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Take a Bao Think the concerns of Xiju (pronounced shee-shu) dramas like "Judge Bao and the Case of Qin Xianglian" are foreign to your own? Think again. The scorching tales they depict might well have been ripped from the tabloids, the love child of Jingju (jin-jew) opera and Jerry Springer (jeh-ree spring-ah).
English-language Xiju drama
adorns a torrid tale
with traditional trappingsBy Scott Vogel
svogel@starbulletin.comConsider the storyline of the present musical play, which opens tomorrow at the University of Hawaii's Kennedy Theater. Chen Shi Mei, an enterprising young academic from the sticks, travels to the capital for a series of national examinations, leaving wife Qin Xianglian and two children behind. But Chen's test scores are so high that his pencil attracts the attention of the Empress Dowager, and then her eligible young daughter, whom he quickly scores with in a different way. This Chen accomplishes by conveniently forgetting that he's already married -- can't you just hear the Springer folks groaning? -- and knowledge of his double life is concealed for a time.
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But then Qin comes to town (cue sympathetic applause), only to be rebuffed by Chen in a minor way (he ignores her) and then in a major way (he tries to have her killed). As every avid daytime TV viewer knows, Qin's next step is to win redress via the most public way possible, though here she settles not for the court of public opinion but a real court. Judge Bao's."Judge Bao was a historical figure back in the Sung Dynasty," explained Elizabeth Wichmann-Walczak, UH's director of Asian theater and the English translator of this torrid stew. "He was supposed to have been born in the year 999 and was an upright, incorruptible judge. As time went by, stories about other upright, incorruptible judges got attributed to him and he became in essence deified in Chinese popular religion."
There are no modern equivalents to this sage magistrate, his syndicated descendants more concerned with their own celebrity than jurisprudence. But Bao's real-life descendants no doubt grappled with celebrity of a type as well, especially as the great judge became known as "the upholder of the common man," notes Wichmann-Walczak, "although in this play, of course, he's the upholder of the common woman."
He also sings, dances and wears heavy make-up, this being a Jingju play, which makes it sound suspiciously like a Broadway musical until you consider all the extra elements -- pantomime, stylized acting, gymnastics, two musical ensembles (percussion and melody) -- it somehow unites into a seamless whole.
"There's been a lot of talk in theater theory over the last several decades about the idea of Total Theater, where all of the senses are engaged and all the performing arts are in evidence. This is as total as it gets. At the same time it's very focused with recognizable characters who act out the story. It's very immediate, very approachable, very direct, and at the same time it's a very rich experience."
One assumption of Jingju (literally, "drama of the capital," the form having risen to prominence in 19th century Peking) is that audiences will be familiar with characters, plot, even the plot's resolution. In that way, "Judge Bao" is not unlike Western realist dramas like "Death of a Salesman," in which the title announces the outcome. In both cases, dramatic focus shifts from what will happen to how it will happen. In Jingju's case, the how is staged via a series of painterly yet fluid visual compositions in which every choice, from music to costume to gesture, is predetermined.
For Western actors schooled in the Stanislavskian method (in which an actor is encouraged to inhabit the mind of the character first and then let those choices determine his movements) Jingju can be a rather unsettling experience.
"Since these are traditional plays, (students) are taught what to do physically and even facially, initially, and they imitate that," says Wichmann-Walczak. There's a right and wrong way to pantomime opening doors, say, a right way for a performer to wave a band of white silk, a signal to the orchestra that she's ready to sing. For actors encountering Asian theater for the first time, she says, "it's extremely expanding, and that can also be disorienting."
"Not only do you have to become literally larger -- vocally and physically -- but you also have to expand your ideas about how to create these things. You have to work with different sorts of rhythms. You have to work with people who are constantly correcting everything you're doing and then telling you to 'just think about the character.' And you have to work with people who are saying 'just do it naturally' -- in an extremely stylized form."
Needless to say, for the 25 actor/singer/dancers in the "Judge Bao" cast, it's an exercise in flexibility and patience. Those who survive the grueling six-month training period get some of the best acting training of their lives, this year's program having been supervised by internationally known members of the Beijing Opera. And though they may never perform in another Asian theater production, skills learned are applicable to all forms of theater.
"It vastly increases their range, both technically and in terms of conceptual aesthetics," says Wichmann-Walczak.
Thanks to the English translation, audiences, too, find the experience mind-expanding.
"I get lots of letters every time we do this from people who are of Chinese ethnicity but do not speak Chinese about how, 'For the first time I understood and appreciate it.'
"It's exciting to be the cultural bridge that on many different levels connects a multiplicity of different things."
Not even Jerry Springer can claim such networking success.
What: "Judge Bao and the Case of Qin Xianglian" Bao wow!
When: 8 p.m. tomorrow, Saturday and Feb. 13 to 16; 2 p.m. Sunday and Feb. 17.
Where: Kennedy Theater, University of Hawaii at Manoa
Cost: $15 general; $12, seniors, military; $4 UH students
Call: 956-7655
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