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Before the countdown on New Year’s Eve, I habitually spend a few minutes evaluating the past twelve months. Usually, I focus only on the positive and gloss over the negative. When I was younger, I used to put down the names of all the handsome guys I’d met during the year. This time, however, I decided to make a list of all the things I’d never done before. In order to spare the reader the entire list, here are just a few examples:
- I’d never had a Master’s.
- I’d never been married.
- I’d never been to Asia.
- I’d never practiced yoga and meditation.
- I’d never sat on an elephant’s back.
- I’d never eaten nor cooked chicken curry.
- I’d never seen a jellyfish.
- I’d never been to a dolphin show.
- I’d never climbed a 4000m mountain.
The year 2009 has been so much different from all the previous years. (As if Reality decided to finally make a point.) It has been both un año fenomenal and un año fatal.
I wonder how much Prague has changed since we last saw it from the aircraft window at the Ruzyne airport. Call me sceptical, but I suspect it hasn’t changed at all. Prague has this fantastic quality of remaining unchanged on the inside, while everything changes on the outside. I guess there’ll be a few more high-rise buildings at Pankrac, the capital’s La Défense. No doubt, the suburbs will have expanded again, with several new villas built for the wealthy. However, I suspect that on the inside everything will be the same old story. Waiters in lovely, old cafés will greet us, just like they did before, with their unmistakable frown. I think it is then that I will miss Asia the most.
Last week, Insead organised another series of the popular Cabaret show. For one evening, former consultants, bankers, and analysts turned into actors, singers, and performers.
First of all, I need to admit I am a very picky theatre-goer and in all forms of art, from books to films, I always look for unusual introductions and unexpected endings. (I love to be surprised.) Given the circumstances, I think the Cabaret was a huge success. My only objection is I found the opening scene both boring, and instantly forgettable.
The show opened with Patrick Turner, an Insead professor, reading a letter signed by the faculty. The letter deplored the poor quality of Insead parties and the general abuse of alcohol. The Cabaret, he read, was to be cancelled with immediate effect because it could bring about the downfall of Insead’s reputation.
The audience gave Patrick a disapproving hiss.
Before Patrick could finish the letter, Maroje and Kimberley furiously marched on stage. Both compères gave the professor an evil glare and made him stop reading. With the help of several other students, the professor was silenced and hijacked from the stage. The curtain went up and the actual Cabaret began.
***
This kind of introduction didn’t surprise me in the slightest – I guess I’ve seen a similar joke at least ten times in ten different school cabarets. Moreover, I did not even find it very pertinent here. Firstly, it was too reminiscent of high school times when drinking or smoking was prohibited. But how could you possibly expect Insead students not to drink, especially if they can afford alcohol in Singapore, and are able to reconcile night life with their school obligations?
Secondly, if you’d really like to create an accepted illusion that the show has been cancelled, how would you do it? Would you appear on stage, right in the spotlight, using a microphone, with your suit on? Would you wait until everyone is quiet and read from a carefully folded paper?
Of course you wouldn’t.
In order to create such make-believe, you first need to cause general confusion, e.g. by leaving all the lights on. Then you need to stand somewhere at the periphery of the stage, and try to silence the crowd by explaining what has happened. It is expected that nobody will understand what you are saying and very few will actually listen. To increase the effect, someone can bring you a mike, as if to make you stop shouting. Next, you apologise and ask all the actors to come from behind the scenes. In an attempt to ‘remedy’ the situation, you invite everyone to attend an alternative event, perhaps an improvised party somewhere in town. The tension will be the strongest when only part of the crew will know about the practical joke.
For a few minutes, take pleasure in the overall confusion and wait until the audience actually starts leaving. In the hallway, most people will probably gather in small groups to discuss what the f*** is going on. Only now, switch the hallway lights off, re-play the ‘Life is a Cabaret’ song and have a group of actors come to perform right in front of the confused crowd.
That said, my alternate scenario could easily turn into a bad taste joke. I’m afraid some people might not appreciate it. It would also require a lot of effort to prepare the logistics. However, I cannot help thinking what it would be like, to step outside the well-defined borders. For me (an 'Insead partner'), the question is not so much, ‘Are we Harvard… or are we Insead?’ but rather, ‘Are we a business school… or are we a business school?’
