by Ed Fortune
Chris Fung is an actor, singer and writer whose credits include Frozen The Musical, Cyrano de Bergerac, The King and I, and Evita. He recently teamed up with the director Alex Sims to create The Society for New Cuisine, a one-person satirical show with the sort of vibes that will appeal to STARBURST readers. We caught up with him to find out more.
STARBURST: What’s the pitch?
Chris Fung: Guided by a shadowy organisation, a rational man processes his existential crisis. In his search for satisfaction, he pursues some unusual appetites.
Why are we so fascinated by the act of eating?
In a capitalistic society, we eat. It’s all we do. And it’s all we’ve done for a long time. It’s a deep theme in mythology. I’m talking Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, The Brothers Grimm, Ovid’s Metamorphosis, even the fundamental tenets of Buddhism, Christianity and Islam, Charlie Brooker, Harlan Ellis, Lovecraft – whether it’s big bad wolves, or bodies of Christ, or the beautiful meditation that is Ramadan. We’ve all got food on the brain. But what are we really hungry for?
This is really relevant now in the wake of the big quit/great resignation, which saw 20-25% of US/UK/AU workers leave their jobs over 2019-2022. This hunger is echoed in Tangping, a social movement in China where millions have left high-paying, 6 figure jobs to go live in rural villages to chill and earn much less. Why?
Globally, everybody is asking the question of why we cut off parts of ourselves to feed to others. If our lives are about eating, when will it be our turn? Why are we allowing the system to eat us?
What does theatre bring to this story that other formats don’t?
This is an excellent question and the very first that any dramaturg should ask. Why is this story, not a YouTube video, a novel, a three-hander, a TV series, or a comic book? ‘Because I Want It To Be’ is a cop-out. As is, ‘One person shows are cheaper/more pragmatic.’ There’s also the much harder to acknowledge ‘Because I want to show people how great I am.’
I think that all one-person shows fundamentally explore the disconnect of one person from a group.
It is always a collective audience against the singular performer. You are cut off. Removed from the herd. One-person shows are about exploring this isolation, so the themes tend to revolve around more selfish emotions, things you can’t explore politely unless you are alone.
It’s interesting to me because you have a bunch of practical problems: ‘how do you flit between direct audience address, narrating the story, commenting about different characters, being different characters, holding a dialogue?’ When you only have one voice and one body, how do you vary the flow and pace and rhythm so that there is enough interest for an audience to stay engaged? What do you want the relationship with the audience to be?
The most interesting question of all in the format to me is ‘how do you write for subtext in a 1-person piece? Is it in the unreliability of the narrator? The things that they can’t, won’t say, but that are crystal clear if the audience is paying attention?
People should only choose theatre because there is something ephemeral and tangible and real between the words. Theatre is about the shared humanity of letting the air charge with spirit. It is the most visceral of the arts, and it is arguably the artistic format most about the now.
There’s something beautiful in the idea that theatre is exclusive. You have to have been there. You have to be in one of these 60 seats now. And when it is over, the moment is too. This is also true of the monumental amount of work that goes into beautiful food. Years of work, gone in 5 minutes.
Why this sort of horror story?
Horror is only scary if you can relate to it. If you can’t see yourself, it’s not scary. Horror is based on empathy. The fundamental concepts in our piece are right there in the world. Since Covid, the world is more disconnected and apathetic. We are all fundamentally questioning ourselves. Hopefully, our team has found a cool way to express it in our piece.
Why the Edinburgh Fringe?
We’ve been cooking this one up for 2 years now and have had feedback from some world-renowned creatives. Everybody has had a bunch to say, but one piece of feedback comes back, which is our style is pretty unique. I’d say tonally, the closest match might be Mallatratt’s adaptation of The Woman In Black, but this stuff is never exact.
The Fringe is the biggest and noisiest arts festival in the world.
Our hope is that in that noise, we can find our people. I’m looking to connect with the next generation of sharp-toothed, horizon-breaking creatives who are interested in the same things I am. Who is unafraid of different? I want to show them my cool thing, and then talk about their cool thing, and then go off and maybe make some cool things together later.
They are thousands of shows at the fringe. Why should STARBURST readers seek this out?
Because you are curious. Because we have put a lot of thought into this. Because you wonder if we might actually be good. Because you are hoping that we are. Because it might be fun.
How similar to is this show to, say, Frozen and The King And I.
Musicals like Frozen and The King and I are limited in what they can express because the format is limited. There are simply fewer words per minute when the majority of a piece is sung. This means there’s limited time to explore, you have got to make your point, and you have to move quickly, so how you spend your time is important.
They also say that about the one-hour format of Fringe Festivals.
So we, too, have clashed against this limiter. We have some larger concepts to tackle, but we also want to make sure that there is room to breathe and wander. I wonder how we will have done. If you’re too simplistic, there’s no meat. If you’re overly dense, there’s no room for empathy.
I think Frozen and The King and I found good balances. But balances shift, and much of it has to do with writing towards a specific audience.
How would you describe your process?
Well, for the past month now, I’ve been posting a little diary on my Instagram that talks about exactly how we have made the piece, from the start all the way to get up to Edinburgh Fringe. All of it, the ugly parts, the easy parts, losing collaborators, being ignored, the insights of established creatives, huge pushes from unexpected directions, hard-won recognition, the little triumphs, the gradual build. Basically, what the industry and Fringe ecology has been like through the stupidly small lens of my attempt to make a play, warts and all.
If you want to check that out, head on over to my insta.
What media are you currently enjoying?
I’m a physical pages person: Goscinny and Uderzo, Murakami, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, Butterworth, RF Kuang, Gaiman, Cixin Liu, Sarah Kane’s Sad 5, Bartlett and Crimp.
Four things that recently stole my breath: Simon Stephen’s gorgeous Seawall, Tim Crouch’s genius interrogation of form in An Oak Tree, and The Inheritance by Matthew Lopez. But the most heart-rending and human end to Act 1 in a play I have probably ever read, The Deep Blue Sea by Terence Rattigan. Some plays have too much humanity.
Things are too real. Those are the things worth fighting to find, I think because that’s where you find little bits of yourself.
The Society for New Cuisine runs from August 3rd to the 13th, and again from August 15th to the 27th, from 18:40 at Venue 61, Underbelly Cowgate.
You can book tickets here and the show’s linktree is here.
