Located in the Taipei park dedicated to the memory of the late President Chiang Kai-shek, the two magnificent buildings are the result of several years of intensive planning and a construction budget of US$200 million. Inside the Ching Dynasty imperial style facades of both buildings are state-of-the-art facilities for productions of Chinese and Western operas, plays, concerts, recitals, ballets, and other dance performances.
The completion of the luxurious theatre and hall is also a clear indication that after three decades of economic growth, Taiwan's people are now turning to heavy investment in the promotion of their culture and further refinement of their lives.
But the move toward official support of culture is rarely without difficulty. Professor John Y.H. Hu, who earned his advanced degrees in U.S. university departments of theatre, gives a balanced assessment of the challenges now facing both the public and private sectors in national cultural development, challenges made even clearer by the opening of the National Theatre and Concert Hall.
Originally conceived simply as two wings to the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall that stands toward the rear section of the park complex, the National Theatre and Concert Hall reached their present situation only after many drastic changes in mid course. Currently, the two buildings and their administrative organizations have become the de facto national cultural center, and are often referred to as the National Chiang Kai-shek Cultural Center.
In most circumstances, a cultural center of this grand scale ideally comes into being with a fairly specific charter and a set of clear purposes. This is done to insure that expenditures on facilities meet the ends determined essential to national cultural development. Not so with this cultural center. A statement of its defined status is still pending in the legislative branch of the government, and there are many other elements essential to a smooth operation that remain undecided. In short, the hardware is in place before anyone knows exactly what to do with it. Like a diamond studded jewelry box, the buildings are waiting for worthy contents.
The National Theatre building rises six floors above ground, at a height of 46 meters, and has two more underground levels. Inside are two theatres, support facilities, and administrative offices. The main theatre has an impressively spacious stage: 14.5 meters wide, 17.5 meters deep, and 9.25 meters high. Its proscenium arch is 17 meters wide and 10 meters high at its maximum. The auditorium seats 1,522. The smaller experimental theatre, to be used primarily for avant-garde productions, seats only 300.
Cultural reverberations—Vice President Lee Teng-hui formally opens the National Theatre.
The Concert Hall also has both a main stage and a smaller one. The main stage consists of 16 podia. The overall trapezoidal stage arrangement has an area of approximately 230 square meters, and the auditorium seats 2,070. Designed and equipped specifically for instrumental and vocal concerts and recitals, it has excellent acoustics.
Although the planners, architects, and contractors have all made painstaking efforts to construct an international class national cultural center, the programs thus far presented have been at best uneven and unpredictable. Audience reactions have been diverse, ranging from high hopes and acclaim to indifference and bitterness. With the wisdom that comes from hindsight, such reactions now seem easily predictable. Because of the great expectations people had for the cultural complex during its years of construction, it is not surprising that in the initial months of operation they feel let down.
In sharp contrast to both the external and internal magnificence of its "hardware," which further raised everyone's expectations, the cultural center is extremely deficient in its "software." Paradoxically, however, it is just these mixed reactions that augur well for a bright future. The intensity of public concern for a first-class cultural program indicates that the ROC is trying to match its so-called economic miracle with a cultural one.
These high expectations are in part a product of historical roots. Never before has China seen theatre buildings and concert halls even faintly comparable in scale or cost to these most recent structures. The difference stems not only from modern technology and economic affluence, it also reflects today's political structure and national aspirations.
During the Yuan Dynasty (1271-1368), when Chinese theatre and drama reached its first great period of maturity and flourished throughout the country, there were many public theatres. But records still extant show that they were mostly temporary wooden structures, less secure than their counterparts in Elizabethan England.
During the succeeding Ming Dynasty (1368-1644), the mainstream theatre activities were either private entertainments for the wealthy and powerful, or public affairs closely related to religious activities. The former usually took place in courtyards or banquet halls, the latter in the vicinity of temples. Both used makeshift stages.
In the Ching Dynasty (1644-1911), while the established forms still continued, tea houses provided additional venues for professional actors. The only remarkable exception in theatre development at this time was in stage mechanics. In the imperial court's summer palace in Manchuria there was a moveable stage platform that could—and did—raise and lower elephants during the course of productions. But, alas, only members of the imperial family could enjoy the spectacles.
The Republican era, which began in 1912, was too preoccupied with incessant wars to spare either money or much time for thought about grand theatre buildings. In recent years, the Chinese Communists have indeed erected theatre buildings and concert halls—often more remarkable for their size than their design—and have demonstrated superb theatre techniques. But even in these cases there are considerable limitations in both form and content. Theatre to the Communists, like any other art, is in theory and in practice a tool of the party for the "education" of the people, an orientation that lends itself to more accurate interpretation as "indoctrination." If the Russian experience is a fair indicator, theatre arts as they are known in the free world will have a rather limited development on mainland China.
Traditional art motifs grace the ultra-modern facilities in the National Theatre.
Taiwan offers the best hope for a resurgence and a renaissance of theatre arts in China, and it promises not only to revive a glory that has dimmed, but also to create something new and wondrous. It is due to this optimistic perspective, based firmly on a lengthy and impressive tradition, that people view the new National Theatre and Concert Hall with such high hopes. But hopes are different from realities; the new national culture center has a long way to go before it will measure up to people's expectations.
Tseng Yuh, an eminent art historian, has observed that the new National Theatre and Concert Hall can be compared with the Schauspielhaus (the Great Hall) designed by Karl Friedrich Schinkel (1781-1841) in Berlin. He points out that the Schauspielhaus was built about thirty years after German industrialization began, and that it has taken the same number of years after Taiwan's industrialization before the National Theatre appeared in Taipei.
It could be added that it was during the same period, the last quarter of the 18th Century, when German drama attained its maturity with the works of such masters as Goethe and Schiller. It is hoped that Taiwan may be graced with similar success, with the new buildings as its cradle and industrial prowess as its nourishment.
Just as Taiwan's economic miracle is not really miraculous, for it has taken decades of judicious planning and hard work, neither can it be expected that a cultural miracle can occur overnight. This point was recently emphasized by Beverly Sills, the general director of the New York City Opera, which gave several performances late last year. She must have had in mind some of the adverse criticism that the theatre management had incurred, for she told the press: "Great art is not born overnight. The management of the cultural center cannot be expected to run the center smoothly from the beginning. It takes time for a theater to work and operate well."
The problem is of course more complex that it appears at first. If it were merely managerial, it could be solved quickly by simply implementing the advice of another American artist. Some time ago during the planning stages of the center, David L. Kreeger, president of the Corcoran Gallery of Art, recommended to a ranking official in charge of the cultural center that it hire an American managerial advisory group for its service expertise. The cultural complex certainly can afford to "purchase" this, and still may be forced to do so if poor management continues, but the real core of the problem is not how to manage, but what to manage.
The Theatre has superb acoustics and seating for more than 1,500.
There are generally two ways to generate productions in any theatre. One is to engage or to invite artists and artistic organizations to perform in the theatre. So far the center has already invited several foreign performing groups, a few at a cost so high that it cannot afford to have enough to fill its agenda. The New York City Opera was an example of this.
With domestic groups, the center has so far refused to play the role of a mere landlord. It wants to be the co-producer, but in actuality it merely provides the facilities and a certain percentage of the production costs. While the management retains the right to choose the programs, the artistic quality remains in the hands of the other co-producer, over whom the management does not have much control once the initial agreement is reached.
The problem would not be so severe if Taiwan had enough outstanding artists for the center to choose from as its co-producers. But the actual situation is rather bleak. Political, military, and economic matters have long been the major concerns of the government and the people, not cultural development. In the shadow of the Chinese Communists who have never renounced the use of force to take Taiwan, the military budget has always taken the lion's share of the national budget. Even environmental protection has been neglected till the last couple of years. As a result, comparatively little investment was made in the performing arts, not only in terms of facilities, but in educational fields as well. For example, the only publicly funded university level institution for arts, the National Institute of the Arts, has yet to produce its first graduates in theatre arts.
The negligence goes to other areas. The only government examination, which is required before entering government service, even today does not have a category for artistic administration. As a result, the regional cultural centers are now mostly headed by non-specialists. Because they are often deficient in knowledge of the arts, they lack enthusiasm and initiative. These centers rarely live up to their names. Former Premier Sun Yun-suan, whose range of achievements are widely known and deeply appreciated, admitted that his only regret was not to have paid sufficient attention to culture and the arts.
While all these facts may be the product of oversights or necessary priority choices, the unavoidable result is that currently in Taiwan there is a severe shortage of performing artists, playwrights, composers, critics, theatre technicians, and qualified administrators. It is true that people are now acting in these capacities, but what is in question is their knowledge and competence. To carry pessimism to its extreme, it may even be doubted whether enough knowledgeable people can be mustered to make up an audience to fill the new cultural center.
Graceful intricacy—the National Concert Hall rises above the expansive park area.
A way to solve the problem is to resort to the second way of generating productions, a method which most leading theatres and concert halls in the world have followed. This is to establish resident theatrical companies and musical groups. Directors with established status, whether nationals or internationals, may be engaged to plan and start from scratch. They then recruit artists or aspiring artists for the execution of designated purposes. Models of eminent and quick success of this approach may be easily found; the latest precedents are as close to Taiwan as the theatres in South Korea and in Hong Kong. In the light of these successes, it has often been rhetorically asked, "If such and such a country can do it, why can't we?"
The facile answer is tinged with sarcasm: "Such and such a country can because it wants to; we cannot because we do not want to." A more balanced answer is rather that "We do not know exactly what we want." In Taiwan there already are many performing groups, each of which is extremely enthusiastic and therefore partial to the particular theatre or musical form it favors. Among the foremost contenders are Peking opera, known also as the National Opera, and the spoken drama that first appeared at the turn of the present century as a result of influence from the West, particularly the realism of Ibsen and Chekhov.
There are of course advocates for dance, acrobatics, and Taiwanese opera as well. World drama in translation, and music of all kinds, needless to say, by general consensus have large followings. In short, while there is a relatively scanty supply of artists, there are many artistic forms to choose from. It is difficult to give priority to one or two without offending the zealous supporters of all the others.
The worst policy is to remain in this Tower of Babel, too timid to take the first step forward. The best approach is to make use of the rich national heritage and whatever is available internationally. Various companies and orchestras could be established one after the other, with the increase in budget which may be expected from the general growth of the economy. After all, to have the freedom of choice is a luxury, not a curse. And art forms may well be synthesized, and be encouraged to cross-breed. As a consequence something really unique might be created, which would also renew the already significant contributions China has made to the artistic resources of mankind.
Before that day dawns, however, many hard choices must be made, and some are even more fundamental than those already mentioned. One is the cultural center's organization; the other is its financing. The issues are closely related. The center's budget for this fiscal year is approximately US$10 million, two thirds of which is earmarked for personnel and maintenance. This leaves only slightly more than US$3 million for a whole year's programs. Private donations have been courted, but not much response has been forthcoming. Because the box income goes to the government instead of being at the disposal of the center, the sole income of the cultural complex comes from government appropriations. At present this amounts to only about 10 percent of the annual budget of Lincoln Center in New York. It appears that in the near future anyway, government appropriations will remain the major source of the center's income, and more likely the only source.
The government certainly has the right to oversee the center's operations, and will continue doing so unless its executive branch, with the consent of the legislative branch, makes the center an autonomous corporation. At present, the center is under the Ministry of Education and is directly responsible to the Social Education Department of the Ministry. As a result, important policies, both artistic and non-artistic, need the approval of regular administrators who mayor may not have the expertise to make sound judgments. In this regard, the national cultural center is not unlike the regional cultural centers. The question is whether it will become as hollow as they have. Another obvious drawback is that the center cannot sign contracts with artists two years ahead of the performance date, as reputable artists normally do, because the government budget is always made on an annual basis.
Voices for incorporating the center are increasing from different quarters, including high-ranking government officials and comments from a group of twenty leading national theatre figures from the U.S., Asia, and Western Europe. The latter noted that only three of their national theatres are government organizations; the rest are all autonomous corporations.
Scholars and artists are not only aware of these and related facts, they tend to be more explicit in criticizing the existing system. They point out, among other things, that the government salary scale is simply too meager to attract well qualified people to work for the center. Despite the growing number of reservations about the efficacy of the present system, for various considerations as well as mere inertia, the present set-up is likely to continue, or at least be given a longer chance to be tested.
Not only the organization, but almost everything concerning the National Theatre and Concert Hall is functioning on a trial and error basis. In the meantime, government officials involved are facing a multitude of important decisions, of which some of the most important are the incorporation of the center, the establishment of resident companies, and an increase in funding. Since it is a government of the people, by the people, and for the people, these decisions must eventually induce good programming. Otherwise, the adverse criticism will increase and the officials involved will lose prestige and maybe even lose office.
Beverly Sills praised the government during her visit to Taipei for its huge expenditure on the facilities in the cultural complex. She also challenged it to make similarly bold and far-sighted choices about what is to happen inside them. She is not alone in her concerns. Just as the buildings are landmarks of democracy and prosperity when viewed in historical perspective, they also serve as a guarantee for a brighter cultural future as a venue of outstanding artistic programs. These programs can then spill over and spread to the regional cultural centers and help create a cultural renaissance. The destiny is certain even though the course may be meandering.—(Dr. John Y.H. Hu is a professor in the Department of Foreign Languages and Literature, National Taiwan University. He obtained his Ph.D. in Theatre from Indiana University and taught at several American universities before he returned to Taiwan.)