Singapore Dreaming

 Reviewing ‘Singapore Dreaming’ : How Much Has Really Changed?

Tackling the issue of class in local films is a difficult subject. As the backlash towards shows like Crazy Rich Asians and Singapore Social has demonstrated, Singaporeans can be sensitive and particular towards the portrayal of class. 

What’s beautiful about the film is the complexity of its characters: not all of them pursue this ideal ardently. Strikingly, the mother (Siew Luan) and the fiancée (Irene) showcase the collateral damage inflicted due to the actions of their respective partners. 

Some of the characters acknowledge the necessity of materialistic wealth but resist it in their own ways, as portrayed by the married couple (Mei and CK). Mei is driven to desperation out of her desire to give her child a lavish upbringing, while her husband CK is pulled along reluctantly, and castigated by her for not acceding to the reality of the 5 C’s. 

There are many strands of the movie that I admire. Read simplistically, the show may seem to portend certain platitudes: 

i) wealth does not beget happiness;

ii) the chase for unbridled wealth can destroy your personal relationships,

iii) when it comes down to it, family is most important. 

You would expect this film to receive more praise from members of the establishment—it only received an endorsement from former President, S.R. Nathan—but I suspect that the main reason it did not is that the show’s ultimate message is critical of the existence of class itself. 

And the unfortunate truth is intentionally or not, the harmful effects of the class divide continue to be reinforced by the establishment. 

Throughout the film, the ubiquitous poignancy of class status is portrayed vividly by the characters who aspire to climb up the social ladder. 

When the father figure (Poh Huat) finally has an opportunity to obtain a country club membership, he is portrayed ruefully as a fish out of water. He lacks the linguistic polish (as his English isn’t refined), he buys a suit and gets chastised by his wife for wearing it in the hot weather, and he reinforces this by offering to give more money than his inexperienced son (Seng) asked for in building a business. He delivers the line, “Want to start a business, must go big!” with voracity, underlining that it is not enough to be meekly successful; you have to go bigger than everyone else. 

Like father like son, Seng echoes this sentiment when he explains to his fiancee why he buys a luxurious car despite not working. 

The allure of country club memberships may not be as relevant anymore. According to this article, millennials, unlike our forefathers, no longer rely on country clubs for their facilities or to secure their social status. But it doesn’t mean social status isn’t attractive altogether. People now just rely on modern means (like filling your Instagram with pictures of your trip to Maldives, thousand dollar sneakers, and your day at an exclusive golf course).

In other words, Poh Huat, like you and I, understands that the lower class “have to be somebody else” to blend in with the upper class. 

While the above speaks to the intense social pressure to look rich, the other characters face the material reality of being the underclass. Despite being physically encumbered due to her pregnancy, and having to sort out her father’s funeral, Mei gets pushed around and undermined by her boss and his wife. Seng comes back to Singapore from America, misled by those around him into believing that studying for an American degree is all it takes to succeed, but is crushed to find out a non-Ivy league degree amounts to nothing in our little red dot. 

To compound matters for Mei, her husband CK wonders if she still respects him for not bringing back enough money from his insurance job. There isn’t really a moral resolution for this character’s arc since the couple is saved by the generous amount of money left behind by Mei’s mother. 

But this situation is representative of a very real moral dilemma: how do we reckon with the social expectation that the man should be the major bread-winner? Is it simply a matter of him “not working hard enough” as is persistently rationalised by Mei?  

In such an environment, it becomes easier to rationalise that people like CK are lazy and not working hard enough. Instead of examining the viability and emotional well-being of people who work in these industries, we criticise others for not being diligent enough to be their own boss, and we turn on our own family members for not becoming employee of the year.  

And what happens to those who don’t follow these aspirations? 

Another crucial aspect of the film is that most of the characters have had their aspirations questioned. The emotional resolution for them is often a bittersweet one as everyone pays a price in their own way.

For Irene, her ambition to get married and have a child represents the prototypical Singaporean female’s dream. Very bluntly, the film states that she is approaching her 30s and has a penchant for taking photos of children in public. Demonstrating her utmost fidelity to Seng by supporting his education with her own money, she is unfortunately devastated after finding out about his deceitful act and leaves the family.

For Siew Luan, not only does she lose her husband Poh Huat unexpectedly, she is confronted with the disturbing fact that he has been harbouring another family, and has to contend with her two dueling children for the inheritance money. She puts up an act for Seng, leaving him to wallow in his own financial troubles, and sneaks away to follow her own life in Malaysia unbeknownst to her children. 

In both instances, we see rather uncharacteristic outcomes for a family-positive film. Irene forsakes her dream of a family as she can’t forgive Seng. Irene leaves her children to chase her own dreams, on the one hand leaving Seng in the lurch somewhat as a punishment and on the other, giving financial support to her husband’s other family. 

But this is also why I had the greatest sympathy for her as throughout the film, she is chided by everyone around her; she can’t speak English, she doesn’t relate to their aspirations to be rich, and she is perceived to be only good for housekeeping (with the added emphasis of making herbal tea). Her final act of rebellion is poetic justice for those who have overlooked her role, and certainly not something most people would approve of.

Imagine that. Your mother leaving the family to chase her own dreams, leaving her son to drown in his financial debts. The picture is so at odds with the government’s policy stance of family “as the first line of care and support.” 

Yet, with declining nuclear families and increasing singlehood, the moral dimensions of this question has made it an imperative one for us. Is relying on extended kin like nephews and cousins the answer? It might have been a solution in a distant past when the cost of living was more equitable. But with increasing fragmentation of the extended family unit, this seems unlikely.

There are moments within the film that hearken back to the notion that family is most important, such as when Mei and Seng poignantly recall a childhood memory. Siew Luan’s concluding arc also illustrates that discovering ourselves is what ultimately counts. This is how we build on our uniqueness and authenticity if we are able to discard the blinders of class and materialism.

Singapore Dreaming is the brainchild of Colin Goh and Yen Yen Woo. It’s their dream of a Singapore who can overcome her myopia of worshipping the materialistic god. 

After all, no two dreams are alike. Perhaps if we have a Singapore that provides for all aspirations, we can dream of a better Singapore.