not, yes. Nice guys do finish last, because as a girl grows up, she knows what she needs to look for in a potential long-term partner. Unless she hasn’t gotten sick of babying a guy hoping that he will change, then she will be more likely to date one who already possesses traits that she wants.

Most importantly, a woman wants security, and this is what bad boys seriously lack. Nice boys are proud to provide this, so we take them in the end! Happily!

There’s this song sung by this famous Taiwanese singer-host call Matilda Tao, where one lyric goes like this:

“Heaven don’t cry for me. When I see a nice man, I will definitely chase after him.”

To summarise, nice guys are in real shortage now, and when we see one, nice women will want to grab them before the not so nice ladies lay their paws on them.

See? Nice boys finish last!

Bad boys? Well, unless they decide to roll up their sleeves and buck up, I’m afraid their target market will not expand beyond the age of 25. Good luck then!   

Thursday, July 17, 2008

The Boys Club

I was at Orchid Country Club earlier this afternoon. Sitting at the café overlooking the vast stretch of green in front with the wind blowing my hair off my face was actually a wonderful sensation. How I missed such a simple enjoyment. Well, simple because there wasn’t much fanfare to it – just the company of a friend and the serenity of the ambience.

Then, it wasn’t that simple because of the time I was there which made it not quite possible those who are bound by the usual working hours. And it wasn’t so simple because I had stayed home (besides those trips to the doctor) for more than 2 weeks as I had been sick. So, I am very thankful.

The café was pretty quiet with only less than a handful of patrons, until around 4pm when the golfers began streaming in by small groups. What made this whole entourage special were two particular groups. They looked very young, and one would wonder their presence there.

From the back of their T-shirts, I knew they came from two of the top-most institution in Singapore: Raffles Institution (RI) and Anglo-Chinese School (ACS).

RI students had the word “Team Raffles” at the back of their white polo t-shirts while ACS merely had their logo and school name printed proudly on the surface of their navy blue shirts.

The RI guys were still happily chatting and dining away when I left, but the ACS guys left and went to the greens much earlier. I thought there must be some school golf tournament that explained their reason for appearing at the golf clubhouse, but the big contrast in the number of people from each school cast some doubts on my early conclusion.

Anyway, what struck me with these guys weren’t the T-shirts, the reason for their presence or the high sound level they produced. Rather, it was the camaraderie that brought back nice nostalgic feelings to me.

I remembered the time when I was a member of St. Johns Ambulance Brigade in my secondary school. I was part of the team to compete in the annual national foot drill competition. While all our school mates were living the high life during the holidays, I was with my squad sweating, marching, stamping our feet and bleeding on our school grounds. 

While those days were real torture, yet they were the highlights of my secondary school life. It was during those times that we endured punishment as a team, practised non-stop to get the best chemistry a squad could have so that when we all stamp our feet, we only produced one, yet solid, loud and uniformed bang.

It had to be, and it was the sound of a champion bang. We did it.

It was during then that friendships were formed. Not ordinary ones, but those that would stand the test of time and grow as we age.

I guess those boys must have the same kind of bonding.

I know how buddies bond and gel while serving NS, and they were each other’s strength when things get really tough. I also know that buddies continue to be buddies long after they had ORD, married and have children. I also know that when they become fathers, they still can’t resist the temptation to speak or boast about how one of them had carried the other on his back as they down gallons of beer on a Friday night before they returned home to baby sit their first born.
Such bonding is too precious, and I could see how these guys are going to bring them up when they are no longer in ACS, or RI, or any institution for the matter.

Amidst all these highs, a unique tingling sensation crept up inside me as I looked upon the ACS guys leaving as a group. As they chatted with each other, they seemed to be oblivious to the others. They looked like they had a great unspoken chemistry among them. And I could see how straight they walked, an obvious sign that they were proud to be in that T-shirt.

It signified their belonging, their presence. It seemed to scream lots about them as a person, a student, a youth in our nation and a young guy full of dreams. That energy hit me. I could feel they were proud and they all had a common identity – the student of ACS.

Do you have an identity when you are in your specific platoon in the army? What do you see yourself as?

A winner, or a loser?

A leader, or a victim?

As I left the café, I couldn’t help to turn around and take one more look at the few tables occupied by the RI guys. Boy, do I miss that good ole’ days…

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

A Lesson From Pain

If I could use the Ritcher scale to measure, it would have been at least an 8 or 9 out of 10. I guess I shaved those 1 to 2 points off from the maximum because if I had hit 10, by right I should have fainted.

Therefore, since I didn’t faint, the digit that represents the degree of pain must be hovering around 8 or 9. Nevertheless, it is a pretty high figure.

Ok so what happened?

I was recovering from a very, very bad cough as a result of an infection to my respiratory tract. In fact, for the past week, my chest, gastric and stomach had to endure a huge amount of tension because of my incessant and unforgiving cough. (I strongly suspect it was bronchitis as I had had it before)

Yesterday was really a surprising turnaround. I was contemplating going to a specialist as I felt so terrible the day before. Many sleepless nights (how can I sleep when I’m coughing non-stop the minute I lie down???) compounded the misery effect, though I did my very best to keep my spirits up. I know how important one’s emotions can help to speed up or delay the recovery of an illness. Since I knew, I had to practice, right?

But yesterday when I woke up (I had to make myself extremely sleepy by watching DVD till very late so that I would doze off right away after hitting the bed), miraculously much of the tension in my chest was gone! Then again, in its place was a headache. Still, I had many reasons to be happy since it meant that I was indeed recovering!

I didn’t think much about the headache and assumed that it would go off with a shower. I washed my hair to cool my head down. It didn’t work. The headache grew from a nagging one to a throbbing one and finally to one that I thought would make my head explode.

A slight movement in my head is akin to an aftershock of an earthquake – though not as destructive but equally horrendous. The last straw came when I had another fit of terrible cough. That’s it! That did it. Whoa, the pain in my head was so lethal that I really thought that’s the end of me. I could literally feel the nerves pounding heavily on my skull. There must be an internal riot going on, and the fellas creating the din weren’t going to let it go within a short time.

Lying down was, contrary to my belief, worse than leaving my head in the air. That’s right, I couldn’t rest my head on a pillow as that inevitably added some pressure on my skull which in turn made the pounding even harder. So, I couldn’t rely on any support but to just sit still and minimise my movements.

The pain didn’t subsist after hours of me taking Panadol. And it was during this time that I began to think: is this the kind of pain that cancer patients suffer from? Or could it be worse?

It must be worse, I thought, otherwise they wouldn’t be put on morphine to ease the pain, which at times, was only effective at reducing the patient’s agony by a certain percentage.

Then I recalled stories of some strong-willed patients who fought their illness to the last of their breath. I really salute them with all my heart, for not only did they have to battle with a serious ailment, they still did their best to put on their smiles so that their loved ones wouldn’t have to suffer looking at them. All these while bearing with the pain that cancer inflicts on their frail bodies.

I realised then, even as a body weaken, one’s soul will continue to stay strong, or maybe grow stronger. Because, after all, the body is only a temporary abode for one’s soul, and it is from there that one feels the love they have and the strength they can draw from.

That is why, even when the body is gone, the soul remains in the form of a legacy that continues to touch many lives.

As for me, one day after that wretched head-pounding pain is some “twitching” that still lingers. Again, I look on the bright side of things and focus on my complete recovery. I’m sure when tomorrow comes, it will be a better one.

Off to my rest now. See ya next week!