NOTE: This is going to turn into a bit of an essay, and I’m not sorry.

Long one incoming.

A Short History of Asian New Zealand Theatre is a strikingly truthful perspective on the last thirty years of, you guessed it, Asian Theatre in New Zealand. Written by Nathan Joe and performed (tonight) by Sean Rivera, the show combines reflection, direction and humour in one lecture-style package that opens up to so much more than it initially seems.

Akin to more of a TED Talk than a traditional theatre experience, the show is presented as a series of academic exercises that the audience is invited and even expected to participate in. The engagement is immediate. The audience, many of whom seem familiar with the performer, Sean, is locked into every word said and projected on the canvas behind him. It gives the performance an air of academic authority and does such a good job disguising its emotional core, whilst maintaining a steady pace that lets us know exactly where we’re at.

Delivering the lecture is Sean Rivera, but there’s a catch. He’s never read this script (written by Nathan Joe) before. Also, he’s on a bike, but we’ll get to that later. Rivera is a magnetic performer, taking on this actor’s nightmare with gusto and a cheeky smile. He’s doing so many things at once: reading, speaking, drinking, gasping and pedalling, and that’s before you even take into consideration the emotional heft he’s having to carry as he discovers the script along with the audience. He provides interjections where necessary, and for the entire runtime only seems to grow stronger in energy and aura. At every point, we are rooting for him to continue. At no point are we in doubt he can do this.

But let’s talk about the bike.

What initially seems like a bit of a gimmick, becomes the beating heart of the show. Rivera is expected to pedal a stationary bike which powers the few lights on the stage. The moment he stops pedalling, they flicker out. He gets a few breaks, here and there, but his fatigue is shown by the sweat dripping down the side of his cheeks. The metaphor is clear, the bike goes nowhere, yet he must keep pedalling if only to keep the lights on. He can’t stop. Stopping means ending the journey, and he’s not ready for it to end yet. But how can it end if he’s not going anywhere? What more do Asians have to do just to get to an even playing field? Why is so much more expected of us for the same amount of recognition? By the end of the play, Rivera is out of breath and the only way he can push himself to the end is to scream that he’s at maximum energy levels, and that his love for theatre is stronger than ever.

Just watching him pedal is exhausting.

That’s the truth that cuts so deeply. It’s exhausting being an Asian (or any minority) in theatre. I won’t go into details, since the show does a fantastic job at breaking down exactly why we are where we are, and much better than I ever could, but it’s so exhausting. It’s hard enough as it is. Funding across the arts is being shredded to pieces. Theatre attendances are hitting new lows as the cost of living crisis forces people to stay in, or worse, develop side hustles to stay afloat.

That’s why Asian theatre funding is among the first to get slashed, if it was even getting any in the first place. We’re seen as a novelty. A diversity checkbox, no matter what we do. If we create art about being Asian, we’re niche. If we create art completely divorced from any semblance of Asian-ness, we’re experimental. Just look at something like Before We Slip Beneath the Sea by Cassandra Tse. Why are they forced to resort to crowdfunding to tour to Palmerston North? Eight thousand dollars was all they needed. Thank god they got it, but it shouldn’t have had to come to this.

Asian Theatre deserves better. A Short History of Asian New Zealand Theatre proves that in spades. Despite every single setback, we’ve fought back, and networks have developed with or without outside help. It feels like Nathan Joe is screaming for just a shred of recognition, but nobody is listening. I haven’t even written a whole-ass play yet, and I’m already tired. It’s not encouraging to know that the real burnout is yet to kick in.

But we have to keep trying.

I am half of the active male East Asian stand-up comedians in Wellington. It’s fucking harrowing. I hate that every time I go on stage, I feel like I have to justify the stage time I’m taking. Audience members take one look at me and a set of assumptions are already foisted upon me before I’ve said a single word. I have to spend time and words collapsing that energy, and there’s only two ways to do that; do jokes about being Asian, or be so good at my job that the audience forgets that I am. I dabble in both. I shouldn’t have to do either.

I think about these lyrics song, What’s Funny by Bo Burnham, a lot:

Because stand-up comedy is actually pretty easy
If you’re an Asian comic, just get up and say
“My mother’s got the weirdest fucking accent”
Then just do a Chinese accent
Because everybody laughs at the Chinese accent
Because they privately thought that your people were laughable
And now you’ve given them the chance to express that in public

We can’t shirk our own responsibilities here either. We need to create art that goes beyond punching down at our own people for the applause of the white majority. We shouldn’t have to sell out my culture for cheap laughs. We can’t contribute to an assumption that Asians can only be funny if we’re mocking our parents. We need more of us in the scene so we can collectively move beyond it.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just crashing out here. I’ll be a good boy and go back to reviewing theatre.

A Short History of Asian New Zealand is a warning, an encouragement, and a lesson in politics, no matter how much we can wish it wasn’t. Nathan Joe has put together an amazing and incisive commentary on a history than often gets overlooked. And even though, the show is designed to have a rotating presenter, I’m glad I got to see Sean Rivera‘s version. I love that this show gives different Asian creators the platform to express both themselves and Nathan’s points. This work is so important for us Asian artists to listen to and learn from, in the hopes that one day we won’t have to work as hard as we do now just for a seat at the table.

Until then, we’ll just keep pedalling.

Disclosure: As a somewhat active member of the Wellington performing arts community, I may be quite familiar with a number of the performers in this show. Having said that, I am not a liar, and there is zero bias in my reviews, shut up.

Also, tickets were provided to me for free by the production. Literally changes nothing, though.