The vengeful Greek tales of Medea and Medusa have in recent years been rehabilitated globally as feminist sagas of justified rage. Now, Singapore performer Claire Teo, who is blind, has created a localised version full of shock and drama, set in an HDB estate.

Far from jumping on a bandwagon, Monstress – an Esplanade co-production with Teo and Art:Dis – is a long-simmering cry of rage by the 27-year-old artist.

At non-profit organisation Art:Dis’ space in Bukit Merah, she says of her debut play: “It was a consolidation of all the things that I’ve been passionate and angry about.”

Monstress plays as part of the Esplanade’s The Studios season from Sept 4 to 6.

Teo’s story of a sexually assaulted blind girl and a single-mother neighbour increasingly frustrated with caring for her autistic son takes some longstanding complaints of Singapore society by its horns. The feminist element is unimpeachable – “We unfairly shame and fear women who question” – but it is equally an indictment of the non-confrontational ethos baked into Singaporeans’ DNA.

In 2023, a father who claimed to have killed his 11-year-old twin sons with autism to alleviate his wife’s burdens was sentenced to 14 years in jail. “I dug deeper, and realised that there are a lot more cases overseas,” Teo says when asked if these cases in the news spurred her play. “I wondered how many caregivers struggle with this to escape the isolation. How can we offer a space or a community that is ready to offer support before it’s too late?”

Monstress is born of deep personal experience. After a first staging in March 2025 of a version she co-wrote with Jean Tay, Teo – who also works at a residence for girls aged 15 to 21 who have had adverse experiences such as abuse, parent separation, and addiction – felt a responsibility to rewrite it.

She has given the play’s character with autism a greater voice – a Herculean task, to cite another Greek figure. Teo has a brother with autism. Growing up, Teo says she was bullied a lot and was left doubly indignant when those who had the power to stop the incidents hid her away rather than confronted her bullies.

“It’s about being accountable to the people I’m talking about,” she says of her “impatient” desire to see her iteration staged. “Because as much as this is fiction, we cannot run away from the fact that this is real.

“No one else can represent the disabled community. I cannot, but I can try, because I’m part of this community.”

The narrative, Teo says, has been broadened through a collaborative process with fellow Monstress actors Oon Shu An, Syarifuddin Sahari and Sindhura Kalidas, directed by Yvan Karlsson. Oon once intervened when she came across a couple where the woman was shouting, “Get your hands off me.”

“A lot of times we want to help, and yet, we stop ourselves, because we don’t know the full picture or feel we might make things worse,” Teo says. In this case, the woman had taken the man’s phone. “It’s about being brave. There also should not be any violence, right?”

Is the solution more kaypoh-ness? “I guess,” she says hesitantly, before affirming: “I think yes. Questioning hurts no one, though of course, where does your intention lie?” She begins from first principles: “You cannot expect victims to ask. They are already in need and they are already crying out, whether you are hearing it and seeing it or not. Just an offer can change someone’s life.”

Teo, better known as a singer and performer rather than playwright, suggests an ideal world may be one in which she no longer has to write. Acting is her first love and she sought to create shows only because she felt responsibility to speak out and because “no one was going to hire me”.

She says with some regret: “One day, I really hope that I can just be an actor and we can can the whole ‘I’m a blind actor thing’. I can be a blind Juliet. I can be a blind Lady Macbeth. I hope I don’t have to explain things any more.”

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