Taiwan Today

Critics and devotees of Chinese opera have been predicting the imminent demise of this unique blending of the theatrical arts. Not enough interest, they say—inadequate training, an absence of young performers, a dearth of fresh material, too much competition from movies, television, and radio. Now these prophets of doom may have to eat their own forebodings. Nothing would make them happier.

One harbinger of a renaissance or at least a new day for Chinese musical drama is the exciting and unexpected success of a young operatic heroine who fled the Communist stage for freedom in 1963 and reached the Republic pf China only last September. For five successive evenings she sang to capacity audiences in Taipei's 1,311-seat Children's Theater. With crowds like that, the future of Chinese opera should be assured.

The five performances January 12 through 16 were the first in Taiwan for Miss Tan Yen-hua, who had spent two fear-filled years in Hongkong after her flight from the mainland Communism. She was forced into hiding because of fears either for her life or of an abduction by Red agents. Her first thought was to resume her career and give thanks for her delivery with performances to benefit armed forces' welfare organizations and other relief agencies.

The January dates were just before the lunar new year, a period that is traditionally the height of the Chinese opera season. That fact, her own brilliance as an actress, and the worthy causes to be benefited brought out opera fans in record numbers. Ticket prices were sky-high by Taiwan standards (US$2 to $5). Yet crowds queued up to buy seats, and the more expensive were the first to be sold out.

Coupled with Miss Tan's triumph was another indication of happier days just ahead for the national drama. Returning from a triumphant 35-day tour of Japan was the Tapeng Operatic Troupe, whose 57 members were hailed for bringing a "renaissance of genuine Chinese theatrical art" in the land of cherry blossoms. Chinese opera has similarities to kabuki, Japan's popular national theater, but it also has sizable differences. If an export market can be established for Chinese opera, that will be a revitalizing shot in the arm and a source of the revenue required to continue the renaissance.

For free Chinese, the survival and development of the national theater is an important aspect of the fight against Communism. The Peiping regime is in the process of throttling Chinese opera. No longer can the traditional plays be given; they are branded as reactionary. Every opera must serve the propaganda purposes of Communism, must—in effect—put into dull dramatic form the ubiquitous works of Mao Tse-tung. Consequently, the people are staying away in droves. Only down the throats of captive audiences can such trash be poured. The theater is dying on the mainland. If it is not preserved and protected in Taiwan, the drama that has delighted the Chinese through the centuries soon will be extinct.

Tan Yen-hua's contribution is therefore of more than passing importance. She was born a quarter-century ago to a Kwangtung family that had been closely connected with Chinese opera for generations. Her parents were not wealthy, but neither were they poverty-stricken.

The Communists labeled them "bourgeois", usually the kiss of exile to the frontier provinces and sometimes the stamp of death. The elder Tans were sent to remote Kansu in 1958 during one of the "down to the countryside" movements.

Servant of Regime

Because of her acting skill, Miss Tan was treated comparatively well. Yet today, three years after leaving the mainland, the shadow of Communism hangs heavy in her heart. She becomes depressed and silent whenever anyone reminds her of the sufferings of those dear to her, or of the mainland people in general.

Miss Tan was brought up and educated mostly in Shanghai. Her parents encouraged her to cultivate a taste for Chinese opera and she decided to take up singing as a career. Her need to succeed became urgent as the family was split and subjected to the mercy of Red rulers. To assure her own survival, she had to become a tool of the Communists.

Like all mainland arts, Chinese opera must "serve the government, serve the great cause of socialist reconstruction, and serve the interest of workers, peasants, and soldiers". This means the theater is solely and wholly the creature of the propagandists.

For hundreds of years, the Chinese theater had flourished as a private enterprise with little or no interference from the government. Players taught their art to sons and apprentices. Theaters were privately owned and operated. Theatrical troupes listened only to the voice of the audience. It was the likes and dislikes of the public that made or broke an actor or a new play. All this changed overnight when the Communists usurped mainland power in 1949.

Miss Tan was graduated from a Shanghai middle school, then studied ching and tan roles at the Peiping Drama Specialist School. Ching and tan are two of the four main divisions of Chinese opera performers. The others are sheng and ch'ou.

Tan or women's roles formerly were filled entirely by female impersonators. Even today, actresses must display a technique of femininity that was invented by the male mind and brought to perfection by male performers. These roles stress gesture as contrasted with the ching emphasis on singing.

Ching paint face and forehead for portrayals of warriors, bandits, evil ministers, righteous judges, statesmen, gods, and other supernatural entities. Their roles are robust, and they usually wear special high-soled boots to increase their height.

Sheng include the roles of scholars, statesmen, warriors, and the like. They wear no painted makeup. Except for young men they are bearded. Ch'ou, the clown and comic, is alone in the use of colloquial speech. All the others must "sing" their par's.

After graduation from drama school, Tan Yen-hua joined the Tientsin Municipal Operatic Troupe as a tan actress. She later went to the Nan-tieh-sheng Operatic Troupe and traveled extensively—as far as Tibet and Chinghai—"to sow Communist seeds through stage shows". Travel better enabled her to see the true face of Communism. She had opportunity to meet her parents and give them such material support as she could.

Outside World

Yen-hua was intelligent and quick. She learned easily and well. Older actors were dying or retiring. Many withdrew from the stage because of Communist persecution. She climbed the ladder of success with relative ease. With fame came privileges denied the people. Communist officials sought to patronize her.

Her parents' fate and the widespread misery of the people could not be put out of her mind. She began thinking about the world outside. While in Canton in 1962 with the Nanking Chin-ling Troupe, she asked permission to visit relatives in Hongkong. The petition at first was rejected. Then the Communists changed their minds. They thought she could be used to win over residents of Hongkong. Early in 1963 she crossed the border with firm orders to follow Communist directives.

Miss Tan, however, did little off-stage propaganda work in Hongkong. The Reds suspected her of intent to defect and subjected her to mixed threats and coaxing. She made excuses and resorted to evasion. Her mind was already made up to escape to Taiwan and freedom.

Her bridge to China's free island province was built, in part, by merchant Chao Pei-hsin, an amateur but well-known mainland-born opera actor from Taiwan. Miss Tan met him when they appeared together in a play. Off stage, she learned more about Taiwan. She was convinced that she should and could take the move.

Still hopeful Miss Tan could be trusted, the Communists sent her to the Philippines early in 1965 for "united front" work. Free Chinese sources decided to help her. Back in Hongkong in June, she slipped out of Communist control and went into hiding, waiting for visa and transportation to Taiwan.

Taipei opera circles were overjoyed. Miss Tan was the first actress to reach freedom in several years. Actresses Li Hsiang-fen and Chang Yu-fan had come in 1958.

The plane from Hongkong was two hours late but the big crowd waited at the airport. It was almost dark when Miss Tan finally reached Taipei. Tears glittered in her big, round eyes as the flash guns turned dusk into day. ''I'm ... I'm so happy ... so happy that...I really don't know what to say," she stammered.

Facing the press in the airport conference room, she was calmer. But her face still reflected disbelief that she had finally won her way to freedom and security. "Under the Communists, I dared not hope too much," she said.

Actors Humiliated

Taipei drama writers wanted to know about the fate of opera actors and actresses on the mainland. It was painful for Miss Tan to think of the unhappy answers.

"Perhaps one example will be sufficient," she said. "Yeh Cheng-lan, the noted sheng actor, was still being pushed about both on and off the stage despite his advanced years at the time I left Peiping. He had been labeled a rightist and compelled to 'reform himself through labor'. He had to do janitor work backstage after performances — a terrible humiliation for an artist of his age and standing."

Miss Tan said Yeh's fate was shared by most others. "Opera artists on the mainland are required to work and 'labor' — to do manual labor of one kind or another," she said.

Upon arrival in Taiwan, Miss Tan had two goals in mind — to help more people on the mainland seek freedom and resume her acting and assist in the revival of good Chinese opera. The latter wish was fulfilled in January under auspices of the Friends of the Armed Forces Club and the Free China Relief Association, which had helped her to reach freedom. The Hai-kuang (Sea Light) Operatic Troupe of the Chinese Navy provided the supporting cast. Chao Pei-hsin, who had been instrumental in her decision to come to Taiwan, was invited as guest star.

Miss Tan played the leading roles in two of the three operas given each evening. The plays dealt with royalty, wars, and romance - the whole range of human emotions. Many of the stories are several hundred years old. They have been rewritten and improved. All of the selections were different. Miss Tan's parts were difficult. But she performed admirably. Opera critics used superlatives to describe her performances. These are excerpts from reviews.

—"One is wordless in the presence of perfection."

—"Real-life dramas in which Miss Tan rose above herself"

—"Audiences were transported. Their applause and exclamations were genuine and spontaneous."

—"A presentation of all there is to expect from the traditional opera stage, amply spiced with Miss Tan's original flavor."

Art of Singing

But Miss Tan had come to a free country. That meant the critics were free, too. She was downgraded for her singing, although it was generously admitted that her acting skill made lip for vocal shortcomings.

Chinese drama is "sung"—hence the name "opera". The Chinese themselves say they "hear opera" (ting hsi), instead of "see opera" (kan hsi). Still, this depends on the viewer-listener. It's an old, old argument. Many an aficionado would testify in favor of the wonderful world of visual impressions.

Correctly named, Chinese opera is Peiping drama, or ching hsi— the "drama of the capital". Combining music and dance, it offers stylized pantomime as well as strenuous acrobatics. It is a drama of tradition, of patterns fixed and immutable, yet subject to the slight nuances of change that emerge from the individuality of a great performer. Miss Tan is "a born actress with a charming originality entirely of her own". She is particularly adept at sleeve, hand, and foot movements. Her expressions make opera fans sigh, exclaim - and applaud.

One of her finest roles is as Sun Yu-chiao in "The Jade Bracelet". The story goes like this:

Sun Yu-chiao is a young girl living with her poor widowed mother, raising chickens and doing needlework. One day when her mother is away, she lets the chickens into the garden and sets to work on a pair of slippers. She takes her sewing materials to the courtyard and selects her thread, matching it carefully for color. She tests the strength, threads the needle, and begins to sew.

A student, Fu-peng, passes by. Charmed by her beauty, he stares at her. Shy and embarrassed, she runs into the house and slams the door. Disappointed, Fu-peng leaves a jade bracelet in front of the door and departs. Later she comes out, sees the bracelet, and eventually finds love and a happy marriage.

All in the Mind

This little comedy sets forth the symbolic, abstract art that gives Chinese opera much of its charm. There are no chickens on the stage. The heroine turns them loose in the garden and clucks them back to their pen with acting so convincing that the chickens appear as surely as the rabbit named Harvey in the New York stage success of the same name. She threads a needle although she has neither needle nor thread in her hands. Most actions—the opening and closing of doors, the acts of entering and departing—are performed without scenery or props. In the examples cited, there isn't any door!

Also attesting to the eternal verity of the ancient Chinese drama was Japan's reception of the Tapeng Operatic Troupe from November 9 to December 15 last year. Tapeng is sponsored by the Chinese Air Force and had 22 engagements in Tokyo, Osaka, Kobe, Kyoto, and smaller cities. Japanese and overseas Chinese enthusiastically greeted the first free Chinese opera troupe to visit .the country. Most of the artists were veterans of the 1957 tour and 124 performances in 14 European cities—London, Paris. Madrid, Lisbon, Rome, etc.

Two aspects impressed the Japanese:

—Freedom of the troupe to speak out to press and public, and friendliness toward the Japanese.

—Preservation of the true value of Chinese opera, which the Communists have twisted and distorted to serve their own purposes.

The Peiping regime, trying to poison the Japanese mind, has been using cultural as well as political and economic weapons. Chinese opera is included in the offensive. Mei Lan-fang, long famous for his female impersonations, appeared on Japanese stages in 1956. Mei was 62 at the time. The Japanese saw him on the stage but not elsewhere. Peiping was afraid he might speak out.

In 1963, a Chinese Communist troupe drew Japanese crowds. However, it was popularity of the stories that prompted the response and not the political conspiracy behind the performances. The Japanese are familiar with many of the Chinese adventuresories—"The Monkey", "Lady White Snake", and "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms". These plays also abound in acrobatics, which are appreciated by the Japanese. Chinese Communists used "The Monkey" and other popular stories in their propaganda offensive.

However, the Japanese quickly noted the coldness and the tight lips of troupe members and questing eyes of watchdog leaders. The press response to the Japan tour of Tapeng was entirely different. Newsmen commented on the warmth, cooperativeness, and complete freedom of the actors and actresses from Taiwan. It was a cold war victory for the Republic of China.

Tapeng may return to Japan very soon. Overseas Chinese there were impressed by last year's tour. They are planning to sponsor a visit during the Double Tenth National Day period in October this year.

Opera fans in Taiwan are convinced that this Chinese opera activity is all to the good. TV is helping, too. Every night brings some variety of Chinese theater - not all good, but separate steps in the right direction. For both Miss Tan and the Tapeng, that direction is a lively, free drama preserving traditions of the past but daring to move out in a dozen new directions. The only bad theater, she says, is a static, fixed drama—like that of the Communists.