The much-anticipated second installment of Contemporary Legend Theater’s (當代傳奇劇場) fusion epic, 108 Heroes II — The Hall of Righteousness (水滸108忠義堂), opened to a packed and excited house at the National Theater in Taipei City on Thursday. This was a great big circus of a production, with a huge cast, complex stage effects, and sumptuous costumes that mixed up Beijing opera, pop music, classical tragedy and cosplay posing. It was certainly much bigger than the first installment of the trilogy, and took even greater risks, and the first-night audience was entranced by the spectacle.
It was easy to see what Contemporary Legend was trying to achieve in this integration of traditional opera skills and a contemporary youth culture sensibility, and the effort is commendable. But in trying to drag Beijing opera into the 21st century, there is always a danger of throwing the baby out with the bathwater — and whether this happens in 108 Heroes has a lot to do with how one defines both baby and bathwater. In its effort to produce something that would engage the fashion and musical tastes of Asian youth and provide entertainment for both young and old, conventional aspects of theater such as character and narrative were snowed under by interminable efforts to ensure that everything in the two-hour show had a modern gloss. It looked good and it was undeniably contemporary, but for this reviewer at least, something crucial had been lost.
108 Heroes II suffers from all the difficulties of the second chapter of a trilogy — it is basically an extended preparation for the climactic final. A number of dramatic devices are used to introduce a huge cast of characters and provide something of a backstory for each, and also outline the central theme of this opera — the conflict between rebellion and loyalty. Considerable skill has gone into the contraction of this fractured narrative, which explores the tensions experienced by the bandits-turned-freedom fighters, some who are in it for the money and the mayhem, while others, such as bandit leader Song Jiang (宋江), would rather see the government reformed than overthrown.
But the need to provide entertainment is like a juggernaut that smashes through this finely wrought structure, with some rather tedious pop songs and hip-hop inflected dance numbers getting in the way of the effective buildup of dramatic tension. There is no arguing that the costumes are extremely lovely and show a protean invention, but the extravagant lighting and the distracting back-wall projection achieved little of any importance, and attempts to use animation to add an explanatory gloss to the on-stage action was at best amateurish, and at worst ridiculous. The appearance of a white horse above a funeral pyre to take the rebel leader Chao Gai (晁蓋) to his place in heaven caused titters of amusement at what ought to have been one of the show’s most dramatically powerful moments.
108 Heroes II is commendable for the breadth of its ambition, and for the energy and enterprise of its production, but Contemporary Legend tries too hard to please everyone.
‘DRAWER’
Germany-based Taiwanese freelance choreographer Lai Tsui-shuang (賴翠霜) didn’t have problems pleasing people this weekend. She wowed audiences at the Experimental Theater with Drawer (抽屜), the second installment in the National Theater Concert Hall’s 2011 New Idea Dance series. The piece is a well-thought out and flawlessly executed exploration of the memories and associations we keep hidden away in the drawers of our mind or our homes, set to a soundtrack that included genres as diverse as dreamy Mando-pop and blues.
The set design, by Kelvin Tsai (蔡坤霖), was equally brilliant for a show that ranged from dynamic, pulsating group pieces or charming vignettes to dream-like (if not slightly nightmarish) solo or duet fugue states — chairs midway up the walls, drawers pulled out of the walls, and a large silvery shape that seemed pond-like on the floor in the opening sequences and then hung like a cloud for the rest of the show. Chests of drawers and the cloud doubled as surfaces for video projections that included home movies and footage of dancers moving inside the drawers.
The six women dancers — Chung Li-mei (鍾莉美), Hung Shao-ching (宏紹晴), Sung Yi-chen (宋宜倩), Kuo Fang-ling (郭芳伶), Dai-Yi-ting (戴依婷) and Chen Yi-jing (陳怡靜) — all of whom are graduates of Taipei National University of the Arts — were superb as an ensemble and in solos, duets or other combinations.
Drawer deserves to be picked up by a small company for its repertoire. It is too good a piece to end up just another memory stored away in the minds of the weekend’s audiences. Hopefully Lai will receive more invitations to come home and create pieces like this one.
The Scarecrow Contemporary Dance Company’s (稻草人現代舞團) The Keyman (鑰匙人) at Huashan 1914 Creative Park (華山1914) the previous weekend was not as polished as Drawer, but was equally thought-provoking.
Choreographer Luo Wen-jinn’s (羅文瑾) exploration of family ties will reverberate with audience members, depending on their own family dynamics. Several sequences involve the mother relentlessly scrubbing the table or family members, trying to keep everyone together and sitting or standing straight. Then there are the tableaus where everyone is sitting still at the table — if you don’t count the nervously tapping fingers or the legs jiggling underneath. Portraits of isolation in togetherness.
The stage area was barely adequate, but Luo made use of the windows that line one side of the room as entry point for a masked stranger who observes the family and serves as both a counterpoint to the action and a reminder that no one outside a family (or a marriage) can really completely understand exactly what goes on in those relationships.
Last week Joseph Nye, the well-known China scholar, wrote on the Australian Strategic Policy Institute’s website about how war over Taiwan might be averted. He noted that years ago he was on a team that met with then-president Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁), “whose previous ‘unofficial’ visit to the US had caused a crisis in which China fired missiles into the sea and the US deployed carriers off the coast of Taiwan.” Yes, that’s right, mighty Chen caused that crisis all by himself. Neither the US nor the People’s Republic of China (PRC) exercised any agency. Nye then nostalgically invoked the comical specter
Relations between Taiwan and the Czech Republic have flourished in recent years. However, not everyone is pleased about the growing friendship between the two countries. Last month, an incident involving a Chinese diplomat tailing the car of vice president-elect Hsiao Bi-khim (蕭美琴) in Prague, drew public attention to the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) operations to undermine Taiwan overseas. The trip was not Hsiao’s first visit to the Central European country. It was meant to be low-key, a chance to meet with local academics and politicians, until her police escort noticed a car was tailing her through the Czech capital. The
April 15 to April 21 Yang Kui (楊逵) was horrified as he drove past trucks, oxcarts and trolleys loaded with coffins on his way to Tuntzechiao (屯子腳), which he heard had been completely destroyed. The friend he came to check on was safe, but most residents were suffering in the town hit the hardest by the 7.1-magnitude Hsinchu-Taichung Earthquake on April 21, 1935. It remains the deadliest in Taiwan’s recorded history, claiming around 3,300 lives and injuring nearly 12,000. The disaster completely flattened roughly 18,000 houses and damaged countless more. The social activist and
Over the course of former President Ma Ying-jeou’s (馬英九) 11-day trip to China that included a meeting with Chinese Communist Party (CCP) leader Xi Jinping (習近平) a surprising number of people commented that the former president was now “irrelevant.” Upon reflection, it became apparent that these comments were coming from pro-Taiwan, pan-green supporters and they were expressing what they hoped was the case, rather than the reality. Ma’s ideology is so pro-China (read: deep blue) and controversial that many in his own Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) hope he retires quickly, or at least refrains from speaking on some subjects. Regardless