Taiwanese opera, the only native-born theatrical form in Taiwan, was suppressed at different times for political reasons, but has bounced back to renewed acclaim both at home and abroad.
Around 1900, Taiwanese whose ancestors came mostly from the Chinese coastal provinces of Fujian and Guangdong combined folk songs with earlier dramatic forms to create a new style known as “gezaixi,” (“song-drama”), or Taiwanese opera, which gradually became a popular form of entertainment. As the form developed, it continued to absorb elements from many other styles of Chinese theater and music.
“At that time, it was a tradition for farmers to celebrate the harvest with performances for the gods,” said Liao Chiung-chih, one of Taiwan’s most revered practitioners of the art, who is also the organizer of a foundation dedicated to Taiwanese opera education.
During the Japanese occupation (1895-1945), Taiwanese opera became so popular that the colonial government banned its performance. “The actors had to put on Japanese-style costumes and carry samurai swords, just so they could immediately switch to Japanese drama when police raided the theaters,” Liao said, describing the intensity of state control over freedom of speech in those times.
After the Kuomintang government took over Taiwan in 1945, Taiwanese opera, which is performed in the Holo language, was considered rustic and inelegant. This theatrical form was thus shunned by the government, which was then working hard to promote Mandarin as the national language.
However, when televisions entered Taiwanese households in the 1960s, the daily broadcast of Taiwanese opera became virtually the only entertainment for common people after work.
“Oftentimes there would only be one family in the entire village that owned a TV, so all the kids would squeeze in that tiny living room to steal a glimpse of Yang Li-hua, the hottest Taiwanese opera star at that time,” Liao said. “It was the golden age of Taiwanese opera.”
Following on a prohibition against using Holo in schools in 1956, in the 1970s the government limited the showing of television programs in Holo, thus further stigmatizing the language, and with it Taiwanese opera.
Meanwhile, Taiwanese opera was giving way to the influx of ready-made, convenient entertainment like movies and TV programs. “The art was gradually becoming lost,” Liao said.
Though the restrictions on Holo-language programs were lifted in the 1980s, Taiwanese opera was no longer an indispensible part of people’s lives. “When I performed in the National Theater in the 1970s, I was surprised to see that all the audience members were over 50 years old,” Liao recalled. The traditional art was obviously fading away, and she decided to do her best to save it.
In 1999, Liao received a prize of NT$500,000 (US$15,610) from the Cabinet-level Council for Cultural Affairs for her lifelong dedication to preserving traditional theater. She used the money, along with help from other veteran artists and scholars, to establish the Liao Chiung-chih Taiwanese Opera Foundation for Culture and Education.
“If I don’t pass this down, I’m afraid there will be no one to tell future generations of this wonderful treasure that is unique to Taiwan,” a worried Liao said.
For over a decade, Liao has been offering lectures on singing and body gestures in Taiwanese opera for students and researchers; she occasionally travels to other cities at the request of the CCA to train school staff, “so they can help spread the artistic seeds to their students,” Liao said with hope.
While some artists are dedicated to the passing down of tradition, some have opted for revolution.
In 2004, Ming Hwa Yuan, a Taiwanese opera troupe run by the Chen family since 1929, put the entire island in awe with its Hollywood-style rendition of “The Legend of the White Snake,” an ancient Chinese story involving the love and betrayal between a female snake that takes human form and a young scholar.
For the scene in which the white snake, equipped with magic powers, summons seawater and marine creatures to flood a temple to save her husband, the troupe technicians employed giant water cannons, with the actors hanging on wires above the water, to create the illusion of a deluge.
“We even went so far as to make the audience part of our setting,” said Chen Sheng-fu, president of Ming Hwa Yuan Taiwanese Opera Co. Audience members adjacent to the stage were all given blue raincoats to keep them from getting wet; they thus became part of the seawater. “Guess what, they all enjoyed it!” a proud Chen said.
After this success, the group made it an annual ritual to put on the show on the Dragon Boat Festival, when the story occurs. Their performances have attracted larger audiences every year.
In 2007, the show drew over 100,000 spectators on a single night in Kaohsiung, the largest single audience ever recorded in Taiwan.
This year, to celebrate Dragon Boat Festival at the 2010 Shanghai World Expo, Ming Hwa Yuan put the play on at a football stadium in downtown Shanghai.
“All 25,000 tickets, each worth RMB$1000 (US$148), were sold out,” Chen said with amazement. According to the local media, the audience members who received blue raincoats at the gate were thrilled, preparing themselves for the artificial downpour.
With “The Legend of the White Snake,” Ming Hwa Yuan revolutionized Taiwanese opera by liberating the performance from the limits of the traditional stage, and making the audience part of the show.
“Our European audiences gave standing ovations after every performance,” Chen recalled of the troupe’s world tour. “In France, people waited for hours outside the auditorium just for a glimpse of the actors,” he added.
With 75 percent of Ming Hwa Yuan’s audience now under 25 years old, Chen noted proudly how the troupe has “reignited the younger generation’s passion for this traditional art.”
As important as revolution is, Ming Hwa Yuan has also worked hard to pass on the long-treasured tradition. The troupe occasionally gives free performances in schools, hospitals, communities and even prisons.
“We want to lure as many people as possible into the theater; the entire industry chain can only thrive if there are enough opera lovers to support it,” Chen said. “By popularizing high art, we are actually helping popular art become more refined,” he added.
Both Liao and Chen have called on the government to take action for the preservation and promotion of gezaixi. Liao asked for a state-run Taiwanese opera theater, similar to what mainland China does with its various types of traditional drama, “so the graduates of art academies have some place to go,” she said.
For Chen, Taiwanese opera could pioneer a chain of creative cultural industries, including actor and musician training, costume making, stage and light design, as well as script writing. “All this requires a strong audience base,” Chen said, calling on the government to come up with more sustainable policies for art troupes.
For Liao’s foundation and Ming Hwa Yuan, Taiwanese opera is not just a form of entertainment. It embodies the very essence of Taiwanese culture: endurance, vitality and creativity. It is this belief which keeps them moving forward. (THN)