I managed to catch an episode of The Pupil 2 last night and was pleasantly surprised that it was really very good. I had heard good things about the first season (which I missed) and was curious to see what it had to offer. Even if the cinematography was nothing to shout about, the great writing and solid performances from its stellar cast makes for the kind of compelling drama that we have not seen in local television for a long time.
However, the fact that this drama was made independently (not by Mediacorp Studios), says something about the creativity, the quality and the possibilities that exist outside Mediacorp. The kind of work that independent production houses have produced lately puts Mediacorp to shame. After all, what has Mediacorp produced for Channel 5 lately that is worth raving about? Nothing. Yes, sure, it did produce some good work in the past, like the Growing Up series (before the family became the most unfortunate in Singapore and it all went downhill) and Phua Chu Kang (before Phua Chu Kang had to go to English school). Other than these, Mediacorp has produced series after series of bad dramas, beginning with the ill-fated Masters of the Sea (now that one is worth crushing like a cockroach!). And who can forget the forgettable VR Man?! Or Police and Thief (forgive me, but there are no words to describe just how bad this one is)?!
The Pupil has most certainly surpassed the Master. By leaps and bounds. Perhaps it is not so hard to do because Masters of the Sea set such low standards. If this is so, then it reflects even more badly on Mediacorp. As the ONLY broadcasting network in Singapore with all the resources it has, how is it that Mediacorp still cannot produce something good? Growing Up was a long time ago and that laurel has passed its due date. It seems to me that if there is a lesson that Mediacorp needs to learn from The Pupil, it is that nothing can ever make up for great writing and great casting.
Plus, at the risk of sounding like a veritable snob, can I just say that it is so good to finally hear good English on local TV?
So, now that Unriddle has finally well…unriddled, what would you say is the most compelling bit of the series?
Was it the few cases involving psychopaths and missing persons that only the Supercop Rui En and the Big Bun could solve? Surely not, because these were just sideshows to the real drama of the 5 men and the missing money. That is the storyline that first captured the curiosity of viewers and continued to compel them to watch the series. Right to the bitter end. And what a bitter end it is, because in true Mediacorp fashion, what could have been a great climax turned out to be as flat as a pancake that no one wants to eat. Why do I say this? Oh let me count the ways:
#1: According to Unriddle, it takes so long for Yan Dewei to shoot Tay Ping Hui at the jetty that Rui En has enough time to escape from JB, cross the causeway AND get a taxi. Either there was no jam on the causeway (lucky her), or all she needs to do is yell that she’s CID and the obstacles just simply melt away. Which leads me to…
#2: So Supercop Rui En escapes from captivity in JB. Supercop Rui En stops a car along the road. Supercop Rui En yells to the driver that she is Singapore CID and needs to use his mobile phone. And…as if by some strange magic, he instantly believes her and lends her the phone. No questions asked. And why not, you say? Because everyone KNOWS Rui En is a supercop, silly. And a supercop like Rui En doesn’t need such things as identification. After all, she’s famous in Singapore, JB…and some say Batam?
#3: In fact, this Supercop is so super that she doesn’t even need real evidence to solve crime. For instance, how did she know exactly how Yan Dewei managed to capture Tay Ping Hui? How did she know that Yan Dewei wore a mask? How did she know that Savage saw it all?
How did she know that Tay Ping Hui managed to free himself with a razor and tried to clobber Yan Dewei in the car? How did she know that their tussle in the car caused the crash?
Was there blood evidence in the car? Were there signs of a struggle? Was there even evidence that Tay Ping Hui was in the car? Oh of course not silly. Evidence is for minor cops like those in CSI. Supercops don’t need evidence. Supercops are psychic. They just know.
#4 Just like she just knew who her captor was all because he left her some food and water. That evidence was sooooo telling that it immediately made her suspect that her captor was Yan Dewei and that Yan Dewei is that Cai whatever-his-name-is’ son. Wow. It just boggles the mind.
#5 Indeed, because Supercop Rui En doesn’t need corroborating evidence, all she needs to do is narrate the events to Yan Dewei and he cracks. In fact, one could say that the final episode is the culmination of the series’ display of the Supercop’s skills because her narration takes up most of the episode. Sure, the final episode is about resolution. This is when the riddle is unriddled. This is what all the mystery is building towards. So one would expect that when it happens, it would be a revelation. A big aha moment. A climax.
But wait. Instead of fireworks, all we get is the Supercop’s narration of events, with a few unclearly motivated flashbacks thrown in so we don’t even know if Yan Dewei is remembering or the Supercop is channelling.
Those who have watched cop dramas before will know that this tactic of confronting a suspect with a narrative of his crime is an old trick (e.g. The Closer does it really well. Hence the title). It is usually used to corner a suspect by showing him that the game is up. The police are on to him. And they have the evidence to support their claims. So there’s no choice but to confess, deny or call a lawyer.
BUT such narration doesn’t take up more than half an episode. It doesn’t go on and on. And it doesn’t go on and on without any corroborating evidence that would make the narrative so plausible that the suspect is compelled to cave.
In Unriddle, one is not sure if Yan Dewei caved because:
he got worn out by the long narration (like us);
he really does have a low IQ or is a badly trained cop because it doesn’t occur to him that there’s no real evidence (get a lawyer already!);
the Supercop’s death stare is really intimidating (where’s the sunglasses when you need them?), or
all of the above.
#6 Say you have some precious treasure that you don’t want people to find. Where would you hide it? Some place safe? Some place secure? Some place that no one would ever think of? Sure, unless you live in a Mediacorp world where people bury treasures next to the carpark of their condo.
Surely no one would ever think of looking there would they? In fact, that is such a safe place to hide things that in 15 years, no one, not even the cops, thought to look there. Even the Supercop needed clues from a raving lunatic to find the GPS co-ordinates written in the secret talisman hidden in the amulet to find it. Now what would have happened to the money if the condo was enblocked?
#7 Is this the same diabolical mind behind the complex plot of capturing Tay Ping Hui, killing all his pals and making it look like he did it? Or is this the cop with the low IQ? Because I have no idea what a diabolical mind hopes to accomplish with all this hyperventilating and jumping up and down.
Oh Mediacorp. Why did you have to unravel so? Especially when Unriddle had so much potential?
The only saving grace of the finale is the build up to the sequel. If there ever is one. And if there ever is one, please Mediacorp, please mind the gaps because without the proof, what you get might not even be pudding.
So having watched a couple more episodes of Unriddle, I have to say that while the story looked compelling in the beginning, the series is undermined by murder investigations that are riddled (there’s that word again) with gaps.
Example #1:
So psychopath Shaun Chen believes that he caused the death of his tutor by paying off the boyfriend to leave her. And because of that he goes on a killing spree to assuage his guilt. And it is only after killing so many women that he discovers that the boyfriend didn’t even cash his cheque. And how did he know this? Because the police told him. Now wouldn’t all that psychosis have been avoided if he had only checked his bank statement?
So what is the moral of the story here? When you write a cheque, make sure you check that it’s been cashed before killing girls with moles.
Example #2:
Psychopath Shaun Chen has a gun. The police know he has a gun. But do they arrest him for that? Of course not silly. Otherwise where’s the story? Where’s the drama? Where’s the sense in that? Well, forgive me if I am mistaken but isn’t possession of a firearm against the law in Singapore? Isn’t that alone grounds for arrest? Wouldn’t it make more sense to arrest him for possession, let him fester in jail where he can’t kill more women with molds, gather evidence and then slap on an additional charge of multiple murders?
Well, apparently not because in the world of Mediacorp logic, it makes much more sense to let an armed suspect go on his merry way so he can kill more people until they find enough evidence to arrest him for murder.
In fact, it’s only when the police find a bullet that the gun suddenly becomes important. Why? Because they want to match the bullet to the gun. Not because it’s illegal to have a gun in the first place. Even so, they have to force him into using it by holding him at gunpoint. Only then can they take possession of the gun.
Er…people, ever heard of a warrant? I hear it’s more effective than a standoff in public.
Example #3
Rui En the supercop possesses many talents in this series. She can run, she can fight, she can shoot. She is so talented that all she needs to do is go to a crime scene and we get flashbacks of what happened (since it is not clear if these flashbacks are subjective or objective, it is logical to surmise that they are motivated by her since she is the one investigating and piecing the narrative together).
She is also so deadpan that more often than not she comes across as dead. Why this is so is an absolute mystery. Let’s call it the case of the impeding implants. Sounds like a job for the supercop, no?
BUT nothing beats her skill at forgery in last night’s episode. Rui En is such an expert forger that she expertly forges a letter after only 1 draft! In fact she has forged it so expertly that even psychopath Shaun Chen instantly falls for it. Mind you this is a guy who, by virtue of his obsession with said tutor must already be so familiar with the handwriting that he should be able to recognise a fake when he sees it. My my! Such skill, such talent, such expertise in one so young…it does indeed make you wonder: is it the sunglasses?
I have to say that while it is admirable that Mediacorp is trying out more complex plots, complex plots need more work and more attention to detail that current writing lacks. Otherwise the attempt at complexity is just contrived, with improbable resolutions that are simply unsatisfying.
I just hope that Mediacorp hasn’t made a mess of the storyline with the 5 cops and the missing money. Otherwise watching this riddle unriddle would be as gratifying as asking why the chicken crossed the street.
Having watched a few more episodes of Unriddle, I’ve come to the conclusion that the real riddle of Unriddle is simply this: why did they cast Rui En as Hu Xiaoman, head of CID?
I mean, seriously, does she look mature enough to play someone of that rank and experience? Does she even look old enough to be Tay Ping Hui’s peer? Just look at that goatee. It does make him look old enough to be her father, no?
In a series where nearly all the main characters are peers, Rui En sticks out like a veritable sore thumb, an upstart, a kid playing with guns. This is a role that needs someone with more maturity, someone who at least looks the part, someone like Zoe Tay, perhaps–the mutton, I mean, not the lamb (please see posts on The Ultimatum).
Instead, in Rui En’s hands, Hu Xiaoman simply lacks the gravitas and authority that comes with someone of her rank and position in such an organisation as the police force. Especially when she conveniently has all the answers, even without real evidence to piece things together.
It’s like she’s seen it all. It’s like she knows it all. It’s like she really has the experience and caught enough crooks to know just what psychopaths like Shaun Chen would do. I mean her deductions are so spot on how could we possibly doubt that she has all that knowledge that can only be backed by sheer experience?
How indeed. After all, she does LOOK the part doesn’t she?
With all that gun slinging in black tank tops and vests, and oh yes let’s not forget the sunglasses, how oh how could she possibly not look the part of the Head of CID? After all, isn’t that what ALL Unit heads at CID look like? Don’t ALL plainclothes police people wear their guns around their hips in public like they’re just belts? Don’t they ALL wear sunglasses like they’re from CSI Miami?
Well, maybe it’s just me but really, in trying too hard to be Angelina Jolie’s Tombraider, Rui En overshoots and delivers Horatio Caine instead.
So maybe instead of playing with riddles, let’s try a different game: can you spot the difference?
So Mediacorp has taken a biiiiiiiiiig risk and produced what is perhaps their most interesting drama series to date — the enigmatically titled Unriddle. In Mediacorp terms, Unriddle is almost avant garde simply because it pushes the limpid boundaries of television drama in Singapore, and the English Language; what is an “unriddle”? How do you “un” a riddle? Is it like trying to untable or unchair?
But seriously, having watched the first few episodes of the series, I must say that Unriddle has lots of potential even though rip-offs, from Infernal Affairs especially, are painfully obvious; actually I don’t think they’re even trying to hide the fact that they’re ripping off because the imitation is so blatant and thorough all that’s missing is a snitch planted by the bad guys and a cast to hide a tracking device. One almost expects to see Anthony Ho on the rooftop instead of Tay Ping Hui. But alas, instead of Tony Leung, all we get is Chen Liping. Instead of a cast, Chen Liping hides a phone in a meat bun. Yes, Mediacorp, that’s as clever as making a Mui Mui bag.
But I digress.
Built around the idea of a riddle/puzzle/mystery (although these terms do differ), each episode of Unriddle begins with its ending. This is one of the oldest tricks in the book, but it works well as a story hook and makes for interesting storytelling. The story itself is riddled (pardon the pun) with intriguing backstories and characters with dubious pasts and connections that are slowly revealed through flashbacks and different points of view.
This is perhaps the most visually interesting Mediacorp drama that I’ve seen because finally, finally here is a series that doesn’t rely completely on dialogue to tell the story. In fact, some scenes are virtually silent, devoid of conversation, relying almost entirely on the camera, editing and action. And yet, lo and behold! The story is clear. The audience understands. The audience likes.
Compared to the other Channel 8 dramas, where the camera is mostly upfront and still, Unriddle is a veritable visual feast with carefully composed shots, interesting camera angles and tracking shots that effectively convey tension and drama without the need for melodramatic dialogue. Here is where ripping off actually pays off because by so thoroughly copying Infernal Affairs, Unriddle also imitates (intentionally or otherwise) the film’s cinematic qualities; it’s maturity and sense of aesthetics.
There is no need for histrionics. There is no need for broad gestures. There is no need for melodrama. What a relief. And about time too because if like me you are already tired of the deluge of insipid dramas about babies and swimming that have been bludgeoning our screens lately (only at Mediacorp are competitive swimmers so pale that one must think they have superpowers too), Unriddle is like a breath of fresh air. It is, in a word, refreshing.
So, how do you “un” a riddle? You make the process of unriddling compelling. That’s not such a big mystery now is it, Mediacorp?
I read with some interest, Paul Chan’s blog post titled Step Aside! Here Comes… where he announces the arrival of Chen Hanwei’s “next breakthrough project” — The Best Things in Life. According to the blog, this “breakthrough” project will reap another Best Actor nomination for Chen Hanwei at next year’s Star Awards.
Apart from the fact that it seems a wee bit premature for the VP of Branding and Marketing for Channel 8 to be proclaiming next year’s nominations when this year’s awards have not been conferred, I can’t help but wonder exactly what constitutes a “breakthrough” in the Bagua/Mediacorp world? How will this project be yet another breakthrough for Chen Hanwei? What exactly is he breaking this time? Another tooth?
As some of the comments on the blog have noted, the role does not look new at all and relies greatly on what they call imaging. Indeed, if the last blockbuster, Together, is any indication of how Mediacorp defines acting, then it would not be remiss to surmise that according to Mediacorp, imaging IS acting. While costume and make-up are integral to character construction, they are there to add authenticity to the character an actor creates. They are not the raison d’état of character. Equating imaging with acting creates caricatures, not characters.
So unless Chen Hanwei plans to bring something more to the table besides a gaping tooth, this impending, so-called “breakthrough” is really not a breakthrough at all, but a reprisal. A repeat performance. And an over-the-top one at that, if his previous roles are anything to go by. As a “Sensible” comment on the blog noted, Chen Hanwei’s roles of late have been far from subtle.
Hence since the Star Awards’ Best Actor category is really a Best Caricature category then Mr Bagua is absolutely right. Let’s send in the clowns because Chen Hanwei certainly does take the cake on that count, doesn’t he?
If he wins, then for the sake of clarity, Mediacorp should really consider renaming the category. Otherwise, God forbid, someone somewhere might just mistake this artiste for a real actor. Or worse–the horror, the horror–mistake the Star Awards as actual standards by which the industry measures excellence in acting. Now we certainly wouldn’t want THAT to happen, would we?
Is it just me or is Together really boring? I finally watched a full episode and am thoroughly reminded of the reasons why I never did manage to sit through one in the first place. It is just s…o….s…l…o…w. Even the way Jeanette Aw speaks is s…o…s…l…o…w.
Ok, maybe I picked the wrong episode to watch, because everyone seems depressed and, except for the roughly edited fight sequence at the end, nothing actually happens. Really. Nothing. Nyet. Nada. Zip.
Depressed from feeling responsible for what happened to Tarzan, Dai Yang Tian sleeps all day. He sells fish (or so they tell us because we didn’t actually see it). He sleeps at the stall. He starts sewing. He breaks up with Jeanette Aw. She decides to marry someone called Pork Bones.
Zhang Zhen Huan accepts a bribe. He goes to the toilet. He wonders if he should accept the bribe even though he’d already accepted it. His girlfriend takes him to the big house her father bought for them. He goes to the jewelry shop. He has dinner with Eelyn Kok. He gives her a “diamond” necklace because, according to the subtitles, her birthday was timely. He goes home. Oh and Tarzan canceled his wedding plans and goes to look for the Mountain Wolf who busted his nuts.
Oh who cares? There’s so much intrigue and excitement in this story that I fell asleep somewhere between the toilet and Pork Bones. And when I woke up I realised I’d rather be watching lemmings jump off a cliff.
So it’s been a while since my last post, partly because I’ve been away a lot and partly because The Ultimatum just about turned me off local television. Plus, since then, there have been a slew of local series that have been less than inspiring. I mean, come on…The Polo Boys? What’s that about? The return of Phua Chu Kang? Yikes. Nothing much to see and much less to write about.
That is until I chanced upon an article in The Electronic New Paper yesterday, which asks an interesting question–”where are the Singaporean heart throbs?”
According to the article, the new “triumvirate”, as the writers call it, of young hunks at the moment are Dai Yang Tian, Elvin Ng and Zhang Zhen Huan. Really? Triumvirate? As in Caesar, Crassus and Pompey? I think not. Afterall, this trio aren’t exactly powerhouses. They’re flavours of the month.
Some would say that it’s only a matter of time before they take the reins from Tay Ping Hui and Christopher Lee. But I beg to differ; pecs and abs and a pretty face are simply not enough to make a heart throb.
If they were, then The Polo Boys would be a guilty-pleasure laden runaway success, wouldn’t it? After all, with so many pretty boys all in a row, how could it be such an abysmal flop? (If you don’t believe me, check the ratings. It really be a dud).
Perhaps what’s needed is star appeal. And star appeal is about more than pecs and abs and a pretty face. To really separate the men from the boys, you need acting chops. You need screen presence.
After watching a few episodes of Together, I have to say the boys have just about as much screen presence as a gnat. For instance, take Zhang Zhen Huan. If you blink, you might just miss him. He seems like a nice enough guy and he certainly plays a lot of these nice guy roles, but an actor who does not make his presence felt is just a face in the crowd.
And what about the Blistering Barnacle that is Elvin Ng? While there’s a noticeable lack of glares and flared nostrils this time, his bumbling bafoon in Together is an absolute dead ringer for Archie’s friend, Moose.
D-U-H...
Think about it: if the series was in English, Elvin’s sentences would be punctuated with “D-U-H.” Can’t you just hear it? Especially with that voice?
While there is certainly nothing wrong with channeling Moose, there’s something not quite right as well if all you do is channel Moose. Playing caricatures doesn’t a leading man make. Heck, even Tarzan has Lord Greystoke.
And what about Dai Yang Tian, the boy some say would be king? He can speak Mandarin as easily as he can sneeze. Great. And this is a plum role, with more dialogue than his erstwhile Japanese photographer in The Little Nonya. Even better. In fact, he has the best role of the lot. But, in his hands, Lin Xiao Bei is uninteresting. There’s something lacking; be it character complexity or simple screen presence or both. This is a boy playing a man’s game. He is all flailing arms and legs. He does not command the scene. He says the lines but he is not compelling. He has no presence and he does not carry the series, despite the plum-ness and significance of the role.
Tay Ping Hui and Christopher Lee can carry a series. These three boys cannot.
So what’s become of this triumvirate? Well, they ain’t no juggernauts. They are Archie, Jughead and Moose.
Wow, I go away for 2 weeks and not only did The Ultimatum finally end, but the presses have also been abuzz about it’s flopping. Isn’t it funny that the only newsworthy thing about this series is its abject failure? Why is that even newsworthy? From the buzz, one would think that Mediacorp has never made a flop before (yeah right). Or is it because this flop was so unexpected–with all the big guns deployed to this project, HOW could it possibly fail? Yes, how indeed (see posts below for ideas).
But more interesting than it’s failure is how that failure is justified.
There are those who blame the script, as some so-called “insiders” are wont to do. Sure, the script is horribly written and completely unoriginal. You’ll get no argument from me about that (see previous posts). But, is it the fault of the writer for writing a bad script or the person/people who approved the project based on that badly written and unoriginal script? Also, the script is really only what’s written on the page. It is the director’s vision that ultimately drives the project. So, unless you are the kind of director that literally only shoots what’s on the page and has no vision, no creative input, then yes it is the fault of the writer for not writing something better for you to shoot.
Also, there are those who blame the actors. Part of the reason why this flop is even newsworthy is because of the big names involved. According to the Chinese press, one “insider” even went so far as to say that “The Ultimatum’s ratings loss to The Little Nonya shows that the young ones are able to carry a show and get good ratings.” Really? How is that so when The Ultimatum was the series that separated the men from the boys? The goats from the sheep? It was the handful of experienced actors (Zoe Tay and Li Nanxing absolutely not included–see previous posts) that carried the series, while the “young ones” flopped around in loud voices and flared nostrils and sucked up all the oxygen in the scene. Like I said, even Chen Shucheng’s eyelids did a better job than the upstarts. In short, all the “young ones” did not deliver.
On the other hand, The Little Nonya was not a series made up entirely of upstarts. The backbone of the series were the experienced supporting cast who made the story more interesting than it would have been if all it had were the saccharine Jeanette Aw, the stiff and awkward Dai Yang Tian, and the thoroughly bland and predictable Joanne Peh, just to name a few.
These are the usual rants. We’ve heard them before. However, it is the myriad justifications from senior Mediacorp staffers that makes it is painfully obvious that the people in charge are either clueless or have serious delusions about what it is that they produce. No wonder The Ultimatum is such a flop.
According to the Sunday Times’ Life!, Chia Men Yiang, Mediacorp’s Senior Executive Producer (EP) for Chinese drama, “admits that the producers might have misjudged Singaporeans’ appetite for the exotic.” Exotic? What on earth was exotic about The Ultimatum? Zoe Tay’s bubble skirt? Whatever delusions of grandeur this EP may have about her…er…”talents”, it is way past time for a reality check. There is nothing exotic about The Ultimatum so please stop flattering yourself. You are not some misunderstood artist. You made a dud so live with it and stop blaming the audience for not being able to appreciate the kind of exotica that only exists in your mind.
In an interview in a Chinese press, Ms Kok Leng Song, Senior AVP of Mediacorp’s Chinese Drama said that the ratings were lower than expected because of the show’s genre. And the failure of The Ultimatum shows that people still preferred family dramas. Hmm…let me get this straight. Mediacorp’s SENIOR AVP of Chinese Drama thinks that The Ultimatum is NOT a family drama even though it ONLY revolves around family? One family in particular? How can that be? Surely of all the people in the world, this person must know what a family drama is. She must know that a family drama revolves around family, right? After all, she IS the Senior AVP of Chinese Drama, isn’t she? Surely Mediacorp would not have someone so clueless helming this division would they?
Well, think again because she goes on to add that “before, family dramas always had good ratings. Local audiences still preferred to watch family dramas that are closer to their lives. So for a period of time, we were almost producing only family dramas. But we received some unhappiness (sic) with this, so we decided to do something that is quite different.” Say what? In what way is The Ultimatum different? Is it different because it has a badly written script? Is it different because it was badly told? Is it different because of the poor choice of costumes? Or is it different because of the (poor) use of HD? Or is it different because it was simply poorly thought out and badly executed?
And, as if the above were not enough, this Senior AVP also says that there are parts in The Ultimatum that are more melodramatic. Because of this, it would be “understandable” if the audience is not able to identify with it or be drawn into the story. Er, excuse me but how do you quantify “more melodramatic” when this series is ENTIRELY melodramatic? Is it when Elvin Ng flares his nostril or when Felicia Chin shouts at Tay Ping Hui? Or is it when Zoe Tay deliberately shakes her gun at Fann Wong in the field of lallang like she’s got parkinson’s? As it stands the melodrama in this series is so high pitched, one cannot imagine how it could be “more melodramatic.” Perhaps she’s trying to say that there are parts in the story that are over the top? Completely unrealistic? Implausible? Ridiculous? Badly thought out? Hmm…if that is so then please learn to call a spade a spade and stop using words you don’t understand.
Or perhaps you’re trying to say that this series failed because of SOME more melodramatic parts? That if it weren’t for these dastardly parts, the series would have been a roaring success because everything else was done so perfectly right? Well, since the logic of what you’ve said doesn’t suggest otherwise, then I recommend you join your friend Ms EP and get a reality check.
The reality is that you’ve made a dud. And the audience knows it. And now it’s a hot potato that no one wants. So let’s pass the buck. Let’s pretend we made something so highly evolved, that the audience isn’t mature enough to get it. Yes, let’s say it’s exotic. Let’s say the audience doesn’t understand the melodrama. Let’s blame the audience for their lack of sophistication and maturity. After all, they can’t defend themselves. Right?
Wrong. If anything, this fiasco shows that the audience is mature enough to know when they’ve been fed something bad. We’re way ahead of you, Mediacorp. And it’s about time you keep up. Perhaps the way to start is to make sure that the people you put in charge of making drama really know how to make drama because it is obvious that the ones currently at the helm do not. How could they when they do not even know what exotic or melodrama are? How could they if they do not even know that they’ve made a family drama? What did they think The Ultimatum was? A mystery?
