Lil’ Flora (小花) is the story of an ordinary little girl and the importance of the ordinary things of an ordinary life. The show, primarily intended for children, is far from being an ordinary piece of children’s theater, though. It is the creation of Ifkids (如果兒童劇團), which is inspired and led by comedian, actor, TV show host and playwright Chao Tzu-chiang (趙自強).
In a press statement, Chao said he was inspired to create Lil’ Flora in response to the M-shaped society (M型社會), in which ordinary people are caught between poverty and the super-rich and children are exposed daily to the cult of celebrity. Chao is something of a minor star himself.
The show boasts the kind of talent and production values that many adult dramatic productions might envy. Lil’ Flora’s stage design is based on two rotating platforms and it stars Golden Melody winner Peggy Hsu (許哲珮)in the leading role.
The show’s conception, however, is somewhat different from that of conventional children’s theater. Victor Chen (陳世軍), Ifkids’ public relations director, said Lil’ Flora is not about creating interaction between the actors and the audience, but is intended to establish a talking point between parents and their children.
“Something that I have found over the years is that children understand much more of the world around them than we think,” he said. “They might not be able to express what they feel, but they know. So our aim is always to go a little further.”
At the premiere last Friday, the mood among the diminutive audience was exultant as Chao appeared on video to introduce the story in his now well-known role of Grandma Fruits (水果奶奶) .
Though not a frequent attendee of children’s theater, I nevertheless recognized the young audience’s response: They were in the presence of a powerful brand name, and Chao’s many years working in children’s TV had clearly paid off.
Chao won the Golden Bell Award (金鐘獎) in 2000 and 2001 for best host of a children’s program (最佳兒童節目主持人獎), and he continues to raise the bar for children’s theater in Taiwan.
What followed was a full-on musical with all the bells and whistles, and one that was well-pitched to Taiwan’s media-savvy children.
The ability to express complex issues in simple language is much underrated, and Lil’ Flora is a showpiece of Chao’s talent in this regard.
The story of a little flower girl who gets dragged into the music industry to “ghost” the voice of a newly minted celebrity for her music video and ends up transforming the people she meets with her simplicity and honesty is a very long way from either Grimms’ fairy tales or Sesame Street.
The show makes allusions to reality talent shows, celebrities manufactured by the music industry, and the nefarious role of the paparazzi. Its producers seem to believe that most kids over about 4 or 5 are aware of the excesses of Next magazine even if they don’t exactly come to grips with the more lurid details.
This was rather refreshing for someone who has long believed children’s theater was the province of adults who condescend to children in an effort to create the illusion of a purer and more innocent world for themselves.
There are plenty of uplifting songs about looking on the bright side, of being yourself, of celebrities being just people with plenty of human weaknesses, and so on. For good measure Lil’ Flora includes a subplot and a song about the value of recycling (the heroine’s father is a garbage collector). It’s all nicely packaged, with catchy tunes, spirited acting, and a big concert sequence, the only fault being, perhaps, that at around two-and-a-half hours, the whole affair was a little long for some of the audience members.
Lil’ Flora is unusual in being a bona-fide theatrical production that has ambitions beyond appealing to small children. “This production has 27 songs ... and the idea was to tell the story through the music,” Chen said. In past productions, Ifkids had usually settled for around 15 songs for a musical production. “We are pushing the musical genre,” Chen said, “regardless of whether we are talking about children’s or grown-up theater.”
Behind a car repair business on a nondescript Thai street are the cherished pets of a rising TikTok animal influencer: two lions and a 200-kilogram lion-tiger hybrid called “Big George.” Lion ownership is legal in Thailand, and Tharnuwarht Plengkemratch is an enthusiastic advocate, posting updates on his feline companions to nearly three million followers. “They’re playful and affectionate, just like dogs or cats,” he said from inside their cage complex at his home in the northern city of Chiang Mai. Thailand’s captive lion population has exploded in recent years, with nearly 500 registered in zoos, breeding farms, petting cafes and homes. Experts warn the
No one saw it coming. Everyone — including the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) — expected at least some of the recall campaigns against 24 of its lawmakers and Hsinchu Mayor Ann Kao (高虹安) to succeed. Underground gamblers reportedly expected between five and eight lawmakers to lose their jobs. All of this analysis made sense, but contained a fatal flaw. The record of the recall campaigns, the collapse of the KMT-led recalls, and polling data all pointed to enthusiastic high turnout in support of the recall campaigns, and that those against the recalls were unenthusiastic and far less likely to vote. That
The unexpected collapse of the recall campaigns is being viewed through many lenses, most of them skewed and self-absorbed. The international media unsurprisingly focuses on what they perceive as the message that Taiwanese voters were sending in the failure of the mass recall, especially to China, the US and to friendly Western nations. This made some sense prior to early last month. One of the main arguments used by recall campaigners for recalling Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lawmakers was that they were too pro-China, and by extension not to be trusted with defending the nation. Also by extension, that argument could be
Aug. 4 to Aug. 10 When Coca-Cola finally pushed its way into Taiwan’s market in 1968, it allegedly vowed to wipe out its major domestic rival Hey Song within five years. But Hey Song, which began as a manual operation in a family cow shed in 1925, had proven its resilience, surviving numerous setbacks — including the loss of autonomy and nearly all its assets due to the Japanese colonial government’s wartime economic policy. By the 1960s, Hey Song had risen to the top of Taiwan’s beverage industry. This success was driven not only by president Chang Wen-chi’s