Tribute to a master thespian

KEINO SWAMBER is a news editor at Newsday. A version of this piece first appeared on his Facebook page.

I was in two minds about writing this piece. I don’t know why, but I find that as I get older I feel less inclined to share personal thoughts on social media. But recent events have also brought home to me the importance of our histories being documented in one form or another.

Now that Raymond Choo Kong has been laid to rest, I believe I am now in a better frame of mind to speak about my interaction with him.

I first came into Raymond’s presence somewhere around 2005 or 2006, when I accompanied my friend Ronald De Suze to a cast party in Glencoe (if my memory serves me right). Ronald had already done some work with Raymond. Also at that cast party were actors Penelope Spencer, Debra Boucaud-Mason and Richard Ragoobarsingh, I believe.

Internally, I was fanboying so hard – but I kept it cool externally. These were people who, as a young aspiring actor, I saw on television and on stage, and I wanted to have that kind of recognition.

At that time I had only acted in plays (apart from those in school and church) with the San Fernando City Theatre Movement under Shane Bickram, Presentation College Mixed Choir under Cynthia Lee Mack, and Tête-à-Tête Theatre under Eric Barry.

I was eventually elected to the executive of the National Drama Association and my interactions with Raymond became quite frequent to the point where he knew my name.

My first experience on a “town” stage was in 2004 in Earl Warner’s ManTalk, directed by the brilliant Mervyn de Goeas. I went on to do much more work after that – most of it serious drama and musicals, except for Derek Walcott’s Beef, No Chicken, also directed by Mervyn. It was the closest I came to comedy since I had done The Love Nest with Bickram in 1991.

At one point in time, when Raymond was producing farces, aka sex comedies, I was in an environment which viewed those plays as “lesser than” as far as "theatre" was concerned, and I bought into that.

But there came a time when I recognised it as much more than that and I wanted to explore it and experience the process involved. I kept saying to myself, “Raymond has seen me in plays, so how come he has never called me?”

Fast forward to 2015 and I was wrapping up production of Errol John’s Moon on a Rainbow Shawl at the Little Carib Theatre (also directed by Mervyn) when I got a phone call. I had Raymond’s number saved so I knew who was calling.

I said hello, and the voice on the other end said, “Is this Keino Swamber?” I answered in the affirmative.

RCK: “This is Raymond Choo Kong. I am doing this play and was wondering if you would be interested in a role I think you would be good for."

ME: (Trying to keep it cool) “Well, yes, I am interested.”

RCK: “Well, you know I do comedies...I have seen you in some things – how good are you at comedy?”

ME: “Well, I see it as a chef being given a chicken and a recipe to prepare that chicken in a different way. So I think I have some tools already, and I can follow directions very well.”

RCK: “(laughter) "I like that answer. When would you be available to attend a reading?”

I got to the reading about a week later and was given the script for Wife Swap – a play about two couples whose children started dating each other while, unbeknown to everyone, the adults knew each other “quite well.”

The lessons started from there. During the rehearsals I made some personal choices which seemed to find favour with Raymond.

RCK: (brushing his hair back with his hand) “So you have some comedy in you!"

That was all the validation I needed to continue.

I went on to do Play Yourself Prime Minister as his Minister of Finance, then Death at a Funeral, Scrooge and Happy Anniversary, written by Theresa Awai and directed by Raymond.

On each occasion, Raymond called on his actors to give an “honest interpretation” of the characters. “You have to be present at all times.” “Live in the moment.” “Don’t be overindulgent.”

I remember one occasion when, as happens with every actor from time to time, his mind went blank on stage while we were in a scene together, but we eventually got back on track. The next day, while in circle before the next show, we hugged each other and he said, “Redeem yourself.” I laughed quite heartily.

Today, I can say Raymond trusted and respected me as an actor.

If there is one thing I could take away from my experience with Raymond, it’s patience.

Many times, while doing a scene with a less experienced fellow actor who was not “getting it,” I would be silently frustrated, since, to me, the directions were easy to follow. And although Raymond would get exasperated at times, he remained patient. Such is the mark of a great teacher.

Raymond’s murder gutted me.

The miscreant/s who snuffed out his life may have ended his ability to continue making others laugh, but what he has left with us will continue to live on.

Sail on, Raymond, and thank you for your love and guidance and for taking a chance on me.