Introduction to Theatre.

Aaron Lim Si Ru
Jocelyn Chua
CDP 101: Introduction to Theatre and Performance Skills
14 April 2010

Being Hungry

We fell upon Hungry by Ng Yi Sheng by pure chance, it was a piece that attracted me in a very primal way after taking a more in depth reading into it. I’m not surprised that I missed it earlier when I came across the book; it simply struck me as too absurd. But beyond that façade of absurdity lay the very raw desires of the characters, something that could be easily molded into various theatrical practices beyond what other scripts permitted. The themes of desire and of breaking free from stereotypes were universal enough to be explored in different aspects. Therefore, after rummaging through a few plays that were too restricting, we settled on Hungry.

Hungry was essentially non-naturalistic in its storyline, of dead people, a forgotten god and a corporeal form of death. The setting too was sparse, it never specified where the play takes place, we can’t be sure if it’s hell or purgatory or somewhere in between. The playhouse although well capable of creating wondrous effects, incorporating all of that into a 10 minute production would have been too much of a stretch without compromising our theatre and performance skills. Since “Brecht was against the use of lighting effects to create atmosphere and mood” we decided to emulate his style of epic theatre to make full use of our resources (Erstin 121). Taking into account the minimalist stage, props, sets and the absence of lighting, it has also served to dispel “any illusion of reality”, with a lone toilet bowl seat as a set; which, by itself would have achieved to some extent the V-effect in estranging the audience from any illusory form of reality (Erstin 110).

We placed much emphasis on the notion of wanting liberation in death due to the ambiguity of the entire setting. It is neither hell nor heaven, and essentially it became an exploration of the characters wanting freedom from this limbo realm. This medium of representation resonated with Brecht’s idea of ‘epic’ theatre where “the complexity of the human condition… could no longer be understood in isolation from… social, economical and historical forces” affecting the lives of people (Erstin 111). Simply put, the human condition cannot be understood by exploring the psyche of an individual, but rather through our relationship and reactions towards socio-political influences in our lives. Which stands in direct contrast to naturalistic theatre’s exploration of a character of ‘psychological gestures’, ‘epic’ theatre is anything but; Brecht seeks to educate his audience by highlighting human relationships because “the smallest social unit is not one human being, but two human beings” (Erstin 118). Brecht does not care for the inner workings of a character; he is more concerned with how their inner desires are expressed in their outward attitudes and actions, even Machu’s monologue is directed at the audience to forge a social relationship, unlike other self reflexive monologues in naturalistic productions. Likewise, we needed to do away with characterization and focus in finding a political or social message to portray in Hungry through the expression of human relationships. Liberation as it seems was merely a theme of expression, while Brecht in his view thinks that “the audience… should not be made to feel emotions, it should be made to think”, to be critical and not to be immersed in the play; our version is anything but (Erstin 110). We found ourselves instinctively trying to ‘get into character’ which was a naturalistic technique of finding the psychological gesture behind a character. We had to banish that mindset and find specific ways to shatter the illusion of reality.

Keeping in mind the theme of liberation, we decided to take a political slant, questioning a totalitarian regime and the characters’ fight for freedom. What was originally Chinese Communism gradually evolved into Nazi Fascism simply because fascist governments adopted a more authoritarian stance coupled with the will and ability to carry out violence when necessary to achieve its goals. As I was originally cast as Death, the fascist government was portrayed in the archetype of Death as the absolute arbiter, representing the authoritarian power of the fascist government and the strangling grasp of dictatorship. Death was a challenge to grasp or rather it was a challenge trying to grasp the gestures representative of a fascist government. The script however did not seem to resonate with fascist authoritarian overtones, my Death turned out to be an insidious agent that acts behind the shadows rather than an omnipotent dictator that Death is supposed to be. Yet it was a challenge to strip down the script without losing much of its meaning, struggling to maintain coherence of the plot and facing the difficulty of portraying the political message, relying instead of sets and sounds to relay the message. We were regressing back into naturalistic theatre, which Brecht eschews.

After the full dress rehearsal, we realized that we lacked constancy in our presentation, lacked conciseness in the episodic stories that felt rather naturalistic. Some actors left the stage while others remained in tableau; hence the V-effect was lost becoming more of naturalistic theatre with exits and entries. Episodic stories were unclear, as they didn’t convey the political message in a succinct manner; the episodes were leaning towards naturalistic expression, hence we were not able to fully shatter the illusion of reality. There came a need focus on the social relationships between each character and how they react to each other to flesh out our political agenda. Brecht placed heavy emphasis on “the clear and stylized expression of the social behavior of human beings toward each other”, in the way which Brecht shifts the focus away from the psychological workings of the actor, he emphasizes the way the characters react with each other (Erstin 119). Hence, actors that are not involved in the episodic stories are frozen in tableau; a character like Death is omnipresent but does not participate in conversation is often blank-faced and does not react to the other actors. In juxtaposition, the other actors’ exchanges are often flatly stylized or overtly emotional in a stilted manner, using specific actions to communicate social relationships between the characters.

Several changes were in order; the entire script was rewritten, retaining only the original mother-child scene. Minor casting adjustments were made; I took the role of Sarah (now known as Salah hoping to achieve an alienation effect), Ziting took the role of Death. The rationale for this change was to concretize the social relationships between the characters, there was some unease with the old pairings, I felt that Ziting was being overshadowed by Lester, and by casting her as Death the omnipotent one, would give her more space to explore without being pressured to perform on par with Lester’s high level of energy. Furthermore, the episode of the lesbian artist and the student was not clearly shown during the rehearsal, and there wasn’t adequate time to fully flesh out individual stories.

Since Brecht believed that the smallest social unit was two human beings, we pushed homosexuality up a notch to portray Guak and Salah’s relationship as gay lovers being prosecuted for their love. The mother-child episode is left unchanged, but coupled with the homosexual episode; it served to reinforce the innocent and pure notions of love being mercilessly crushed by a brutal fascist regime. The scene where Death dances with Machu is vaguely reminiscent of the same sex pairing between Guak and Salah, I am hoping the parallel would evoke the spirit of criticism within the audience, forcing them to question even further the motivations behind Death as Brecht himself would have intended.
Death as the omnipresent character stands in stark contrast to both episodes, she represents the cold-blooded hand of the government snuffing out the lives of all the other characters even in death; the scene ends in a tableau of all four characters collapsed on the stage with only Death left standing in centre stage. The line-up party hat scene is in my opinion perhaps the most jarring inversion of expectations we have managed with stilted portrayals of happiness bound in a flat line by the invisible hand of authority. The lines are presented in rapid succession, coupled with the mechanical snapping of heads by the actors, finally ending with the classic Hitler salute with the characters as puppets and Death as the puppeteer to shatter the illusion of reality. Yet despite the stilted delivery our intention was never to eschew emotion, Brecht in no way renounced emotion “but tries to strengthen or to evoke them” within the audience (Erstin 126). Hence, by using alienation techniques and estranging devices to prevent audience identification and empathy with the characters, we hoped to spark audience emotion directed not at the characters but towards the political message we are sending.

Hungry. Even going by the play’s name it was meant to be a negative play, the pure and innocent are invariably crushed, an inversion of expectations from the traditional happy ending or emotional catharsis in tragedy. Brechtian theatre offers no easy resolutions or personal lessons on life, it is a theatre designed to arouse indignation, drawing contradictions, shattering illusions for the deluded; it is a theatre that offers nothing for the audience to take away. Brechtian theatre merely invites the audience in to jar their senses to true reality, leaving them not with satisfaction but with questions.
1551 Words.







Works Cited
Erstin, Martin. Brecht. A Choice of Evils. London: Mercury Books Heinemann Publishing. 1959-1965. Print.

Shaw's Victoria Essay.

Aaron Lim Si Ru
Michelle Chiang
HL 103: Survey of Literature II
07 April 2010

Lifting the Veil of Victorian Pretensions

In Bernard Shaw’s play, Mrs. Warren’s Profession bitingly satirizes Victorian treatment of women and the supercilious nature of Victorian society as a whole. Similar to the Victorian predilection for saying things by not saying it, Shaw himself invokes satire upon Victorian society by hinting at the social evils without blatantly saying it often creating a comedy of manners. If the Victorian mask of manners can be seen as the first superficial level of society, then the social ills which the mask of manners hide and that Shaw easily exposes can be seen as the second level of society. However Shaw’s caricatured portrayal of characters are clearly aware of the veiled second level of society and their blasé reaction to such social ills hints at a deeper individual moral disintegration. The Victorian predilection for the repression of expression leads to the suffocation of desire as the tight lid of Victorian behavior is sealed over the basic human need for freedom.

Shaw wrote Mrs. Warren’s Profession in 1893, during the Late Victorian Period at the time of the era’s decline. London was considered to be the “centre of civilization, the queen city of the world without peer” vaulted to its apex of the world through rapid industrialization (988). The attention of the Empire was focused on commerce, technological advancement and military conquest. This has in turn led to the widening of the income gap, the gradual disappearance of the middle class and the various failed military engagements at the fringes of the English Empire. As neighboring powers started to challenge English military dominance, the Empire’s influence slipped into decline. However, the English superior impression of themselves did not diminish, they saw it as their moral obligation to colonize and civilize the natives. The “Irish Question” is thus an example of English double standards in exploiting the Irish under the pretense of taking the moral high ground of extending civilization to the Irish. Looking back to domestic issues in England, it appears that this double standard is also practiced with respect to the lower classes. The struggles of the lower classes are attributed to their general immorality rather than the invisible exploitative hand of the aristocracy. With this in mind, Shaw exposes the true nature of prostitution; thus, subverting the expectations we have of religion, education and marriage.

At the beginning of the play, Shaw mercilessly strips away the Victorian mask of manners, using satire and epigrams to clinical effect, blatantly exposing the duplicity of Victorian society. Mrs. Warren is described as “a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard” and Vivie is described as “an attractive specimen of the… middle class Englishwoman” both of which are clearly oxymoronic and conflicting descriptions (1747, 1751). Praed is described as “daunted and conciliatory” while Vivie is described as “strong, confident and self possessed” a clear inversion of Victorian societal expectations for men and women (1746,1747). Shaw shatters the veil of appearances by providing us with a contradictory presentation of the characters, as if their appearances are inherently at odds with their intentions, which is exactly what Shaw intends to expose.

Shaw pokes fun at the hypocrisy of religious authority, complicit with immoral behavior hiding behind the pretense of moral superiority. Reverend Samuel being the only religious figure in the play is ironically portrayed as an ineffectual figure of authority, unable to command respect and one that indulges in the vices of alcohol and prostitution. To add on to his miserable description, his moral character is utterly destroyed by Frank’s recounting of his past deeds where he tried to bribe Mrs. Warren for his letters and Mrs. Warren’s open declaration of their relationship. Religious authority is clearly being abused in Victorian England, “publish and be damned” is telling of the double standards practiced by religious individuals saying that they will not be damned by their sins by virtue of the higher power of God behind them. The so-called moral paragon that is the Church is nothing but a means to manipulate authority for personal gain.

Vivie is a product of education in an industrialized society, though she is described to be “highly educated”; the scope of her education seems painfully limited (1747). Vivie herself says that she knows “next to nothing”, it seems that the core of her education is constituted only of mathematics and basic living functions no more than an “ignorant barbarian” devoid of any moral education (1749). This can be clearly seen in the mechanized and practical manner in which she behaves. In Act 2 at the supper scene, she is fixated on the “supper difficulty” focusing on “counting” and the logistics of the matter instead of the people inconvenienced (1760). Vivie’s obsession with numbers and work is Shaw’s subtle jab at education simply as a means of churning out people as tools to fuel the industrial society.

The sanctity of marriage is cheapened; marriage becomes a form of subjugation for women. Marriage becomes a bargaining chip that that women used as an exchange for social status like Mrs. Warren’s half sister being “held up to us as a model because she married” (1766). Women become commodities expected to perform as domestic or sex workers, marriage thus becomes an exchange of services, a transaction “kept his room and the three children neat and tidy on eighteen shillings a week” (1767). The institution of marriage then becomes a darker form of transaction and exchange of goods in comparison to prostitution because it is legally binding, ironically one sanctioned by the Church.
Shaw states, “that prostitution is caused… by underpaying, undervaluing, and overworking women so shamefully that the poorest of them are forced to resort to prostitution to keep body and soul together” (1745). This is due to English belief in the laissez-faire economy, leading to a lack of labor laws in place to protect women from exploitation at the workplace. Overwork, long hours and harsh working conditions can hardly be construed as honest work, it is no different from exploitation. Between the “whitelead factory” and “the river”, it was basically a choice between dying from exploitation at work or to become a prostitute. Survival for women has ceased to become a choice of morality but rather of two sorts of immorality as noted by Shaw (1746). When prostitution becomes a matter of circumstance rather than choice, it becomes a harsh reflection of Victorian double standards on the commodification of women.

Evidently, Shaw in his blatant portrayal revelation of such hypocritical social practices and his vindication of prostitution seems to hint at something more insidious beneath the mask of satirical humor. While the supercilious civility of Victorian manners does much to accentuate the satire of Victorian society, to me it seems as if there is more to that than meets the eye. In my opinion, what precipitates Shaw’s attack on religion, education and marriage is that the immorality behind these institutions is merely a façade to mask something more detestable and repugnant. It has become a Victorian habit where people “[say] no when [they] meant yes”, certain things are said while a lot are actually left unsaid in the subtext, a dichotomy between appearance and intention (1748).
In the straitlaced Victorian society where many things were taboo, desires were often repressed by societal expectations. The play’s loud redress of biting social issues pummeled at the tightly bound ideals of Victorian society, shattering public opinion of education, religion and marriage, shedding new light into the concept of prostitution as the great evil. Shaw mocks and strips away at the pretensions of these social institutions by revealing their duplicitous natures. People were forced to confront that which they have always closed one eye to, their very primal desires which they have kept so closely guarded, the seething moral rot beneath the Victorian mask of manners. The comedic elements only serve as a temporary escape for the audience unwillingly to confront their desires.
Shaw uses comedy to chilling effect; he tempts the audience to uncomfortable laughter with his mockery of the results of Vivie’s education, Reverend Samuel’s ineffectual religious authority and of the bondage of marriage which Mrs. Warren escaped from. As the typical Victorian audience attempts to come to terms with Shaw stripping away at their pretences, they are slowly being ushered to confront an even darker truth. In Act 1, the characters are flirting in good humor and well established relationships are laid out, Mrs. Warren and Vivie are introduced as mother and daughter, Samuel and Frank are introduced as father and son. However, familial conventions are slowly put into question at the end of Act 1 when Reverend Samuel is hinted to have had a relationship with Mrs. Warren “[appearing] on the threshold, and is immediately transfixed recognizing the clergyman” (1756). Relationships between the characters are plunged into even murkier waters in Act 2 when Samuel “couldn’t tell anyone the reasons” for Vivie and Frank marrying; “Praddy” and “Kitty” using pet names on each other and “[shaking] hands affectionately”; Mrs. Warren refusing to divulge Vivie’s parentage when Vivie asks, “who was my father” (1759, 1763, 1765). Familial conventions are shattered, Crofts or Samuel could be Vivie’s father; Frank and Vivie could be siblings; Praed could be Mrs. Warren’s new customer. Moreover, most of the evidence presented are not overtly revealed in speech but conveyed via intricate stage directions and unspoken hints. However, due to the nature of Mrs. Warren’s profession, we will never know for sure. This scenario that has been presented to the audience is probably one that is true albeit one that has yet to be fully acknowledged because everything else is considered “blessed… but the truth” (1772).

In Act 3 we are finally confronted with the ugly truth, one that has become so repugnant to our senses after Victorian sensibilities has mutated it beyond recognition, veiling it beneath the mask of manners. From uncomfortable laughter in Act 1 to the shattering of conventions in Act 2 to the resounding crescendo that is the rifle scene at the end of Act 3. The audience is rudely confronted with the notion of incest at Crofts’ declaration, “Allow me, Mister Frank, to introduce you to your half-sister, the eldest daughter of the Reverend Samuel Gardner. Miss Vivie: your half-brother” ironically, the ‘truth’ here is hardly a blessed thing (1779). Shaw’s naturalist theatre takes an incisive slice into a typical Victorian household exposes an exact and honest rendering of Victorian life without the intrusion of society’s expectations, inviting the audience to lower their guard to the issues being explored as Shaw systematically strips away the masks of manners then at the social ills which served as a mere façade to hide the disintegration of morals within Victorian society. Frank offers the temptation to “[cover] up in leaves” a biblical allusion to shame, representative of the Victorian knee-jerk reaction to hide once again beneath the mask of pretence like how Frank is pretending that their incestuous relationship is of no consequence at all (1779). Despite hard evidence of such moral disintegration, what’s worse is probably the Victorian penchant here for denial, “the way fashionable morality is all a pretence” which raises the possibility of an amoral Victorian society, and the inability to see for itself the rot that their society has devolved into (1788).

In the closing act, the setting shifts out of the domestic home to the public sphere of Honoria Fraser’s chambers. The characters resume the stilted masks they wear, Vivie immerses herself in work, becoming a purely mechanical being; Frank’s facetiousness comes to the fore as he ignores the fact of their fraternal relations; Praed is still the ever-vacuous Victorian concerned only with his superfluous aesthetic pursuits and nothing else. In the bid to unearth the repressed persona beneath the pretensions of Victorian society, we have unearthed nothing but hollow shells of the characters. Perhaps even the basic desire for freedom has been smothered by strict Victorian conventions, and that the only escape is to conform and lead a lie, a lie which in time has slowly evolved into a twisted kind of truth; that the only means for survival is the seal away the want for freedom.
2023 Words.




Work Cited
Shaw, Bernard. “Mrs. Warren’s Profession.” The Norton Anthology of English Literature. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., 2006. 988, 1743-1790. Print.

Acting and Representation Essay.

Aaron Lim Si Ru
Zheng Jie
HL 815: Acting and Representation in Theatre and Film
23 March 2010

Breaking the Mould of Representation and Reality.

Reality is defined as the world within the reach of our five senses. The corporeal world, which we can interact with, is commonly accepted as reality. Anything outside of that realm is deemed the realm of the ethereal and the imaginary. Yet, is the realm of reality merely limited to our sensory perceptions? The Matrix clearly challenges that belief, that the world we perceive are merely electrical signals processed by our brain, so what exactly is ‘real’? In this comparison of Plato’s Theory of Forms and Antonin Artaud’s Theatre of Cruelty, the definitions of reality take on myriad forms. Plato perceives reality through the lens of logic, shunning all forms of representation, where Artaud challenges the realm of rational thought, pushing to explore the limits of perception beyond the realm of thought. The notions of mimesis appeal differently to both Plato and Artaud. In Plato’s opinion, representation in Art is twice removed from Truth, which is the highest form of reality. Artaud on the other hand, theorizes that theatre is life; theatre is a form of presentation and not representation, a means to access a higher form of reality beyond the realm of sensory perception. Clearly, for Plato and Artaud, the notion of mimesis cannot be totally abolished in their quest for reality beyond the tangible world. Reality and representation thus share a somewhat tenuous relationship, which I will use to attempt the definition of reality.

Plato’s Analogy of the Divided Line is an expression of the four levels of existence, essentially highlighting the gaps between the visible world and the intelligible world. Representations in his opinion, are the furthest removed from the ideals of philosophical truth, even lower than the realm of physical objects, because they are mere shadows, things that do not actually exist, like a painting of a tree instead of an actual tree that exists in the physical realm. Thus, such representations can only serve to distort our sensory reality. Yet, even the current sensory reality that we live in, that which we can see, touch, feel and taste is a faded one. Compared to the reality of forms, ideals and thought, our physical world is a mere corrupted existence compared to the world of ideal Forms. Therefore, to access the highest and most fundamental kind of reality, of Form, most forms of representation are abolished or discouraged in his utopian Republic.

Ironically, in recording the Socratic dialogues and producing it in the form of dialectic is in itself a form of representation. Plato himself represents Socrates’ speeches into textual form, in essence demoting Socrates’ metaphysical ideas into mere physical ones. Furthermore, in his quest to seek out the ideal reality, he relies on allegories and metaphors, most common of which is known at the Allegory of the Cave. The Allegory itself is again a fictional recount of Socrates dialogue with Glaucon. This highlights the fact that the ideal of forms is clearly not a simple concept that can be grasped with our five senses that we use to determine physical reality. To be able to access the highest form of reality, it must needs be understood through metaphors and allegories that uses our knowledge to bridge to that which was previously unknowable and out of reach to the world of ideal Forms. While other forms of representation distort truth, rendering them mere shadows, his metaphors and allegories serve to bring one closer to the abstract truth.

Clearly, representations cannot be completely alienated from our perceptions of the ideal reality. Hence, we need to define the boundaries of representations. Plato removes evocative forms of music and poetry because Art is a misrepresentation of the divine twice removed from truth causing a deleterious effect upon human morals. While Art is a form of misrepresentation, the literary techniques used in its expression are not, as in Plato’s Allusion of the Cave and the Metaphor of the Sun. Therefore, representation devoid of emotions and based on logic and knowledge instead are the key accessing the abstract. Representations can then be seen as simply mediums to access the ultimate reality, the representations on their own are still mere shadows compared to reality, and such forms of representations must be devoid of evocative elements.

While Plato attempts to define reality, Artaud uses the Theatre of Cruelty to elicit a violent response through his physical determination to dispel what he deems as a false reality, which he said, “lies like a shroud over our perceptions” (Artaud). Artaud sees reality clouded by representation, like cinema and traditional Western theatre. He believed that words restricted the conveyance of real meaning, and advocated, instead, “for a theatre made up of a unique language, halfway between thought and gesture. Artaud described the spiritual in physical terms, and believed that all theatre is physical expression in space”. In retrospect, that is not entirely dissimilar with Plato’s exploration in his Theory of Forms. The only exception being Plato gains access to a higher reality through logic, knowledge and a sense of goodness. While Artaud sought to explore the realm of the imaginary through his theatre, believing them no less real that the physical world. Reality becomes a consensus between theatre and the audience, accepting the fact that when they enter a theatre to see a play and, for a time, pretend that what they are seeing is real. By doing so, Artaud shatters the 4th wall, drawing the audience to meld with the performance as the actors make use of gestures and sounds to evoke a response that is primal, honest and true within the audience, pushing their sensory experience beyond that of logic, relying on metaphorical senses to access unadulterated reality, one that is beyond our normal sensory perception. Theatre according to Artaud then becomes a presentation on life, not mere representation, “for if theatre doubles life, life doubles true theatre” (Artaud). Theatre exposes the real life without any pretensions, producing clarity of mind and perception with the ability to grasp the abstract and by extension a metaphysical form of reality.

Artaud strives to explore reality beyond the realm of rationality and logic via his eschewal of language in the Theatre of Cruelty. He chooses instead to focus on bodily gestures and sounds to transform our concepts of reality. He aims to break the masks of rationality behind which we often huddle, “breaking language in order to touch life”, forcing us to confront something mystical and visceral in the deepest parts of our psyche, a part of ourselves that has gradually been forgotten but not any less real (Artaud). Language can thus be seen as representing ideas into text, during the process which something essential that cannot be expressed in words are lost, not dissimilar to Plato’s eschewal of representation. Artaud’s elements of cruelty are expressed in requiring the actors to “completely strip away their masks and show an audience a truth they do not want to see”. This relates back to the prisoner in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave being dragged out of the cave and thrust into blinding sunlight. Being accustomed to recognizing shadow as the only form of reality, he would be struck blind by the harsh sunlight in comparison to dim shadows, unable to comprehend that form of ideal reality.

Evidently, both Plato and Artaud agree that our immediate reality is only a mere shade of the pure form of reality beyond the reach of our empirical senses. Plato attempts his definition of reality upon logical deduction, however realizing that logic is limited in its exploration of the abstract, Plato ultimately resorts to representation in the form of metaphors and allegories albeit devoid of Art’s evocative elements. Artaud in his case abolishes language as a rational construct, one that confines human sensibilities to mere words. Theatre of Cruelty then serves to jar our senses out of the stupor of that shade of reality, which we perceive as the only absolute reality, blithely ignorant to the existence of a reality in the realm of thought and imagination. Theatre of Cruelty thus becomes a forceful presentation of Life upon the audience; its elements of representation drawn from hieroglyphics crafted by bodily gestures to draw the audience back to a repressed reality long forgotten. As much as Plato and Artaud differ in their practices, they both admit the fact that to achieve a higher sense of reality, representation cannot be completely abolished. Yet neither should representation be embraced as a hallucination shrouding our understanding, but rather we should be made cognizant that representation is merely a medium for a greater understanding of a higher reality and not lose ourselves to its allures.

In this discussion about the methods of Plato and Artaud, we have determined that there is a higher form of reality beyond this physical reality that resides purely within the reach of our empirical senses. Both Plato and Artaud failed to determine what reality is, leading us to believe that reality is undeterminable, an unachievable utopia like Plato’s Republic, or one that is too horrifying to behold in Artaud’s sense. Ultimately, trying to define reality is like drawing a circle and saying that is reality, but by doing so are we not excluding the reality that is outside of the circle. A circle that both Plato and Artaud have been trying to break out of, thus I can only say that reality is an unknowable concept that is constantly being explored as we venture further away from our familiar concept of reality, a concept we can never fully encircle and define.
1587 Words.



















Works Cited

Antonin Artaud, Mary C. Richard (translator), The Theatre and Its Double. Grove Press, 1994
Plato, G.R.F Ferrari and Tom Griffith, eds. The Republic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008
Wikipedia contributors. “Theatre of Cruelty.” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, 29 Jan. 2010. Web. 22 Mar. 2010

Singapore Lit Essay.

Aaron Lim Si Ru
Miss Esther Wang
HL105 Singapore Literature
11 March 2010

Mere constructs: the Merlion and the Singaporean Identity.

In Alvin Pang’s “Merlign” and Grace Chia’s “Musing on the Merlion Myth”, themes of dislocation and the struggle to determine the origins and significance of one’s identity are being explored. The Merlion is the clear focal point of both poems as they attempt to dissect the artificial construct that is the Merlion. The symbolism behind the Merlion is not what it seems, exposing the paradox of the Singaporean identity – another construct, both poems have vastly differing attitudes on this issue which I shall attempt to highlight.

I will first be exploring “Musing on the Merlion Myth”. Singapore literally means “Lion City”, the symbol of the Merlion thus is a representation of the change that the “lion” has taken on the mantle of “fins and a fishtail” evolving to the Merlion it is today (Chia 35). Such evolution can be seen, as a response to the nation’s needs, the need to constantly change itself to fit into the rapidly changing state of the world, the struggle to maintain at the top. This reflects the mutability of our fledging nation. While the nation is certainly flexible, it certainly lacks a sense of permanence. We are too young a nation to have a proper sense of history to ground us as a cohesive people.
The sense of change, upheaval and uncertainty is clear. In Chia’s poem, “no more jungles left for you to prowl” portrays the dislocation felt by the immigrants when they first came to Singapore, removed and uprooted from their homelands and placed in an alien land (35). Chia also projects an image of turbulent change as the people and by extension the nation “evolve, adapt” and “become mutant” (35). The juxtaposition of imagery from stanzas 1 and 3 of prowling jungles to concrete forests, Chia condenses the dizzying pace of our progress from a land of immigrants into a thriving city. Chia also avoids a chronological recount of our history, preferring the use of evolution, mutation and morphing to describe the pace of Singapore’s growth. This reflects the unnatural and artificially boosted speed of our progress and also to our lack of history.

The frenetic pace of change taking place thus creates the need for a common identity to ground us amidst the winds of change. The dislocation of the populace from the nation’s identity is thus visualized, as there are “no more jungles left for you to prowl”, which can be seen in relation to the notion of home, as the lion would be in the jungle (Chia 35). Home, the place of warmth and comfort is instead portrayed as harsh and cold, “flat as paper”, an unfeeling and steely city with nary a trace of warmth (Chia 35). Chia’s ‘generous’ use of such imagery creates an almost mercenary image of Singapore heightening the sense of dislocation from the nation as a home.
Chia attempts to resolve the issue of dislocation by exploring the symbolism behind the Merlion myth. The Merlion is born of necessity, “a nation’s dreams made you a myth” (Chia 35). Being too young a nation to have any proper sort of myth however, the myth of the Merlion is thus a constructed one, to fulfill a nation’s need for stability. The “nation’s fears” of instability forced the Merlion into being, turning it to “stone” (Chia 35). Hence, the Merlion can be seen as a stabilizing force, albeit one that is constructed for the convenience of stability. In relation, the hybrid nature of the Merlion being half fish and half lion can be seen as a reflection of the multitudinous diversity of peoples coming together eventually becoming a hybrid people of a unique culture. By virtue of such a parallel, the Merlion thus becomes a binding force for the dislocated peoples, forging a common identity when it was once non-existent.

However, Chia herself seems to be in two minds about the creation of the Merlion myth. The dichotomy within the image of the Merlion, being a “frozen statue” stiff and unmoving yet bursting with dynamism that is the “water of life” creates a sense that the Merlion itself is a fractured entity, its statue unrepresentative to its symbolism, akin to how the populace is dislocated from the symbolism of the Merlion (Chia 35). This forced union of the natural ‘water’ and the artificial ‘statue’ parallels the constructed myth of the Merlion, an oxymoron in itself, because one cannot simply construct a myth into being. This sheds light to the oxymoronic nature of the Singaporean identity, artificially created by the foisting of a constructed identity upon a dislocated people. This so-called Singaporean identity is merely a name placed upon the amalgamation of different cultures, none of which uniquely Singaporean, reinforcing the fact that it is created, not cultivated over time.
Chia clearly recognizes the hollow representation that is the Merlion, yet despite the unnatural truth of the fabricated myth and identity, she states, “I wish to believe in you” (35). Chia seems to hint that should Singapore be without a rallying banner under the Merlion, all that we have built would be lost to dissension. The entreaty of “I wish…” hints at the above possibility, something that the poet wants to avoid. Truth would then be empty words without stability and Chia wishes to have the same kind of stability for her “daughter’s daughters”, not wanting them to be born into a divided nation as in Singapore’s younger days (35).

One would question if truth is preferable to stability. The Merlion being a creature of myth has evolved past the need for authenticity, a myth exists to instruct, whether it is a ‘real’ myth or a ‘constructed’ myth does not matter, what matters is that it has served it’s purpose as a unifier. What is important is that people “ a century from hence would listen to tales of the lionfish” even if it is one “that no one has ever seen” (Chia 35). The truth behind the Merlion myth becomes subjective when it’s constructed nature fades from memory, yet its symbolism remains “ferocious, strong, slipping into a collective’s unconsciousness” (Chia 35). The Singaporean identity thereby becomes an indelible part of our identity, our heritage.

In “Merlign”, Alvin Pang explores the themes of dislocation from a different perspective. Pang examines the dislocation of symbolism from the Merlion, it has become a mere physical statue; the symbolism behind the image of the Merlion has been lost. Pang compares “websites”, “cameras” and “postcards” to “verses”, “pride” and “praise”, stating that superficial representations of the Merlion have overshadowed the real symbolism behind it (40). Pang questions if the Merlion has lost its purpose of being, becoming merely a fount of tourist wealth, embellished beyond recognition. The statue of the Merlion, whose appearance was supposed to be a reflection of its significance, has now been dislocated. One is without the other, mere representations without meaning. While Pang arrives at a similar conclusion with Chia regarding the dislocation of the symbolism of the Merlion, he does so with representations to explore symbolism versus Chia’s use of concrete imagery.
“Merlign”, an intriguing twist of words between ‘Merlion’ and ‘malign’, as if saying that the Merlion itself is a malignant concept, an artificial taint, a construct of necessity, “a heap of fashioned stone” to fulfill a need (Pang 40). “Merlign” likewise is a constructed concept, merely a name created by the poet to expose the hollowness of the Merlion, an icon that has no roots. This is similar to Chia’s struggle to find a significance behind the national icon, yet failing to do so, succeeding only in exposing the faults and fractures of it’s creation. Its twisted progeny is described as the “titan child… terrorizing history”, an affront to history threatening to blur the lines between history and myth, a construct influencing the impressionable future generations (Pang 40). While Pang does not directly refer to the paradox of the Singaporean identity, the creation of the Merlion as an impressionable national icon certainly influences how the nation perceives itself. Thus the artificial nature of the Merlion is also reflected in the maturing of our Singaporean identity as a young nation. By extension, the Merlion could then be seen as tool to mould the ideals and culture of our nation.

While Chia is able to accept the necessity of the Merlion as a constructed national icon, Pang instead strips it bare of its constructed symbolism and exposes it’s emptiness, refusing to associate himself with the false symbol. Pang scorns the pathetic metaphor that is the Merlion. He ridicules the “need” for a stabilizing force, which by virtue of such a “rock” based metaphor; we can make its representations “bear weight” (Pang 40). By Pang’s use of such a blatant metaphor of “rock” and “weight” he exposes the superfluous origin of the Merlion, that by virtue of it being made of “rock”, it has weight and by extension “weight” in it’s symbolic value. Which he describes as “wallow[ing] in metaphors, an indication that the creation of the Merlion was an effort in futility and it’s influence on the Singapore identity, detrimental.
In Chia’s poem, she paints the Merlion as an outlandish object, alien to Singapore, a dislocated icon, despite that; she finally acknowledges its significance. Pang on the contrary, begins by creating a familiar yet enigmatic image of the Merlion through “postcards”, “praise” and “a face poets love to woo” (40). In highlighting the enigmatic nature of the Merlion, he evokes a spark of curiosity in the flow of the poem, binding the reader to his chain of thought. In stanza 7, Pang paints the idyllic picture of a child enthralled by the “giant too tall for a child’s mind to wrap around” and the child’s curiosity to understand the “giant” too is mirrored in the reader as “risking… a closer glance, a furtive stroke, reaching for scale and contact” (Pang 40). Eventually, the familiarity of the Merlion fades into oblivion, replaced by a child’s innocent ignorance mirroring the Pang’s own inability to “apostrophize” any “weight” with “what is rock”. Gripped almost by a sense of desperation, being unable to comprehend the significance of the statue, Pang turns to the physical, hoping to find meaning in the tangible when the intangible eludes him. This phase mirrors Chia’s struggle with the dichotomy and confusion regarding the fractured entity of the Merlion, yet unlike Chia’s gradual reconciliation between her insecurities and the Merlion, Pang moves in the opposite direction.
Pang dismisses Chia’s reconciliation as a form of “pretence”, maintaining the view that the constructed symbolism foisted upon the Merlion, are mere “riddles and voices” and that the “heap of fashioned stone” lacks true symbolism behind it’s statue to “carry souls” (40). Essentially claiming that, no amount of attaching meaning and symbolism to the icon would hide the fact that it is a mere construct. In the last stanza, Pang literally destroys any form of representation behind the Merlion, “rough beast, you are neither idol nor ideal”, he goes on to expunge the icon from our Singaporean identity, treating it as an outsider and addressing it as such “you”, almost a bitter reminder to the beginning of Chia’s poem. The figurative emptiness of the Merlion is accentuated by the physical hollowness of the “titan child” at Sentosa whose “heart is hollow, cold and open for admission” (Pang 40).

Pang plays upon the bitter irony of the Sentosa Merlion being hollow so as to admit visitors, yet to be unable to hold on to the representation of the Singaporean identity, very much like a basket that cannot hold water. In a sense referring to our identities as something intangible that cannot be forced into “fashioned stone, too light to carry souls” (Pang 40). Lacking the gravitas of history to lend “weight”, the Merlion functions like a basket unable to hold any water. Just as Pang expunges the icon from our Singaporean identity, the Merlion expunges itself of us as the water it cannot hold. “Keep what matters and what counts” which is nothing, “the rest you can spit as spray” which is our identity being expunged from the Merlion (Pang 40).
Both poets recognize that the Merlion is merely an artificial construct through their exploration of dislocation and highlighting the paradox that is the Singaporean identity. Yet, their methods of exploration are mirrored reflections of each other. Chia makes use of concrete imagery to construct the Merlion, breathing life to intangible myth. Pang instead illustrates the elusive symbolism of the Merlion through empty metaphors, failing which he resorts to attacking the it’s physical form. Mirror opposites of each other, it falls on us to decide which is merely a reflection and which is the real.
2114 Words














Works Cited
Pang, Alvin. City of Rain. Singapore: Ethos, 2003.
Chia, Grace. “Musing on the Merlion Myth” Reflecting on the Merlion: An Anthology of
Poems. Ed. Edwin Thumboo and Yeow Kai Chai. Singapore: National Arts Council,
2009. 35. Print.

Mes Essais.

You know, after all the hard work and late nights I've put up with these pieces of shit which are my brain children.

I oughta put em up to share.

Behold the agony of my years.

How far I have fallen

Where is that confidence whereupon I so freely wielded. Where is that lithe grace whereupon I walked among my peers. I have become withdrawn into myself. I have lost that bold confidence. I have grown cold. I look back at the year that has gone by and I simply cant believe the mistakes that I have made. And the repercussions that follow still leave hints in its wake. I am falling into this spiral of fear and dread. For the future I was once so confident about I dread with every passing moment

Why? Why have I allowed myself this lapse? In French, in class, at work, in hall. Is exhaustion and fatigue the only excuse I have for myself? Where is my drive for life. Where is my strength? What is it I seek that gives me strength to push? Or have I debilitated for far too long in this cozy cell of mine. These false impressions. Every time I stand up only to be crippled again. Fear has taken over me. Irrational fear. I hate this. This pit of self-pity. I need more than this.

10.10.10

Merci beaucoup mes amis.

I sincerely thank all of you who have taken time off to attend the event. It isYOU who have made the event a success, it would not have been possible without your support.

You cannot possibly imagine the jitters I was having right before I came on stage to perform for all you. I wanted it to be a tribute from me to you, for all the times we've come to know each other, wherever I may have known you from. What matters is the now.

Words aside I have had a wonderful celebration. It's probably the first and last time I'll ever do such a crazy thing. Ever.

Once again, no amount of thanks can express anything I can say to you. You will be kept in my heart.

The efforts of these months shall not go to waste

After such a long hiatus of not blogging. I am here once more. This is a sad place for awhile for I haven't found anything happy to keep here.

I am disappointed. Very disappointed. I'm not angry, simply nonchalant. For it is nothing if you make me angry rare as that be, I will have forgiven you in a day. But if you have disappointed me, me who holds all my friends in the highest regard, I expect only the least in return.

I never had a proper bash. It doesn't materr how much I may spend. If it be for my friends I would spare no expense in this annual event. Gifts are not required, I ask for your long-awaited presence; no more.

You were in my top 10 list. That was how much I valued you. You were the first two invites to be sent out. But... None even bothered to call. I think no more needs to be said.

Fighting!

It takes alot of finesse to be non judgmental. Simply because it is too easy to be judgmental. One can judge another with little or no effort. Keeping that in mind to be true to yourself takes alot of courage. It is simply easier to change according to your circumstances. Changing faces, wearing masks; we are all master shapeshifters.

Few take the road less trodden, because it's tough and untested; one fears the unknown. They'd stick to the devil the know than the devil they don't.

I have attempted on the path of the one less trodden. I have fallen a few times, but I shall simply raise myself and walk again. For I can only stronger after a trial if I don't fall. For success is not in never failing but rising for every time we fail.

I wish that I didn't have to do what I am doing if I were born with a silver spoon or that I was born without a care in the world other than some superficial needs and wants. No reality has come alot earlier for me and I have no choice but to stand up to it; and that involves some sacrifices.

I blame nothing; for what can I blame upon ignorance?
And so they say ignorance is bliss; yet how can there be bliss if one is ignorant of what they are ignorant about? There is no learning, understanding or even empathy merely dislike, disgruntlement and anger.

I will learn along this journey of life, this is merely one of the many chapters in that infinite tome of knowledge.

How long how long.

How long ago was it when I first started to blog. It's rather curious to see the way my thoughts have evolved and changed, maybe not even for the better. Life has indeed brought me to unexpected places, given me unexpected surprises and bestowed upon me unexpected friends. I couldn't have been more thankful.

As of now, I am teetering on the edge of the Great Unknown of the Adult world as I know it. As much as I wanted to deny being of age, there is no turning back. Life is whisking me off to the strangest places. Oh how I hark back to the days in Catholic High. Kidding around in JC. Boys to men in NS. That period of blissful nonchalance has passed and is long gone. All I can do is to look back at the times that I had wistfully.

- "As the shock of the cold water hit me, a familiar sensation washed down my spine. Time is of no consequence in this realm. As I close my eyes, I hear the familiar sounds of the night; the silent song of the waves, gentle whispers of the night breeze. Nothing but darkness before my eyes, punctuated with little blips of light in the horizon; stars aplenty and the warm orange glow of the floodlights - a corona around my frame. All is still as I exist simultaneously between this schism of time in my mind and reality. I was here and otherwhere, same place, different time."

I let forth an open-hearted laugh as reminiscence filled me, my world came to light again. All I am looking at is a white tiled wall in a dinghy showeroom. All thats left of my other consciousness fled back into the recesses of my memory.

It felt real. For a merest fraction of time. I felt connected.

I knew it was a tough road.

But why did I do it?

I did it because I want to prove my mental fortitude. I challenge myself to my limits daily, because I never really gave a thought to my future doesn't mean that I can't start now. I knew it was tough because the statistics for failure were shown to me, but I want to be one of those that endured everything that was being thrown at them. I want to do this because I don't want to confine myself to a lifestyle that is projected upon me, I want to take the road less trodden. Because this is the time for me to still be able to make mistakes and stand up again, and not 20 years down the road with all the responsibilities on my shoulders, any mistake made might be cripple me forever.

If you so wish to remain in your precious little enclave, you are most welcome. It is your choice. I chose to venture out into the great unknown, the so-called leap of faith that I have taken. I can understand your misgivings, hence I will not try to convince you against something that is deeply ingrained. I just ask that you respect choices. It really doesn't matter that family may sometimes choose to be ignorant, but that might not be true because you and I are entitled to each our own opinions.

I cannot say that I will succeed for sure. But I will certainly try my best.

Lights.

I wish that I lived near the sea.
Hear the waves crash.
The night horizon is an enchanting sight.
A sight that I have gotten so used to.
A sight of warm lights the blip the winedark sea.
A sight that can swallow me up endlessly.
It feels so warm.

To be with the sea of memories once more.

You don't have to know everything.

I'm 23 this year and still I have failed at asserting my own independence. Financially dependent on my Mum, still I'm hoping I didn't have to so I can finally be free of this bondage. Live on my own before I go crazy from the endless, incessant and insensitive questioning that I would often rather not answer.

You don't have to know everything about me. Even if I know that you know some things. You don't have to make it absolute. You don't need to know everything. I have a life that I don't have to report to you for. I will choose to tell you things if you didn't come asking in that voice that insinuates that I have done you some grievous wrong by holding my silence.

You and I both know that we speak metaphorically each time, hidden beneath the lines, so WHY do you want to bring it up insinuating that I'm incompetent, perhaps to you the word pride does not exist in your dictionary, or that YOUR pride overshadows everyone else's in this house.

So why don't you give a try letting me be, because I know how to handle my own affairs and it's about time letting me make decisions without consulting your consent first. Time for surprises, Mom.

So many things. So many things.

A great many things have happened lately and I want to bring them to order. I have been very frustrated with myself, and the dismal performance at the volleyball courts. I have been playing it for about 1.5 years, and the standard and level of play is just capped there. My movements are always wrong, the balls are never accurate, the few things i can really be proud of on while playing are few and far between, being replaced by better players. I hate it, I have to do something about it, I try and try so hard to focus, to control, to play smart. But I'm just not good enough.

A few job opportunities came up, and now I'm kinda wondering where I should place my time. FOC Pnp is kinda taking it's toll, I'm beginning to wonder why I landed myself there, but I just gotta do it. It's my responsibility. Some diamond thingy with Aaron Justin. Prudential. Helping Alan with classes. I'm leaning towards the classes, but that isn't around the corner. Prudential = Sales = Commission. But I'm not confident with sales, but I decide to give it my all, I can't bum around like this.

I am excited by all these future prospects, but I can't lift my heart because of that one person. Again. I really wonder how people see me, what people think of me, how people judge me. Perhaps I need to take a look in the mirror, perhaps I'm the pretentious one. I am the rude one. I am the one being really superficial, but I just can't see it. Until you went silent, I don't know what to think. Have I said something I shouldn't? Have I tried to hide what I really meant? Have I said something I didn't really mean? Have I shattered the image of innocence you had of me? Perhaps I have really broken my own rules unknowingly. All that empty sophistry.

I used to be so "emo", I thought I had conquered that feeling because I have conquered my stupidity for one person. It was an illusion merely, conquering one does not guarantee immunity from all. I am feeling the pangs again, let my common sense prevail. Please, it is a terrible cycle I want to extricate myself from. When I say I'm no longer an "emo" wreck, I may wanna rethink my definitions again.

Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence.

Work intrudes but I shunt them away, I let Ryuichi Sakamoto take me for a ride for a few sparse minutes of bliss. I wish I could hang forevermore in this lilting melody with nothing on my mind, no one by my side, but just thoughts of you, holding you.

Why. It's a question I cannot answer. Smses flood in. Msn tingles for my attention. But I can only rivet my eyes and my heart on that few words of reply from you on FB. I close my eyes when it comes. It seems my simple little wish will never come to pass. Ryuichi reaches the climax, as do I when metaphorical tears brim unbidden, for my eyes have been dry for ever so long. No, it is my heart that cries, the stab of sorrow from your nonchalance. Blithely unaware, for I am nothing to you, a thing that can be assuaged with mere words, empty words that hold no meaning behind its inflection.

Behind the facade of books and work, you fade away into oblivion. I would that my heart could do the very same. Oh how I cry out for release.

That boy is a monster m-m-m-m-monsterrrr....

Pardon me, I just got hooked on that song, albeit a little late. One wonders why I'm up at this hour, indeed; I wonder that myself. It has been a ritual to stay up to god forsaken hours for so long I don't remember when I started. But for once, my mind isn't lost in the labyrinths of my essay concepts. Most, if not all assignments have been cleared, CDP 101 Final Presentation concluded on a wonderful note. It was certainly a joy watching each other's meticulously put together production, I can't help but shed a tear. How melodramatic.

But that's just how things are, an entire AY is coming to an end, and for some reason I'm just feeling a tad bit more pensive than usual when my mind goes wandering off to some faraway land. Dead people, that flashback of ghastly make up, I can't help but stifle a giggle. Not that I ever giggled.

I just don't know what to do. Clearly I have a lot to do. Revision to be all completed by friday for the most ultimately intensive examination ever. But I don't know what to do outside of this academic realm. Yes, there is that desire to do something I've always wanted, but here, this world; this society; this place; fosters to such hope. I've always thought myself the conformist, but that changed when I made my decision nearly 2 years ago.

I am being honest with myself. Certain things I want can never be fulfilled, at least not here. It is saddening, it's not like I hate this place, no I love it, it's my home. I'll be a displaced alien anywhere else (ok maybe not). Sometimes I can't help but want to fly, but my wings are clipped.

I can't sleep now. No not so soon. But I know not what to do. What do I make of this mockery of life?

Questions. Doubts. Fears. Incalculable Uncertainties.

There is just so much work. I’m being torn apart. Sometimes I wonder if I really did sign up for this. Brings me back to OBO days, when I’m just out there staring at they grey sea, dreary waves, the black night, okay pathetic fallacy I know, its actually quite beautiful when I remind myself of it now, that I wouldn’t really mind being there again, lulled to sleep by the waves. Alas, reality is a harsh one, and the world a cruel one in which we live in, things were never really that easy in OBO, I went thru hell, I put my mind through worse, all that mental anguish, anguish, anguish. There were times where I screamed all my soul out into the silence of the night with that equal silence in the deepest of my being, I felt like a great big hollow with a great big echo resounding with nothingness into the empty shell of the great metal thing that keeps me afloat along with a hundred other disillusioned idiots. Rime of the ancient mariner, just another bunch of lost sailors out at sea, doomed and cursed to eternal unrest in eternal undeath, to float among the witchy and eldritch lights in the depths of the oceans, flash, flashing, flashes, rippling, undulating, waves, echoes, like orgasms in the water slick.

But there’s so much work. Calls, emails, projects, rehearsals, meetings, essays, oh god the essays, a never ending stream on unconsciousness that pervades even my sleep, my phone is the devil, so many times I wished that I could just smash it into smithereens into nothingness that likewise I might disappear away from this wretched wretched existence. But I can’t die just yet, not just yet, just one more month before I can really fade away, throw my phone away and be alone for a while, but not really can I run away, for once I’m back home there will be no peace at all less the one sanctum I have.
A stream of consciousness. Nothing more.

I wonder if you'll ever know how it feels like to be me.

I wonder for how long I can lie to myself that I'm happy talking to you
Or I'm actually tearing myself apart.

The Sacred Band of Thebes

I unwittingly fell unto this while researching into Classical Greek stuff.

And if there were only some way of contriving that a state or an army should be made up of lovers and their loves, they would be the very best governors of their own city, abstaining from all dishonour, and emulating one another in honour; and when fighting at each other's side, although a mere handful, they would overcome the world. For what lover would not choose rather to be seen by all mankind than by his beloved, either when abandoning his post or throwing away his arms? He would be ready to die a thousand deaths rather than endure this. Or who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger?

From Plato's Symposium

The Sacred Band originally was formed of picked men in couples, each lover and beloved selected from the ranks of the existing Theban citizen-army. The pairs consisted of the older "heniochoi", or charioteers, and the younger "paraibatai", or companions, who were all housed and trained at the city's expense and fought as hoplites. During their early engagements, in an attempt to bolster general morale, they were dispersed by Gorgidas throughout the front ranks of the Theban army.

But was there ever an invincible army?

Defeat came at the Battle of Chaeronea (338 BC), the decisive contest in which Philip II of Macedon, with his son Alexander, extinguished the Theban hegemony. The traditional hoplite infantry was no match for the novel long-speared Macedonian phalanx: the Theban army and its allies broke and fled, but the Sacred Band, although surrounded and overwhelmed, refused to surrender. James G. DeVoto says in The Theban Sacred Band that Alexander had deployed his cavalry behind the Macedonian hoplites, apparently permitting "a Theban break-through in order to effect a cavalry assault while his hoplites regrouped." The Thebans of the Sacred Band held their ground and nearly all 300 fell where they stood beside their last commander, Theagenes. Plutarch records that Philip II, on encountering the corpses "heaped one upon another", understanding who they were, exclaimed,

Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything unseemly.

300 SPARTA! Much?

You can break my heart with a single word.

Neither here nor there.
Nor yes or no.
Okay.