PRODUCTION The Tempest [Baofengyu]
Data Type：essay
Author：Yang, Ling-yuan; Mayer David (translation)
Title："Lone Wolf" of the Opera: Contemporary Legend Theater, 20 Years On
Source：Taiwan Panorama [Taiwan guanghua zazhi]
Place：Taipei
Volume, Number：32.2
Date：2007/2
Pages：114-123
Language：English
Abstract：The article reviews the history of the Contemporary Legend Theatre in the past 20 years. Famous for its adaption of Shakespeare’s plays, this company excels at fusing Eastern and Western theatres. After all the ups and downs the company has gone through, the founder Wu Hsing-kuo is determined that he will keep working even if he were the only member left.
Two decades ago, a band of young artists trained in Peking pera became distressed at the dwindling audiences coming to see their performances. They were worried for their own sakes, of course, but even more they were concerned for the future of an ancient form of theater. Wu Hsing-kuo, who had trained in modern dance with Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, decided to take action by founding Contemporary Legend Theatre (CLT). Joining him in the venture were Wei Hai-min (a leading performer of "black dress" roles), Ma Pao-shan (performer of "martial male" roles), and Liu Hui-fen (now a playwright at National Kuo-Kuang Chinese Opera Company).
They spent three years preparing The Kingdom of Desire, an adaptation of Shakespeare's Macbeth. Few expected much success for the new work, but in the last scene Wu Hsing-kuo, his body riddled with arrows, brought the audience to its feet in roaring applause when he plunged to the stage from a three-tall stack of tables. Some were even moved to tears. As one put it: "Imagine that! World-class theater right here in Taiwan!"
Fast forwarding to late 2006, we find the same troupe of performers up on stage. Just like the very first time, they stand in elaborate costumes set off by stage lighting and props, reading lines translated from Shakespeare. They're putting on a major performance to celebrate the company's 20th anniversary. But the fiery young countenances of yesteryear are showing the signs of age. Inner universes have grown complex. And over the two intervening decades, top stage troupes from all over the world have visited Taiwan. Audiences have grown up. Will local crowds still react with the same enthusiasm?
The plaintive wail of the dong xiao flute foreshadows the tragic end of the play. The spotlight is trained on Wu Hsing-kuo, who lurches and lunges about in the role of King Lear. His brilliant garb, designed by Timmy Yip, contrasts starkly with the troubled king's disheveled hair. He rages hoarsely: "Who am I? Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Lear's emotional turbulence comes across loud and clear. Clearer still are Wu's finely honed stage maneuvers. In the very next instant, Wu throws off his costume and turns into a robed storyteller, regaling the audience with commentary on the story of King Lear.
A man of many talents
In Act 2, Wu continues to switch costumes as the play progresses. Now he's Lear's dog, now a jester, loyal statesman, now each of Lear's daughters in turn. Later he becomes the Earl of Gloucester, duped by his illegitimate son Edmund, eyes gouged out by the king's son-in-law. He also plays the avaricious Edmund. And there is also Gloucester's legitimate son Edgar, hounded by his half-brother into exile, where he feigns madness. Wu plays ten roles in all, including even the part of "Wu Hsing-kuo" himself, who appears as one of the characters in the plot. This solo tour de force is not your grandfather's Peking Opera! In this adaptation of King Lear, the most mature of Shakespeare's tragedies, Wu pulls out all the stops, single-handedly giving audiences a look at all the main roles in Peking Opera--sheng (males), dan (females), jing (ruffians), mo (middle-aged men), and chou (buffoons).
When Wu rants to the audience "Who am I? Who is it that can tell me who I am?" in his role as King Lear, the line ties in with his "multiple stage personality," which changes in the blink of an eye from man to woman, good guy to villain. It also ties in with his real-life identity as a performer seeking to define his place on stage after stepping out from the confines of traditional Peking Opera. In the final act, before hanging himself in despair over the loss of his beloved youngest daughter, Lear moves the audience to a standing ovation with his disconsolate soliloquy on the state of human affairs. The applause is a tribute to Wu himself, and an affirmation of the hard-earned accomplishments of CLT over the past 20 years.
After the final curtain falls, the audience's persistent applause draws the exhausted Wu out again from backstage. He takes a sweeping 120-degree bow and gives an emotional hug to his wife and fellow dancer, Lin Hsiu-wei. He's of a mind to speak to the audience, say something from the heart, but his thoughts race back over 20 years and his voice chokes with emotion. He has served as choreographer, artistic director, and lead dancer for the three major works put on by CLT in celebration of its 20th anniversary. Wearing so many hats, he alone is responsible for box-office success. The pressure very nearly shut him down with performances still yet to give. But after the three-week run comes to a close, he is scheduled to pack his bags the very next week to play in The First Emperor at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
A "contemporary legend" is born
Way back in 1979, as a 24-year-old putting in his military service with the Army's volunteer opera, Wu watched as Kuo Hsiao-chuang, a graduate of Tapeng Troupe and noted performer of the hua dan (female libertine) role, founded the Ya-yin Ensemble and set about incorporating contemporary theater into Peking Opera. Kuo had a big bag of tricks. She dressed up the actors in new styles, created new sets, and attempted to break down traditional strictures on sheng (male) and dan (female) stage roles. She sought to throw off the complex baggage of oral literary traditions and turn Peking Opera into a more approachable form of modern theater. In the eyes of professionals devoted to the performance of traditional opera styles, Kuo was nothing less than a heretic. But for Wu Hsing-kuo, who was already feeling unhappy with the iron-bound formulaic nature of Peking Opera, her work was a clarion call that set him on the path to innovation.
Wu entered National Fu Hsing Dramatic Arts Academy at age 11 and studied there for eight years, training hard under teachers for whom the rod was the preferred form of discipline. Blessed with an excellent singing voice, Wu acquired a solid mastery of martial arts fundamentals and played a lead role on stage for the first time at age 16. His teachers saw him as a superstar in the making, but felt bad that he had "missed out on the heyday of Peking Opera."
After graduating from the arts academy, Wu enrolled in the Department of Theater Arts at Chinese Culture University. He was among the lucky first to enter university on the strength of previous training in traditional performing arts, rather than struggling for admission on the basis of academic test scores. He eventually impressed the dancer Lin Hwai-min, who recruited him into Cloud Gate Dance Theatre. Traveling abroad with Cloud Gate was a big eye-opener for Wu. In addition to his other pursuits, Wu was a big fan of cinema. As he traveled the globe, enjoying everything from classical Western movies to experimental theater performances back in Taiwan, a new vision for Peking Opera gradually took shape in his mind.
In 1984, Wu began working out the basic blueprint for a new style of opera. He felt that Ya-yin Ensemble's continued use of traditional Peking Opera facial painting looked awful under modern theater lighting, because the actors looked either deathly pale or imposingly dark. The stage figure he had in mind would need to bring out the beauty of the times in which the story took place, which for him would have to be China's chaotic Eastern Zhou period, of the 8th through 3rd centuries BC. Going back to this period would allow him the freedom to create a new artistic style fusing cultural elements from many different countries. Only then would he succeed in attracting younger audiences to the theater.
The next question: What to perform? Wu felt that classical Western theater was the only thing to match the depth of Peking Opera. Shakespeare's Macbeth reminded him of a traditional Chinese opera, Retribution Befalls Zi Du, for both pieces spin a tale of power lust leading to the fall of a ruler. Wu picked this story as his starting place.
Wu invited like-minded friends to join in his quest. Opera fan and grad student Li Hui-min adapted the script. Fashion designer Lin Ching-ju volunteered to work on the costumes for free. Architect Teng Kun-yen designed a stage, again free of charge. It was a labor of love for everyone. They built CLT relying completely on their own resources.
A Taiwanese theater classic
The group persuaded Wei Hai-min, a leading performer of the qing yi role (the "black dress" role of a dignified woman), to take the leading female part in their work, which they had decided to call The Kingdom of Desire. Wei recalls: "When they first showed me this thick script, which we were going to have to perform three days in a row, I sort of regretted having promised to perform with them." Nevertheless, when Wu and his wife Lin Hsiu-wei told her about their ideas, she felt their "Peking Opera revolution" was quite creative. However, it was only a diamond in the rough. The plot structure, orchestra, vocals, stage movements, costumes, and stage set had yet to be worked out in any detail. Everyone took it one step at a time, rehearsing and making adjustments by turns. The first act alone took a year to complete. There was no fixed cast, no administrative support, no regular meeting place, and no funding. Running on pure enthusiasm, the group would snatch bits of free time not taken up by their day jobs to rehearse disconnected swatches of the work at river levees and basketball courts. It was three years before the dedicated bunch finally had The Kingdom of Desire ready for a real audience.
On opening night, Wu took the leading role as Aoshu Zheng, marching out on stage in the brilliant garb of a Han-dynasty general, leading his troops back to the capital after a victorious battle. Combining the vocal techniques of the wu sheng (martial male), hua lian ("painted-face" ruffian), and lao sheng (old male), Wu gave his interpretation of a big-time general consumed by ambition. A hankering for the throne took hold of him after a spirit in a forest foretold a future rise to power. Once smitten with power lust, the general was led down a path of a subversion and treachery that would end in tragic death.
The main set featured the single table and pair of chairs that are typically set out on stage in traditional Peking Opera, but there were also some symbolic touches incorporated from contemporary theater, such as mottled, wrinkly cloth hangings representing a dark forest. Japanese dance was performed at the banquet that Aoshu Zheng hosted for the lords of the kingdom. At the moment of ultimate tension, as the assassin closed in on Meng Ting, the movements were done in slow motion. And the dialog between Aoshu Zheng and the mountain spirit was accompanied by an echo effect. In the theatrical wasteland of Taiwan 20 years ago, audiences were thrilled by these new twists.
Cultural ambassadors
But some long-time opera fans had harsh words for Wu's elaborate makeup and costumes, and derided his exaggerated acting style. Some even called him an "evil influence." They felt he had led Wei Hai-min "astray," tarnishing the respectable image she had built up as a "black dress" performer. But most in the audience on opening night were deeply moved by the performance, for they had seen an innovative new work that far exceeded expectations by achieving a true fusion of East and West, tradition and modernity. It was an unforgettable evening in the history of Taiwan theater, both for Peking Opera and modern drama.
Contemporary Legend became an overnight sensation. With booking agencies and international arts organizations vying to slot them into their schedules, they performed The Kingdom of Desire in 26 cities and nine different countries. In addition to playing at the Royal National Theatre in Britain and the Palace of the Popes at the Avignon Festival in France, they toured Japan and appeared at the 40th anniversary of the Odin Teatret in Denmark as well as the Spoleto Festival in the United States. The troupe has remained a leading light over the ensuing 20 years, creating a true "contemporary legend" in Taiwan theater.
Wu recalls: "The most exciting moment was at the international airport as we checked off row after row of luggage and did a headcount. It was like leading troops off to battle." Indeed, each overseas performance for Wu is a war that can't be lost, for there is more at stake than the reputation of one man or troupe; CLT is also out to do Taiwan proud, and to present a traditional Chinese art to a larger audience. As an artistic export and a cultural ambassador, CLT attracts close media scrutiny.
Building on the success of The Kingdom of Desire, Wu rolled out more adaptations from Shakespeare, with War and Eternity (adapted from Hamlet) in 1990, King Lear in 2000, and The Tempest in 2004. He has also adapted two Greek tragedies (Medea, 1993; Oresteia, 1995), done modern adaptations of standard Peking Opera (Last Days of Emperor Lee Yu, 1992; The Hidden Concubine), created A Play of Brother and Sister: A Hip Hopera (2002), and took a stab at Waiting for Godot (2005), adapted from the absurdist play by Irish dramatist Samuel Beckett, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Much ado about The Tempest
But let us return for now to late last year. CLT is performing The Tempest, the second major work featured in the troupe's 20th anniversary commemoration. Eerie images of clouds and wind-driven leaves, continually changing colors, flit across the white sheets forming the backdrop of the set, intermittently replaced by bits of montage and point-of-view shots. Under the masterful hand of noted Hong Kong cinema director Tsui Hark, the set fairly well screams of an unsettled world on the eve of a tempest. Then two Chinese characters--復仇 (fu chou)--appear on the screen, tipping us off that The Tempest is all about revenge.
The stage is almost devoid of props, with nothing but a pile of dark boulders providing the platform for most of the action. Wu Hsing-kuo enters center stage on stilts in the role of old Prospero, master of the magic arts. He picks his way across the jumble of rocks in a space only just wide enough for a person to turn around. A thick, heavy, red robe, four meters long and five meters across, is draped from his shoulders. The odd scene drives home in striking fashion the power of the wizard to control nature and the course of human events. It also pushes the multi-talented Wu to the limits of his abilities.
It is a pleasure to watch Wu portray the old man's life story, and to hear his powerful singing voice. In addition, the audience is treated to a virtual carnival of special operatic tricks, including high-wire stunts, pennant dancing, spear kicks, and flame swallowing. The work also examines the interaction between civilization and the indigenous ways of a desert island. Caliban's appearance is reminiscent of a Taiwanese Aborigine, for example, and Aboriginal song and dance are performed in a bid to bring the story closer to home.
In the epilogue, the marriage of the wizard's daughter to the son of the man who wronged him puts an end to the family feud. The wizard does away with his magic powers and turns the desert island over to Caliban before delivering a closing soliloquy:
"I throw open my two empty hands / never again to work magic. / I am released from my bonds. / No longer do I command the spirits. / I return to my former self, and my former home. / No longer do I lust for power, / but pray for forgiveness, and release from hatred. / May the clapping of your good hands / fill my sails with a favorable breeze / to take me away from this stage. / Now that the story's told and the players departed, set me free."
Wu's awesome voice seems to banish magic arts from the stage, and applause breaks out.
Shake it off, suck it up
Enthusiastic applause dispels the many doubts hounding the cast, who were still rehearsing right up to the night before and worrying about lighting that wasn't quite right, musical scores that still needed tweaking, and stunts that still fell a bit flat. They didn't know whether the reworked commemorative version of The Tempest would go over well with the audience. It wasn't well received when it opened in 2004 despite Tsui Hark coming aboard as director. The play hewed faithful to the Shakespeare original, but theatergoers at that time described it as "a masquerade party." The cold reception was a big blow to CLT. This time around Wu Hsing-kuo has abandoned the dark, tragic emphasis of the first time in favor of a more crowd-pleasing style, but the result has still been a mixture of praise and criticism. The resilient Wu isn't letting it get him down, however, for he lives by the old wisdom of "picking yourself right back up after a fall."
It need come as no surprise that The Tempest proved unpopular at first. Since The Kingdom of Desire opened in late 1986, CLT has never again earned quite the same rave reviews for anything else they've done. Apart from King Lear, which has gotten high marks on the strength of Wu's virtuoso solo performance, the other works have all been put together a bit too quickly, failing to show the level of polish one would expect of a major dramatic work. Critics described War and Eternity and Medea as slapdash mixtures of East and West. Oresteia was especially controversial; despite it being directed by "environmental theater master" Richard Schechner, critics felt the production failed to take advantage of the actors' formidable martial arts skills, and that having the cast walk out into the audience at the open-air venue was merely a gimmick that failed to move anyone.
One-man show
One might well have foreseen that CLT would have trouble repeating its initial success. Lin Hwai-min was in the audience when The Kingdom of Desire opened 20 years ago. The scintillating performance left him worried: "They've hit such a pinnacle with their debut--how in the world are they going to follow up?" Wu Hsing-kuo also understood this point very clearly, and has searched continually for new ways to top his first effort.
But the fact is that CLT has long been a one-man show run out of Wu's home, so to speak. Apart from Wu himself, all the performers have to be seconded from other organizations. To be sure, there are veterans who have been regulars with CLT for a long time now, but they can only work on CLT productions in their spare time. The performers aren't really able to work out all the kinks and develop a strong mutual understanding, nor do they have any chance to contribute to the creative process. That is the main reason why CLT has plateaued out artistically. In addition, government agencies have a silly unwritten rule that funding doesn't go to small productions. This has forced Wu to keep coming out with large-scale works, and prevented him from taking time out for smaller works that are within his reach and would afford a chance to build up solid experience.
In the words of Lin Hsiu-wei: "You can sum up Contemporary Legend Theatre in three words--Wu Hsing-kuo. He handles virtually everything. He decides the subject matter and adapts the script. He's the one who hires an old master to create the operatic music, and a contemporary musician to handle the musical arrangement. He designs the delivery of the dialogue, the martial action, the stage movements, the costumes, the set, the lighting. He's the one who gets everyone together for rehearsal. You name it, he's the one handling it."
Lin, who doubles as head of Tai-Gu Tales Dance Theatre, describes her husband as "a child in a man's body," full of dreams and ideals. Wu once collapsed with cramps and fainted after taking to the stage despite being exhausted and sick with a cold. And he has several times come close to nervous breakdown the night before a performance. One time in France, not wanting to disappoint an audience in Paris, he performed Farewell My Concubine on a drizzly outdoor stage. The Lord of Chu's oversized helmet rubbed his skin raw, but he fought through the bleeding and pain and, together with Wei Hai-min playing the concubine Yu Ji, won enthusiastic applause from a sophisticated audience that could not have been easy to please.
But there's a limit to how much a troupe can accomplish relying on one person's dreams. CLT receives NT$2-3 million every other year from the Council for Cultural Affairs, but Wu strongly believes that aesthetic beauty is the starting point of culture, and therefore stresses the importance of costumes, sets, and props, which is where he spends over half his money with each production.
Lin Hsiu-wei recalls with a chuckle: "When they put on The Kingdom of Desire in Hong Kong, people there didn't dare touch the lavish costumes because they thought they were fabulously expensive antiques!" Such things are a reflection, notes Lin, of Wu's romantic outlook and love of beauty.
As founder of CLT, Wu himself has been the biggest source of private funding for the troupe. Over the past 18 years he has steadily accepted television, movie, and stage roles to make money for CLT. His out-of-pocket contributions so far come to over NT$7 million, and while money is not a source of regret, Wu has not escaped without painful memories. The worst experience of all came 20 years ago when young lighting technician Chou Kai fell to his death amidst chaotic, overworked conditions during the troupe's spectacularly successful tour performing The Kingdom of Desire.
Probing the boundaries
Like most other stage companies in Taiwan, CLT's survival has often been anything but assured. In late 1998, after going three years without introducing a new production, Wu chose the anniversary of Chou Kai's death to announce the temporary disbanding of the troupe. The year 1999 went by with almost no activity, then after his mentor in Peking Opera, Chou Cheng-jung, passed away in 2000, Wu accepted an invitation to teach at the Theatre du Soleil in France. While there he performed a 25-minute adaptation from King Lear. Ariane Mnouchkine, who was responsible for Wu's hiring, was stunned. She jokingly threatened him: "If you don't return to the stage, I'm going to kill you!"
Mnouchkine's remark re-energized Wu, who was then 48 years old. He told himself: "I've got to create, even it's just me!" After finishing his teaching stint in late 2001, he returned to Taiwan and announced that CLT was being revived.
After returning to the stage, Wu set a goal to introduce at least one "purposeful" production each year. In addition to his solo performance of King Lear, he picked up again with an adaptation of Beckett's Waiting for Godot, which he had given up on in frustration years before after an application for funding was rejected. Crafted with loving care, Wu's work was given a low-key launch in 2005. Director Walter Asmus, who had worked with Beckett for years, was impressed by the poetic and theatrical beauty of the adaptation, and said that Wu had succeeded in "decoding Beckett."
Having worked with Peking Opera, adaptations of Western works, and now theater of the absurd, one wonders how many different forms of performance CLT can get involved in.
In Wu's own words: "Contemporary Legend is not traditional theater. Rather, it takes traditional theater as its point of departure in a search for a new form of performance." He feels that tearing down and abandoning is for the purpose of innovation, and innovation is for the purpose of passing on. In order to pass on the spirit of Peking Opera, they need to continually innovate.
In the closing weeks of 2006 Wu brought CLT-style Peking Opera vocals to the stage at the New York Metropolitan Opera, where he appeared in The First Emperor. In 2007, in addition to performing Waiting for Godot in Berlin, Wu is also hoping to finish Water Margin 108, an epic tale of desperados in the marshes of Mt. Liang. He would also like to put on Butterfly Dream, a story that goes to the heart of Chinese culture. And he's also got post-modern theater on his mind. So many untold tales and unheard thoughts lurk in the recesses of Wu's mind, waiting for him to flesh them out!
They spent three years preparing The Kingdom of Desire, an adaptation of Shakespeare's Macbeth. Few expected much success for the new work, but in the last scene Wu Hsing-kuo, his body riddled with arrows, brought the audience to its feet in roaring applause when he plunged to the stage from a three-tall stack of tables. Some were even moved to tears. As one put it: "Imagine that! World-class theater right here in Taiwan!"
Fast forwarding to late 2006, we find the same troupe of performers up on stage. Just like the very first time, they stand in elaborate costumes set off by stage lighting and props, reading lines translated from Shakespeare. They're putting on a major performance to celebrate the company's 20th anniversary. But the fiery young countenances of yesteryear are showing the signs of age. Inner universes have grown complex. And over the two intervening decades, top stage troupes from all over the world have visited Taiwan. Audiences have grown up. Will local crowds still react with the same enthusiasm?
The plaintive wail of the dong xiao flute foreshadows the tragic end of the play. The spotlight is trained on Wu Hsing-kuo, who lurches and lunges about in the role of King Lear. His brilliant garb, designed by Timmy Yip, contrasts starkly with the troubled king's disheveled hair. He rages hoarsely: "Who am I? Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Lear's emotional turbulence comes across loud and clear. Clearer still are Wu's finely honed stage maneuvers. In the very next instant, Wu throws off his costume and turns into a robed storyteller, regaling the audience with commentary on the story of King Lear.
A man of many talents
In Act 2, Wu continues to switch costumes as the play progresses. Now he's Lear's dog, now a jester, loyal statesman, now each of Lear's daughters in turn. Later he becomes the Earl of Gloucester, duped by his illegitimate son Edmund, eyes gouged out by the king's son-in-law. He also plays the avaricious Edmund. And there is also Gloucester's legitimate son Edgar, hounded by his half-brother into exile, where he feigns madness. Wu plays ten roles in all, including even the part of "Wu Hsing-kuo" himself, who appears as one of the characters in the plot. This solo tour de force is not your grandfather's Peking Opera! In this adaptation of King Lear, the most mature of Shakespeare's tragedies, Wu pulls out all the stops, single-handedly giving audiences a look at all the main roles in Peking Opera--sheng (males), dan (females), jing (ruffians), mo (middle-aged men), and chou (buffoons).
When Wu rants to the audience "Who am I? Who is it that can tell me who I am?" in his role as King Lear, the line ties in with his "multiple stage personality," which changes in the blink of an eye from man to woman, good guy to villain. It also ties in with his real-life identity as a performer seeking to define his place on stage after stepping out from the confines of traditional Peking Opera. In the final act, before hanging himself in despair over the loss of his beloved youngest daughter, Lear moves the audience to a standing ovation with his disconsolate soliloquy on the state of human affairs. The applause is a tribute to Wu himself, and an affirmation of the hard-earned accomplishments of CLT over the past 20 years.
After the final curtain falls, the audience's persistent applause draws the exhausted Wu out again from backstage. He takes a sweeping 120-degree bow and gives an emotional hug to his wife and fellow dancer, Lin Hsiu-wei. He's of a mind to speak to the audience, say something from the heart, but his thoughts race back over 20 years and his voice chokes with emotion. He has served as choreographer, artistic director, and lead dancer for the three major works put on by CLT in celebration of its 20th anniversary. Wearing so many hats, he alone is responsible for box-office success. The pressure very nearly shut him down with performances still yet to give. But after the three-week run comes to a close, he is scheduled to pack his bags the very next week to play in The First Emperor at the Metropolitan Opera in New York.
A "contemporary legend" is born
Way back in 1979, as a 24-year-old putting in his military service with the Army's volunteer opera, Wu watched as Kuo Hsiao-chuang, a graduate of Tapeng Troupe and noted performer of the hua dan (female libertine) role, founded the Ya-yin Ensemble and set about incorporating contemporary theater into Peking Opera. Kuo had a big bag of tricks. She dressed up the actors in new styles, created new sets, and attempted to break down traditional strictures on sheng (male) and dan (female) stage roles. She sought to throw off the complex baggage of oral literary traditions and turn Peking Opera into a more approachable form of modern theater. In the eyes of professionals devoted to the performance of traditional opera styles, Kuo was nothing less than a heretic. But for Wu Hsing-kuo, who was already feeling unhappy with the iron-bound formulaic nature of Peking Opera, her work was a clarion call that set him on the path to innovation.
Wu entered National Fu Hsing Dramatic Arts Academy at age 11 and studied there for eight years, training hard under teachers for whom the rod was the preferred form of discipline. Blessed with an excellent singing voice, Wu acquired a solid mastery of martial arts fundamentals and played a lead role on stage for the first time at age 16. His teachers saw him as a superstar in the making, but felt bad that he had "missed out on the heyday of Peking Opera."
After graduating from the arts academy, Wu enrolled in the Department of Theater Arts at Chinese Culture University. He was among the lucky first to enter university on the strength of previous training in traditional performing arts, rather than struggling for admission on the basis of academic test scores. He eventually impressed the dancer Lin Hwai-min, who recruited him into Cloud Gate Dance Theatre. Traveling abroad with Cloud Gate was a big eye-opener for Wu. In addition to his other pursuits, Wu was a big fan of cinema. As he traveled the globe, enjoying everything from classical Western movies to experimental theater performances back in Taiwan, a new vision for Peking Opera gradually took shape in his mind.
In 1984, Wu began working out the basic blueprint for a new style of opera. He felt that Ya-yin Ensemble's continued use of traditional Peking Opera facial painting looked awful under modern theater lighting, because the actors looked either deathly pale or imposingly dark. The stage figure he had in mind would need to bring out the beauty of the times in which the story took place, which for him would have to be China's chaotic Eastern Zhou period, of the 8th through 3rd centuries BC. Going back to this period would allow him the freedom to create a new artistic style fusing cultural elements from many different countries. Only then would he succeed in attracting younger audiences to the theater.
The next question: What to perform? Wu felt that classical Western theater was the only thing to match the depth of Peking Opera. Shakespeare's Macbeth reminded him of a traditional Chinese opera, Retribution Befalls Zi Du, for both pieces spin a tale of power lust leading to the fall of a ruler. Wu picked this story as his starting place.
Wu invited like-minded friends to join in his quest. Opera fan and grad student Li Hui-min adapted the script. Fashion designer Lin Ching-ju volunteered to work on the costumes for free. Architect Teng Kun-yen designed a stage, again free of charge. It was a labor of love for everyone. They built CLT relying completely on their own resources.
A Taiwanese theater classic
The group persuaded Wei Hai-min, a leading performer of the qing yi role (the "black dress" role of a dignified woman), to take the leading female part in their work, which they had decided to call The Kingdom of Desire. Wei recalls: "When they first showed me this thick script, which we were going to have to perform three days in a row, I sort of regretted having promised to perform with them." Nevertheless, when Wu and his wife Lin Hsiu-wei told her about their ideas, she felt their "Peking Opera revolution" was quite creative. However, it was only a diamond in the rough. The plot structure, orchestra, vocals, stage movements, costumes, and stage set had yet to be worked out in any detail. Everyone took it one step at a time, rehearsing and making adjustments by turns. The first act alone took a year to complete. There was no fixed cast, no administrative support, no regular meeting place, and no funding. Running on pure enthusiasm, the group would snatch bits of free time not taken up by their day jobs to rehearse disconnected swatches of the work at river levees and basketball courts. It was three years before the dedicated bunch finally had The Kingdom of Desire ready for a real audience.
On opening night, Wu took the leading role as Aoshu Zheng, marching out on stage in the brilliant garb of a Han-dynasty general, leading his troops back to the capital after a victorious battle. Combining the vocal techniques of the wu sheng (martial male), hua lian ("painted-face" ruffian), and lao sheng (old male), Wu gave his interpretation of a big-time general consumed by ambition. A hankering for the throne took hold of him after a spirit in a forest foretold a future rise to power. Once smitten with power lust, the general was led down a path of a subversion and treachery that would end in tragic death.
The main set featured the single table and pair of chairs that are typically set out on stage in traditional Peking Opera, but there were also some symbolic touches incorporated from contemporary theater, such as mottled, wrinkly cloth hangings representing a dark forest. Japanese dance was performed at the banquet that Aoshu Zheng hosted for the lords of the kingdom. At the moment of ultimate tension, as the assassin closed in on Meng Ting, the movements were done in slow motion. And the dialog between Aoshu Zheng and the mountain spirit was accompanied by an echo effect. In the theatrical wasteland of Taiwan 20 years ago, audiences were thrilled by these new twists.
Cultural ambassadors
But some long-time opera fans had harsh words for Wu's elaborate makeup and costumes, and derided his exaggerated acting style. Some even called him an "evil influence." They felt he had led Wei Hai-min "astray," tarnishing the respectable image she had built up as a "black dress" performer. But most in the audience on opening night were deeply moved by the performance, for they had seen an innovative new work that far exceeded expectations by achieving a true fusion of East and West, tradition and modernity. It was an unforgettable evening in the history of Taiwan theater, both for Peking Opera and modern drama.
Contemporary Legend became an overnight sensation. With booking agencies and international arts organizations vying to slot them into their schedules, they performed The Kingdom of Desire in 26 cities and nine different countries. In addition to playing at the Royal National Theatre in Britain and the Palace of the Popes at the Avignon Festival in France, they toured Japan and appeared at the 40th anniversary of the Odin Teatret in Denmark as well as the Spoleto Festival in the United States. The troupe has remained a leading light over the ensuing 20 years, creating a true "contemporary legend" in Taiwan theater.
Wu recalls: "The most exciting moment was at the international airport as we checked off row after row of luggage and did a headcount. It was like leading troops off to battle." Indeed, each overseas performance for Wu is a war that can't be lost, for there is more at stake than the reputation of one man or troupe; CLT is also out to do Taiwan proud, and to present a traditional Chinese art to a larger audience. As an artistic export and a cultural ambassador, CLT attracts close media scrutiny.
Building on the success of The Kingdom of Desire, Wu rolled out more adaptations from Shakespeare, with War and Eternity (adapted from Hamlet) in 1990, King Lear in 2000, and The Tempest in 2004. He has also adapted two Greek tragedies (Medea, 1993; Oresteia, 1995), done modern adaptations of standard Peking Opera (Last Days of Emperor Lee Yu, 1992; The Hidden Concubine), created A Play of Brother and Sister: A Hip Hopera (2002), and took a stab at Waiting for Godot (2005), adapted from the absurdist play by Irish dramatist Samuel Beckett, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature.
Much ado about The Tempest
But let us return for now to late last year. CLT is performing The Tempest, the second major work featured in the troupe's 20th anniversary commemoration. Eerie images of clouds and wind-driven leaves, continually changing colors, flit across the white sheets forming the backdrop of the set, intermittently replaced by bits of montage and point-of-view shots. Under the masterful hand of noted Hong Kong cinema director Tsui Hark, the set fairly well screams of an unsettled world on the eve of a tempest. Then two Chinese characters--復仇 (fu chou)--appear on the screen, tipping us off that The Tempest is all about revenge.
The stage is almost devoid of props, with nothing but a pile of dark boulders providing the platform for most of the action. Wu Hsing-kuo enters center stage on stilts in the role of old Prospero, master of the magic arts. He picks his way across the jumble of rocks in a space only just wide enough for a person to turn around. A thick, heavy, red robe, four meters long and five meters across, is draped from his shoulders. The odd scene drives home in striking fashion the power of the wizard to control nature and the course of human events. It also pushes the multi-talented Wu to the limits of his abilities.
It is a pleasure to watch Wu portray the old man's life story, and to hear his powerful singing voice. In addition, the audience is treated to a virtual carnival of special operatic tricks, including high-wire stunts, pennant dancing, spear kicks, and flame swallowing. The work also examines the interaction between civilization and the indigenous ways of a desert island. Caliban's appearance is reminiscent of a Taiwanese Aborigine, for example, and Aboriginal song and dance are performed in a bid to bring the story closer to home.
In the epilogue, the marriage of the wizard's daughter to the son of the man who wronged him puts an end to the family feud. The wizard does away with his magic powers and turns the desert island over to Caliban before delivering a closing soliloquy:
"I throw open my two empty hands / never again to work magic. / I am released from my bonds. / No longer do I command the spirits. / I return to my former self, and my former home. / No longer do I lust for power, / but pray for forgiveness, and release from hatred. / May the clapping of your good hands / fill my sails with a favorable breeze / to take me away from this stage. / Now that the story's told and the players departed, set me free."
Wu's awesome voice seems to banish magic arts from the stage, and applause breaks out.
Shake it off, suck it up
Enthusiastic applause dispels the many doubts hounding the cast, who were still rehearsing right up to the night before and worrying about lighting that wasn't quite right, musical scores that still needed tweaking, and stunts that still fell a bit flat. They didn't know whether the reworked commemorative version of The Tempest would go over well with the audience. It wasn't well received when it opened in 2004 despite Tsui Hark coming aboard as director. The play hewed faithful to the Shakespeare original, but theatergoers at that time described it as "a masquerade party." The cold reception was a big blow to CLT. This time around Wu Hsing-kuo has abandoned the dark, tragic emphasis of the first time in favor of a more crowd-pleasing style, but the result has still been a mixture of praise and criticism. The resilient Wu isn't letting it get him down, however, for he lives by the old wisdom of "picking yourself right back up after a fall."
It need come as no surprise that The Tempest proved unpopular at first. Since The Kingdom of Desire opened in late 1986, CLT has never again earned quite the same rave reviews for anything else they've done. Apart from King Lear, which has gotten high marks on the strength of Wu's virtuoso solo performance, the other works have all been put together a bit too quickly, failing to show the level of polish one would expect of a major dramatic work. Critics described War and Eternity and Medea as slapdash mixtures of East and West. Oresteia was especially controversial; despite it being directed by "environmental theater master" Richard Schechner, critics felt the production failed to take advantage of the actors' formidable martial arts skills, and that having the cast walk out into the audience at the open-air venue was merely a gimmick that failed to move anyone.
One-man show
One might well have foreseen that CLT would have trouble repeating its initial success. Lin Hwai-min was in the audience when The Kingdom of Desire opened 20 years ago. The scintillating performance left him worried: "They've hit such a pinnacle with their debut--how in the world are they going to follow up?" Wu Hsing-kuo also understood this point very clearly, and has searched continually for new ways to top his first effort.
But the fact is that CLT has long been a one-man show run out of Wu's home, so to speak. Apart from Wu himself, all the performers have to be seconded from other organizations. To be sure, there are veterans who have been regulars with CLT for a long time now, but they can only work on CLT productions in their spare time. The performers aren't really able to work out all the kinks and develop a strong mutual understanding, nor do they have any chance to contribute to the creative process. That is the main reason why CLT has plateaued out artistically. In addition, government agencies have a silly unwritten rule that funding doesn't go to small productions. This has forced Wu to keep coming out with large-scale works, and prevented him from taking time out for smaller works that are within his reach and would afford a chance to build up solid experience.
In the words of Lin Hsiu-wei: "You can sum up Contemporary Legend Theatre in three words--Wu Hsing-kuo. He handles virtually everything. He decides the subject matter and adapts the script. He's the one who hires an old master to create the operatic music, and a contemporary musician to handle the musical arrangement. He designs the delivery of the dialogue, the martial action, the stage movements, the costumes, the set, the lighting. He's the one who gets everyone together for rehearsal. You name it, he's the one handling it."
Lin, who doubles as head of Tai-Gu Tales Dance Theatre, describes her husband as "a child in a man's body," full of dreams and ideals. Wu once collapsed with cramps and fainted after taking to the stage despite being exhausted and sick with a cold. And he has several times come close to nervous breakdown the night before a performance. One time in France, not wanting to disappoint an audience in Paris, he performed Farewell My Concubine on a drizzly outdoor stage. The Lord of Chu's oversized helmet rubbed his skin raw, but he fought through the bleeding and pain and, together with Wei Hai-min playing the concubine Yu Ji, won enthusiastic applause from a sophisticated audience that could not have been easy to please.
But there's a limit to how much a troupe can accomplish relying on one person's dreams. CLT receives NT$2-3 million every other year from the Council for Cultural Affairs, but Wu strongly believes that aesthetic beauty is the starting point of culture, and therefore stresses the importance of costumes, sets, and props, which is where he spends over half his money with each production.
Lin Hsiu-wei recalls with a chuckle: "When they put on The Kingdom of Desire in Hong Kong, people there didn't dare touch the lavish costumes because they thought they were fabulously expensive antiques!" Such things are a reflection, notes Lin, of Wu's romantic outlook and love of beauty.
As founder of CLT, Wu himself has been the biggest source of private funding for the troupe. Over the past 18 years he has steadily accepted television, movie, and stage roles to make money for CLT. His out-of-pocket contributions so far come to over NT$7 million, and while money is not a source of regret, Wu has not escaped without painful memories. The worst experience of all came 20 years ago when young lighting technician Chou Kai fell to his death amidst chaotic, overworked conditions during the troupe's spectacularly successful tour performing The Kingdom of Desire.
Probing the boundaries
Like most other stage companies in Taiwan, CLT's survival has often been anything but assured. In late 1998, after going three years without introducing a new production, Wu chose the anniversary of Chou Kai's death to announce the temporary disbanding of the troupe. The year 1999 went by with almost no activity, then after his mentor in Peking Opera, Chou Cheng-jung, passed away in 2000, Wu accepted an invitation to teach at the Theatre du Soleil in France. While there he performed a 25-minute adaptation from King Lear. Ariane Mnouchkine, who was responsible for Wu's hiring, was stunned. She jokingly threatened him: "If you don't return to the stage, I'm going to kill you!"
Mnouchkine's remark re-energized Wu, who was then 48 years old. He told himself: "I've got to create, even it's just me!" After finishing his teaching stint in late 2001, he returned to Taiwan and announced that CLT was being revived.
After returning to the stage, Wu set a goal to introduce at least one "purposeful" production each year. In addition to his solo performance of King Lear, he picked up again with an adaptation of Beckett's Waiting for Godot, which he had given up on in frustration years before after an application for funding was rejected. Crafted with loving care, Wu's work was given a low-key launch in 2005. Director Walter Asmus, who had worked with Beckett for years, was impressed by the poetic and theatrical beauty of the adaptation, and said that Wu had succeeded in "decoding Beckett."
Having worked with Peking Opera, adaptations of Western works, and now theater of the absurd, one wonders how many different forms of performance CLT can get involved in.
In Wu's own words: "Contemporary Legend is not traditional theater. Rather, it takes traditional theater as its point of departure in a search for a new form of performance." He feels that tearing down and abandoning is for the purpose of innovation, and innovation is for the purpose of passing on. In order to pass on the spirit of Peking Opera, they need to continually innovate.
In the closing weeks of 2006 Wu brought CLT-style Peking Opera vocals to the stage at the New York Metropolitan Opera, where he appeared in The First Emperor. In 2007, in addition to performing Waiting for Godot in Berlin, Wu is also hoping to finish Water Margin 108, an epic tale of desperados in the marshes of Mt. Liang. He would also like to put on Butterfly Dream, a story that goes to the heart of Chinese culture. And he's also got post-modern theater on his mind. So many untold tales and unheard thoughts lurk in the recesses of Wu's mind, waiting for him to flesh them out!
