“Who? Who will listen to me?” emoted Shangari Subramaniam, in “Painted Faces”, a ten-minute monologue about a Malayalee woman forced to leave her job at a law firm (“I was this close to making partner!”) at the prospect of marriage. Part rant, part melodramatic posturing, the piece whinged through familiar territory: soon an abusive husband was demanding his dinner, accusing his hapless spouse of spending his money (“And I was earning more than him before he forced me to quit!”), and hitting her when she dared to complain.

Near the beginning, Shangari sat at an imaginary bureau and said: “I wear make-up not because I’m vain, but for a very good reason.” We saw the reason for her cosmetic cover-up coming from ways away. How could we not? Domestic abuse, as an issue, is so often manhandled by histrionics (as opposed to considered, sympathetic portraiture) that we yawn at the tropes.

That being said, this is a case for leniency: Shangari’s an amateur, first-time performer -- and the fortitude required for presenting new work, especially at an institution as intimidating as KLPac, should be acknowledged.

As is KLPac’s own efforts at opening its doors. “Painted Faces” was first of a quartet of pieces featured in the inaugural showcase of “The Platform”, KLPac’s new tack at egalitarian theatre, which will present short stage vignettes every first Monday of 2008’s 12 months. The programme’s tagline is confrontational: “The Stage Is Set. Are You?” The staging is bare-boned (KLPac artistic director Joe Hasham: “We provide a table and chairs; you bring your own props,”), and the rules simple: to participate, you submit a text that has not previously been published or performed; if you’re an old hand in the business, you need to do something you’re not known for.

“Harith Iskander would have to do something like physical theatre, for example,” director Gavin Yap said, by way of introducing his brainchild. The idea for a theatrical open-mic had its genesis in Gavin’s college days, where young theatre students organised similar amusements. “We pretentiously called it “Second Sight’, or ‘Split Second’. Some shit like that,” Gavin said. “Some of the stuff I saw in that was brilliant, and some of it wasn’t -- but it didn’t matter.” It was all about getting people to try out new stuff, and serendipitously stumbling across genius. To that end, Gavin and Joe aren’t providing any directorial input to the people and stuff they are now presenting us.

Admission is free, thankfully. Every piece in “The Platform” ’s January showing was cringe-worthy: Lim Yoke Kiaw’s “WoffiCe” -- an employee bitching about his boss in a toilet stall, with the employer in question standing right outside -- was a single-laugh gag extended well beyond the 30 seconds it deserved; Tan Zi Hao’s emokid allegory “Pity The Black Who Pities The Green” -- a boy has a green apple; his love interest wants a red apple; there is no red paint, but a handy pen-knife -- was predictably emo and unintentionally funny; Mark Beau de Silva’s “Queens” -- man-on-man romance, grinding, and saunas -- present gay men as over-the-top, camp and promiscuous: a standard and disrespectful stereotype.

Still: “A” for effort -- except for Mark; he’s not new, and he should know better.

“The Platform” is a great idea, since it is not only a space but a project with discernable goals: the best of each showcase get to work with each other at the end of the year, this time with (much needed) artistic advice from the KLPac team. In the meantime, the trick is to keep at it. Fling enough muck and something good’s bound to stick.

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Zedeck Siew writes for Kakiseni. Yasmin Zetti Martin takes photos and thinks up witty captions.

The Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre’s “The Platform”, presented by Joe Hasham and Gavin Yap, happens every first Monday of the month at the Indicine. One piece will be singled out at the end of every showcase; come year’s end, all selected individuals will be given the opportunity of collaborating with each other to stage their own production.