Decimal Points [infinity]: Idle worship

SINGAPORE — A huge structure squats in the middle of The Substation Theatre. Red and metallic and with all sorts of seemingly random things stuck to it, it’s the Frankenstein version of a temple that’s at the heart of Decimal Points [infinity].

Conceived and directed by design collective neontights and Mohd Fared Jainal, this is the last of the individual productions before one final get-together in October to officially wrap up Cake’s experimental series.

While it started off with the very promising sight of a partly naked, hirsute dude playing electric guitar upside down (Rizman Putra), the work looks and sounds more ambitious than it really is, I feel.

In this dystopian, steampunk medieval world, we follow two other hairy, robed folks (Pat Toh and Tay Wei Liang) who live in and worship under this hallowed monolith of theirs. Putting the “ritual” in daily ritual, they go through the everyday motions of working out, brushing teeth, reading the paper, checking some huge book. It’s a repetitious process that gets increasingly frantic and intense until they snap — and we find ourselves transported from the “Dark Ages” to the “1970s” (an era that, for some reason, I associate with bearded, long-haired men in tracksuits). Sound designer Intriguant, who’s based within the structure, dishes out techno sounds as they dance, and urbanscapes are flashed overhead (a preview of things to come at his gig at SIFA’s The OPEN perhaps?).

At this point, things get physically hectic and darker but somewhat predictable. The mystery and intrigue these previously hooded, robed people exuded (Why were they cleaning the structure? Are they preparing for something momentous or is this a daily chore?) collapse into yet another social allegory, the proverbial descent of man into madness amidst chaos. At some point, bombs explode, a revolution is mounted (waving red flags and all) and a betrayal seemingly takes place.

But to me at least, all these eventually end up as white noise. Compared to the linear narrative of the two figures, what proves more intriguing is the abstract counterpoint of Rizman’s character who’s literally in his own little world — inside a mini-me version of Frankenstein temple, which he’s fortifying using pieces of paper and tape, oblivious to the nearby madness. (Not to mention getting another awesome guitar rock god moment later on.)

The directors also make some awkward decisions. For such an eye-catching structure, a veritable sculpture that demands 360 degree-viewing, the audience seated on the floor ultimately see only the front half of it. It’s a bit like how we only get glimpses of Nora Samosir, who plays (yet another) mysterious figure, this one a bit more seer-like and Mad Hettie. Early on, she slowly pushes a supermarket trolley around and into the audience space. Before parking herself (and her trolley) among us and… doing nothing. While still in character. For the rest of the show.

To some extent, the tale of the duo and the monolith becomes slightly clear in the end, when you walk out and are given Cake’s resident writer (and show collaborator) Michelle Tan’s book titled, erm, Monolith. But it also leads me to wonder about the purpose of separating these two. Reading Monolith post-show was certainly enriched by my experience watching [infinity]. I didn’t have that same luxury with the show itself that was, like the Frankenstein temple, something I didn’t quite know what to make of.