For the West, there is just one trouble: aside from opportunities in Taipei or those on the mainland before the Communist takeover, there have been few chances to see Chinese opera. Some have seen Cantonese opera in Hongkong, but this is a vulgarized form of the Peiping drama and not in the same artistic league.
Americans will have their first real chance to see good Chinese opera next year. The expert children's troupe of the Foo Hsing School of Dramatic Arts will play an engagement at Seattle's Century 21 Exposition and World Fair in October, then tour the United States for several weeks under auspices of the Sol Hurok organization. A trip to Central and South America may be undertaken afterward.
For the Foo Hsing school headed by Wang Chen-tsu, this will be an achievement of tremendous magnitude-not to mention an adventure in internationalism for about 40 young people, most of them teen-agers. Founded only a little more than four years ago at Peitou, a suburb of Taipei, the troupe has been adjudged sufficiently skilled to present Peiping drama to the Western world.
In training terms, this is in the realm of miracles. Ordinarily, the learning time for an ordinary player of Chinese opera roles is seven years. After that, the graduate undertakes bits, then slowly advances to more important parts. At Foo Hsing the bridging of training-to-performance time has been made possible by the youth and energy of students, who range down to 9, and by the hard work and dedication of the many highly competent instructors who came to Taiwan from the mainland.
Principal Wang and his faculty members, many of whom are former stars, are unhappy only because the whole troupe of 80 boys and 40 girls cannot be taken. This attitude is not merely a matter of loyalty to youngsters who have worked long and hard, but also wry admission that for some Chinese operas, a cast of 80 to 100 is commonplace. With orchestra members, coaches and other essential personnel, only about 30 acting performers can make the trip. Battle scenes will suffer in numbers, if not in enthusiasm.
It will be the third international venture for Foo Hsing. After a Taipei debut in 1958, the company went to Bangkok for 16 days of stage and TV performances. Early this year came a trip to Manila. Rave press notices were received on both occasions, and the King and Queen of Thailand were among the fans turning out in Thailand. A trip to Hongkong and Vietnam is also being talked about.
Interest Began Early
Wang Chen-tsu had become an opera fan while a college student in Peiping. He came to know many of the actors and actresses, and to love the excitement and the glamour of the national theater. During the war, the big family house in Szechuan had room not only for the Wang family, which now numbers seven, but for refugee thespians. Wang learned more about opera there, and by the end of the war he was prepared to become the director of a Shanghai company that performed for President Chiang Kai-shek in the late 1940s.
This same group reached Taiwan virtually intact but subsequently broke up. Many of its performers went into Army troupes, of which there are a large number on the island. Wang himself became the manager of a movie house-yet his heart was ever with Chinese opera. Through the early 1950s, he deplored the bad times that lay ahead. Experienced players were growing old and retiring, leaving the theater forever. Young people were not being trained. He could see that despite the continued popularity of performances, Chinese opera was a dying art.
By 1957, with a little help here and little there but mostly because of his own driving enthusiasm, Wang had been able to establish the Peitou school, which stands on government land and uses the converted buildings of a feather processing plant. He began on a shoestring, and the string hasn't gotten any longer. New buildings are needed desperately. Dormitory space is inadequate for the additional pupils clamoring to get in. Yet it has all been eminently worthwhile and highly successful, especially to Wang. He has succeeded in putting the older generation to work as teachers and the younger to even harder work as pupils in the Chinese opera that both generations now love more than ever.
Fortunately, Peitou is ringed by hills—almost essential to Chinese opera training. The hills are not to look at, but to sing from. Long ago, on the mainland of China, it was found that to develop the leather lungs of a really good falsetto singer, there was nothing like a misty hillside at dawn. The location had the additional asset of being well removed from civilization; there was less chance of people being bothered by the practice, which is somewhat similar to an orchestra of saxophonists just getting started.
For recruitment of pupils, Wang turned to a number of sources. Like Frederic in "The Pirates of Penzance," they are orphans—or most of them are. Some are natives of Taiwan, but many have come from the ranks of mainland refugees—several from the free Chinese village of Rennie's Mill in New Territories, a part of Hongkong crown colony. One of the emerging stars is half Japanese. Girls include a daughter of the director. To some extent, the old taboo against acting has broken down—but even so it is not easy to persuade socially elite parents to send their children to opera school. However, sons and daughters of successful stage people are included.
Scenes in Chinese opera: Top: A clown is being made up. Center: A painted face denotes strong character. General Chang Fei is popular with Chinese opera fans as a brave, outspoken and loyal soldier. Bottom: Wu Sung, a handsome young warrior, is credited with having killed a tiger with his bare hands. (File photo)
Never Enough Money
Tuition is free, so are the board and lodging of the students. This gives rise to the school's biggest problem: money. The Chinese government provides a small subsidy, but most of the revenue must come from performances. Fortunately, Taipei has enough people from north China to make theater sellouts a certainty. Additionally, most of the 11,000,000 inhabitants of Taiwan now speak and understand Mandarin or Peiping dialect, in which the plays are written. The problem is to give enough performances for solvency but not so many as to interfere with the school's activity. Otherwise there would be no intensive training and expansion of the repertoire.
Even if every seat is sold, income remains inadequate to school expenses, transportation, and costuming. Ordinarily, the box office take will run US$700 to $800 a month, which, is certainly little enough for an operation involving around 150 people. The highest net from a single performance will be about US$100, and if more than 10 performances are given a month, the school curriculum suffers an eclipse. Additionally, students fall far behind in their regular studies, which also must be pursued so that they will receive diplomas as the graduates of a professional high school.
The company frequently is purchased as a package by those engaged in raising funds for charity or similar purposes. Unhappily, some influential purchasers have a way of beating down the price. Under obligations to many people, not to mention the banks that advance loans, Principal Wang finds it hard to say no.
But the cruelest financial cut of all has resulted from the Manila trip. It was expected that the company would return with enough money to payoff loans and refurbish the school and grounds. So far nothing has been paid. Original expectation was a profit of around US$20,000. Then the impresario said $15,000 and more recently $7,500. Now the school authorities are wondering if there will be anything at all.
Consequently, new trips abroad are being entered into with caution, and only after advances. Saigon wants the company for the Christmas holidays and Japan for Lunar New Year's—but the decisions are yet to be made and they will hinge, at least in part, on whether anyone is interested enough to put up the money.
The teaching of a single opera — and there are hundreds—requires three to four months. Students must learn the lines. Songs and accompanying music must be mastered. Finally comes the greatest challenge of all: that of performing the stylized actions in accordance with usage, wont and tradition. Somewhere along the line, makeup and costuming must be fitted in. When the pieces are welded into a whole, the theater must give its supreme test—performance before an audience.
Dramas to be given on the American tour are yet to be chosen. Some plays are performed in their entirety, but because of the great length of many, there is a modern tendency to excerpt. This pulls out scenes so famous that every gesture is known to the experienced Chinese opera goer. Woe betide the performer, young or old, who gives the wrong impression, or who even departs materially from an interpretation that members of the audience may have last seen some years in the past! In this sense, Chinese opera must be a drama of perfection, and such quality is not easy of achievement. Having thus far been given four years of the allotted seven, Foo Hsing is doing somewhat better than anyone has a right to expect.
Girls Play Themselves
There has been just one departure from the classical model of Peiping, and even on the mainland it was in the process of change when the Communists took over. This concerns the former role of the "tan" actor, a male playing the part of a girl or woman. Early in this century, the "tan" completely usurped female roles, and such interpretations were an important part of the Peiping drama. At Foo Hsing, the parts of girls are played by girls, and there is conviction that some of the stylized mannerisms developed by the "tan" were not as feminine as some critics have maintained.
In any event, the girls of the Peitou company are among the loveliest and freshest to be seen on any stage. Their skill is already great in the ballet-type walk that is designed to give the effect of bound feet. The feet are encased and walking is done on tiptoe—much as in ballet. Foo Hsing girls not only walk this way, but with supreme grace. Because they are already pretty, the excess of makeup used for men playing the parts of women can be dispensed with. The eyes can be made extraordinarily large, the lips sensual or pouting or cruel as the role might require.
The first task in training opera acrobats is to loosen up their legs—like this. (File photo)
Beauty in Gestures
A talent of rare beauty is that exhibited by Miss Wang Ju-jung, the third daughter of the principal, who at 15 is a veteran of more than three years of schooling. Especially lovely are her gestures, utilizing the long sleeves and wide hems that provide so much meaning in both male and female parts. A touch of the eyes becomes tears; an outward flick, the coldest of dismissals. Additionally, she has a sweet voice and a melodious one, even in falsetto.
Acrobatic-type female roles are undertaken by Shen Fu-chia, also 15, who excels in the fighting and tantrums that distinguish many bad girls of Chinese opera. She must do this in the same tiptoe footwear of the courtesan or lady of fashion, or sometimes on block-stilts. Her sister, Fu-nin is also a member of the company.
Among the boys, Chang Fu-chien, an orphan from Hupeh, is a special favorite. He was sponsored" by the Free China Relief Association after reaching Hongkong, and when he arrived at the school, few thought he would ever make the grade. He was thin and in poor health. Medical care, good food, and kindness have made him into one of the troupe's strongest warriors-and virile fighting men are a sort of specialty in Chinese opera.
Fu-chien is now 13. His voice has changed and is deep and strong. Ferocious onstage, he is quiet and gentle otherwise and has become a "star" who is popular with everyone.
The half-Japanese boy is Mao Fu-hai, 13, whose younger brother, Fu-kui, 10, also is enrolled in the school. The father was a Chinese of Shantung province, the mother Japanese. Both parents are dead.
Fu-hai is exceptionally nimble and has concentrated on roles that given an opportunity for fighting with knives, swords, and staves. His voice is good, his facial grimaces sufficiently frightening, and his acrobatics outstanding. One vivid characterization presents him as an avenging husband.
Some performers become immensely popular with individual fans long before they can be considered real stars. An overseas Chinese in Bangkok so liked one of the students that he established a Taipei bank account of US$250 to buy costumes when the boy graduates. The father, who is poor, wanted to obtain use of the money, and the school left it up to the 11-year-old youngster. He refused.
"My family is poor," he said. "But if the money is used for living now, it will last only six months or so. If it is saved for the costumes, I can do far more for my family after graduation."
Philosophy of Life
Foo Hsing teaches a philosophy of life as well as Chinese opera.
For the last four months, school, faculty and students have been taking care of their middle-aged music teacher, who was so ill he had to go to the hospital. He teaches the instruments of the orchestra to each pupil. Without family of his own, he has found one in the company - and his affection is reciprocated. The school needs him and wants him back.
One student was a juvenile delinquent—a confirmed thief at the age of 10. The parents said they could do nothing with him and asked the school to take him. He tested well but didn't like the life. Three times he ran away, only to be returned. Without money, he couldn't get far. Then he steadied down to become one of the troupe's best clowns. He doesn't steal any more, although he did from company members at first. Now he must be watched only because of his practical jokes.
The saddest case is that of a girl who was very promising and made a big hit in Thailand. But her parents—stage people—took an insufficient interest in her career, and she became moody and quarrelsome. Eventually she had to leave the school, her training far from complete. She is with an Army company but her hopes of stardom are probably shattered. Interestingly, her old schoolmates are genuinely sorry for her. They think she missed a great opportunity.
Other players are skilled in roles that represent kings and heroes, villains and cheats, old men and clowns. Makeup of the clown somewhat resembles the tradition of the American circus—but it is entirely paint, never a mask. Most of Chinese opera's most hilarious moments come from these comics, often in the portrayal of an old man. From the vantage point of age, he can look out upon the foibles of the world with a certain detachment-and does. As a funny man, he may have a pratfall or two, yet emerge as a tragic, philosophical figure, rather than as a stooge.
One reason for the heavy emphasis on training is the fact that in Chinese opera, everything depends upon the performer.
The stage essentially is bare. Two chairs and a table are common. Otherwise properties are largely limited to weapons, perhaps a scroll, a riding crop, and similar articles. To show he is mounting a horse, riding, or dismounting, the actor handles the crop in appropriate ways. Non-existent doors are opened and closed, imaginary stairs climbed, invisible boats rowed, absolutely dry torrents braved. The chair may become a hill, or on top of the table, a throne.
For the Chinese opera lover, there can be no doubt of what is happening, provided the actor employs the correct symbols. However, even a neophyte can understand most of what goes on. As with all classic art forms, the meaning is essentially simple and can be guessed by watching closely, even when the words are not understood.
Room for Personality
As one authority has remarked, "the actor's technique is the crux of the whole entertainment." To back this up, the player has two important supports: his makeup, which reveals the type of character he is playing, and his costume, which may be almost a show in itself. Otherwise he is on his own. Within the limits of stylization, he still must emerge as a real personality, as a dynamic force who will be applauded not only for doing something in the immemorial way, but for doing it in the immemorial way with a flair.
It would seem that as in all drama, the great of Chinese opera are the innovators. Judging from the training at Foo Hsing, the new generation of players should be tough enough to be ready for anything.
For beginners, the day begins at dawn to endorse the theory that falsetto voices are best developed by yelling one's head off, outdoors, at that hour. At Peitou, the students can yell at a big rock on their hilltop, and this apparently provides enough echo to be encouraging.
The noisemaking goes on for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour.
The yelling is not, however, transferred to the opera without further conditioning. Once lung power is developed and the vocal chords strengthened, performers must learn phrasing, expression, and enunciation. Color and life are brought into the voice, so that when it reaches the farthest corners of the hall, the sound not only will be heard, but pleasantly so. This is achieved by two vocal lessons a day, at first with the accompaniment of the two-stringed fiddle, later with the other instruments.
Once thoroughly trained, a good singer will be able to lift a clear voice above the noise of madly ringing gongs, plus drums and cymbals gone crazy, and still be understood.
Training time demands for singing are rivaled by those of acrobatics. It is almost true to say that only a tumbler could be a Chinese opera star. Some roles do not require such agility, but a performer with a. repertoire of any size almost surely would be called upon for fighting, leaps, somersaults, and other athletic feats that sometimes turn the stage into a gymkhana.
The training is not unlike that of ballet. It is every bit as exacting. Usually, the first objective is to loosen up the legs so that they can be raised to ear level or higher. It starts at table height and gradually goes up and up to the point where both girls and boys can hold a foot as high as their head for 15 minutes, drop that, then hold the other on high for a similar period.
After that come the somersaults, the forward and backward flips, great leaps, standing on the head, walking on hands, and a long series of contortions performed while prone or supine. When the player is trained to a fine edge, he will be able to stand on his hands atop piled-up tables and chairs, somersault off the unstable platform and land lightly on his feet.
Somersaults and the like are an essential part of training for Chinese opera. (File photo)
Tots to Fight About
Lest this be confused with a tumbling act of specialists, it should be observed that in the Foo Hsing troupe of 120, almost all will be able to execute difficult and involved gymnastics with ease and precision.
Fighting is an advanced form of such skills, additionally involving the various weapons. Complications are provided by the fact that weapon never touches weapon, that a lance sometimes must be opposed by a dagger, and that a disarmed or defenseless actor may have to keep out of harm's way by his sureness in ducking.
Just to make things more difficult, most actors must wear special shoes built atop three-inch platforms. Merely to walk on these is a feat. Moving quickly, with grace, in a dozen gyrations, the performer is almost unbelievable. Girls also have foot problems because of their tiptoe shoes and stilts, yet they move beautifully.
Learning lines is not as difficult as in the old days, when there were no written versions of Chinese opera. Now the plays are in script form, and may be studied apart from the action or rehearsal. However, at Foo Hsing, the performer must understand what he does, what he says, and why. In former times this was not always considered essential.
As implied before, the business of learning to act is principally involved with the repetition of a stylized performance. In some ways, this makes it more difficult for the player's personality to shine through, and it would seem that Chinese opera is no place for a star system. The reverse is true. Foo Hsing already is in the star making business. Some performers have that inexplicable something that catches the attention of the audience, that sets up a magic of communication between stage and auditorium. When this happens, a star is born, no matter how rigidly contained in tradition the role may be.
The younger Foo Hsing troupers get assistance with their makeup. But in time they will come to do their own - remembering each mark, each dot, each color amid scores of complicated makeups, each with its slight differences and each adding to the characterization of role and the actor's interpretation.
Training must be given, too, in the wearing of costumes. A warrior of note may wear four battle flags projecting from his shoulder blades, as would wings. He must control these skillfully while involved in battle or acrobatics. Some roles call for elaborate headdresses, and plumes or ornaments may be manipulated in ways to designate anger, pique or other emotions.
In a subtropical climate such as Taiwan's, just getting used to the costume is something. Few auditoriums are air-conditioned, yet the costumes are heavy, often of brocades and almost inevitably hot.
There is no choice. Lighter materials would not have the richness, nor would they stand up under the wear and tear of the average play's violent action.
The Foo Hsing company will be newly outfitted for the U.S. tour. Costuming, incidentally, is another reason why the production costs of Peiping drama run high. Costumes are hugely expensive and because of the active nature of most dramas, do not last long.
The new costumes may be made in Hongkong if the troupe goes there for performances in the Spring. Contracts have not been signed, and there is some hesitation because the Cantonese have not taken to Peiping style opera.
Taiwan has other dramatic schools, and has had other outstanding performing companies. One made a highly successful European tour in late 1957 and early 1958. But for the last couple of years, the children of Foo Hsing have just about taken over. Chinese connoisseurs of opera have come to prefer the youngsters, partly because they are young, but also because the training and performances are first class and have a flavor that is all their own.
Whether or not Americans take to Chinese opera in a big way remains to be seen. But it is almost certain that they will take the Foo Hsing troupe to their hearts, and that out of the whole experience, an ancient dramatic form will take on new life and vitality for times to come.
The Rock'n Roll View
As with Kabuki and Noh in Japan, members of the younger generation have sometimes scoffed at Chinese opera, called it old-fashioned, and asked for a more realistic drama. The Foo Hsing school took a step in the other direction. From a successful American tour could come the funds, the prestige and the determination for a renaissance in this unique form of stage art.
That would set the very hills of Peitou to singing, and the yelling rock would give an echo that could be heard all the way to Taipei, 10 miles away. It would be the greatest day until March of 1963, when the "first class" of around 90 lines up for commencement and diplomas.
The hope that Chinese opera will survive as art and as fun-instead of the propaganda the Communists have made of it—is very dear to the hearts of many Chinese who traveled the long, hard road from the mainland. At the least, they will have shared their favorite young stars with their friends in the United States.