Note: This review contains spoilers about the plot of Cambodian Rock Band.
When traumatic events happen, perhaps moments of levity are what’s needed in order to survive.
Written by Lauren Yee ahead of its acclaimed 2018 premiere in California, Cambodian Rock Band is making its Canadian debut at Vancouver’s Arts Club Theatre. The show is part rock concert, part play. Jumping back and forth through time, it weaves the story of a father-daughter relationship together with high-energy musical performances and meditations on the traumatic effects of the Cambodian genocide.
The immensely talented cast performs songs by American psychedelic rock group Dengue Fever, as well as classic Cambodian rock and pop music of the 1960s and ‘70s. The music serves as a balm for the heavy topics covered, but also underscores all that was lost in Cambodia.
As the stage lights come up, a rock music set starts and five semi-sheer grey panels lift (set design by Jung-Hye Kim), revealing individual platforms for band members of the Cyclos: a keyboardist (Kayla Sakura Charchuk), a drummer (Jun Kung), an electric guitarist (Jay Leonard Juatco), an electric bassist (Raugi Yu), and a lead singer (Kimberly-Ann Truong). It’s 1975, and we’re in Cambodia.
An emcee (Nicco Lorenzo Garcia) introduces the band. Charismatic and dandy-like, he’s akin to a host from vaudeville, or its predecessor, Parisian boulevard theatre — perhaps a nod to Cambodia being a former French protectorate. He tells us that this was the last time the Cyclos would play together, because, shortly after, the Khmer Rouge began their full takeover of the country.
The scene shifts to 2008 Cambodia, where we meet Neary (Truong), a young American-Cambodian working for a justice-oriented NGO. She’s about to prosecute one of the country’s biggest war criminals, a man known as Comrade Duch, who ran the infamous S-21 torture centre in Phnom Penh, from which only seven of 20,000 detainees survived. Neary and her boyfriend Ted (Juatco) discover a photo of an eighth survivor and start searching for him.
Neary’s father Chum (Yu), a survivor of the regime, travels back to Cambodia to surprise her with a visit. Self-deprecating, silly, and full of double entendre jokes, he tries to distract his daughter from her pursuit of justice. She comes to find that this is because her father is the eighth survivor. After tense family negotiations, Chum eventually tells Neary about his time at S-21, his former band (the Cyclos), what happened to his family, and, most importantly, his closest friend Leng (Juatco).
In Garcia’s beguiling performance, the fiendish emcee mischievously flits about, haunting Neary and Chum’s every move like a pesky devil on their shoulders, often breaking the fourth wall to speak to the audience. His presence is foreboding, and we come to learn that he is a caricature of a real-life monster.
Although the family and band featured in the play are fictional, the facts of the genocide, Comrade Duch, the atrocities committed at S-21, and the erasure of Western-style Cambodian music are very real.
In contrast to the first half of the show, most of the second act has very few sound effects, except for the soft howling of the wind. Chum sings hauntingly beautiful songs, occasionally backed by his long-departed bandmates, with expert sound design (Ace Martens) blending their voices together to create a soul-stirring atmosphere. The pointed use of spotlights (Itai Erdal) works well to convey the intense experience of imprisonment at S-21.
Yu’s portrayal of Chum’s optimistic resiliency and will to survive just one more day is poignant and heartbreaking. At times, his sincerity in the role reminded me of Ke Huy Quan’s Oscar-winning performance in Everything Everywhere All at Once.
Jivesh Parasram’s direction adds further earnestness in that the staging isn’t over-produced and every actor delivers their lines with deep conviction. The production respects the weight and impact of the material, adeptly balancing the intended humour and pathos.
The entire cast of Cambodian Rock Band has unfaltering energy, whether in quiet two-hander scenes or in the boisterous camaraderie of a band playing together and enjoying each other’s company. Truong’s powerful singing voice and vibrato is mesmerizing; as is Juatco’s incredible electric guitar shredding.
Cambodian Rock Band is adventurous programming for the Arts Club, where I’m mostly used to seeing crowd-pleasing musicals on the Stanley Industrial Alliance Stage. The bold choice paid off. From what I could see from my seat, the whole audience was captivated by the production. Many were dancing in their seats, some wolf-whistled, and in the more harrowing scenes, you could hear sharp intakes of breath.
Although Vancouver audiences are known to stand up at the end of every show, Cambodian Rock Band truly deserved its ovation.
Cambodian Rock Band runs at Arts Club until April 6. Tickets are available here.
Intermission reviews are independent and unrelated to Intermission’s partnered content. Learn more about Intermission’s partnership model here.
WRITTEN BY
Reham Cojuangco
Reham Cojuangco is a FilipinX arts journalist living and creating in the unceded traditional territories of the Musqueam, Squamish, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations. Once described as “an iron fist in a velvet glove,” she writes to spotlight the experiences of marginalized people as well as stories that uplift their joy.
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