We sat down with Elisabeth Gunawan, and her creative team, who returns with a thrilling and explorative piece that immerses audiences in an apocalyptic future this Autumn.
Through the lens of AI, Stampin’ in the Graveyard uses headphones, technology, live music, and movement to look at what non-human imagination can reveal about the inheritance of lived experiences of migration and rootlessness.
How did your personal experiences with migration and rootlessness influence the creation of Stampin’ in the Graveyard and shape the story of ROSE?
I’m Chinese-Indonesian, my parents, grandparents and great grandparents have been migrants, refugees and citizens, at turns. In May 1998, amidst widespread riots targeting ethnic Chinese communities and great political instability in Indonesia, my entire family attempted to emigrate to the United States, before eventually returning to a very different Jakarta, to rebuild their life there. Although Indonesia is meant to be my homeland, I have never felt like I belonged there. I chose to live in the UK because it’s the place where I am able to legally exist, create as an artist, and have a degree of individual freedom to be the person that I am. My story and this show, brings to attention that belonging and identity are fractured and complex, and ultimately shaped by the stories we tell ourselves.
In Stampin’ in the Graveyard, ROSE is the last remaining being on a post-apocalyptic earth—the ultimate loss of home. From there, she is forced to piece together the memories that remain from the humans who created her, in search of meaning, identity and a sense of belonging. Likewise, it’s an invitation for all of us to wrestle with those questions.
What role does Artificial Intelligence play in exploring human relationships and collective memory within the piece, and how does ROSE’s character reflect this theme?
Ultimately, I think of AI as a consolidation of human imagination, scaled to infinity. We have fed these models so much data about our lives and our worlds, and it has in turn reflected back our essence, whether we like it or not.
What does it say about humans, that we have basically created machines that are very good at imitating us and that are constantly trying to figure out what relationship to have with us? Consider the AI most of us co-exist with: chatbots. Did you know that ChatGPT will be better at solving Math problems if you tell it to pretend it’s in a thriller? Or, that AI performs better in December than May because it has internalised the idea of a summer holiday?
What does it say about us that once all our interactions, books, news sources, conversations, and every bit of the internet has been churned through these models, the result is a machine that incessantly tries to be in relationship with you?
I believe that AI is revealing what human society truly runs on—our irrevocable and insatiable need to be in relationship with one another—to love and to be loved—even when we do not fully understand what that means.What does that say about the fundamental fibre of human society and humanity itself?
Can you elaborate on how the interactive technologies and live elements—such as music and movement—enhance the audience’s immersive experience and emotional connection to the story?
The show began as a concept album, and the power of sound and music to evoke emotions was always a crucial part of the show! Matej was the one who encouraged me to think big and to do it with silent disco headphones, which completely transforms the way an audience would experience the piece! Instead of looking from a distance, the audience is placed right in the middle of the memories and the action. It’s truly an invitation to step into lived experiences that may be unfamiliar. As we staged the scenes and built the physical choreography, we wanted it to precisely enhance the audience’s immersion in the memories and the sounds. It turns out, you can rent headphones for about £3-4 per person. We don’t have the money for binaural microphones, but a stereo recording does most of the same. This show is truly a fringe take on immersive, and resourcefulness is not an obstacle but part of the rough beauty of the show!
The piece confronts themes of loss, loneliness, and belonging. How do you approach these heavy subjects in a way that also conveys resilience and hope?
In some ways, the concept album was borne out of a kind of grief. Stampin’ in the Graveyard was my pandemic project. I had only been in England for 7 months when the whole world went into lockdown, and it became clear that wherever we would be, we’d be hunkering down for a while. I made a very sober decision (in spite of my family’s protests) not to return to Southeast Asia. That reckoning–the loss of home, the realisation that home was never quite there, and the struggle of belonging–was a big personal mikestone. Being honest about my lack of belonging in any of these places, whether in Indonesia or in England, is the first step towards one day, discovering home. Also, this grief has also humbled me and given me a perspective and a solidarity of the greater suffering endured by many others, in these times that feel like the end of times.
Matej, you mention that the use of technology isn’t just for spectacle. Could you explain how it helps deepen the audience’s connection to the characters and themes?
By incorporating headphones and immersive sound designs, we can place the audience directly into the emotional and sensory world of the characters. The sounds of different worlds and intimate human moments—like whispers, footsteps, or the familiar beeping of the train doors before they close!—become highly personal when delivered directly to each audience member’s ears.
We’re able to bypass the traditional distance between the stage and the audience, creating an almost one-on-one connection with the character. The audience isn’t just watching the performance; they are feeling it with the heightened immediacy that sound provides. It allows us to blur the boundaries between reality and fiction, making the audience identify with these two characters who are usually marginalised as migrants and outsiders.
How does the collaborative, migrant-led creative process at Saksi Bisou contribute to the storytelling, and what challenges or unique insights did this bring to the development of the play?
Matej is Slovak, Orest is Ukrainian, Mona is from Seychelles by way of Germany, Natalia is half Polish half Chinese, Hui is Taiwanese. None of us live in the country where we were born or from! We all have an understanding of the nuances, vulnerabilities and the beauty of a migramt experience, so there is a common understanding of the intangible nostalgia of the piece. I love working in a diverse team because it forces you to throw your preconceived habits and biases out the window! What has been most beautiful is the intentionality with which we have built a way of communicating and collaborating.