Is there a trend that would encourage or even an injunction that would oblige minority artists to dissect their identity on stage? This is in any case what the author Tamara Nguyen and the director Vincent Kim, the creators of The demagogy of the dragonsthe first effort of Productions Yuzu, a company whose mandate is to promote artists of Asian origin. Considering the identity piece as a way to please the greatest number, to respond to a demand, their show is undoubtedly part of the current that it seeks to question.
Like Mireille Tawfik with Walk like an Egyptian! or Jade and Chloe Barshee with Bastardsor Iannicko N’Doua, who will present Snow in Abidjan at the Centre du Théâtre d’Aujourd’hui in November, Tamara Nguyen and Vincent Kim stage a return to their home country, an initiatory journey, a quest for identity that will be, in their case, more wacky than founding, more ironic than visceral, more satirical than salutary. It was after meeting at the Festival du Jamais lu that Nguyen and Kim, both of Vietnamese origin, felt the desire to explore what they call “the chaos of identity,” a theme they intend to continue to dissect in their next collaboration, a play with four characters entitled Ethnic quota.
Named Tamara and Vincent, the protagonists of The demagogy of the dragons are loosely based on Tamara Nguyen and Vincent Kim. Born and raised in Quebec, the young theatre artists have very little connection to their cultural heritage. To reconnect with her roots and nurture a play project, Tamara plans a trip to Vietnam. Hoping that she will write her first major role, Vincent imposes himself and goes with her. Since this trip really took place — Nguyen and Kim went with their actors, Claudia Chan Tak and Dominick Rustam — the staging includes many photos and videos produced on site. Unfortunately, the duo, supposedly digging into their roots, devote more energy to pleasing their TikTok followers by filming their luxurious hotel room or dancing to K-pop hits.
Perhaps it is because the characters are played with very little conviction by Chan Tak and Rustam, but we regret that Nguyen and Kim did not choose to play their own roles. This would undoubtedly have added depth to their proposition; a nice calling card, certainly, but more sympathetic than meaningful. Fortunately, there are a few interview sequences to give the whole thing a slightly more documentary character. Let’s be clear, the 75-minute journey allows us to debunk a few clichés, deconstruct a few stereotypes, highlight some of the excesses of our time, but it generally remains superficial, rarely frees itself from commonplaces, seeks more to amuse than to provoke reflection.