The photo studio is often freezing. Snaking its way against the ceiling, a flexible ductwork coughs out cold air through two off-white vents in the room, forcing human skin to break into tiny bumps or the involuntary micro-movements when you’re posing.
According to those who were present, on the day of his shoot, Adrian Pang was punctual. A polite knock on the door before he entered the studio—his mop of salt-and-pepper hair1 bopping—grinning; his eyes a-twinkle. He introduced himself (as though no one knew who this veteran of the TV and film landscape was). Pang is charming. Effortlessly so. He makes you feel like you’re reacquainted with a long-lost friend.
And a warmth fills the air-conditioned space.
A lot can happen in 60 years. Take Singapore as an example. One day, you’re part of the Malaysian Federation2 and the next, you’re ousted. The city-state had to declare itself as an independent nation and with a future filled with uncertainties, Singapore had to take a step into the dark. But shrewd governance and savvy alliances with other countries propelled Singapore to an economic powerhouse.
The same can be said for a Martell cognac. The terroir used to grow the grapes that are harvested for distillation, those initial steps are important, yes but it is the ageing portion that requires the most oversight. The eaux-de-vie used for the average cognac is kept in French oak barrels for a minimum of two years; the longer it’s kept in the barrel, the more complex the flavours3.
A human experience, from cradle to grave, is a series of learning and growth. At 594, Pang’s life is no different. His own existence—unique and singular—is a rollercoaster ride: plenty of highs but many stomach-dropping lows (that we’ll get to later).
Born in Melaka, Pang emigrated to Singapore with his family at five. He described his formative years as a “raging monster of a teenager wanting to have his own way”. Educated at Anglo-Chinese School, he was cast in the musical Oliver! and was taken by the freedom of the stage. It was a form of escapism for him; where the emotionally-sensitive Pang saw as a way for him to “process whatever [he] was not able to in real life”.
Acting would be Pang’s lifeline, a buoy that he’d grasp onto but he would cast it aside when he left for the UK to study law. The decision wasn’t entirely voluntary. Guilted by filial piety, Pang wanted to give it an all-out effort to pursue a respectable profession, one that would make his parents proud.
And yet.
Pang can’t shake the allure of the acting world. During his tenure at the University of Keele, Pang was still auditioning and acting in a myriad of productions. He’d graduated with a law degree but he would enrol at the ARTTS International5 for a year before moving to London in 1992 to pursue acting.
For the next nine years, Pang cut his teeth in the UK acting scene and would occasionally return home for acting gigs. It was a modest living.
“Details are embargoed at the moment. I mean, I could tell you, but my wife would have to kill me.”
It was during that time that Pang would meet his wife. It was winter in London, as he tells it, when Glen Goei introduced Tracie, a stage manager, to a drunk and moody Pang, who doesn’t remember the conversation.6 Five months later, Tracie would see Pang after the staging of Into the Woods, directed by Goei. Sparks fly from this second encounter. They would be married a year-and-a-half later with Goei as Pang’s best man.
During the filming of Spy Game, Pang was offered to join a new TV station in Singapore called MediaWorks. Pang returned home and quickly blew up through his appearances in MediaWorks programmes. When Mediacorp absorbed MediaWorks, Pang became a mainstay on the former's expansive line-up before leaving in 2010 to launch Pangdemonium7, a drama company, with Tracie.
Mounting a theatre company in Singapore is like building a sandcastle during high tide. Audiences are fickle. Budgets are tight. Grants are scarce. OB markers abound. But Pangdemonium has been a bastion of bold, contemporary theatre. The work is sharp, unflinching; local without the pandering. If “art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”, then Pandemonium finds itself confidently in that chewy centre.
Pangdemonium recently staged Singapore, Michigan. Inspired by the ghost town of the same name, the original production is a playwright Ong Chong An’s first script about Singapore’s exceptionalism and privilege.
“[Singapore, Michigan] was developed over two arduous years under our New Works Lab [programme],” Pang says. “We also have several other new works being developed, to be staged over the next few years.”
Pressed on what we can expect to see and you get: “Details are embargoed at the moment. I mean, I could tell you, but my wife would have to kill me.”
Pang can be glib in his replies. He cites astonishment that he’s still acting, when he’s asked if there are still surprises left in the acting world. But there was no reason for him to be concerned about his longevity as a thespian.
So what can 59 years yield? A drama company that is still going strong; a long list of acting credits that is still being written; 30 years of marriage to a woman that Pang still finds “tall and winsome”; two brilliant boys; accolades and love. He found acting and it saved him.
There are many highs in Adrian Pang’s life.
And then there are the lows.
Depression is a creeping thing. It is a patient beast that you’ll never see coming until you feel the first nicks of its jaws in your neck.
“I never even admitted to myself that I struggle with depression until I was in my mid-50s,” Pang says. He had discussed about this at length in an interview with The Straits Times: when COVID-19 hit, theatres were closed, acting gigs dried up. As someone who had made acting his lifelong calling, his identity; if he couldn’t act, what is he?8
Rudderless, Pang spiralled. But with the support of his family, he started seeing a therapist. “Reboot. Reinvent. Rebirth.” As Pang says, he had to decide in how he saw the world and to deal with “people, places and things”. The darkness lifted but it never left.
At the tail end of COVID, as a sign of commitment, Pang added a phoenix tattoo to his right arm.9 “[The] symbol of the phoenix rising from the ashes [that’s what] I have been trying to do. An overhaul of my entire being.”
“Ask for help. Scream for help. And if you are aware of someone who is going through a hard time, just be present for them, even just to say, ‘I hear you, and I am here for you.’ You could save a life."
These days, he doesn't define himself as an “actor”. These days, he sees himself as a husband, father, son, brother and a friend; someone who occasionally “acts”.
In accepting his diagnosis, Pang is more open with his depression and how he lives with it. Pangdemonium has produced several works dealing with mental health. “It’s such a misunderstood thing,” Pang adds. “Because each individual is unique, there’s no one-size-fits-all ‘solution’. [The] struggle can be a very lonely experience.”
That’s why he talks about it so freely. Every time it’s uttered, you drag it into the light, naked and vulnerable. The taboo fades.
“Ask for help. Scream for help. And if you are aware of someone who is going through a hard time, just be present for them, even just to say, ‘I hear you, and I am here for you.’ You could save a life."10
In a reply to a follow-up question about whether as an actor, it is easier for Pang to mask his depression: “In daily life, one has to fight through the depression/anxiety to get on with everyday things and be in constant contact with people. And in the course of my work, I have to deal with that every day, often having to put on my 'game face' when all I want to do is hide. That can be especially hard on days when it’s almost impossible to get out of bed to face the world. I’m having one of those days today! Yay!”
For someone with depression, it can feel Sisyphean, the thought of another day of starting over—the slog; the pressure; the pervasive gnawing of "how anything you do ultimately amounts to zip". Nothing will change. But the arrival of one more dawn is a chance for continuance.
One more opportunity to get up, to kiss your loved ones, to work, to live. Another day to keep moving, one foot after another and another, as depression weakly nips at your heels.
Photography and Videography: Jaya Khidir
Creative Direction: Asri Jasman
Styling: Vanessa Ng
Grooming: Kat Zhang at THE SUBURBS STUDIO
Photography Assistant: Justin Neo
Styling Assistants: Naysa Subba and Quek Yu Tong
