It's hard to overstate the significance of Mei Lanfang's (
But his fame wasn't limited to his homeland. As the first artist to introduce Peking opera to an overseas audience, he gained acclaim from some of the giants of Western drama. His influence spread to nearly every aspect of the art and his style came to be known as the "Mei school" of Peking opera. Years after his death, the Beijing Opera Company took Mei's name for its own and his house was made into a museum. It is featured on tourist maps of Beijing.
Born to a family of Peking opera performers, Mei began studying the art form at eight and made his stage debut at the ripe age of 11.
But Mei's talent did not come naturally. Later in his life, he recalled his first opera teacher telling him that he would never accomplish much in the profession because of his lackluster eyes. To overcome this, Mei said, he would stare intently at candle flames in the dark to follow their movements and raised pigeons to watch them soar into the clouds, all so that his eyes would "brighten." The training worked and he became famous by his twentieth birthday.
He became so adept at playing chingyi roles (青衣), which idealize feminine beauty and grace, and the dan roles (旦) of female warriors and vivacious young women, that the importance of these roles was forever changed. One story retells a time when he pretended to assault his wife. He later apologized to her and explained that he needed to understand a woman' s reaction to fear because his director was unsatisfied with a part of his performance.
He revolutionized stage make-up and costumes, systemized and enriched characters' gestures, expressions and poses and wrote several plays which he choreographed himself.
He twice toured the Soviet Union and Japan and, in 1930, played for audiences in the US, including Constantin Stanislavsky, the father of "method acting," who praised Mei's performance.
At the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese war, he returned to Shanghai but kept a beard and moustache and refused to perform for the Japanese occupiers. He resumed his stage career in 1946 and continued playing female roles until his death in 1961.
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 21 to April 27 Hsieh Er’s (謝娥) political fortunes were rising fast after she got out of jail and joined the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in December 1945. Not only did she hold key positions in various committees, she was elected the only woman on the Taipei City Council and headed to Nanjing in 1946 as the sole Taiwanese female representative to the National Constituent Assembly. With the support of first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡), she started the Taipei Women’s Association and Taiwan Provincial Women’s Association, where she
It is one of the more remarkable facts of Taiwan history that it was never occupied or claimed by any of the numerous kingdoms of southern China — Han or otherwise — that lay just across the water from it. None of their brilliant ministers ever discovered that Taiwan was a “core interest” of the state whose annexation was “inevitable.” As Paul Kua notes in an excellent monograph laying out how the Portuguese gave Taiwan the name “Formosa,” the first Europeans to express an interest in occupying Taiwan were the Spanish. Tonio Andrade in his seminal work, How Taiwan Became Chinese,
Mongolian influencer Anudari Daarya looks effortlessly glamorous and carefree in her social media posts — but the classically trained pianist’s road to acceptance as a transgender artist has been anything but easy. She is one of a growing number of Mongolian LGBTQ youth challenging stereotypes and fighting for acceptance through media representation in the socially conservative country. LGBTQ Mongolians often hide their identities from their employers and colleagues for fear of discrimination, with a survey by the non-profit LGBT Centre Mongolia showing that only 20 percent of people felt comfortable coming out at work. Daarya, 25, said she has faced discrimination since she