Beijing
Ren, reputedly playwright Cao Yu's personal favourite, has only
recently found popular acceptance through the Bejing People's Art Theatre
Director and Playwright Li Liuyi. But it would be a mistake to assume
that Li's take on Cao Yu's classic is an easy ride for audiences. For
one, it is 185 minutes long. Beijing Ren is also unrelentingly
bleak. Throughout the play, an oppressive atmosphere of hopelessness
builds up gradually, until it climaxes in a paroxysm of despair, curtains
closing on a chilling tableau of deathlike figures wearing expressions
of hopelessness. It is as if there is no difference between the living
and the dead.
Adding to the ghostly atmosphere is the spectacular set - a courtyard
of a traditional Chinese house, constructed entirely out of flaking
paper, lit by an eerie low light. The structure has the cold, decayed
air of old bones. It is set on a 15 degree incline, which makes the
actors move awkwardly and disorientates the viewer. The soundtrack comprises
dread-inducing atonal melodies and operatic wails, infrequently punctuated
by zither strumming. The script resounds with references to coffins,
old age and dying, and news of pregnancy is greeted with alarm.
It is in this nightmarish environment that Li tells us the story of
the decline of the Zeng family. Once home to a wealthy family, the crumbling
walls of the Zeng family residence now house a generation of soft, idle
men. Li adopts death as a potent symbol for what he terms the "pale,
disheartened and morbid" feudal culture of China in 1937 - a time of
upheaval when traditional structures were being overturned. But Li's
focus is less on social critique than on delineating the emotional landscapes
of the characters who are stuck in this moribund structure. And what
a landscapes these are. Caught in an excruciating web of inaction, the
characters speak in erudite ellipses that belie their impotence. The
actors often speak facing the audience, and each wrinkle of pain, each
plea for release, rings true. From the aged patriarch, Zeng Hao, to
the flabby eldest son Wenqing, to the scheming daughter-in-law Siyi,
to the self-sacrificing Cousin Su, each of Cao's characters is richly
fleshed out with their unique undercurrent of despair. Although their
destinies are practically devoid of hope, the conscientious rendering
of each character's interior complexities is fascinating.
An especially powerful figure is the patriarch Zeng Hao (Chou Xiaoguang).
While he is, on the one hand, a benign central force holding the family
together, he is also obliviously selfish and prone to eccentric self-indulgences,
such as repeatedly lacquering the coffin meant for his death. Zeng Hao's
moral emptiness symbolises the decadent feudal culture that Beijing
Ren loves to hate. This duality is masterfully fleshed out by Chou,
whose character switches from a manipulative tyrant to a petulant old
fool with a few modulations of voice.
Cao's mastery of language is presented with elegance and subtlety by
a solid cast, who bring the audience deep into the consciousness of
his characters. This makes for an intense experience that is not far
removed from well executed melodrama. When the aged Zeng Hao, in a last-ditch
measure to salvage the family's dignity in the face of mounting debts,
entertains the supremely wishful thought that things might take a turn
for the better from now on, Chou's shrill, wavering voice belies the
hysteria of self-doubt running through his false optimism. When Zeng
asks his grandson Zeng Ting (Miao Chi) to affirm the thought, the seventeen-year-old
Zeng Ting's choirboy voice, resonant in its naïve conviction, is
heartrending.
With the multitude of characters living under the Zeng family roof,
and the intricate rendering of each character's interior consciousness,
it is no wonder the production runs at three hours and a little more.
I wonder if some of the introductory functions of the first act could
have been trimmed without sacrificing the complexities of Cao's script.
I could have happily skipped all the scenes where a white pigeon (yes,
there was a live bird on stage) was used to demonstrate a certain character's
purity, while overhead a row of black crows (made of plaster or resin)
watched ominously.
Given its solid fundamentals and talented cast, I bet Beijing Ren
could have delivered its great climax even without three hours of foreplay. |
"An intense experience that is not far removed from well executed
melodrama"
Credits
Playwright: Cao Yu
Director: Li Liuyi
Art Director: Ouyang Shanzun
Stagecraft Artist: Yu Liming
Actors: Wang Ban, Chou Xiaoguang, Xue Shan(guest actor),
Fu Yao, Zhang Pei, Bai Hui (Bai Shanyuan), Cao Qian, Peng Wenni, Miao
Chi, Zhang Wankun, Chen Xing, Lan Faqing, Han Qing, Zou Jian, Ban Zan
Stage Supervisor: Huang Shudong
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