Shanghai
Beauty is one of those productions that, through no fault of its
own, winds up seeming less interesting than its creator. Or, in this
case, its co-creator - Chinese choreographer Jin Xing, the only son
of Korean immigrants who trained in ballet in the army, became a colonel,
won national competitions, studied modern dance in New York, taught
in Europe and had a sex change operation in the mid-1990s. Now she models,
acts in movies, leads her own dance group and lives with her adopted
kids in a villa in Shanghai.
But Shanghai Beauty has its own merits. Choreographed by Jin
and Berlin duo Dieter Baumann and Jutta Hell, it concerns itself with
definitions of physical beauty, and its movement ideas are mixed into
a chain of plotless episodes. Each section of the dance could probably
stand alone, and its message isn't fresh, but these are minor quibbles.
Thankfully, we're spared from angsty skirmishing and hysterical rambling;
dance serves as its main mode of expression.
The piece begins with a close-up video of Jin being primped into a
Beijing opera actress. First, her face is painted white with rouged
eyelids, her eyes thickly lined in black; then the jet-black hairpieces
are glued to her forehead; finally, she dons the long-sleeved robes
and the heavy, shimmering headdress, her transformation complete. Much
of this painstaking process is sped up, freezing only at some points
- when Jin's face is lifted, for instance, showing off her
sharply drawn eyebrows. The stage costumes reflect this painstaking
process, in a way, playing with the notion of covering (or revealing)
the body as one facet of beauty.
The dancers of Jin Xing Dance Theatre don't have the drilled
regimentation of ballet drones; they come across as distinct individuals
in various shapes and sizes, yet breathe as one living whole in their
group dancing. When they first appear onstage in staid Mao suits, they
gather in near-darkness, their silhouettes shifting gradually against
a dim blue light. They shuffle in rows with their bodies erect. Huddling
together, they bend their knees and lean inward before heaping onto
the floor, as if bonded by a collective burden. Then they disperse and
roll into the wings.
The rest of Shanghai Beauty, however, isn't this sombre. The
choreography draws on Chinese and contemporary dance, and the results
sparkle. Slow, t'ai chi-like undulations yield to a bright and bouncy
riff on Bach - an unseen force yanks one dancer by the arm, while the
rest look on with concern. To the sound of their footfalls, the men
clap their hands and slap their bodies in rhythmic combinations. The
women in long qipaos flutter their long sleeves of white tulle. And,
in one of its most memorable segments (it's also on the programme cover),
one woman walks serenely on a bridge built of black-clad dancers, who
extend the human platform with their bodies.
That the dance has no story, no narrative thread to link its sections
together, may bother some viewers. As their minds run wild, they may
think it's about Shanghai, Shanghainese women of a certain period or
even the "new China". I think it's all about the dancing - and the clothes.
Only these dancers could wear the traditional du dou like a halter-top. |
"Some may think it's about Shanghai, Shanghainese women of a certain
period or even the "new China". I think it's all about the dancing -
and the clothes"
Credits
Choreography: Jutta Hell, Dieter Baumann and Jin Xing
Lighting Design: Jochen Massar
Lighting: Xiao Lihe
Costume: Jutta Hell and Jin Xing
Stage/Video: Jutta Hell and Dieter Baumann
Dancers: Jin Xing, Han Bin, Li Lingxi, Liu Minzi, Sun
Zhuzhen, Tan Zhiwei, Deng Mengna, Wang Tao, Zhao Yuanhang, Xie Xin,
Pang Kun, Liu Xianyi, Luo Xiaoli and Lu Ge
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