Staging Revolution: Artistry and Aesthetics in Model Beijing Opera during the Cultural Revolution 9888455818, 9789888455812

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“Though no longer in fashion, the model revolutionary operas of the Cultural Revolution are still occasionally performed. Xing Fan has done us a great service by analyzing them in detail and reminding us of their merits. I thoroughly enjoyed this engaging book and learned a lot from it. I recommend it strongly.” —Colin Mackerras, Griffith University

STAGING REVOLUTION

A r tistr y and Aesthetics in Model Beijing Opera during the Cultural Revolution 235mm

Staging Revolution refutes the deep-rooted notion that art overtly in the service of politics is by definition devoid of artistic merits. As a prominent component shaping the culture of the Cultural Revolution, model Beijing Opera (jingju) is the epitome of art used for political ends. Arguing against commonly accepted interpretations, Xing Fan demonstrates that in a performance of model jingju, political messages could only be realized through the most rigorously formulated artistic choices and conveyed by performers possessing exceptional techniques. Fan contextualizes model jingju at the intersection of history, artistry, and aesthetics. Integral to jingju’s interactions with politics are the practitioners’ constant artistic experimentations to accommodate the modern stories and characters within the jingju framework and the eventual formation of a new sense of beauty. Therefore, a thorough understanding of model jingju demands close attention to how the artists resolved actual production problems, which is a critical perspective missing in earlier studies. This book provides exactly this much-needed dimension of analysis by scrutinizing the decisions made in the real, practical context of bringing dramatic characters to life on stage, and by examining how major artistic elements interacted with each other, sometimes harmoniously, sometimes antagonistically. Such an approach necessarily places jingju artists center stage. Making use of first person accounts of the creative process, including numerous interviews conducted by the author, Fan presents a new appreciation of a lived experience that, on a harrowing journey of coping with political interference, was also filled with inspiration and excitement.

STAGING REVOLUTION

“This fascinating study is ground-breaking and timely. Xing Fan masterfully demonstrates how the creative choices made by playwrights, directors, musicians, actors, and designers intersected with one another in creating an aesthetics of the model theater during the Cultural Revolution. A must-read for anyone interested in Chinese literature and drama, theater studies, and comparative literature.” —Xiaomei Chen, University of California, Davis

Xing Fan is assistant professor in Asian theatre and performance studies in the Centre for Drama, Theatre and Performance Studies at the University of Toronto. Cover design by Kurt Würmli. Cultural Revolution / Beijing Opera / History

Xing Fan

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X ing Fan 5mm

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Staging Revolution

Staging Revolution

Artistry and Aesthetics in Model Beijing Opera during the Cultural Revolution

Xing Fan

Hong Kong University Press The University of Hong Kong Pokfulam Road Hong Kong www.hkupress.hku.hk © 2018 Hong Kong University Press ISBN 978-988-8455-81-2 (Hardback) All rights reserved. No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed and bound by Hang Tai Printing Co. Ltd., Hong Kong, China

In gratitude to Beijing opera practitioners

Contents

List of Illustrations viii List of Tables x Acknowledgments xi Overture 1 Part I: Jingju, Modern Jingju, and Model Jingju

13

1. Jingju at Yan’an 2. Jingju during the Xiqu Reform 3. Modern Jingju in Years of Uncertainty 4. Model Jingju as Pinnacle of Cultural Reconstruction

15 28 47 65

Part II: Inside Model Jingju

97

5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Foundation of Productions: Scripts and Playwriting The Broken and the Breakthroughs in Acting Fresh yet Familiar: Music Visual Communication through Design Mounting a Production: Directing

99 125 154 196 218

Coda 239 Bibliography 259 Index 274

Illustrations

Figures Three Mountains, production photo 1 43 Three Mountains, production photo 2 44 The White-Haired Girl, production photo 1 63 The White-Haired Girl, production photo 2 63 “Recounting the family’s revolutionary history music” in The Red Lantern 171 7.2 Tiemei’s aria in xipi-flowing-water-meter in The Red Lantern 189 7.3 Ke Xiang theme in Azalea Mountain 191 7.4 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s first aria in Azalea Mountain 191 7.5 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s second aria in Azalea Mountain 191 7.6 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s third aria in Azalea Mountain 192 7.7 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s fourth aria in Azalea Mountain 192 7.8 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s fifth aria in Azalea Mountain 193 7.9 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s sixth aria in Azalea Mountain 193 7.10 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s seventh aria in Azalea Mountain 194 7.11 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s eighth aria in Azalea Mountain 194 7.12 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s ninth aria in Azalea Mountain 195 7.13 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s tenth aria in Azalea Mountain 195 7.14 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s eleventh aria in Azalea Mountain 195 7.15 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s twelfth aria in Azalea Mountain 195 8.1 Construction drawing for the major scenery, Scene 5 in On the Docks 204 8.2 Stage floor plan, Scene 5 in On the Docks 205 8.3 Construction drawing for the major scenery, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy 206 8.4 Stage floor plan, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy 206 9.1 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (1) 232 9.2 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (2) 233 2.1 2.2 3.1 3.2 7.1

Illustrations ix

9.3 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (3) 9.4 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (4) 9.5 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (5)

Plates (after page 210) 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4

Scenery design rendering, Scene 5 in On the Docks Scenery design rendering, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Female version of fugui yi Costume design rendering, Tiemei in The Red Lantern

234 235 235

Tables

2.1 Twenty-six xiqu plays banned during 1950–1952 33 4.1 Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison 80–88 4.2 Statistics of characters and languages in five versions of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy 89 5.1 Rhyme categories in model jingju 119 6.1 Role-types in traditional jingju 127–28 6.2 Major influential schools of performance in jingju during the first half of the twentieth century 134 6.3 Dynamics in the song of model jingju 143 7.1 Instruments frequently used in the traditional jingju orchestra 157 7.2 Instruments in the orchestra of five model jingju 158–60 7.3 Major methods of striking the four major percussive instruments in the traditional jingju orchestra 166 7.4 Modes used in model jingju in order of frequency 175 7.5 Ten principal metrical types in traditional jingju 179 7.6 Traditional possibilities for the association between the ten principal metrical types and the three modes frequently used in model jingju 179 7.7 Metrical-type composition for core arias in model jingju 183–85

Acknowledgments

This book is the product of a ten-year journey, during which I have received the most generous support from numerous individuals, organizations, and institutes. First and foremost, acknowledgment must go to Elizabeth Wichmann-Walczak, whose research methodology, teaching philosophy, and model of investigating a performance practice from the inside—delving into it, observing it, listening to it, and living through its aesthetics—has guided this project since the beginning. In 1979, Elizabeth, then a PhD candidate at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, went to China for dissertation research on the Cultural Revolution’s model works; she quickly discovered that it was impossible because model works were banned from the stage, and no one would talk about them. Almost four decades later, it gives me great pleasure to see this project in its final phase, having been supported by Elizabeth’s inspiration, encouragement, and academic model during the past fifteen years. Other mentors at the UHM—Ricardo D. Trimillos, Julie Iezzi, Kirstin Pauka, Lurana Donnels O’Malley, Frederick Lau, and the late James R. Brandon—all offered timely and valuable advice on my research or writing; their firm belief that academic attention to artistry and aesthetics can lead to critical insights into politics- and ideology-loaded theatrical productions was particularly significant to the early phase of this project. The project would not have been possible without my training in classical Chinese performance in Beijing and at the UHM, in particular in Beijing opera but also including Kun opera. This training has given me firsthand experience of being on the stage and mounting a production, and it has nurtured my utmost respect for the practitioners. I owe debts of gratitude to the teachers who introduced me to the fascinating world of acting: Zhang Yijuan, Song Danju, Xiao Yi, Zhang Juan, Li Xiaoqin, and Chai Lixing at the Academy of Chinese Traditional Theatre, and Li Zhenghua, Zhang Ling, Lu Genzhang, Shen Fuqing, and Zhang Xigui at the Jiangsu Province Beijing Opera Company. Along the way, I conducted face-to-face personal interviews, some followed with telephone interviews, with fifty-eight practitioners and scholars in Beijing, Shanghai, and Jinan. I thank them from the bottom of my heart for granting me these interviews and for sharing their expertise and wisdom. Their accounts of

xii Acknowledgments

those sleepless nights during turbulent periods in China, their reflections on artistic choices and aesthetic concerns, and descriptions of their creative process—conversations filled with tears and laughter, pain and joy, and anxiety and excitement— were eye-opening; they urged me to search for an appropriate methodology to treat the subject matter, which was far more complex than anticipated. Administrators at the Shanghai Beijing Opera Company, the Beijing Opera Company of Beijing, and the China Beijing Opera Company helped me establish contact with some of these practitioners and scholars. The archive at the Beijing Opera Company of Beijing hosted my multiple visits. The Third Troupe of the China Beijing Opera Company granted me permission to closely observe the rehearsals of the reconstructed version of Azalea Mountain in March–May 2005. The two months of daily, intensive rehearsals provided invaluable data with regard to how artistic elements were integrated in such a production, thus contributing to my understanding of the production’s original version. The following institutions offered generous financial support for my research and writing: the UH-Beida (Peking University) Exchange Program Award provided me the opportunity to conduct one year of field research in China; the China Times Young Scholars Award and the Ah Kin (Buck) Yee Graduate Fellowship in Chinese Studies further supported my field research; the Dai Ho Chun Graduate Division Fellowship in Dissertation Completion at the UHM, the John Young Scholarship in the Arts by the John Young Foundation, and the Chun Ku and Soo Yong Huang Foundation Scholarship in Chinese Studies supported my dissertation composition, an early phase of the project; and the Giles Whiting Teaching Fellowship, from Bates College, which included a one-year leave, allowed me to conduct further field research in China and to develop the manuscript. I benefited from the advice, suggestions, and help from many colleagues and friends during composition. Sammie Choy proofread and edited each page in the multiple drafts of the manuscript; a director and scholar herself, Sammie wholeheartedly supported my approach of spotlighting practitioners in the central position and offered numerous suggestions for more nuanced articulations, arguments, and analyses. Padraic Costello transcribed all musical scores in Chapter 7. Yisen (Vivian) Wang, Yurou Zhong, and Yiching Wu each read one or more chapters, sometimes multiple drafts, and challenged me to hone arguments, to write concisely, and to better contextualize the subject matter. Lu (Lucy) Gan at the East Asian Library at the University of Toronto always had the best, most efficient solutions whenever I visited with data confirmation questions. David Rolston, Kathy Foley, Siyuan (Steven) Liu, and Chen Ya-chen all contributed through conversations, chapter reading, and editing for publication. My colleague mentors, Sarah Strong, John Strong, and Margaret Maurer-Fazio at Bates College and Stephen Johnson at the University of Toronto, sagely offered advice on publication pursuits. Three anonymous readers for Hong Kong University Press prodded me to strengthen the historical, political, academic, and methodological contexts of the discussion; their

Acknowledgments xiii

advice allowed the project to grow into its present shape. While I thank all mentors, colleagues, and friends for their advice, guidance, and support, all errors of fact and interpretation lie with me. At Hong Kong University Press, Christopher Munn reacted to my initial inquiries with enthusiasm, led me through the book proposal process, and secured an advance contract. After his retirement, Eric Mok, with unwavering passion for the project, academic rigor, and professionalism, walked me through the revision and publication process. Clara Ho helped me put this project to completion with timely, informative, and efficient guidance. I am also deeply grateful to Carrie Watterson for her meticulous copyediting work. An early version of Chapter 6 was previously published under the title of “The ‘Broken’ and the ‘Breakthroughs’: Acting in Jingju Model Plays of China’s Cultural Revolution” in the Asian Theatre Journal 30, no. 2. An early version of a section in the Coda was previously published under the title of “Revolutionary Femininity in Performance: Female Characters in Beijing Opera Model Plays during China’s Cultural Revolution,” in New Modern Chinese Women and Gender Politics: The Centennial of the End of the Qing Dynasty, edited by Chen Ya-chen (Routledge, 2014). I thank Asian Theatre Journal and Routledge for permission to republish. I also thank Alexandra B. Bonds for permission to use the photo in Plate 8.3. Finally, a thank-you goes to Kurt Würmli, for his joyful presence in my life. Kurt brings to me a philosophy inherited from his mentor at art school, “Take the playful seriously and the serious playfully.” In this spirit, I thoroughly enjoyed the composition and revision process—including exhaustion and crisis. A wonderful set, lighting, and sound designer, Kurt was the first colleague I went to for comments on the design chapter; a theatre scholar, he is often the first audience for my writing plans and new thoughts; and a sweet companion, he always calms my anxieties and has everlasting confidence in the project. Kurt designed the book cover.

Overture

A theatre experience during the summer of 2001 was the seed of this book project. At the Yisu Grand Theatre in Xi’an, I watched The Red Lantern (Hongdeng ji) performed by the China Jingju (Beijing/Peking opera) Company.1 The Red Lantern had been designated as a Model Modern Revolutionary Jingju (geming xiandai jingju yangbanxi) (hereafter model jingju) during the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976);2 the 2001 production was reconstructed and presented by a new cast. Xi’an’s summer is famous for its heat, and the fully packed theatre of 1,200 seats did not have airconditioning. People were fanning themselves with their programs although even that air was stifling. But this was only the warm-up for that night: the temperature in the auditorium was nothing compared to the heat of excitement during the following two and half hours. The audience passionately applauded for almost each character’s entrance, and at the beginning and end of each scene; some delivered lines from the text that they knew by heart simultaneously with the performers, sometimes alone but sometimes joined by their friends and unknown neighbors; some sang quietly and intermittently with the performers; they anticipated famous arias by applauding as soon as its prelude began; they shouted “hao” (bravo) throughout the performance; they constantly exchanged comments on the new cast in contrast to the original; and, needless to say, they offered rounds of thundering ovations at the end. That night, sitting in a steaming hot theatre, wearing a soaking wet T-shirt, and witnessing more than a thousand fervent audience members, I experienced model jingju’s legacy in public for the first time. During the Cultural Revolution, ten model jingju constituted an integral portion of the Model Revolutionary Works (geming yangbanxi), sometimes known simply as model works (yangbanxi). The model repertory included eighteen works in five genres.3 The ten model jingju, collectively referred to as Modern Revolutionary 1. In this book, I use jingju, the theatrical genre’s name in Chinese, to address Beijing/Peking opera. More and more scholars have noticed that jingju, though very musical, is much more than an operatic form. I am in support of this acknowledgment. 2. “Wuchanjieji wenyi de yizhan hongdeng—zan geming xiandai jingju yangbanxi Hongdeng ji” [A red lantern for proletarian literature and art: On the model modern revolutionary jingju The Red Lantern], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 29 May 1967. 3. See Chapter 4 for the timeline of the designation of model works.

2

Staging Revolution

Jingju (geming xiandai jingju), were Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (Zhiqu Weihushan, hereafter Tiger Mountain), On the Docks (Haigang), The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (Qixi Baihutuan, hereafter WhiteTiger Regiment), Song of the Dragon River (Longjiang song), The Red Detachment of Women (Hongse niangzijun), Fighting on the Plain (Pingyuan zuozhan), Azalea Mountain (Dujuanshan), and Boulder Bay (Panshiwan). Four ballet dance-drama productions were labeled Modern Revolutionary Dance-Drama (geming xiandai wuju): The Red Detachment of Women, The White-Haired Girl (Baimaonü), Sons and Daughters of the Grassland (Caoyuan ernü), and Song of the Yimeng Mountains (Yimeng song). Revolutionary Symphonies (geming jiaoxiang yinyue) included the symphonic versions of Shajiabang and Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy. The other two works were the piano concerto The Yellow River (Gangqin xiezouqu “Huanghe”) and one set of jingju arias with piano accompaniment, “The Red Lantern” with Piano Accompaniment (Gangqin banchang “Hongdeng ji”). These works present revolutionary stories about Chinese proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers in the period between the 1920s and the 1960s. Designated as exemplary models of literature and art, they represent the culmination of the massive cultural reconstruction led by the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). Since the end of the Cultural Revolution, at least six model jingju have been reconstructed: Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, White-Tiger Regiment, Fighting on the Plain, and Azalea Mountain. Some of them have been reconstructed multiple times by different troupes. Ballet dance-dramas The Red Detachment of Women and The White-Haired Girl have been part of the permanent repertory of the National Ballet of China and the Shanghai Ballet Company respectively. Observing model works’ continuing popularity, Fu Jin aptly noted in 2002, “The novels, poems, films and dances that were popular during the Cultural Revolution have long lost their readers or audiences; some fine arts pieces created during the Cultural Revolution are now appreciated as souvenirs of a special decade. But some model works are unique; they are still very much alive onstage.”4 At core of this intriguing phenomenon is the orientation of artistry in model works as cultural productions promoting prevalent ideology. In the CCP’s discourse, the best-known prescription for the relationship between art and politics is from Mao Zedong’s 1942 “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art”: “Literature and art are subordinate to politics, and yet in turn exert enormous influence on it.”5 This approach essentially urges prioritizing politics over literature and art in both creation and criticism. Under this comprehensive dictum, the production of model works exemplifies the politicization of 4. Fu Jin, “Yangbanxi xianxiang pingyi” [An objective discussion of the phenomenon of model works], Da wutai [Grand Stage] 3 (2002): 5. According to the context of the article, the “films” and “dances” in Fu’s discussion do not include the film versions of model works or the modern revolutionary dance-drama productions in the model repertory. 5. Bonnie S. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks at the Yan’an Conference on Literature and Art”: A Translation of the 1943 Text with Commentary (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1980), 75.

Overture 3

artistic creation, primary manifestations including but not limited to direct political interference in its creative process, highly politicized creative theories and literary and artistic criticism, and the politics involved in the model works’ designation and popularization. In this context, I argue that literature and art in service of politics are not automatically devoid of literary or artistic merit. The assumption that artistry was sacrificed to politics in model works, or that there is not much art left, often reflects a preoccupation with the high priority placed on the advocacy of prevalent ideology in these productions. It is nothing but a continuation of the CCP’s approach, with rather strikingly parallel advocacy of political criterion in literary and artistic criticism. Contrary to the long-term presumption of art and politics as binary opposites, when producing model works, artistic and political choices are not necessarily always mutually antagonistic. Certainly, for example, model jingju creators fulfilled their political obligations by using their artistic expertise to shape appealing dramatic characters and story arcs that delivered revolutionary messages. A fundamental characteristic of model jingju is that, on stage, ideological and political messages must be realized through the most rigorously formulated artistic choices and carried out by exceptional performances and entertaining techniques and devices. For artists, challenges arose on the most basic levels of their art, and the resolution of those matters called for artistic innovations that were developed step by step, each step uniting the efforts and knowledge of the best practitioners of the time. Increasing scholarly attention to the art in model works has underscored its academic legitimacy; one strong voice is Paul Clark when he argues against the usual interpretations of the Cultural Revolution period: “The innovation and experimentation in the field of culture in these ten years contrasts with the orthodox emphasis on destruction and failure.”6 The artistry in model works, produced with the expertise and commitment of nationally recognized writers, musicians, composers, actors, directors, and designers, deserves close attention on its own merits. This book focuses on one question: What are model jingju, as politicized theatrical entities? In answering this core question, methodologically, I situate model jingju at the intersection of three distinct contexts: first, the jingju that originated in the late eighteenth century and its revolutionary trajectory under the CCP from the Yan’an period (1935–1947) to the Cultural Revolution; second, the five major components of theatrical artistry—playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing—that comprised model jingju’s final versions; and last, the aesthetics of model jingju—the nature and expression of beauty—as demonstrated in the finalized productions.

6. Paul Clark, The Chinese Cultural Revolution: A History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 4.

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Staging Revolution

Historical Context A prominent academic focus of Cultural Revolution studies has been the elucidation of the early roots of the Cultural Revolution culture. Colin Mackerras vigorously argues for the tight connection between cultural production and its social, economic, political, and historical contexts, and presents performing arts during the Cultural Revolution against the background of the interaction between art and politics in the Communist period.7 Richard Kraus, Richard King, and Ellen R. Judd, among others, have all contributed to important empirical studies of the genealogy of art policies, creative theories, and literary compositions of the Cultural Revolution.8 Since the turn of the century, Paul Clark, Rosemary A. Roberts, and Barbara Mittler have contributed to the most exciting and inspiring scholarly approach to contextualize the Cultural Revolution culture within the cultural flow of twentieth-century China, instead of as the product of an isolated decade.9 In addition, Xiaomei Chen’s and Li Ruru’s excellent scholarship, although not focusing on the Cultural Revolution, both include model works as a key link in the chain of twentieth-century China’s theatre in the specific context of political theatre and jingju, respectively.10 Focusing on the artistry and aesthetics in model jingju, I identify two essential components in its historical background. One is the jingju, the particular performing art of constant innovation and development since the late eighteenth century, that served as the foundation genre from which model jingju emerged. The other is the interaction between jingju (i.e., the art and its practitioners) and politics (specifically the CCP, the party’s ideology, and the Chinese government) beginning with the Yan’an period. Yan’an was the CCP’s headquarters during 1935–1947. In the official discourse of the People’s Republic of China (PRC), the 1944 jingju production Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels (Bishang Liangshan) has been credited as, due to Mao Zedong’s enthusiastic praise, “an epoch-making beginning of revolutionizing 7. Colin Mackerras, The Chinese Theatre in Modern Times: From 1840 to the Present Day (London: Thames and Hudson, 1975); The Performing Arts in Contemporary China (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981); and “Theater and the Masses,” in Chinese Theater: From Its Origins to the Present Day, ed. Colin Mackerras (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1983), 145–83. 8. Richard Kraus’s “Arts Policies of the Cultural Revolution: The Rise and Fall of Culture Minister Yu Huiyong,” Richard King’s “Models and Misfits: Rusticated Youth in Three Novels of the 1970s,” and Ellen R. Judd’s “Dramas of Passion: Heroism in the Cultural Revolution’s Model Operas” are in New Perspectives on the Cultural Revolution, ed. William A. Joseph, Christine P.W. Wong, and David Zweig (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991), 219–42, 243–64, and 265–82, respectively. See also Ellen R. Judd, “Prescriptive Dramatic Theory of the Cultural Revolution,” in Drama in the People’s Republic of China, ed. Constantine Tung and Colin Mackerras (Albany: State University of New York, 1987), 94–118. 9. Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution. Rosemary A. Roberts, Maoist Model Theatre: The Semiotics of Gender and Sexuality in the Chinese Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) (Leiden: Brill, 2010). Barbara Mittler, A Continuous Revolution: Making Sense of Cultural Revolution Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2012). 10. Xiaomei Chen, Acting the Right Part: Political Theater and Popular Drama in Contemporary China (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002). Li Ruru, The Soul of Beijing Opera: Theatrical Creativity and Continuity in the Changing World (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2010).

Overture 5

old theater.”11 In 1966, Jiang Qing—Mao’s wife—claimed that the application of contemporary revolutionary themes proved that jingju, “formerly the most stubborn of strongholds, has been radically revolutionized, both in ideology and in form, which has started a revolutionary change in literary and art circles.”12 Therefore, recognizing that the revolution in jingju took place decades before the Cultural Revolution was launched, this study’s historical context urges the understanding of how the even earlier political wrestling, cultural policies, theoretical debates, and artistic experiments—with their many and various manifestations—shaped the practices and aesthetics of model jingju. Emerging from this context was the trajectory of “jingju—modern jingju—model jingju” along which cultural reconstruction in the PRC became a major building block of the new regime, modern jingju creations became an integral part of cultural reconstruction as a political choice, and artistic considerations in creating modern jingju—some of which were later designated as model jingju—became simultaneously political decisions.

Artistic Context For a thorough understanding of model jingju, a three-dimensional approach that accentuates how major artistic components mount a production is essential but long overdue. Different from available scholarship, which mostly pays closer attention to the life of the model works as a segment of China’s cultural history, and the model works in the Chinese lives during the Cultural Revolution, my strategy is absolutely necessary: to explain how dramatic characters are brought to life onstage, thus revealing the unique features of stage production. Rigorous attention to the artistic components of model jingju can seem to linger on the issue of form, which can appear to be somewhat secondary to content, which itself may denote “essence.” This is a dangerous misunderstanding and has its roots in the CCP’s prescription for the new culture, an important articulation of which appeared in Mao Zedong’s 1942 “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art”: “What we demand . . . is a unity of politics and art, a unity of content and form, a unity of revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible.”13 And Jiang Qing’s 1966 claim of victory, quoted above, confirms this approach by pairing ideology with form. However, in creating model jingju, according to my research, the situation was not quite so simple, because for jingju, form and content are never distinct aspects—form is content. The way that a script is realized onstage, through music, acting, costume, lighting, scenery, and stage arrangements, constitutes the content 11. Mao Zedong, “A Letter after Seeing Bishang Liangshan,” in Chinese Theories of Theater and Performance from Confucius to the Present, ed. and trans. Faye Chunfang Fei (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002), 142. 12. “Summary of the Forum on the Work in Literature and Art in the Armed Forces with which Comrade Lin Piao [Biao] Entrusted Comrade Chiang Ching [Jiang Qing],” Chinese Literature 9 (1967): 27–28. 13. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 78.

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Staging Revolution

of its performance text. An in-depth examination of model jingju’s performance text is the key to the substance of these productions. Unfortunately, a full-length study examining the three-dimensionality of model jingju has yet to appear. Within their respective space constraints, Xiaomei Chen, Paul Clark, Li Ruru, and Barbara Mittler all dedicate chapters in their monographs to acknowledging model jingju’s artistic appeal and highlighting important innovations, especially those in music and acting. Articles by Kirk A. Denton, Barbara Mittler, Rosemary Roberts, Yawen Ludden, and this author provide focused examinations of specific artistic aspects, including literature, music, costuming, and acting, sometimes focusing on specific productions.14 Music in model jingju has attracted the most academic attention. Two monographs in Chinese, by Wang Renyuan and Liu Yunyan, provide the most thorough examinations of this aspect.15 In addition, a recent anthology, Listening to China’s Cultural Revolution: Music, Politics, and Cultural Continuities, composes a multidisciplinary soundscape during and after the Cultural Revolution.16 Missing from these studies is a specific critical perspective: an examination of artistic choices in their practical context of mounting the final productions. For example, how did playwrights and musicians cooperate in composing lyrics and melody, searching for a way to give prominence to a principal heroine in a trio? What was required of performers, in terms of vocal techniques, for delivering speech lines and arias composed in a new stage language? How should one adjust costume designs so that the garments fall back into place after performers execute dazzling display of movements? What did it mean for lighting designers to convey the duration of time, clearly prescribed in scripts, on a jingju stage? How can musicians playing percussive instruments precisely punctuate performers’ movements onstage and, at the same time, follow their conductor’s cues from the orchestra pit? And how did directors perform different styles of leadership in rehearsals? Minute as these issues may appear, resolution of each was critical for the productions. The outcomes reveal the most basic challenges faced and strategies employed in presenting modern stories and characters in model jingju, as well as the negotiations 14. Kirk A. Denton, “Model Drama as Myth: A Semiotic Analysis of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy,” in Drama in the People’s Republic of China, ed. Constantine Tung and Colin Mackerras (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987), 119–36. Barbara Mittler, “Cultural Revolution Model Works and the Politics of Modernization in China: An Analysis of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy,” World of Music 45, no. 2 (2003): 53–81. Rosemary Roberts, “Gendering the Revolutionary Body: Theatrical Costume in Cultural Revolution China,” Asian Studies Review 30 (2006): 141–59. Yawen Ludden, “Making Politics Serve Music: Yu Huiyong, Composer and Minister of Culture,” TDR: The Drama Review 56, no. 2 (Summer 2012): 152–68. Xing Fan, “The ‘Broken’ and the ‘Breakthroughs’: Acting in Jingju Model Plays of China’s Cultural Revolution,” Asian Theatre Journal 30, no. 2 (Fall 2013): 360–89. 15. Wang Renyuan, Jingju “yangbanxi” yinyue lungang [Outlined discussion of the music in “model” jingju] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1999). Liu Yunyan, Xiandai jingju “yangbanxi” danjue changqiang yinyue yanjiu [Studies in the female vocal-melodic music in modern “model” jingju] (Beijing: Zhongyang yinyue xueyuan chubanshe, 2006). 16. Paul Clark, Laikwan Pang, and Tsan-Huang Tsai, eds., Listening to China’s Cultural Revolution: Music, Politics, and Cultural Continuities (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016).

Overture 7

between practitioners’ artistic sensitivities and political obligations as they utilized their professional expertise to portray appealing dramatic characters delivering abstract, ideological themes.

Aesthetic Context Two approaches have contributed significantly to studies in model jingju aesthetics: the thematic approach, with special attention to textual analysis, and the semiotic approach, focusing on the use and interpretations of signs. For example, based on thematic concerns and story lines, Xiaomei Chen skillfully contextualizes the model works’ aesthetics in constructing the ideal characters—in particular females—and the imagined communities in their cultural and ideological dynamics.17 Reaching beyond the dominant focus of literary studies in this field, Rosemary A. Roberts applies twelve theatrical systems to the analysis of gender and sexuality in model works, also greatly strengthening the examination of aesthetics in gender representation in model jingju.18 And Li Song’s study of political aesthetics in model works combines these two approaches. Taking the Chinese society during the Cultural Revolution as “a political text,”19 Li’s discussion of political aesthetics embraces model works’ spiritual manifestations, political and class ethnicity, gender and sexuality, ritualistic characters, and semiotic characterization. My book offers a new approach to model jingju aesthetics: how the major artistic aspects interact with each other—sometimes compatible, sometimes antagonistic—and reasons for the consistencies and discrepancies in model jingju’s style. Furthermore, this aesthetics is contextualized in the aesthetic principles of jingju, the foundation genre of model jingju, because the consistency and discrepancy in model jingju’s style often have deep roots in its conformity to and deviation from jingju. The aforementioned approaches, thematic and semiotic, allow in-depth examinations of the striking aesthetic qualities conveyed in model jingju’s major artistic components, but they are often discussed as separate systems of signs or symbols. For stage productions, however, it is the interrelation and interaction among the major artistic aspects that produce and define their distinctive aesthetic features. In a performing art such as jingju, with a complex tradition that manifests 17. Chen, Acting the Right Part, 73–158. 18. The focus of Roberts’s Maoist Model Theatre, an excellent scholarship in itself, is gender and sexuality, and the discussion embraces ballet dance-drama and model jingju. To this end, the twelve theatrical systems make good sense. For a focused study of model jingju as three-dimensional, theatrical entities, however, the discussion of artistic components demands closer attention to their features, manifestations, and functions on the jingju stage. For example, lighting and sound effects are not included in Maoist Model Theatre, but both of them—and especially lighting design—are an integral part of character portrayal in model jingju. Also, the discussion of music in Maoist Model Theatre focuses on vocal techniques. It serves the scope and goal of Roberts’s semiotic study, although other components of music—musical composition, orchestra, and playing techniques, just to mention a few—are all critical areas for artistic innovation in model jingju. 19. Li Song, “Yangbanxi” de zhengzhi meixue [Political aesthetics in “model works”] (Taibei: Xiuwei zixun, 2013), 75.

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in all its artistic aspects, an innovation or alteration in any one artistic element inevitably has an impact, directly or indirectly, on other major artistic aspects. Ma Yanxiang, deputy chief of the Art Work Management Bureau under the Ministry of Culture and an experienced playwright, performer, and director, stated in his 1954 speech at the Conference on the Artistic Reform of Xiqu,20 “That it is difficult to reform jingju is indeed true. . . . From the way of writing scripts to acting, music, stage design, costume, each aspect has become an independent system; meanwhile they are connected to each other, and cooperate with each other. They cooperate with each other so closely and harmoniously that your change in this section will influence another section—you solve one problem, [and] another one will appear.”21 The artistic experiments in modern jingju from the 1930s to the 1970s, with all the dilemmas, uncertainties, and struggles, were, to a great extent, a search for the perfect way to present contemporary stories and characters—while delivering prevalent ideology—in a convincing jingju style. At the core of this style are the aesthetic principles unique to the jingju world. And, therefore, to contextualize model jingju within the mechanism of theatrical production, with its attendant cooperation, conflict, and controversy, and against the backdrop of traditional aesthetics of the jingju world, not only elucidates its style—which is more complex than is often imagined—but also reveals the foundational rationale for its signature features. This book, then, contextualizes model jingju at the intersection of history, artistry, and aesthetics: Integral to jingju’s interaction with politics in the CCP’s history from the 1930s to the 1970s are practitioners’ constant artistic experimentations and the gradual formation of a new sense of beauty. Artistic choices in the final productions are examined through the critical lens of connection/disconnection between the nuanced innovation in model jingju and traditional elements and practices. And the definition of nature and expression of beauty in model jingju is based on how artistic components interact and how their interactions situate themselves in the aesthetic principles of the jingju world. In these interlocking contexts, the identification of traditional practices in jingju’s modern pursuits is foundational, as it shaped some primary approaches in this study. In the PRC’s official discourse, modern plays (xiandai xi), including modern jingju, have specific historical, political, and ideological connotations. Li Ruru, in discussing “modern” (xiandai) as a modifier in the term Model Modern Revolutionary Works (geming xiandai yangbanxi), observes that “Xiandai in this sense is particularly intriguing because it goes beyond its original definition of time and gains the Communist ideological meaning.  .  .  . [W]hen it is applied to the theatre from the 1950s onwards—especially when the government encouraged practitioners to ‘produce a lot of “xiandai” plays,’ its meaning narrows to the period from the foundation of the Chinese Communist Party in 1921 to the contemporary 20. Xiqu is the umbrella term for Chinese indigenous theatre. 21. Ma Yanxiang, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan” [What is hindering the further development of jingju’s stage art], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 12 (1954): 20.

Overture 9

socialist construction period.”22 Fu Jin precisely points out, “The specific regulation of themes predicts that modern plays, as a concept, is not completely on a par with traditional repertory [chuantong jumu], nor is it something on a par with historical plays [lishi ju].”23 In addition to noting that “modern themes” basically refers to “the CCP’s history and the PRC’s contemporary history,”24 Fu observes that “modern plays” is not merely a thematic category, because “since its birth, it bears certain formal characteristics; for example, its artistic methods are closer to life, instead of conventionalized, at least not completely conventionalized.”25 In this context, the modifier “traditional” in the PRC’s discourse of traditional jingju embraces repertory, practices, and aesthetics that constitute the jingju world up to the late 1940s. However, it is imperative to note that traditional jingju was not a static cultural phenomenon; it went through innovation and experimentation in the hands of practitioners, generation after generation. As many scholars—Ye Xiaoqing, Joshua Goldstein, Andrea S. Goldman, Min Tian, Elizabeth Wichmann, and Li Ruru, among others—have made clear, and as Barbara Mittler puts it, Chinese opera, including jingju, is “a genre of change.”26 And despite the Chinese government’s cursory periodization, jingju’s tradition did not end in 1949, either. In analyzing PRC performing arts from 1949 to 1976, Colin Mackerras writes, “A related feature which has remained reasonably constant over the years since 1949 has been the strength of tradition and, at the same time, attempts to undermine this power.”27 With fresh insight into jingju practitioners’ dilemmas and strategies in their work during this period, through which they also carried the powerful tradition further, this study presents an understanding of model jingju as the fruit of the dialogue between traditional practices and contemporary themes, and between the aesthetic pursuit passed down from the past and an original sense of beauty developed and concretized in the new China. Part I of this book examines jingju’s interaction with the CCP and the Chinese government’s cultural policies from the Yan’an period to the end of the Cultural Revolution. Although the Yan’an culture has been officially credited for setting a solid foundation for the new literature and art in the PRC, its connection to the Cultural Revolution culture—which has been officially negated—has been 22. Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 163–64. Based on this observation, Li uses “Revolutionary Contemporary Model Theatre” as the translation of model works’ collective title. 23. Fu Jin, Xin Zhongguo xiju shi [A history of the new China’s drama: 1949–2000] (Changsha: Hunan meishu chubanshe, 2002), 102. 24. Ibid. 25. Ibid. 26. Mittler, Continuous Revolution, 50. Ye Xiaoqing, Ascendant Peace in the Four Seas: Drama and the Qing Imperial Court (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, ca. 2012). Joshua Goldstein, Drama Kings: Players and Publics in the Re-creation of Peking Opera, 1870–1937 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007). Andrea S. Goldman, Opera and the City: The Politics of Culture in Beijing, 1770–1900 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012). Min Tian, Mei Lanfang and the Twentieth-Century International Stage: Chinese Theatre Placed and Displaced (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). Elizabeth Wichmann, Listening to Theatre: The Aural Dimension of Beijing Opera (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1991). 27. Mackerras, Performing Arts in Contemporary China, 2.

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sidestepped in China.28 Jingju at Yan’an offers a complex picture that embraces both experiments in the 1930s in presenting modern revolutionary stories and controversies around the acclaimed beginning of reforming old theatre, all of which reveal critical insights into the CCP’s stance on traditional cultures as it transitioned from a wartime political power to the leading party of the PRC. When examining jingju’s interaction with the government’s cultural policies in the PRC, artistic experiments—associated with theoretical debates and in their historical and political contexts—are given significant attention, and practitioners are spotlighted at a more central position in the scene. In the four chapters of Part I, I begin with the jingju experiments in Yan’an, conducted mostly by amateurs and focusing primarily on thematic concerns, moving on to the Xiqu Reform period during which jingju— although not enlisted for modern play creation—was a primary reform target and contributed to a first controversial modern production. I then consider the second half of the 1950s when all xiqu genres were enlisted for modern plays and when, in the pressured atmosphere, jingju practitioners turned to traditional practices to present modern lives. All these experiences help us understand the theatre policies, theoretical debates, and artistic efforts during the early 1960s, directly leading to model jingju during the Cultural Revolution. Part II of this book scrutinizes the major artistic components of model jingju: playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing. With special attention to artistic choices and aesthetic concerns, this section highlights face-to-face, personal interviews of model jingju creators—playwrights, instrumentalists, composers, performers, directors, technique directors,29 designers, costume makers, stage managers, and so on. Their first-person accounts of the inside stories of the creative process contribute to new understandings of the lived experience of producing model jingju that, on a harrowing journey of coping with political interference, is also filled with inspiration and excitement, in rehearsal halls, in greenrooms, in the orchestra pit, in the control booth, and onstage. These interviews are then further examined through performance analysis of the finalized productions reflected in their official film versions. With ethnographic methodology and paying close attention to practitioners’ experience, the five chapters of Part II detail how the cultural revolution in jingju unfolded as playwrights pondered over better end rhymes for a lead character’s lyrics in a particular dramatic situation, as musicians debated how to compose the orchestration for Chinese and Western instruments, as performers searched for the perfect vocal timbre for their roles, as lighting designers experimented with different bulbs for different characters, as makeup designers worked out the foundation color for principal heroes and heroines, and as technique directors went through dozens of iterations for a movement sequence. 28. Li Song casts one of the strongest votes for this connection in his “Yangbanxi” biannianshi (qianpian): 1963– 1966 nian [A chronicle of “model works” (vol. 1): 1963–1966] (Taibei: Xiuwei zixun, 2011), 23–34. 29. In model jingju, technique directors are the primary creators of dance-acting, combat, and group dances; their responsibilities and contributions are further discussed in Chapter 9.

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I conclude this discussion in Coda, which addresses three interrelated questions in model jingju aesthetics: Did the notion of beauty matter during the creative process? What is considered beautiful and therefore aesthetically favored? And how is this sense of beauty communicated? I highlight two dominant aesthetic qualities in model jingju, the beauty of the sublime and the beauty of masculinity, and analyze imbalance as a primary aesthetic feature in two spheres: gender representation and aesthetic expectations. Finally, I propose that the deep roots of the imbalance in model jingju lie in the varied levels of association among the three traditional aesthetic principles—conventionalization, stylization, and synthesis— and each of the five major artistic aspects—playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing—and that, ultimately, the overarching creative directive, the Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism, was a flawed premise for model jingju. From March through May 2005, I observed the rehearsals and performances of the Azalea Mountain reconstructed by the China Jingju Company in Beijing. The reconstructed version, with the goal of replicating the original production as closely as possible, was supervised by Yang Chunxia, the lead actress from the original cast, and directed by Gao Mukun, a primary technique director, also an actor in the original cast. Stepping into their rehearsal hall, I was struck with the slogan on a red banner on the rear wall, reading “To Inherit Revolutionary Traditions; To Stage Outstanding Productions” (jicheng geming chuantong, paiyan youxiu jumu). I could not help wondering what concept of revolutionary traditions was embraced in this particular context. The following two months of daily, intensive rehearsal observations provided invaluable data with regard to how artistic elements were integrated in such a production. Toward the end of the rehearsal process, Gao lamented in an interview, “Two months may be enough for reconstructing a traditional production, but is too short for Azalea Mountain.”30 I agree with him. According to my observations, there were just too much to learn during too short a time for the new cast, whose average age was very similar to that of the original cast when they finalized the production in 1973; from vocal placement to melodic embellishments, from new movement sequences to a much faster tempo of combat, and from performing with new percussive patterns to coping with new costumes. To a certain extent, the process of reconstruction was similar to that of how traditional jingju repertory was passed down from masters to disciples: young performers eked out an imitation and then, based on masters’ advice and comments, kept polishing until approved by masters. At the core of the challenges to the 2005 cast, as model jingju were now taken as part of jingju repertory, was the magnitude of innovation and level of professionalism in the polished final production in 1973. In my understanding, this was the essence of the revolutionary traditions for the younger generation of jingju practitioners. 30. Gao Mukun, personal interview, Beijing, 4 April 2005. Unless otherwise noted, all interviews are conducted by this author.

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Despite all the anxiety during rehearsals, the China Jingju Company’s Azalea Mountain was received with passion: the production drew full houses consecutively during its public performances in Beijing and was immediately invited for tour performances to other cities. In May 2005, I certainly had a sense of déjà vu while sitting among fervent audience members of the reconstructed Azalea Mountain; they reminded me of my unforgettable experience with the reconstructed The Red Lantern in Xi’an four years before. And my eyewitness experiences of the reconstructed productions of model jingju three decades after the end of the Cultural Revolution had only confirmed the powerful traditions embedded in model jingju as complex, controversial, challenging, and also charming in their own way, reaching far back into history.

Part I Jingju, Modern Jingju, and Model Jingju

1 Jingju at Yan’an

Yan’an was the CCP’s headquarters from October 1935 to March 1947. In the PRC’s official discourse, literature and art during the Yan’an period are credited for setting a solid foundation for the construction of a new democratic culture, which served the new democracy in the new China. In this context, discussion of jingju at Yan’an frequently cites two productions: the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels and the 1945 Three Raids at the Zhu’s Village (San da Zhujia zhuang). The two productions are so often referenced that they have become the apparent exemplars of both the innovative spirit and repertory of jingju at Yan’an, first legitimized by—and then widely promoted with—Mao Zedong’s enthusiastic feedback. Commenting on the former production, Mao wrote on 9 January 1944, “What you have begun is an epoch-making beginning of revolutionizing old theater.”1 A year later, he praised the latter by deeming it “a success after Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, solidifying the path for revolutionizing pingju.”2 New perspectives emerge, however, when jingju at Yan’an is examined in the political culture surrounding artistic production during the period when the CCP transitioned from a wartime political power to the leading party of a new regime. After delving into discrepancies between official doctrine and other sources such as personal memoirs, performance records, and script analysis, I argue that jingju at Yan’an offers controversial cultural productions that are far more complex than those depicted in CCP’s official narrative. Two overlooked aspects deserve close attention. One is that, although the CCP was determined to construct a new democratic culture, in terms of jingju performance, traditional repertory was more popular and was more frequently staged than both newly written historical plays and modern plays. The other is that Mao’s claim of “an epoch-making beginning” of revolutionizing old theatre was only partly realized through adjusting thematic concerns; it did not reflect the practitioners’ dilemma of searching for a satisfying form to serve new content. 1. Mao, “Letter after Seeing Bishang Liangshan,” 142. 2. Pingju was the name for jingju at that time. Ren Guilin, “Mao Zedong tongzhi he jingju” [Comrade Mao Zedong and jingju], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epochmaking of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 39–40.

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CCP’s Vision of a New Democratic Culture During the decade preceding the PRC’s founding, the CCP’s vision of the new China’s culture emerged in a series of speeches that Mao Zedong delivered in Yan’an. Among them, “New Democratic Politics and New Democratic Culture” in 1940 and “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” (hereafter the “Talks”) in 1942 are particularly important. The first took place at the First Representatives Meeting of the Shaan-Gan-Ning Border Region Cultural Association on 9 January 1940. Initially published on 15 February 1940 in the inaugural issue of Chinese Culture (Zhongguo wenhua), this talk has been widely known under the title “On New Democracy,” which was used when it was republished in Liberation (Jiefang) on 20 February 1940. It was in this speech that Mao drew a blueprint of the new China and defined the new democratic culture as a “national, scientific, and mass culture,”3 serving with new democratic politics and new democratic economy as the three imperative components of the new democracy. The three modifiers—national, scientific, and mass—each emphasizes an attribute of the new culture. It must be Chinese, and absorption of any element of a foreign culture should serve only as a stimulus for developing its Chinese characteristics. It is scientific in the sense that, in critically dealing with China’s old culture, it develops out of fine, popular, democratic, and revolutionary elements but refuses the feudal and the superstitious. Being a mass culture, it should serve workers and peasants who “make up over ninety percent of the nation’s population” so that the masses will eventually turn into a cultural army in revolution.4 A poet, Mao took advantage of his literary competence in wrapping up the speech with a dynamic, romantic ending: National, scientific and mass culture is the anti-imperialist, anti-feudal culture of the people, the new-democratic and the new Chinese national culture. When the new-democratic politics, new-democratic economy and newdemocratic culture are combined we shall have a republic of New Democracy, a republic of China in name and in fact, the new China we want to build. New China is within sight of every one of us; let us hail her! New China is like a ship whose mast is appearing above the horizon; let us acclaim her! Let us welcome with both hands the new China that is ours!5

“On New Democracy” has been acknowledged as an integral part of Mao Zedong Thought, although its discussion of the new democratic culture has been less often referred to—than has been the “Talks”—as the foundation of the CCP’s cultural policy. David Holm suspects that the change in the document title may be a cause.6 However, after examining the two speeches side by side, I would argue that 3. 4. 5. 6.

Mao Zedong, On New Democracy (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1960), 75. Ibid., 77. Ibid., 79. David Holm, Art and Ideology in Revolutionary China (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 74.

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a deeper reason for this relative disregard is that the “Talks” carried the CCP’s cultural agenda much further than a generalized blueprint: In “On New Democracy,” Mao paid more attention to defining the nature of the new politics, economy, and culture, and to delineating the interactions among them in terms of how each was integral to the combination of the three. But in the “Talks,” the focus of attention was on exactly how the new culture should serve the new politics, and thus offering foundational, pragmatic definitions and principles—though not without logical flaws or muddled prescriptions—not only for the 1940s CCP but also for the new PRC regime during the following decades. Mao delivered the “Talks” in the midst of the Rectification Movement (1942– 1945) that, as Mark Selden precisely puts it, “was directed toward building a unified party committed to common ideas, methods, and goals. It was Marxist to be sure, but the emphasis was on creative adaptation to the unique problems and need of a revolutionary China and people’s war.”7 Both Merle Goldman and David Holm have examined the “Talks” as a critical event of the Rectification Movement. Goldman pays special attention to their function as “a direct rebuttal to the criticisms of Wang Shih-wei [Wang Shiwei], Ting Ling [Ding Ling], and their associates.”8 Expanding on this approach, Holm notes Mao’s two central objectives: to eliminate “incorrect and harmful opinions (non-proletarian ideas)” and to prepare for the move of deploying cultural workers “in the villages and in direct contact with the rural masses.”9 After the Rectification Movement, it is important to note, the “Talks” remained in service as official policy and formed the framework for the CCP’s related policies on literature and art, as well as providing the foundation for prescriptive theories guiding artistic creations. During the Cultural Revolution, announcements, publications, and performances of model works were often part of its regular, official anniversary observances. Even now, the anniversaries of Mao’s “Talks” have been important political and cultural occasions prompting nationwide commemorative activities, frequent observances including reprintings of the “Talks,” conferences on cultural works, and public performances of outstanding theatrical productions and musical pieces. In Mao’s own words, the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art was held for the purpose of exchanging opinions “on the correct relationship between work in literature and art and revolutionary work in general, on the correct development of revolutionary literature and art and better assistance from them in our other revolutionary work.”10 In his opening speech delivered on 2 May 1942, Mao raised five problems to be solved in order to secure the correct relationship and the correct 7. Mark Selden, The Yenan Way in Revolutionary China (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1971), 190. 8. Merle Goldman, Literary Dissent in Communist China (New York: Atheneum, 1971), 34. 9. Holm, Art and Ideology in Revolutionary China, 92. 10. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 57. The “Talks” was first published on 19 October 1943 in Liberation Daily (Jiefang ribao), and has been revised and republished in various editions since that time. I examine the original 1943 version for this study because it provides a direct reference for the examination of the CCP’s pre-1949 attitude toward literature and art.

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development: position, attitude, audience, work, and study. On 23 May, Mao concluded the discussion by focusing on two core questions: Whom should the new literature and art serve? And how should this service be fulfilled? By clarifying the former and offering solutions to the latter, Mao anchored the new literature and art in the new politics. Mao proposed the concept of “popular masses” when answering the first question.11 In line with and expanding on the mass attribute of the new democratic culture proposed in “On New Democracy,” he arrived at a definition of “popular masses” by reasoning that “the broadest section of the people, who constitute more than ninety percent of the total population, are workers, peasants, soldiers, and the petty bourgeoisie.  .  .  . These four kinds of people constitute the largest sector of the Chinese nation and the broadest popular masses.”12 Mao further prioritized the first three categories. “Workers, peasants, and soldiers are again the most important element in these four groups; the petty bourgeoisie are fewer in number, their revolutionary determination is weaker, and they have a higher cultural level than workers, peasants, and soldiers. Our literature and art are therefore primarily for workers, peasants, and soldiers, and only secondarily for the petty bourgeoisie.”13 But one might still wonder what is meant by the literature and art that are for the popular masses. Instead of defining this directly, Mao offered a counterexample of literature and art that give priority to the petty bourgeoisie, thus failing to serve workers, peasants, or soldiers. “Many comrades place more emphasis on studying the intelligentsia [from petty bourgeois backgrounds] and analyzing their psychology; their main concern is to show their side of things, excusing and even defending their shortcomings, instead of guiding the intelligentsia from petty bourgeois backgrounds and themselves as well towards closer contact with workers, peasants, and soldiers, to take part in their actual struggles, to show how things are with them and educate them.”14 Mao warned that when people’s “innermost souls are still in the kingdom of the petty bourgeoisie,”15 they cannot wholeheartedly like the proletariat, including “their emotions, their manner, or their budding literature and art.”16 Based on Mao’s diagnosis of inappropriate approaches to creation, we can identify major characteristics of the literature and art that are for the popular masses: its focus of attention should be on proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers; such literature and art should be based on sincere feelings for them; it should originate from a complete understanding of and close contact with them; this literature and art should take the side of proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers when showing their lives; it should educate them; and it should be intricately involved with their own literature and art. 11. Ibid., 64. 12. Ibid., 65. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 65–66. 15. Ibid., 66. 16. Ibid.

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With “whom should the new literature and art serve” clarified, Mao further discussed three key strategies solidifying the theory of how to serve the audience, each addressing a significant perspective, namely, accessibility, function, and quality. First and foremost, Mao prioritized reaching a wider audience by offering what they can understand. He justified this judgment by acknowledging the illiteracy of proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers who were the primary audience of literature and art. In this context, Mao’s interpretation of what would satisfy the audience was “a wide-reaching educational movement in the form of cultural knowledge and works of literature and art that they urgently need and can readily accept.”17 And only at this point—once the wider audience’s need is satisfied—may artistic standards be raised as part of the wider audience’s further development. The second strategy was to identify and implement the subordination of literature and art to politics with full awareness of the former’s power. In Mao’s “Talks,” creating literature and art accessible to the wide audience of proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers is, to a great extent, to serve proletarian revolution. This significant function was stated unambiguously: “Literature and art are subordinate to politics, and yet in turn exert enormous influence on it.”18 Here, Mao’s argument in support of this conclusion articulates his recognition of literature and art’s basic nature. “In the world today, all culture or literature and art belongs to a definite class and party, and has a definite political line. . . . In a society composed of classes and parties, art obeys both class and party and it must naturally obey the political demands of its class and party, and the revolutionary task of a given revolutionary age; any deviation is a deviation from the masses’ basic need.”19 Last but not least, Mao advocated pursuing the unity of correct political content and artistic appeal but only in that order of priority. In fulfilling the function of serving politics, the quality of literature and art should be evaluated with two criteria, the political and the artistic. Regarding the relationship between the two, Mao demanded “a unity of politics and art, a unity of content and form, a unity of revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible.”20 This by no means suggests accepting an equivalence of politics and art. As Mao put it, “Politics is certainly not equivalent to art, and a general world outlook is certainly not equivalent to a methodology of artistic creation. . . . [I]n every class society and in every class within that society, without exception, political criteria are always placed ahead of artistic criteria.”21 With assertive, straightforward demands in the “Talks,” Mao forcefully advocated for the new literature and art’s political role in the new China. In the realm of practice, in particular creative methods, however, Mao’s pronouncements describing 17. Ibid., 71. 18. Ibid., 75. 19. Ibid. 20. Ibid., 78. 21. Ibid.

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how to execute the service left a muddled picture. For this study, two interconnected issues deserve close attention: the relationship between form and content, and how to deal with foreign and old cultures. At first glance, it is clear that Mao established two sets of concepts—politics and art, and content and form—and prioritized the former in each set through the recommendation for “a unity of politics and art, a unity of content and form, a unity of revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible.”22 The bottom line here is that the content must be revolutionary and politically correct first, and only under this condition should the pursuit of form be unfolded. Mao used fascist literature and art as the counterexample, arguing, “Insofar as a work is reactionary, the more artistic it is the more harm it can do to the people and the more it should be rejected. The common characteristic of all literature and art of exploiting classes in their period of decline is the contradiction between their reactionary political content and their artistic form.”23 Mao’s example is logically flawed in the first place, because by acknowledging that work with higher artistic merit can do greater harm to people—even without explicit arguments on how this happens, though presumably through its great appeal to audiences—Mao seemed to admit art can transcend politics, thus undermining his own theory denying the independence of art from politics. In addition, Mao treated the relationship between content and form in the same way as he did the relationship between politics and art. In other words, in Mao’s formulae, form is subordinate to content but in turn exerts enormous influence on the latter, just as art relates to politics in his theory. But Mao avoided two critical issues: where the boundary between form and content is, and from where the new literary and artistic forms should be emerging. Both issues are extremely important to the question of how to deal with foreign and old cultures in constructing the new. In the “Talks,” Mao made three references to foreign and old cultures, with the central argument that they should be taken advantage of in a discriminating fashion. The most direct advocacy for the correct attitude was, “We do not by any means refuse to use the old forms of the feudal class and the bourgeoisie, but in our hands these old forms are reconstructed and filled with new content, so that they also become revolutionary and serve the people.”24 When identifying popular life as the only source for the new literature and art, Mao complemented the definition by arguing, “We must absorb these things [books and other works already in existence] in a discriminating way, using them as models from which we may learn what to accept or what to reject when we process works of literature and art as conceptualized forms from the literature and art in popular life in our own time and place. . . . [W]e certainly may not reject the ancients and foreigners as models, which means, I’m afraid, that we must even use feudal and bourgeois things. But they are only 22. Ibid., 78. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid., 65.

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models and not substitutes; they can’t be substitutes.”25 The third reference was made in discussing the relationship between political and artistic criteria: “The proletarian must also reject the reactionary political qualities of bourgeois works of literature and art and accept their artistic qualities only with discrimination. There are some things which are fundamentally reactionary in political terms, and yet can have a certain artistry, for example, fascist literature and art.”26 With the almost interchangeable use of politics and content, and that of art and form, Mao proposed a careful selection of artistic practices and elements forming the foreign and old cultures, in the service of a new content. These arguments, however, were based on an unjustified assumption, that form and content can be separated from each other. Or, possibly, they were meant to be an announcement: it will happen in our hands. But if, in Mao’s own words, having the foreign and old cultures as models could make “the difference between being civilized or vulgar, crude or refined, advanced or elementary, fast or slow,”27 then does it mean the foreign and old cultures have—at least somewhat—civilized, refined, and advanced forms that are independent from their feudal, bourgeois, exploitative, and reactionary content? Does this mean the form of the new literature and art should arise through reconstructing the old? To what extent should we reconstruct it? What are the criteria for selecting practices and elements forming the new literature and art? For those old, formal elements that are not used in the new culture, were they feudal, bourgeois, or reactionary in the first place? All these unanswered questions left much space for interpretive abuse.

Jingju at Yan’an and Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels When the CCP moved its headquarters to Yan’an in the mid-1930s, jingju was already a popular entertainment, although due to the lack of traditional costumes and professional expertise, performance was limited to amateur practices, primarily qingchang (aria singing with musical accompaniment but without costumes or makeup) and selected scenes of traditional jingju in workaday clothes. One strategy for creating new plays during the late 1930s was “to fill old bottles with new wine” (jiuping zhuang xinjiu). This common practice used a traditional play’s literary structure and performance practices as a model but replaced its characters with modern ones. For example, the 1938 On the Songhua River (Songhua jiang shang) was based on the traditional play Fisherman’s Revenge (Da yu sha jia), Liujia Village (Liujia cun) in 1938 followed the model of Black Dragon Residence (Wulong yuan), the 1939 Evening Raid on an Airport (Ye xi feijichang) was after one scene in Luoma Lake (Luoma hu), and Zhaojia Town (Zhaojia zhen) in 1939 used Qingfeng Village (Qingfeng zhai) as a model. 25. Ibid., 69. 26. Ibid., 78. 27. Ibid., 69.

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In the winter of 1939, the CCP managed to purchase traditional jingju costumes from Xi’an. This began a new chapter of jingju performance in Yan’an. The premier of The Famen Temple (Famen si), a traditional jingju presented with costumes and makeup, was breaking news at Yan’an during the 1940 New Year season. Starting on 1 January, the production drew full houses on four consecutive days. Mao Zedong attended each performance, watching the same production four times; his attention was certainly very encouraging to performers. In April 1940, the Luyi Pingju Troupe was officially established. Two years later, in the spring of 1942, the CCP merged the Luyi Pingju Troupe with the Eighth Route Army 120th Division’s Combat Pingju Troupe to form a central and preeminent jingju performance and research institute. On 10 October 1942, the Yan’an Pingju Academy officially opened, with the objective of “studying pingju, reforming pingju, and making pingju serve the new democracy.”28 From the first performance of traditional jingju with costumes and makeup on 1 January 1940 to March 1947 when the CCP left Yan’an, according to Wang Keming’s incomplete statistics, 174 traditional jingju were staged, far surpassing the twenty-three newly written historical plays during the same period.29 Wang calculates that, before Mao Zedong’s “Talks” in May 1942, the Luyi Pingju Troupe staged at least fifty-six traditional plays and six newly written historical plays; during the years after the “Talks,” with the Yan’an Pingju Academy as the leading producer, at least another 119 traditional plays and seventeen newly written historical plays were staged.30 Unfortunately, Wang does not offer the sources for his data, but his conclusion is confirmed by observations from at least three other sources: one official record and two personal memoirs. An official list of 115 traditional plays that the Yan’an Pingju Academy staged during 1942–1947 is offered in History of China’s Jingju.31 The two personal memoirs are by Ren Jun and Li Lun. Ren served as a lead actress in both the Luyi Pingju Troupe and the Yan’an Pingju Academy. She notes that plays with traditional costumes and makeup—traditional repertory and newly written historical plays—were the only productions during “almost four years after The Famen Temple” and gives this explanation: “Perhaps this had something to do with Chairman Mao’s favor of plays with traditional costumes and makeup—as a matter of fact, at that time, people all favored these plays.”32 The “almost four years” in Ren’s recollection runs from 1 January 1940 to the fall of 1943. 28. Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan [Yan’an Pingju Academy], “Jianduan de ji ju hua” [Several simple remarks], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 3–4. 29. Wang Keming, “Guzhuang chuantongxi: Jianghua qianhou de Yan’an zhuliu yishu” [Traditional repertory in traditional costumes: Mainstream performance before and after the “Talks”], Yanhuang chunqiu [Annals of the Land of Emperors Yan and Huang] 10 (2013): 86–87. 30. Ibid. 31. Ma Shaobo et al., eds., Zhongguo jingju shi (zhong) [History of China’s jingju (2)] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1990), 335. 32. Ren Jun, Wo zhe jiushi nian [My ninety years] (Beijing: Huawen chubanshe, 2010), 165.

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Ren recalls that, after Mao’s “Talks,” the Yan’an Pingju Academy produced some newly written historical plays to promote the War of Resistance against Japan and some modern plays. Ren does not offer a comprehensive play list in her memoir, though she understandably mentions the plays in which she participated, including two newly written historical plays and three modern plays. Given that Ren was one of a handful of leading female performers at the academy and would therefore have performed quite extensively, it is reasonable to believe that the actual list of newly written historical plays and modern plays created after the “Talks” does not differ markedly from that in Ren’s memoir. Li, the author of the other memoir, was an active performer, instrumentalist, researcher, and administrator in both the Luyi Pingju Troupe and the Yan’an Pingju Academy, and was one of the three playwrights for the 1945 Three Raids at the Zhu’s Village. Li’s recollection of a debate initiated by Mao’s “Talks” confirms that an issue of the debate was “whether the academy should produce newly written historical plays and modern plays, in addition to traditional repertory,”33 thus indirectly indicating that traditional repertory was indeed the mainstream jingju at that time. Li recalls that, after the debate, five newly written historical plays and six modern plays were created. It is curious, therefore, that the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels and the 1945 Three Raids at the Zhu’s Village, both newly written historical plays, have received such notable emphasis in the official discourse. In both Encyclopedia of China: Xiqu and Quyi and All-China Xiqu Gazetteer,34 the entries of the Yan’an Pingju Academy mention only the two productions as its representative repertory, despite the fact that Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels was only reconstructed by the Yan’an Pingju Academy—it was originally created by an amateur jingju group at the Central Party School.35 Regarding the contrast between the traditional repertory’s actual popularity and the choice to label the two newly written historical plays as representatives of Yan’an’s culture, Wang Keming aptly points out, “The popularity of traditional repertory and its growth after the ‘Talks,’ as well as the failure of turning them into propaganda tools—all these facts are not compatible with the revolutionary spirit of a revolutionary literature and art. But traditional repertory cannot be taken as the representative of Yan’an’s literature and art, and therefore its popularity has been sidestepped and covered for decades.”36 But what qualified 33. Li Lun, “Yan’an pingju huodong qingkuang” [Pingju activities in Yan’an], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 218. 34. Quyi is the umbrella term for folk storytelling and musical narratives. 35. Ren Guilin, “Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan” [Yan’an Pingju Academy], in Zhongguo dabaike quanshu: xiqu quyi juan [Encyclopedia of China: xiqu and quyi], ed. Zhang Geng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo dabaike quanshu chubanshe, 1983), 524. “Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan” [Yan’an Pingju Academy], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Shaanxi juan [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Shaanxi], ed. Yu Xun et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1995), 538. Jin Ziguang, “Mao zhuxi guanyu Bishang Liangshan de xin bixu huifu yuanmao” [Chairman Mao’s letter on Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels must be restored to its original version], Renmin xiju [People’s Theatre] 6 (1978): 4–6. 36. Wang, “Guzhuang chuantongxi,” 89.

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the two newly written historical plays as representatives of the Yan’an culture? And what does this label indicate in terms of constructing a new democratic culture? The following discussion examines the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels in the contexts of jingju practitioners’ professional competence at that time and of Mao’s “Talks.” Lack of professional expertise was the biggest challenge for the jingju circle throughout the Yan’an period. Of the forty-two members of the Luyi Pingju Troupe, only four performers and one musician had professional training and performing experience before joining the troupe.37 The Yan’an Pingju Academy had more than one hundred members, but no more than ten of them could be called professionals, according to Luo Heru, a vice president of the academy.38 Experiments with modern plays after Mao’s “Talks” were obviously far from satisfying, because the honorary president of the academy Kang Sheng criticized modern plays in the early 1940s for hindering the improvement of performance techniques, and it quickly put an end to modern play creation at Yan’an.39 Mao’s 1944 letter to two primary creators of Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels explained why he congratulated them for the “epoch-making beginning of revolutionizing old theater”: “History is created by the people, but on the stage of the old traditional theater (in the literature and arts that have been separated from the people) the people have been turned into the dregs of society, while the Masters, Madames, Young Masters, and Young Misses have dominated the stage. This reversal of history has now been reversed again by you; you have restored history to its true face, and you have given the old traditional theater a new beginning.”40 In other words, this play was promoted for its portrayal of “the people,” who dominate the stage by motivating dramatic action, thus fulfilling the task of creating history. Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels is based on Chapters 6–11 of the classic The Water Margin (Shui hu zhuan). The original story centers on a twelfth-century tragic hero, Lin Chong, who serves as the imperial guards’ chief drill inspector for the Song court. Lin’s nightmare begins when his superior’s son falls in love with Lin’s wife and swears to get the woman. Encountering a series of conspiracies, Lin loses his job and is placed in exile guarding a remote fodder depot for the army; he only then figures out that his superior’s son wants him dead. The son arranges for arson at the fodder depot, caused by alleged negligence that would be blamed on Lin and earn him the death penalty. Cornered, desperate, and heartbroken upon 37. Zhang Dongchuan et al., “Yan’an Luyi Pingju Yanjiutuan” [Yan’an Luyi Pingju Research Group], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 171–72, and 177. 38. Luo Heru, “Huiyi Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan” [Recalling the Yan’an Pingju Academy], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 178. 39. Li, “Yan’an pingju huodong qingkuang,” 219–20. 40. Mao, “Letter after Seeing Bishang Liangshan,” 142.

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hearing that his wife has committed suicide, Lin kills the arsonist and flees to join the Liang Mountain rebels. Lin has all the characteristics of a popular classical hero: an imposing appearance, superior combat skills, profound love for his wife, and loyalty to his superiors. From an official with a perfect family to an outlaw without home, Lin’s story is well constructed, with dramatic reversals and increasing conflict. The reader is intended to feel the utmost sympathy at the climactic moment when a wronged hero is left with no choice but to rebel. According to Liu Zhiming, a leader of the creative team for Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, the central factor guiding script composition was “the view of the masses” (qunzhong guandian). Unlike the classic original, the 1944 jingju presents Lin’s story as a thread to “reflect the masses’ struggles and to reflect the future of people in Lin’s social class.”41 Liu points out that “the theme of this play is not what Lin encounters, his individual heroic choices, or his tragedy, but the masses’ struggles and rebels behind Lin’s story. It is a grand, masses’ movement that created the history. It is in this movement that Lin is driven to revolution, and only when combined with the masses could Lin find his solution.”42 From this perspective, the class struggle between the exploiters and the exploited was the central issue, and the focus became “how the masses unite within themselves, win friends, and defeat enemies.”43 Supporting this theme, a family of three poor peasants functions as a subplot to Lin’s story. The play opens with the family fleeing famine. Later, Lin witnesses the misery of the father and son—the mother has passed away by now—when he is in exile. At the end, the father is killed in a confrontation with government agents, but the son, together with many other people—the masses— flees with Lin to Liang Mountain. In the original plot, Lin joins the Liang Mountain rebels alone, but in the 1944 play, he makes the move together with a group of peasants—at a peasant’s suggestion. If one works thematically from the point of view of the masses, all these changes seem reasonable. Dramaturgically, however, they posed substantial challenges. The emphasis on the significance of the masses in Lin’s transformation interferes with the development of Lin’s personality, personal life, and individuality, so much so that it undermines dramatic tension. For example, a tearful farewell between Lin and his wife before his exile is sandwiched between two other sections: Lin first says goodbye to four neighbors who give him some money as support, then says goodbye to his wife. After the farewell between the couple, a previous colleague joins the scene, bringing him some food for the journey. Although Lin’s connection to the masses is clearly indicated in this arrangement, the central character’s 41. Liu Zhiming, “Cong Bishang Liangshan de chuban dao pingju gaizao wenti” [From the publication of Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels to the issue of reforming pingju], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 339. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid.

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personal ties are weakened; additionally, all actions after the couple’s farewell in this scene are anticlimactic. In practice, characters representing the masses are probably the most difficult to create, both on page and onstage. They are inserted into a plot with specific functions: In addition to the family offering a parallel subplot, two poor peasants are included in the opening scene to portray the masses’ misery. Four neighbors and a previous colleague are added to the aforementioned farewell scene. To further emphasize the exploitation of the masses, two poor people join a scene in which they lament the impossibly heavy tax on peasants. Similarities are evident between these mass characters and minor supporting characters performed by longtao (dragon set) in traditional jingju: both appear as a group onstage and symbolize a larger group of people with a similar social status, profession, or duty. In traditional jingju, they are often soldiers, palace maids, and court servants, appearing in identical costumes and as a predetermined set, with four or sometimes eight performers forming one set. But the mass characters in Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, with the unorthodox functions of inspiring, encouraging, and guiding the central character, must carry much more performance responsibility than the longtao. Consequently, mass characters are given dense lines, mostly dialogue, so that they can deliver important thematic messages. The artistic methods of portraying these characters, that is, how to make these dense lines part of acting so that they may contribute to characterization, however, paled in comparison to the attention to their thematic significance. Both Liu Zhiming and Qi Yanming (a primary director of the production) briefly mention innovations in jingju’s artistic form in their memoirs, but despite a comparatively more detailed description of the portrayal of Lin Chong, with the combined acting techniques of multiple rolesubcategories,44 the memoirs offer barely any clue on mass characters, except that some were required to use natural tones, and positive characters—including the masses—did not use facial charts, which were the makeup practices for traditional larger-than-life males and comic earthy males.45 With designated tasks that are significant for the theme of “the view of the masses,” characters representing that particular echelon constitute a large group of roles, lacking individual characterization and internal logic but surrounding the central character throughout his journey. The paradoxical dilemma in the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels is that, on the one hand, the masses function ideologically as the motivation, support, and guide for the central character 44. According to Qi Yanming, acting techniques of wusheng (martial dignified male) and xusheng (also called laosheng, older dignified male) were combined in the performance of Lin Chong. Qi Yanming, “Jiuju geming huashiqi de kaiduan” [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre], in Jiuju geming de huashiqi de kaiduan: Yan’an Pingju Yanjiuyuan jinian wenji [An epoch-making of revolutionizing old theatre: A collection in commemoration of the Yan’an Pingju Academy], ed. China Jingju Company (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 362–63. 45. Liu, “Cong Bishang Liangshan de chuban dao pingju gaizao wenti,” 338–55. Qi, “Jiuju geming huashiqi de kaiduan,” 356–71.

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and, on the technical level, the masses outnumber the central character. On the other hand, artistically, the classic hero is much more appealing than the masses, and, dramatically, the central character’s psychological development is perfectly self-sustaining, not really needing much communication with any mass character. Despite Mao’s acclaim of “an epoch-making beginning of revolutionizing old theater,” Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels was not made a part of the permanent repertory of any professional jingju troupe in the PRC; such inclusion would have been a sign of recognition by both practitioners and audience. The only production from the Yan’an period that later received a degree of public and professional acceptance is Three Raids at the Zhu’s Village, except that it was drastically shortened from forty-eight to twenty-six scenes in a heavily revised production by the China Jingju Company in 1951 and has been performed only occasionally since then. Jingju at Yan’an presents several intriguing characteristics of the Yan’an culture: First, even with the prevailing passion for a new culture to serve a new democracy, people were drawn to traditional repertory much more than they were to both newly written historical plays and modern plays. Second, the new theme, “the view of the masses,” was the very obstacle that hindered the artistry in jingju productions delivering this theme. And, third, the jingju circle in Yan’an was not ready to produce new productions that were—following Mao’s content-form formula—as competent in artistic form as in political and revolutionary content.

2 Jingju during the Xiqu Reform

Xiqu Reform was one of the first major campaigns that the CCP initiated in the move to construct a new democratic culture. Xiqu is the umbrella term for the more than three hundred theatrical performances with indigenous Chinese roots. Launched in late 1948, Xiqu Reform lasted until roughly 1956, although the government did not officially announce its ending; as directives, to some extent, shifted to other directions, it was generally taken as a sign of policy adjustments. Through this campaign, the new government efficiently and effectively institutionalized political control in the xiqu circle. Despite the vacillations of theatre policies brought about by political wrestling during the following decades, the fundamental relationship between xiqu and prevalent ideology, as established through the Xiqu Reform, was always maintained. From the very beginning of this campaign, jingju was identified as a primary target of reform. In this chapter, I explicate the challenges facing the new government, cultural policy makers, and jingju practitioners as they dealt with the dauntingly rich theatrical traditions from the past: The new regime was quite effective with system and personnel reform but was less prepared for dealing with traditional repertory. The focus of attention in repertory reform was on themes and plots, with an inseparable impact on artistry and practice. Divergent opinions regarding the implementation of jingju’s artistic reform revealed the challenges in taking advantage of, or altering, its signature style in presenting modern lives. And China Jingju Company’s Three Mountains, one of the first experiments in modern jingju during the 1950s, received harsh criticism.

CCP’s Reform Plan and Jingju at the End of the 1940s Reforming xiqu was already an important task on the CCP’s agenda on the eve of founding the PRC. On 23 November 1948, the Northern China People’s Daily (Huabei renmin ribao) published an editorial, “To Reform Old Theatre with Plans and in Steps,” publicly announcing the CCP’s xiqu policy.1 The concept of “old 1. “You jihua you buzhou de jinxing jiuju gaige gongzuo” [To reform old theatre with plans and in steps], Huabei renmin ribao [Northern China People’s Daily], 23 November 1948.

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theatre” referred to the more than twenty types of xiqu in the liberated area of north China. The Northern China Theatre and Music Work Committee, under the direct leadership of the Northern China People’s Government, accordingly identified old theatre reform as the focus of its work. The editorial clearly indicated that the CCP was aware of xiqu’s value and power in Chinese social and cultural life and the significance of reforming the performing arts, though practical reform strategies remained a challenge. In line with Mao’s theory that “all culture or literature and art belongs to a definite class and party, and has a definite political line,”2 the editorial noted that old theatre “was an important tool for class struggle used by the reactionary oppressor class in their deceiving and oppressing of the laboring masses.”3 Somewhat paradoxically, it also acknowledged, “Old theatre is an important heritage of Chinese national art, and is closely connected with the broad masses. . . . [T]he old theatre retains deep and wide foundations among the masses.”4 This recognition of old theatre’s power, based on its popularity, justified the resolution that to reform old theatre should be treated as “a rather important task, also a rather complicated ideological struggle.”5 At this moment, the focus of the proposed reform was concentrated on themes and plots. The plan was to begin with jingju, and to take three major steps, “to examine, to revise, and to create.” The editorial actually only elaborated on the first step, “to examine old plays and to differentiate the good from the bad,” with the criterion of ascertaining “if [a play] does benefit or harm to people.”6 Old theatre was divided into three categories: the beneficial, the nonharmful, and the harmful. The beneficial were those that “resist feudal oppression and corrupt officials . . . extol national integrity . . . expose and satirize the internal conflict of the ruling class . . . combat local tyrants . . . as well as those plays that oppose familial oppressions and eulogize marital freedom, public-spiritedness, and prosperity through hard work and thrift.”7 The harmful were those that “advocate feudal oppression and slave mentality . . . racial disloyalty . . . superstition and ignorance . . . as well as all those plays advocating licentious hedonism and obscenity.”8 The editorial recommended that “for those that are beneficial or do more benefit than harm to people, we should praise and popularize, or remove the harmful and keep the beneficial through certain changes; for those that are harmful or do more harm than benefit to people, we should ban the performance or make major changes.”9 Obviously, the criteria and categorization were solely ideology based, raising immediate questions even for 2. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 75. 3. “You jihua you buzhou.” 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. 6. Ibid. 7. Siyuan Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship: Censoring Traditional Theatre in China in the Early 1950s,” Theatre Journal 61, no. 3 (2009): 390. 8. Ibid. 9. “You jihua you buzhou.”

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a literary reading: Which political entity’s “national integrity” does a beneficial play praise, given that the beneficial play itself preexisted the PRC’s inauguration? How flexible are the boundaries for “doing more harm than benefit” and “doing more benefit than harm” when, for example, a protagonist combats local tyrants employing methods that may be interpreted as superstitious? And how does one deal with a play that satirizes the internal conflict of the ruling class while its protagonist harbors a heartfelt loyalty for certain members of the ruling class? Providing only vague rhetoric, the 1948 editorial identified general directions for old theatre reform but ultimately resulted in confusion for the actual implementation of this reform. It was this editorial that identified jingju as the initial target of old theatre reform, deeming it “the most widespread and the most influential.”10 This remark was based on observations and statistics within the area under the CCP’s control in northern China. Jingju’s nationwide popularity is further confirmed in statistics published in Xiqu in Contemporary China: of the 316 xiqu observed, jingju was the most widespread, surpassing all other xiqu forms. By the founding of the PRC, it had spread through all administrative provinces except Tibet and Macau.11 Jingju won its audience through a fairly advanced performance culture consisting of highly developed performance practices and an extensive repertory. Two characteristics deserve close attention. One is that jingju is a performer-centered art form in which literary scripts function as only one layer of its multilayered performance text, and, therefore, it is difficult to establish a clear boundary between its content and its form. The other is that although jingju artists did experiment with presenting modern plots and settings, the expertise of this performing art form is in presenting stories and characters set in the past. By the end of the 1940s, jingju had established a complex culture of theatrical practices consisting of stylized conventions in acting, music, playwriting, costuming, makeup, and stage properties, as well as a dynamic system for organizing these conventions. The literary text of the scripts is never the only language—or even the focus—in performance. Rather, as Elizabeth Wichmann points out, onstage are “several complexly layered ‘languages’ which are presented simultaneously.”12 Besides the Chinese language in scripts, Wichmann identifies “the pihuang musical language of song and orchestral accompaniment, the language of percussive patterns (luogu dian), and the language of conventional stylized movement.”13 Additional to these are the visual language of colors and patterns in costumes, makeup, and stage properties, and the language of using all the aforementioned elements to effectively convey a dramatic moment. Performers are the personnel who creatively maneuver all the languages, and oftentimes they participate in creating these languages, 10. Ibid. 11. Zhang Geng, ed., Dangdai Zhongguo xiqu [Xiqu in contemporary China] (Beijing: Dangdai Zhongguo chubanshe, 1994), 101–39. 12. Elizabeth Wichmann, “Tradition and Innovation in Contemporary Beijing Opera Performance,” TDR: The Drama Review 34, no. 1 (Spring 1990): 146. 13. Ibid.

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together with composers, instrumentalists, playwrights, and wardrobe managers. To a great extent, jingju’s multilayered performance text constitutes both its form— with manifestations of its unique stylization at every level—and its content—with all components of a production that the audience expects to hear and to witness. The plots of the vast majority of jingju plays were well-known stories adapted either from the repertory of theatre genres both predating and concurrent with jingju, or from novels, history, and legend. In December 1950, Tian Han, a chief cultural official and leader of Xiqu Reform, referred to jingju as confirmation that “Chinese old theatre is generally believed to be better at presenting stories set in the past.”14 Tao Junqi’s An Initial Exploration of the Jingju Repertory, first published in 1957 and updated in 1963, contributes to the most comprehensive listing of jingju plays before the first half of 1961. Tao’s list includes 1,388 plays, 1,294 of which were staged in Beijing and Shanghai before 1949.15 Among the pre-PRC repertory, 1,163 are identifiable in terms of the time periods of their plots, and 1,049 plays out of the 1,163 are based on stories that originated before the Qing dynasty (1644–1911). If we consider that jingju is generally believed to have been fully established only after the 1830s—during the second half of the Qing dynasty—it is clear that by the end of the 1940s, jingju was especially strong in staging stories and characters set in the past and had comparatively less experience in presenting modern stories.

Xiqu Reform The bureaucratic nature of the leading organizations of the Xiqu Reform indicates its close ties to government and its significance to the new government’s agenda. The highest administrative organ for the reform was the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau (Weihuabu xiqu gaijinju, hereafter the Bureau), officially established on 2 October 1949 and located in Beijing.16 Under direct leadership of the Ministry of Culture, the Bureau directly supervised a Xiqu Improvement Department in each of the six administrative regions;17 the six departments each further supervised the implementation of the Xiqu Reform on lower administrative 14. Tian Han, “Wei aiguozhuyi de renmin xin xiqu er fendou—1950 nian 12 yue 1 ri zai Quanguo Xiqu Gongzuo Huiyi shang de baogao” [Striving for a patriotic people’s new xiqu: Report in the National Xiqu Work Meeting on 1 December 1950], in Tian Han wenji (16) [Collected works of Tian Han, vol. 16] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1983), 72. In this report, Tian mentioned nineteen sources for 222 jingju plays altogether, based on incomplete statistics conducted during the ten years before the report. 15. Jingju jumu chutan [An initial exploration of the jingju repertory] was first published by Shanghai wenhua chubanshe in 1957, and then expanded and republished by Zhongguo xiju chubanshe in 1963 (with republications in 1980 and 2008). In the 1963 edition, the 1,294 plays in the 1957 edition were listed in the first category (jiabian), dedicated to traditional plays. In addition, ninety-four plays staged after 1949 were listed in the second category (yibian), dedicated to the creations during 1949–1961. 16. The preparation for the organization began in July 1949. During October 1949, the Bureau’s official title was the China Nationwide Xiqu Reform Committee (Zhonghua quanguo xiqu gaige weiyuanhui). On 1 November 1949, this committee was renamed the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau. 17. The six administrative regions were in practice during 1949–1953. The regional-level governments were under the leadership of the central government in Beijing, and further led provincial-level governments.

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levels. Ten months later, with a growing need for xiqu expertise in the leadership of the reform, the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Committee (Wenhuabu xiqu gaijin weiyuanhui, hereafter the Committee) was established in July 1950 as the highest advisory institute for the reform work. The forty-three board members of the Committee included master xiqu performers, theatre specialists, historians, and government officials. The purported duties of the Committee were “to examine and approve the plays proposed by the Bureau for revision and adaptation, and to give advice to the Ministry of Culture with regard to the plans, policies, and related issues of the Xiqu Reform work.”18 It is unclear, however, aside from being sources of professional experience and knowledge, how much authority the board members actually had over their advice, examination, and approval work. The Xiqu Reform had three components: to reform repertory (gaixi), to reform practitioners (gairen), and to reform organization (gaizhi). The CCP’s guidance of the reform proved its strengths in dealing with personnel and administrative issues but also revealed how unprepared it was to handle jingju’s rich traditional repertory. Both Fu Jin and Siyuan Liu have documented the repertory reform’s genesis, including the outright bans and guided revisions, and the chaos they caused:19 Following the 1948 editorial, old plays were categorized primarily by themes and plots, with criteria that were politically and ideologically articulated. The editorial offered only abstract definitions of harmful attributes and listed a mere five plays as examples of those that should be banned. Consequently, local governments took the liberty of categorizing other old plays with similar themes and plots in the same fashion, and the number of harmful—therefore banned—plays quickly snowballed. In 1950, Tian Han, chair of the Bureau, lamented that, in some places, it “led to the situation that professionals did not have plays to stage and theatres could not maintain themselves financially.”20 On 5 May 1951, Prime Minister Zhou Enlai issued “Directions from the Central People’s Government Administration Council concerning the work of Xiqu Reform” (hereafter the “5 May Directions”). Fu notes the nuanced effort of this document to mitigate the overbanning situation. This included granting the sole authority of banning plays to cultural institutes, thus avoiding the possibility that even local police stations might order such a ban.21 Unfortunately, the general criterion for examination in the “5 May Directions” was very much in line with the 1948 editorial: “All plays that preach feudal slave morality, advocate brutal, terrifying, obscene, and licentious acts, or defame and humiliate the laboring masses, should be opposed.”22 In this context, although the official list of banned plays, announced 18. Ma Shaobo et al., eds., Zhongguo jingju shi (xia) [History of China’s jingju (3)] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2000), 1521. 19. Fu, Xin Zhongguo xiju shi, 1–13. Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship,” 387–406. 20. Tian, “Wei aiguozhuyi de renmin xin xiqu er fendou,” 72. 21. Fu, Xin Zhongguo xiju shi, 28. 22. Zhou Enlai, “Zhongyang Renmin Zhengfu Zhengwu Yuan guanyu xiqu gaige gongzuo de zhishi” [Directions from the Central People’s Government Administration Council concerning the work of Xiqu Reform], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 7 May 1951.

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by the Ministry of Culture during 1950–1952, consisted of only twenty-six plays (seventeen of which were jingju; see Table 2.1 for the list), the actual number of banned plays was much larger. It is impossible to offer even a rough estimate of the proportion of banned plays in the xiqu repertory because more than one xiqu could present similar plots in different styles, and the ban on one may have had an impact on others. For example, many xiqu, including jingju, kunqu, chuanju, and wuju,23 have their own versions of Capturing San Lang Alive (Huo zhuo San Lang). Table 2.1 Twenty-six xiqu plays banned during 1950–1952 Jingju Punishing the Woman Who Murders Her Own Son (Sha zi bao) The Dawn Breaking at Noon (Jiu jing tian) Slippery Oil Mountain (Huayou shan) The Haihui Temple (Haihui si) Double Needles (Shuang ding ji) Shuangsha River (Shuangsha he) Great Fragrance Mountain (Da xiang shan) The Iron Rooster (Tie gongji) Master Guan Makes His Power Felt (Guan gong xian sheng) Capturing San Lang Alive (Huo zhuo San Lang) Inviting a Wolf to Home (Yin lang ru shi) Chopping the Coffin Open (Da pi guan) Complete Version of “Zhong Kui” (Quan bu “Zhong Kui”) Xue Li Conquering the East (Xue Li zheng dong) Killing the Barbarians on 15 August (Ba yue shi wu sha dazi) Redressing the Extreme Injustice (Qi yuan bao) Visiting the Yin Mountain (Tan Yin shan) Chuanju Lan Ying Missing Her Lover (Lan Ying si xiong) Zhong Kui Escorting His Younger Sister (Zhong Kui song mei) Pingju Lady Huang Visiting the Hades (Huang shi nü you yin) Capturing Nan Sanfu Alive (Huo zhuo Nan Sanfu) Capturing Wang Kui Alive (Huo zhuo Wang Kui) The Strange Case of a Spirit (Yinhun qi’an) Karma Serving Justice for a Girl Being Wronged (Yinguo mei bao) A Corpse Doing Revenge (Jiangshi fuchou ji) Complete Version of “The Young Maidservant” (Quanbu “Xiao lao ma”)

23. Kunqu came into being during the fourteenth century and was the most popular xiqu genre in China before jingju. Chuanju was formed during the eighteenth century and has been popular in southwestern China. Wuju came into being during the seventeenth century and has been popular in southeastern China.

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It is most likely that, with the banning of the jingju version, all other versions were banned as well. The other aspect of repertory reform, guided revision, was no less complicated than the outright bans, as Liu notes, “In practice, due to excessively broad criteria and lack of cooperation between xiqu artists and cultural officials—an essential component of successful adaptation—the measure adversely affected a vast number of plays, with the result that many plays requiring only minor revisions often ended up being shelved.”24 The revision work performed on jingju scripts offers a good case study. According to the official discourse, “We invited the most authoritative actors to participate; together with the working staff, they participated in weighing and polishing the plays word by word, sentence by sentence.”25 The standards for revision were described as follows: “In content, we deleted superstitious and pornographic lyrics and plot; in form, we mainly cleaned up stage images, gradually abolished the ‘stilt-shoes technique’ of female characters and other backward, vulgar, and ugly acting.”26 The result of the endeavor was published as Jingju Series (Jingju congkan). Including 160 scripts, this version then became the standard version of scripts officially approved for production. Although this revision work is officially praised as “satisfying,”27 the drastic contrast between the number of approved and published scripts to that of jingju’s traditional repertory—for example, Tao Junqi’s list, which is actually confined to Beijing and Shanghai—is undeniable. And it is more worrisome to recognize that, other than some sporadic script publication, this has been the primary body of production scripts to have survived the Xiqu Reform. Beginning in 1957, another script series, The Compilation of Jingju (Jingju huibian), published 498 scripts, but by clearly announcing that these scripts were not revised, it served a primarily archival function. The second component of the Xiqu Reform, to reform the practitioners, took place through a series of lecture-study sessions organized throughout the country, aiming to raise the political consciousness of xiqu professionals. For example, three lecture-study groups were organized in both Beijing and Shanghai, and the number of xiqu practitioner participants was more than 2,500 and around 1,700 respectively. The first lecture series in Beijing lasted for eight weeks starting on 8 August 1949. The group met three times a week on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the morning. Among the 502 participating xiqu professionals, 246 were jingju practitioners. Lecture topics included “Chinese Revolution and the CCP,” “History of Societal Development,” “Mao Zedong’s ‘Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art,’” “New Worldviews,” and “Directions of Literature and Art.” Also covered were more specific issues related to Xiqu Reform: “Discussions regarding Jingju 24. Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship,” 395. 25. Ma et al., Zhongguo jingju shi (xia), 23–24. 26. Ibid., 24. Stilt-shoes technique (qiaogong) used to be a major and basic walking technique required for performers of young and middle-aged women roles. Performers wore specially made stilt-shoes to imitate the walking of women with bound feet. 27. Ibid.

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Reform,” “On the Reform of Old Theatre,” “The Future of Xiqu,” and “The Function of a Director.”28 This intensive study conveyed at least two important messages: xiqu practitioners were now cultural workers and participants in constructing a new democratic culture, but they themselves needed to go through changes in order to fulfill the task. The impact of this experience—directly on the artists’ mentality and indirectly on the implementation of Xiqu Reform—was enormous. Li Yuru, a renowned jingju actress who participated in a lecture-study group in Shanghai, said, “I must admit that the ‘mind re-moulding’ was so powerful that the ideology permeated into us. It seemed as if we had a censor in our minds and we voluntarily gave up many plays, which were not on the banning list, because we felt they did not reach the ideological standard that we had learned at various political studies sessions and they would not be good for our audiences.”29 Organizational reform, the third component of Xiqu Reform, involved the ownership and inner structure of performing troupes, and directly influenced xiqu’s social-economic characteristics. For instance, jingju traditionally ran on a market-oriented economy, with star performers functioning as both the owners and the leading actors/actresses of private troupes, and manager-agents called jinglike taking care of marketing, troupe formation, and touring management. Both the star performers and their manager-agents often had a say in play selection. During the period from October 1949 to the mid-1950s, the position of manager-agents was first eliminated, and three types of troupes were established: state-run troupes, privately run troupes with governmental support, and privately run troupes. The CCP took over the role of commercial management through the means of financial support. According to Zhao Cong, state-run troupes “were completely supported by the CCP.”30 And “the CCP chose successful privately run troupes to support financially”;31 these troupes remained privately run and could upgrade to staterun troupe status upon further reform. In the above two types of troupes, a CCP office was established and played an active role in both administrative and creative issues. The rest of the actively performing troupes were all privately run; they “were the biggest portion of all performing troupes, and the welfare of actors was rather bad, therefore they had to apply for transforming into state-run troupes.”32 In 1953, the Ministry of Culture required privately run troupes to register in local culture institutes; the registration became a condition for granting performance permits, and an advisory team from the local culture institutes immediately joined registered troupes, offering “long-term political and artistic advice.”33 By the mid1950s, all privately run jingju troupes throughout the country had become state-run 28. Ibid., 6–9, and 25–29. 29. Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 132. 30. Zhao Cong, Zhongguo dalu de xiqu gaige: 1942–1967 [Xiqu reform in mainland China: 1942–1967] (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1969), 72. 31. Ibid. 32. Ibid., 73. 33. Ibid.

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companies. Commenting on the magnitude of organizational reform, with its ramifications for practitioners, Siyuan Liu points out, they “essentially removed xiqu actors from play selection, creation, and revision and transformed xiqu companies from market-oriented entertainment entities into state ideological apparatuses.”34 Examined from the perspective of constructing a new culture, several further insights into Xiqu Reform emerge. First, the reform was handled in the fashion of a political movement. The three components each address a critical aspect of xiqu, with each aspect seen predominantly as part of the old culture: repertory is the cultural product, practitioners its producers, and organization the mechanism of production. But the criteria for evaluating repertory was heavily ideological, the practitioners were guided to identify with the new polity, and governmental economic intervention played a decisive role in disrupting the old troupe system and establishing the new. As a result, self-censorship of creative activity by both practitioners and troupes was inevitable. Therefore, of the three components of Xiqu Reform, although the consequence of repertory reform was the first seen in the repertory famine of the mid-1950s, Li Ruru is correct when saying that the measures prescribing practitioner and organization decision making had even longer-term, more fundamental impact on xiqu.35 Second, following Mao’s “form and content” theory articulated in the “Talks,” the ostensible focus of Xiqu Reform was primarily on content, although it was much intertwined with form. Bureau chair Tian Han’s report to the 1950 National Xiqu Work Meeting emphasized this focus on content and put forward a rationale for the choice. In pondering questions such as “Should we only change the content but not the form? Or change both content and form?” Tian provided a descriptive analysis as follows: It is not correct to merely pursue new forms without changing feudal contents; on the other hand, it is not enough to only change the content while over emphasizing the completeness of the art of the old theatre. . . . [S]ince xiqu professionals have been used to the old form, we should not require that they get used to the new form very quickly; we should only expect changes in content, and then gradually get to the form. Because content decides form, if new content comes into old forms appropriately, it will lead to essential changes in the forms.36

While Tian’s focus was on the interactions between form and content in creating new plays, he avoided an important and inextricably related issue: given that content decides form, what happens to the form when the old content is either taken away or altered, as happened in the repertory reform? The official discourse often emphasizes the removal of pornographic, risqué, crude, and vulgar acting, but the situation was not quite so simple as merely excising some objectionable material. As 34. Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship,” 396. 35. Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 123–24. 36. Tian, “Wei aiguozhuyi de renmin xin xiqu er fendou,” 73.

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both Siyuan Liu and Li Ruru have argued,37 the outright bans and guided revisions did not merely impact dramatic literature; rather, they caused the disappearance of and changes in theatrical practices. In other words, the performance text of a significant portion of the repertory was eliminated or altered. And last, jingju, although undergoing fundamental reform in repertory, practitioners, and organization, was not immediately enlisted to present modern lives during this period. This is evident from the communication between the Northeastern Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Department (hereafter the Department) and the Bureau in Beijing, which took place in January 1951. One question raised by the Department was whether, “in the work of xiqu improvement, generally speaking, should we place an emphasis on presenting modern life, or historical life? Which aspect should be emphasized, and should it [the answer to the previous question] be clearly stated?”38 In its reply, the Bureau avoided an across-the-board answer but addressed the differences between small- and largescale theatres, “in some regional theatres, especially small-scale folk theatres, with their not-completely-stylized forms, it is easier to present modern life; therefore, it is natural to use them [small-scale folk theatres] to present the current reality.”39 In contrast, “in some large-scale regional theatres, such as kunqu, jingju, chuanju, qinqiang, and hanju, performance methods have been almost completely stylized, and in some cases completely set; these forms are more suitable for presenting stories set in the past.”40

Discussions Regarding Jingju in Presenting Modern Life In the aforementioned 1951 document, the Bureau articulated its vision of jingju’s development, identifying music as the key issue and admitting that “it [jingju music] is more suitable for presenting life in a feudal society, and would appear incompatible with modern people’s life and mood.”41 At this point, the Bureau was quite frank when stating its concern, “how to make this old music present the rhythm of social life in service of the new reality, we think this should be raised as the issue for jingju development today.”42 With critical agenda issues, the Conference on the Artistic Reform of Xiqu was held in Beijing in November–December 1954. At this time, Xiqu Reform, with its three-pronged approach to repertory (primarily focusing on 37. Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship,” 405; and Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 130–35. 38. “Wenhuabu Xiqu Gaijinju fuhan tan youguan xigai zhengce de sange wenti” [Reply from the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau for three questions regarding xiqu reform policies], in “Xiju gongzuo wenxian ziliao huibian” [Compilation of theatre work documents], ed. Hua Jia and Hai Feng (Changchun, 1984), 22. 39. Ibid., 23. 40. Ibid. Qinqiang originated during the first half of the seventeenth century and has been popular in northwestern China. Hanju originated during the middle of the seventeenth century and has been popular in central China. 41. Ibid., 22. 42. Ibid.

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thematic concerns and plots), personnel, and management system, was on track, and this conference revealed the government’s shifting attention to the artistry of xiqu. Twenty-two participants spoke at the conference. Even though the meeting was intended as a discussion on xiqu in general, most participants focused on jingju. No speaker opposed artistic reform, although opinions were from quite different perspectives; the major issues focused on which parts of jingju needed reform and how to conduct this artistic reform. Master performer Mei Lanfang was probably the only participant with extensive onstage experience presenting stories in modern dress during the 1910s. Mei referred to his dilemma in modern-dress plays when he decided that “whether jingju is suitable for presenting modern life deserves more cautious study.”43 I performed five or six modern-dress plays, and the last one was A Young Girl Kills a Snake (Tong nü zhan she). After that I only developed song-dance-drama set in the past, and did not rehearse or perform modern-dress plays. This was because I felt that to present modern life in jingju, there were indeed a lot of obstacles; for example, the scene of killing a snake is the climax of the entire play, but wearing modern dress, I could not hold a sword in my hands, only a dagger, and was not able to perform well in terms of dancing. Furthermore, modern-dress plays generally have fewer lyrics and more speech, and slow-meter is rarely used, with main metrical types being shaking-meter and fast-meter.44

Here, Mei touched upon two critical issues in developing modern plays: jingju’s dance movement vocabulary is so intricately associated with costuming and stage properties that changes in the latter would inevitably impact the former. Also, jingju’s musicality, most significantly manifesting in melodic-passages, may not be adequately utilized or demonstrated when integrated with the language used in modern plays. From experience in specific productions, Mei further elaborated on some general contradictions between modern life and certain features of jingju acting: In modern dress, gestures, stage-steps, facial expressions, speech, all are completely different from what jingju used to have; rather, the performance has to follow real life, except that singing has musical accompaniment—without singing, music could not be used. In general, this approach is separate from the original system, because the acting method of jingju has been to exaggerate and to amplify, with the major feature being a combination of singing and dancing. If it is used to express daily modern life, we have to consider using new means of expression, and in style, these are not consistent with the original jingju’s artistic form.45 43. Mei Lanfang, “Dui jingju yishu de yidian tihui” [Some experience in the art of jingju], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 12 (1954): 28. 44. Ibid. Slow-meter, shaking-meter, and fast-meter are metrical types in jingju melodic-passages. In Western musical analysis, slow-meter is slow tempo quadruple meter, in most instances 4/4; shaking-meter is free meter singing with single-beat meter percussion accompaniment; and fast-meter is rapid tempo single-beat meter, in most instances 1/4. 45. Ibid.

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In line with Mei’s attention to acting, Wu Zuguang, an experienced playwright and director, stressed that the reform should focus on ideological content and called for a cautious approach to jingju acting. Wu stated that jingju “has been a rather mature form of xiqu, with an internally-complete system of acting. . . . I believe it is this system of acting that we should affirm.”46 He further gave a detailed analysis: In acting, jingju uses the method of “writing meaning.” . . . The result of the development of these “writing meaning” acting methods is to break all limits onstage, and to transform all movements in life into complete sets of dance movements. For example, to represent a horse with a whip, to represent a boat with an oar, to climb over mountains and hills, to go upstairs and downstairs, to mount the clouds and ride the mist, or to dive and walk in water, all these are performed in dance movements. [Actors] are not only able to fulfill the tasks that could not be handled by modern scientific technology, but also to use the movements to take over the tasks of props.47

The concept of “writing meaning” (xieyi), in parallel with, and as often opposed to, “writing reality” (xieshi), is a term frequently referred to in Chinese art and emphasizes capturing the spirit of an object in art. In the context of jingju acting, in particular in dance as Wu discussed, this concept is intricately associated with conventions, stylization, and musicality. Jingju’s body language is established and communicated through an assemblage of refined conventions of basic gestures, postures, and movement sequences, through which emerges jingju’s style, which is supported by and encompasses its consistent musicality. Although Wu focused on the physical aspect of jingju’s acting and did not elaborate as much on the aural aspects such as song or speech, his emphatic statement that jingju’s “writing meaning” acting deserves respect and protection seemed to be noting “what should not be changed in the reform.” A divergent point of view was presented by Ma Yanxiang, not only an experienced playwright and director but also an important official of Xiqu Reform. He offered a comprehensive reform plan that was probably daunting to his peers. Ma first stated that “the issue of whether or not the art of our jingju should be reformed, is essentially the issue of whether or not the contradiction between jingju’s form and content should be resolved.”48 He diagnosed two sources of that contradiction: the remnants of storytelling in scripts and the overall stylization manifesting in each artistic aspect. His reform strategy was that “the music follows the performance, and the performance follows the scripts.”49 Identifying scripts as the center of the reformed jingju, Ma requested changes in compositional methods. First, “playwrights completely abolish the influence 46. Wu Zuguang, “Tan tan xiqu gaige de jige shiji wenti” [On some practical issues in reforming xiqu], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 12 (1954): 16. 47. Ibid. 48. Ma, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan,” 20. 49. Ibid.

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of storytelling literature, in which the author simply gives his own comments on the characters, causing the performers to address their own characters in the third person.”50 Second, they should “stop writing about type [stock] characters; rather, in their description and characterization, they should start from the [individual] personality of a character.”51 And, third, in composing lyrics, playwrights should not always consider the basic patterns of written-characters (zi) in sentences or which modes the lyrics should use.52 Following the proposed changes in scripts, three major changes in acting were envisioned. The first was “since characters are not stereotyped any more, the original stylized techniques will perhaps not be appropriate, and actors will need to create new stage movements and new performing methods.”53 The second change was “since the author’s appearance in the plot as the third person will be abolished, actors will no longer have to frequently jump in and out of the plot, sometimes being a character, and sometimes being the author.”54 And, finally, “since realistic creative methods will be used in describing characters and developing plots, actors’ performances will be rather consistent, instead of proceeding by fits and starts.”55 Eventually, the reforms in scripts and performance would require changes in music. First, “break the existing percussion patterns—use percussion music according to plots and characters, instead of using the patterns as sets.”56 Second, “gradually create new metrical types through changes in the existing ones.”57 And, third, “jingju music has to keep absorbing the melodies and modes of other regional theatre forms in order to enrich itself.”58 Besides music, Ma also talked about the reform of set, makeup, and costume, emphasizing the key impact of scripts on these elements. Ma’s reform plan proposed fundamental changes in jingju, so much so that it sounded almost like a manifesto advocating its overthrow. This comprehensive plan was based on Ma’s realization of the challenges inherent in the artistic reform. “That 50. Ibid., 21. Ma Yanxiang’s usage of the term “third person” is confusing, because on jingju stage, in these occasions, characters do not use “he, she, it, or they” to directly identify their characters. The major example given in his speech, the prelude poem by Zhuge Liang in Empty City Stratagem (Kong cheng ji), and Ma’s analysis of it, both imply that by “third person” Ma Yanxiang referred to the practice in which authors add their own comments on a character into the character’s lines, and quite often the comments and the lines do not have much to do with the situation on stage. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid. Jingju lyrics quite often take the form of multiple couplets. Each couplet consists of two lines, each of which often contain ten or seven written-characters. Internally, each line can be further divided into three units. Usually, a ten-written-character line can be divided into three units of three, three, and four writtencharacters; a seven-written-character line, two, two, and three written-characters. In traditional jingju music, modes provide the basic atmosphere for a play, a scene, and an aria; therefore, modes are often one of the first issues that a performer/composer/playwright considers when creating an aria. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid.

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it is difficult to reform jingju is indeed true.  .  .  . From the way of writing scripts to acting, music, stage design, costume, each aspect has become an independent system; meanwhile they are connected to each other, and cooperate with each other. They cooperate with each other so closely and harmoniously that your change in this section will influence another section—you solve one problem, [and] another one will appear.”59 In other words, unless changes were effected not only in each and every artistic aspect but also in the way that these aspects work together, reform in jingju would not be possible.

“Being Neither a Donkey nor a Horse”: Three Mountains Soon after the 1954 conference, Ma had a perfect opportunity to implement his ideas when directing Three Mountains at the China Jingju Company. According to composer Liu Jidian, the production was meant as “an experiment to explore the right path for artistic innovations.”60 Three Mountains was adapted from a Mongolian opera of the same title. Three Mountains resident hunter Yundeng and his girlfriend Nansilema have just become engaged. A local feudal aristocrat takes the girl away, forcing her to marry him. The kidnapped Nansilema manages to send a letter home, pleading for rescue on the wedding day. Yundeng sneaks into the aristocrat’s home to rescue her, but the couple is caught. The feudal aristocrat threatens to kill Yundeng unless Nansilema agrees to marry him. The girl swears that she would never give up her love. Using trickery, Yundeng’s friend, singer Buyang, rescues both of the lovers. The feudal aristocrat tries to catch them; Yundeng and other herdsmen stage an uprising and defeat the aristocrat. Finally, Yundeng and Nansilema get married. This plotting is similar to narrative structures in Chinese popular culture and folklore. Obviously, this is a tale of “the sorrows and joys of partings and reunions (bei huan li he),”61 with a series of motifs unfolding one after another: a young couple looking forward to a happy marriage, a local tyrant abducting a beautiful girl, a faithful fiancée swearing loyalty to her lover, a well-planned rescue, a combat scene building up to the climax, and the lovers’ reunion at the end—all these are familiar narrative structures in jingju. From the practitioners’ point of view, this pattern offers the maximum flexibility for role-type arrangements in casting and leeway for performance. Within this familiar plotting, however, the script employs devices that are foreign to jingju. The play is divided into five acts and eight scenes, with locations for each scene clearly defined, and seven scenes ending with the curtain closing 59. Ibid., 20. 60. Liu Jidian, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji [Selected collection of Liu Jidian’s compositions for xiqu] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 2004), 1. 61. Chen, Acting the Right Part, 83. Original source in Meng Yue, “Baimaonü yu Yan’an wenxue de lishi fuza xing” [The White-Haired Girl and the historical complexities of Yan’an literature], Jintian [Today] 1 (1993): 172.

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while characters are posing on stage.62 This is drastically different from jingju’s “entering and exiting” method of narration, in which the entrance and exit of a major character often signifies a comparatively independent section of the plot. Upon entering, major characters introduce themselves to the audience and narrate where they are and, quite often, what they are doing. Along with the exit of major characters, the location also “exits” with them; the stage is empty and ready for the next identification. Nansilema’s first entrance in Three Mountains illustrates how this production departs from the norm. In Act 1, Scene 1, the curtain opens to hunter families preparing to celebrate a successful hunting season. A conversation among onstage characters introduces the dramatic situation, revealing that Nansilema is now helping a neighbor with housework and confirming that Yundeng and other hunters are on their way home. Then a hunter’s family member looks offstage and says, “Here she is!” All onstage characters exclaim, “Nansilema! Come on; we are all waiting for you!” Nansilema delivers her first musical line from offstage, “Dusk falling, birds returning to nests, the evening clouds look like a piece of brocade.” Upon her entrance, she continues singing, “With wine ready, I look forward to his return. / Eager to see him, I wish I could walk faster.” Then, after her short speech line “Alas, I am late; I am late!” and a hunter’s family member’s speech line “Don’t worry. Yundeng is not back yet,” Nansilema looks off into the distance and delivers her last musical line “Mountains are afar and hazy.” An informed jingju audience would find the female leading character’s first entrance both familiar and unfamiliar. With the innovation of other characters setting the dramatic situation and introducing Nansilema, she is already part of the onstage action before her entrance and even before she first sings offstage. The practice of delivering the first musical line from offstage and continuing to sing upon entering, however, is a common device for important characters in jingju. If we situate this approach in the context of the director’s 1954 talk at the Conference on the Artistic Reform of Xiqu, it may be seen as Ma’s difficult wrestling with the problem of jingju maintaining narrative features of storytelling literature. Paradoxically, Nansilema’s first entrance both follows the approach that Ma proposed and conforms to jingju convention. She—and actually all other characters— does not self-introduce upon her entrance, thus avoiding what Ma identified as “the imprints of narration in the third person.”63 The lyrics of her first aria, however, bear strong features of storytelling literature. In Ma’s 1954 talk, he pinpointed five major functions of jingju lyrics: “(1) to express opinions between characters—that is to say, conversations, performed through duet; (2) to express the inner feelings and emotions of a character; (3) to narrate the development of something; (4) to explain the actions of a character; and (5) to describe an environment.”64 He believed that

62. Fan Junhong, adapt., “San zuo shan” [Three Mountains], Juben [Scripts], 7 (1956): 3–23. 63. Ma, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan,” 21. 64. Ibid., 22.

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the last two functions were “absolute remnants of storytelling literature,”65 and it was unreasonable to use them in xiqu. But in Nansilema’s first aria, the lyrics of two out of the four musical lines are nothing but descriptions of the environment. Stage practices under Ma’s direction corresponds to changes in script. As Figure 2.1 illustrates,66 performers, dressed in the Mongolian national style, seem to use a body language that combines jingju movements with pedestrian movement and postures. All three women, while listening to the male singer, stand with their feet shoulder-width apart, and the two standing to the side have more weight on the back leg and look naturally relaxed, just as in daily life. This practice is foreign to jingju, in which standing poses are strictly defined and do not mimic naturalistic postures. In contrast, the poses of the lovers in Figure 2.2 are identical to those frequently used in jingju.67 Both the relationship between the two performers in terms of space and distance, and the woman’s hand position, are closely related to jingju’s stylized conventions. In addition to these components, Jia Zuoguang, a choreographer with a specialty in Mongolian dance, was appointed as the dance designer for

Figure 2.1 Three Mountains, production photo 1 Zhang Chunhua as singer Buyang (right) and Yun Yanming as Nansilema (second from the right) 65. Ibid. 66. Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 1. 67. Ma et al., Zhongguo jingju shi (xia), 14.

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Figure 2.2 Three Mountains, production photo 2 Yun Yanming as Nansilema (left) and Zhang Yunxi as Yundeng (right)

the production and thus contributed to another layer of language vocabulary at least for dance scenes. Utilizing Ma’s reform tactics, music in Three Mountains underwent elaborate changes. Liu Jidian considers it a significant experience. “It was in this production that I started to deal with language and other issues including interlude, chorus, dance music, ceremonial music, opening music, and closing music. All these started from Three Mountains.”68 Songs include solos, duets, chorus singing, and alternations between singing and speech. Musical influences from Mongolian folk songs are apparent in the melodies. Liu pointed out that the most challenging issue for him was “the severe deficiency of alto and bass instruments in the jingju orchestra. It simply does not have them. . . . Of course, I did not mean to require exactly the same parts as in a Western orchestra, but we have to consider the layers of sound.”69 To solve this problem, Liu and the company invited musicians who specialized 68. Liu Jidian, personal interview, Beijing, 26 July 2005. 69. Ibid.

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in Chinese folk instruments and others in Western instruments to join the traditional jingju orchestra. Newly added Chinese folk instruments included the erhu, zhonghu, pipa, and daruan; Western instruments included the cello, the contrabass, the clarinet, and the French horn. However, this led to another challenge, that is, the conceptual and practical differences between Western music and Chinese music. Liu explained that “the construction of a new orchestra was rather troublesome. Musicians trained in Western music could not find the feeling of playing in a jingju orchestra. We simply told them to add notes here and there to accompany the interpretive ornamentations, but they had never had a similar experience—some jingju notes are either a little bit higher or lower than the normal ones; the way of playing for jingju is different from the way in Western music; additionally, a lot of interpretations are unique to jingju, and sometimes they cannot even be notated. So, as I said, there were a lot of challenges. At one point, we felt that we were at the end of our wits.”70 Zhang Xiaohu, a professor of orchestration from the China Conservatory of Music, was invited to be the orchestration advisor. Liu, as the composer, participated in every rehearsal as the music was refined piece by piece. During the public performances, the gushi (the player of the single-skin drum and the clappers), also the conductor of the traditional jingju orchestra, conducted the entire orchestra.71 Premiered in July 1956, Three Mountains received mixed reactions. Public media coverage was fairly positive. Fan Rong’s review, for example, states, “The significance of producing Three Mountains in China does not only lie in international cultural exchange, but also manifests in broadening jingju’s thematic range and pushing jingju’s artistic reform.  .  .  . Although extensive reforms took place in melodic-passages and acting, people still think it is jingju and do not feel it is awkward.”72 The foundation for Fan’s remark on audience acceptance is not clear, and it does not reflect the complete picture. According to Zhang Yunxi, the performer of Yundeng, Ma Yanxiang reported to Mao Zedong that the Three Mountains that they were watching had been criticized by some colleagues as “being neither a donkey nor a horse (fei lü fei ma).”73 It was a harsh attack on the production’s artistic style, something that no jingju practitioners would let go at ease. For them, to create something that “looks like jingju” is both the minimum in order to be accepted and the highest praise that a newly created production can receive. In the worst case, “bushi zheli shi” (does not belong here) is the censure declaring that one somehow betrays the authentic and signature qualities of the jingju style. In this context, “being neither a donkey nor a horse” simply means one cannot even determine the production’s theatrical genealogy, and therefore it does not belong to the jingju world. 70. Ibid. 71. Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 1. 72. Fan Rong, “Miaoxie Menggu renmin shenghuo de jingju San zuo shan” [The jingju Three Mountains portraying Mongolian’s life], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 7 (1956): 33. 73. Zhang Yunxi, “Yi Mao Zedong qinshen San zuo shan” [Recollections on Mao Zedong watching Three Mountains], Zhongguo xiju [Chinese Theatre] 7 (1992): 13.

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Upon examining the changes in this production, some reasons for the criticism of “being neither a donkey nor a horse” may be clear. To begin with, the text uses Chinese popular and folk narrative structures but is set in the form of “acts and scenes” as in Western theatre, rather than the traditional “entering and exiting” method of narration. The actors’ body language mixes elements from jingju practice, Mongolian dance, and movements with a fairly realistic style. Melodic elements are absorbed from Mongolian folk songs, jingju arias, and modes from regional theatres such as nanluo and wawa, and the orchestra includes traditional jingju orchestra, Chinese folk instruments, and Western instruments. Additional criticism of the production mentioned a conflict of aesthetics seen in the somewhat realistic scenery and acting with jingju influence, and an inconsistency of the musicality in stage speech.74 Did Ma go too far in this production? Perhaps it was an ambitious move on his part to launch the project, though not in terms of launching it to explore artistic innovations in jingju—the genre is always innovative. However, it may have been too ambitious in terms of two other issues: the magnitude of innovating the overall style of jingju and the choice to adapt a Mongolian opera. The Mongolian opera version of Three Mountains is already an adaptation of an earlier version that was based primarily on Mongolian folk songs, and therefore it contains significant components of Western opera, such as more characters and choral singing. If analyzed today, one would have readily labeled it a “cross-cultural production” for its layers of source material drawn from Western opera, Mongolian folk songs, jingju, and Western theatre’s realistic approach. But in 1956, this cross-cultural aspect, with the extent of deviation from the overall style of jingju, was an important reason for the mixed reactions it received. Mao Zedong did not allow the jingju world to alter his recognition of the production’s value: “Not a donkey or a horse, then it is a hinny; isn’t it fairly good as well?”75 But his wife, Jiang Qing, seemed to have a different reaction. When Mao and Ma watched the performance, she was also present but left during the intermission. Given the embarrassing criticism that Ma would report to Mao, he might have interpreted Jiang’s early departure as yet another criticism. What he could not know is that merely a decade later, modern jingju would undergo a vigorous redevelopment under Jiang’s supervision, and the majority of strategies he proposed in 1954 would be vindicated and further developed in the mid-1960s, with more strategic moves and under the government’s mandate.

74. Wu Zuguang, “Dui jingju San zuo shan de yixie xiangfa” [Some thoughts on jingju Three Mountains], in Wu Zuguang xuanji (5) [Selections of Wu Zuguang, vol. 5] (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1995), 384–85. 75. Zhang, “Yi Mao Zedong qinshen San zuo shan,” 13.

3 Modern Jingju in Years of Uncertainty

Uncertainty was the overarching, lingering mood in China from the summer of 1956 to late 1963. The nation’s economy, politics, and culture fluctuated as the government readjusted policies from one position to another and quickly back again, corresponding to the CCP top leaders’ increasing divergence of opinions and the country’s deteriorating international relationship with the Soviet Union, the United States, and its Asian neighbors. During these seven years, China went through one political movement after another: major ones including the Hundred Flowers Movement, the Anti-Rightist Campaign, the Great Leap Forward, the Anti-Rightist Deviation Movement, and the beginning of the Socialist Education Movement. Within this larger picture, the government’s xiqu policy developed along two intertwined threads: vacillating attitudes toward the traditional repertory and a firm commitment to producing modern plays. With increasing emphasis on fostering the PRC’s national identity through arts with indigenous Chinese roots, the government chose the new national xiqu with modern plays to be the key element, and all xiqu forms were enlisted to present modern lives. In the jingju circle, it was during this period that professional practitioners began comprehensive experimentation on each and every aspect of the performance art, searching for solutions to the challenge of presenting modern stories in a convincing jingju style.

Great Leap Forward in Modern Play Creation: Policies and Practices In Chapter 2, we saw how political control was institutionalized through the Xiqu Reform starting in 1948. By the mid-1950s, repertory famine was a palpable crisis on the xiqu stage, a direct consequence of the combined influences of excessive banning, blurred criteria for revisions, practitioners’ self-censorship, and ideological control over performing troupes. The dire shortage of xiqu productions can be best seen in the well-known saying, “There is no need to read [the ads] when you open a newspaper, for there is nothing but Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai [Liang Zhu], The West Chamber [Xixiang], or The White Snake [Baishe zhuan].”1 To address 1. Liu, “Theatre Reform as Censorship,” 402. As Liu explains, there are several versions of this saying, but they all note that only a handful of publicly approved—and therefore safe—productions from traditional repertory were repeatedly staged.

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this severe shortage, the Ministry of Culture organized two National Xiqu Repertory Work Meetings, the first from 1 to 15 June 1956, and the second from 10 to 24 April 1957. Along with these two meetings, tight control over traditional repertory loosened, and altogether 10,520 traditional plays were staged nationwide between mid-1956 and mid-1957.2 Three weeks after the second repertory work meeting, on 17 May 1957, the Ministry of Culture officially lifted the ban on all the twenty-six plays that were forbidden to be staged during 1950–1952, a sign of further relaxation in the control of traditional repertory. Concurrent with the two repertory work meetings was the Hundred Flowers Movement, initiated in 1956 to involve intellectuals—scientists, writers, artists, and others—in socialist construction through free discussion and independent thinking, and via party rectification of subjectivism, bureaucratism, and sectarianism. A critical part of the rectification in 1957 involved inviting non-party members to offer criticism of the party. Many xiqu practitioners and scholars participated after repeated invitations. Wu Zuguang, the playwright and director who advocated protecting jingju’s “writing meaning” style in 1954, granted an interview to Theatre Journal (Xiju bao), in which he pointed out that the major problem in theatre work was the CCP’s tight control over artists in both their personal and artistic lives. He further noted that, in the xiqu field, quite often the government leaders were lacking in expertise.3 As criticism accumulated, the Chinese political arena became fraught with unpredictability. Frederick C. Teiwes notes that, on the one hand, the majority of criticisms addressed problems in how the CCP’s leadership was conducted, rather than a wish to overthrow it; on the other hand, the depth of discontent in the criticisms can be read as clear doubt of the party’s competence.4 The CCP’s counterattack took the form of the Anti-Rightist Campaign, officially launched on 8 June 1957, merely three weeks after the ban on all the twentysix plays was lifted on 17 May. The campaign aimed at combating “those rightists who are challenging the Communist Party and the leadership of the worker class.”5 According to the official estimate, more than 550,000 rightists were purged in 1957 and 1958, and, for the majority of them, the label was not removed until after 1978.6 Wu Zuguang was one of the first labeled as a rightist in the field of literature and art. 2. Liu Zhiming, “Dadan fangshou kaifang xiqu jumu—zai Di-Er Ci Quanguo Xiqu Jumu Gongzuo Huiyi de zongjie fayan” [Bravely release control and open up xiqu repertory: The concluding speech at the Second National Xiqu Repertory Work Meeting], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 9 (1957): 10. 3. Wu Zuguang, “Tan xiju gongzuo de lingdao wenti” [On the leadership of theatre work], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 11 (1957): 4–7. See further information in Zhang Ying’s “Wu Zuguang ruhe chengwei youpai fenzi” [How did Wu Zuguang become a rightist], in Wentan fengyun qinliji [Firsthand experience in the stormy situations of the literary circle] (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 2012), 107–13. 4. Frederick C. Teiwes, “The Establishment and Consolidation of the New Regime, 1949–1957,” in The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China, 3rd ed., ed. Roderick MacFarquhar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 77–81. 5. “Zhe shi weishenme?” [Why is this so?], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 8 June 1957. 6. Dangdai Zhongguo Yanjiusuo [Academy of Contemporary China], Zhonghua Renmin Gongheguo shigao (di-er juan: 1956–1966) [The history of the People’s Republic of China (vol. 2: 1956–1966)] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 2012), 54. Scholars such as Ding Shu argue that the actual number of rightists was much larger.

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In 1958, one year into the Anti-Rightist Campaign, the Great Leap Forward was launched. This was a campaign aimed at industrial and agricultural escalation, emphasizing mass mobilization and subjective motivation, and ignoring technical norms and scientific principles. The CCP approved the General Line of Building Socialism, “Go all out, aim high, and achieve greater, faster, better and more economical results in building Socialism,” during the Second Plenum of the Eighth Party Congress held from 5 to 23 May 1958. It quickly spread from the national economy to other fields, as Jacques Guillermaz details: “Haste, its chief characteristic, spread to every sector: industry, agriculture, trade, and at least as a consequence, to science, culture, and education, all of which are also related to production—or, to put it briefly, to the whole life of the nation.”7 The Ministry of Culture organized the Conference on Presenting Modern Life in Xiqu from 13 June to 14 July 1958, with participants representing nearly every province of the country. It was in the conference concluding speech that Liu Zhiming, a leader of the creative team of the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels and now a vice culture minister, identified a new xiqu policy: In xiqu work, carry out the General Line of Building Socialism; activate art through politics . . . and take modern plays as the key link, so as to push an overall great leap forward in xiqu, and while promoting modern plays, seriously rediscover and sort out traditional plays, as well as create new historical plays; on the basis of full development of good traditional art, weed through the old to bring forth the new, and create a new, national, socialist xiqu.8

This official discourse, with formal but somewhat empty language, may seem to be calling for development in each sector of xiqu. But with Liu’s explanation and in the context of the Great Leap Forward, the CCP’s new prescription for xiqu creation clearly indicates otherwise. First, although traditional repertory is part of the “new, national, socialist xiqu,” modern plays are elevated to the status of the “key link” and granted a more important role. Liu put this straightforwardly: “The priority should be clear between the two [traditional and modern plays]. From the perspective of development, modern plays take priority over traditional repertory. It is wrong to only stage traditional repertory; it is wrong to only develop modern plays; and it is also wrong to treat them equally.”9 Therefore, even though Liu discussed the policy of “walking on two legs,”10 the merit of traditional repertory and techniques depended more on their usefulness as references for modern play creation than on their discrete value. See Ding’s Yangmou: Fan youpai yundong shimo [Open conspiracy: The complete story of the Anti-Rightist Campaign] (Hong Kong: Kaifang zazhishe, 2006). 7. Jacques Guillermaz, The Chinese Communist Party in Power, 1949–1976 (Boulder: Westview Press, 1976), 207. 8. Liu Zhiming, “Wei chuangzao shehuizhuyi de minzu de xin xiqu er nuli” [Make efforts to create a new, national, socialist xiqu], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 15 (1958): 11. 9. Ibid., 12. 10. Ibid., 14.

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Second, although the differences among theatrical forms are acknowledged, all xiqu forms are enlisted in modern play creation. This is a drastic change from the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau’s policy in 1951, discussed in Chapter 2: The Bureau categorized xiqu into small-scale folk theatre forms and large-scale regional theatre forms according to their levels of stylization. The latter, including “kunqu, jingju, chuanju, qinqiang, and hanju,” with their high level of stylization, were identified as being “more suitable for presenting stories set in the past.”11 But in Liu’s 1958 speech, this categorization was sidestepped, and no one form was free from the obligation of modern play creation. Rhetorically, the 1958 slogan for xiqu work carefully avoided prescriptiveness when saying, “Go all out, destroy the myths, struggle hard for three years, and strive for the proportion of modern plays to reach 20–50 percent in the repertory of most forms and troupes.”12 However, this 20–50 percentage demand was actually across the board since Liu did not identify which forms or troupes were outside the pool of “most forms and troupes.” And, last, the 1958 policy specified the content of modern plays, which were politicized as a medium for socialist revolution and construction. Liu explained, “Modern plays are the mainstream of the national socialist xiqu. . . . The new democratic revolution period since the ‘May Fourth Movement,’ the socialist revolution period, and the communist period, all of these are the content that modern plays will present. The focus for presentation from now on will be socialist and communist lives.”13 The series of post-1949 political movements, especially the Anti-Rightist Campaign, was identified as the political foundation for the “new, national, socialist xiqu” because it elevated people’s political consciousness and because successfully serving politics and socialist construction should manifest in the combination of socialist content and the form of traditional xiqu.14 Under the simultaneity of the fervent nationwide campaign for being greater, faster, better and more economical, and the government’s call for a new national socialist xiqu, the year 1958 was the zenith of modern play creation. Gao Yilong and Li Xiao note, “At that time, without exceptions, every xiqu form and every xiqu troupe throughout the country was staging newly created modern plays, and the total number was impossible to estimate. Indeed, more modern plays were created in 1958 than before or since.”15 According to the Ministry of Culture’s statistics, during the period from 1956 to the first half of 1959, jingju companies throughout the country produced twenty-one newly created productions, and nine of them were modern plays.16 Compared to the output from 1949 to 1955, when twenty-four 11. “Wenhuabu Xiqu Gaijinju fuhan tan youguan xigai zhengce de sange wenti,” 23. 12. Liu, “Wei chuangzao shehuizhuyi de minzu de xin xiqu er nuli,” 12. 13. Ibid., 11. 14. Ibid., 10. 15. Gao Yilong and Li Xiao, eds., Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi [History of modern xiqu in China] (Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua chubanshe, 1999), 157. 16. Wenhuabu Yishu Shiye Guanliju [Ministry of Culture Art Work Management Bureau], ed., “(1949–1959) Yishu shiye tongji ziliao” [(1949–1959) Statistical data of art development] (Beijing: Wenhuabu Yishu Shiye Guanliju, 1959), 31–41. This comparison focuses on newly created productions, not including adaptations.

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newly created jingju were introduced and none was a modern play,17 the period from 1956 to 1959 saw a “great leap forward” in overall volume of modern jingju creation. Economically, the Great Leap Forward failed in every sector: agriculture, light industry, and heavy industry, and it led directly to the famine during 1959 to 1961. The dominant emphasis on output, ignoring the cycle, process, and basic principles of production was immediately reflected in xiqu creation. For example, the Nanjing Yueju Company reported an output of 289 newly created and 121 revised modern plays during six months of 1958.18 The company stated, “All sixty-three members, from top-administrators to cooks, participated in creation.”19 We do not find further evidence on the professional competence of these administrators or cooks in theatre creation, but the claim of creating and revising a total of more than 400 modern plays during a period of 180 days is unbelievable. Accompanying the skyrocketing amount of creation, produced within an extremely short period of time, was worrisome artistic quality. Observing this phenomenon, Fu Jin notes that, the xiqu circle in Hubei summarized a “Four Quickly” criticism of modern play creation at this time: “To write quickly, to produce quickly, to give it up quickly, and the audience forgets it quickly.”20 In the field of literature and art, the CCP’s top leaders began nuanced adjustments as early as 1959. On 3 May 1959, Zhou Enlai, the prime minister, emphasized “walking on two legs” in a meeting with representatives of literature and art, and clearly identified a lesson from the Great Leap Forward: in the field of xiqu, artistry was often sacrificed for content, and he called for closer attention to the artistic level of productions.21 Following the same current, the CCP’s culture and arts policy started a gradual retreat from the 1958 policy. On 3 May 1960, Qi Yanming, a primary director of the 1944 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels and now a vice culture minister, called for attention to traditional plays in a report delivered at the festival—“Xiqu with Modern Themes: Performances for Emulation”—which ran from 13 to 29 April 1960. Qi stated that “currently traditional plays are too few .  .  . and the problem is that the current revising and editing work of traditional plays cannot satisfy the needs of the audience.”22 Two weeks later, the policy of “Simultaneously develop the three” (san bing ju) was advocated in a People’s Daily editorial: “In order to enrich the people’s cultural life, we should vigorously develop modern plays; simultaneously and actively revise, sort out, and stage good 17. Ibid., 20–30. 18. Yueju is one of the most popular theatrical forms in China. Its origin dates back to the late nineteenth century, and it came into being in the early twentieth century in the southeastern coastal area. 19. Zhang, Dangdai Zhongguo xiqu, 56. 20. Fu, Xin Zhongguo xiju shi, 66. 21. Zhou Enlai, “Liang tiao tui zoulu de wenti” [The issue of walking on two legs], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Beijing juan (xia) [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Beijing (2)], ed. Jin Hezeng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1999), 1463. 22. Qi Yanming, “Xiandai ticai xiqu de dayuejin” [Great leap forward in xiqu with modern themes], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 7 May 1960.

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traditional plays; and also promote newly written historical plays created with a historical materialistic point of view.”23 The central government focused on coping with the Great Leap Forward disaster in 1961 and 1962. In January 1961, the Ninth Plenum of the Eighth Central Committee approved the policy of “readjustment, consolidation, filling out, and raising standards,” replacing the previous emphasis on greater, faster, better, and more economical results. A series of programmatic documents addressing different areas was issued to guide the recovery and readjustment: “Sixty Articles on People’s Communes; Seventy Articles on Industry; Fourteen Articles on Science; Thirty-five Articles on Handicraft Trades; Six Articles on Finance; Eight Articles on Literature and Art; Sixty Articles on Higher Education; and Forty Articles on Commercial Work.”24 Kenneth Lieberthal points out, “The Eight Articles on Literature and Art promised the reintroduction of traditional art forms and permitted a broader range of topics to be explored by artists.”25 In the xiqu field, an important manifestation of this policy shift was in repertory guidance. On 14 August and 20 September 1961, the Ministry of Culture issued regulations for theatre troupes and called for further work in rediscovering and documenting traditional plays, and enriching xiqu repertory.26 A significant message on 14 August states, “Each theatre company (troupe) may decide [on its own] which particular type of repertory to focus on, according to its primary tasks, the characteristics of its theatrical form, and the expertise of its artists. Cultural administrative institutions should not set a proportion for any type of plays in the repertory of any theatre company (troupe).”27 Although it does not directly address modern plays, this rhetoric indicates the obvious intention to readjust the 1958 call for the proportion of modern plays to reach 20–50 percent in the repertory of most forms and troupes. This trend of policy adjustment reached its apex at the Guangzhou Meeting held from 2 to 26 March 1962. Prime Minister Zhou Enlai and Vice Prime Minister Chen Yi delivered speeches addressing issues and problems that could easily be applied to the entire field of literature and art. The critical issue of how the government 23. “Xiqu bixu buduan gexin” [Xiqu must continue reforming], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 15 May 1960. 24. Kenneth Lieberthal, “The Great Leap Forward and the Split in the Yan’an Leadership, 1958–1965,” in The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China, 3rd ed., ed. Roderick MacFarquhar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 114. 25. Ibid. For a further examination of the revision process of the “Eight Articles,” see Duan Ke’s “Cong Wenyi shitiao dao Wenyi batiao: Ershi shiji liushi niandai chuqi weiyi tiaozheng de zhengce zhuanxiang ji qi lishi yiyi” [From Ten Articles on Literature and Art to Eight Articles on Literature and Art: The policy shifts for literature and art during the early 1960s and its historical significance], Shandong daxue xuebao [Journal of Shandong University] 5 (2014): 78–86. 26. “Wenhuabu guanyu juyuan (tuan) gongzuo tiaoli (xiugai cao’an) (1961 nian 8 yue 14 ri)” [Ministry of Culture’s regulations regarding theatre companies (troupes) (revised draft) (14 August 1961)], and “Wenhuabu guanyu jiaqiang xiqu, quyi chuantong jumu, qumu de wajue gongzuo de tongzhi (1961 nian 9 yue 20 ri)” [Ministry of Culture’s notice on strengthening rediscovering of traditional repertory in xiqu and quyi (20 September 1961)], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Beijing juan (xia) [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Beijing (2)], ed. Jin Hezeng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1999), 1475–83 and 1483–84, respectively. 27. “Wenhuabu guanyu juyuan (tuan) gongzuo tiaoli (xiugai cao’an) (1961 nian 8 yue 14 ri),” 1476.

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should deal with intellectuals appeared in both of their speeches. On 6 March 1962, Chen stated, “The relations between party workers, political workers, and playwrights are rather abnormal.  .  .  . Contradictions have appeared between certain leading branches of our party and scientists, playwrights, directors, and actors.”28 He also criticized the party’s censorship and tight control over artistic creations.29 The Guangzhou Meeting and the official announcement of the “Eight Articles on Literature and Art” were an important push for the further readjustments in repertory work in the Ministry of Culture’s report to the central government on 10 October 1962. In this report, which was approved by the central government and subsequently announced as the most updated theatre policy on 7 December 1962, we see a further relaxation in repertory control, with attention given to differences among xiqu forms: “First of all, we should promote plays that reflect socialist construction and revolutionary history. . . . This type of repertory should take the priority on our theatre stage, especially spoken drama and new opera. Some xiqu forms are fairly good at presenting modern lives, and they should actively stage this type of plays, but [we] should not mechanically set any numerical proportion. Some [xiqu] forms are not suitable for modern themes, and [we] should not force them.”30 This policy not only negated the 1958 call for the proportion of modern plays to reach 20–50 percent in the repertory of most forms and troupes but also revisited the 1951 observation, offered by the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau, that not all xiqu forms may be suitable for modern plays. The report does not pinpoint precisely which forms are not suitable for modern themes, but the notion that an art form should not be required to answer political directives signifies the most unprecedented liberal approach since the Anti-Rightist Campaign. History repeated itself: the policy relaxation in the fall of 1962 was the prelude to yet another round of vacillation. During the Tenth Plenum of the Eighth Central Committee from 24 to 27 September 1962, Mao Zedong raised the concept of class struggle: “This class struggle is complicated, tortuous, with ups and downs, and sometimes it is very sharp. This class struggle inevitably finds expression within the Party. Pressure from foreign imperialism and the existence of bourgeois influences at home constitute the social source of revisionist ideas in the Party. While waging a struggle against foreign and domestic class enemies, we must remain vigilant and resolutely oppose in good time various opportunist ideological tendencies in the Party.”31 That the class struggle “within the Party” was discussed in a plenum 28. Chen Yi, “Zai Quanguo Huaju, Geju, Ertongju Chuangzuo Zuotanhui shang de jianghua” [A talk at the National Conference on the Creation of Spoken Drama, Opera, and Children’s Theatre], in “Xiju gongzuo wenxian ziliao huibian” [Compilation of theatre work documents], ed. Hua Jia and Hai Feng (Changchun, 1984), 382. 29. Ibid., 395–412. 30. “Wenhuabu dangzu guanyu gaijin he jiaqiang jumu gongzuo xiang zhongyang de baogao (1962 nian 10 yue 10 ri)” [Ministry of Culture’s report to the central government on improving and strengthening repertory work (10 October 1962)], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Beijing juan (xia) [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Beijing (2)], ed. Jin Hezeng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1999), 1496–97. 31. Guillermaz, Chinese Communist Party in Power, 335–36.

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of the CCP’s Central Committee was by no means a coincidence, nor was it ordinary. Jacques Guillermaz observes that the Tenth Plenum “revealed an astonishing change in both the spirit of the regime and the way in which it was developing; the convulsions of the Cultural Revolution may be said to have originated there.”32 The impact of this wrestling was soon seen in the fields of literature and art. On 4 January 1963, Ke Qingshi, the general secretary of the Party Committee of Eastern China and the City of Shanghai, recommended that literary and artistic creations should write about “the thirteen years since the Liberation,”33 referring to the period of 1949–1962; the slogan was soon highlighted as “Write intensively about the thirteen years” (daxie shisannian).34 Obviously, to concentrate on “the thirteen years” is to focus on creations with modern themes, a deviation from the 1961–1962 approach of respecting the strengths of different art forms and acknowledging theatrical companies’ independent decisions. Ke’s words aroused hot debate in Beijing. In April 1963, the Propaganda Department organized a Literature and Art Work Meeting. Quite a few participants held the view that to focus on the thirteen years was to limit literary and artistic creation, while others believed it was the only correct direction for the development of new work.35 Because the top-ranking officials could not bring the debate to a conclusion, theatre policy in 1963 was far from consistent throughout the country.

Focused Discussions on Artistic Issues in Modern Jingju Creation In Chinese government’s xiqu policy from the summer of 1956 to the spring of 1963, the tolerance of traditional plays was inversely proportional to the level of political control over artistic creation. Despite its vacillating attitudes toward traditional repertory, the government maintained its zeal for modern xiqu plays, as evidenced in all policy discourses, from “Working on two legs but taking modern plays as the key link” to “Simultaneously develop the three,” and then to “Write intensively about the thirteen years.” Except for a short period in the fall of 1962, all xiqu forms were enlisted in this move. In the larger picture of literature and art, this persistence was in support of the government’s effort to foster national identity by promoting art forms with original Chinese roots at a time when China was struggling with deteriorating international relations. Maria Galikowski notes that traditional Chinese painting and folk arts’ validity was reconfirmed at this time.36 In the realm of music, traditional Chinese music—not only folk melodies but also folk singing techniques and Chinese instrumental playing techniques—was identified as 32. Ibid., 335. 33. “Ke Qingshi tongzhi tong Shanghai wenyijie renshi gongying xinchun” [Comrade Ke Qingshi celebrated the New Year with the circle of literature and art in Shanghai], Wenhui bao [Wenhui Daily], 6 January 1963. 34. Zhu Anping, “‘Daxie shisannian’ kouhao de youlai” [The formation of the slogan “Write intensively about the thirteen years”], Dangshi bolan [Comprehensive Views of the Party History] 1 (2015): 30-32. 35. Ibid. 36. Maria Galikowski, Art and Politics in China: 1949–1984 (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1998), 83–86.

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the foundation in the search for a new national music; an earlier formula, “Chinese folk melodies + Western professional technique = national musical culture,” was criticized as an oversimplification with the essential approach of “prioritizing the West to the Chinese.”37 For jingju, this left no room for further discussion of the possibility of presenting modern life in jingju, which was the core issue at the Conference on the Artistic Reform of Xiqu in 1954; rather, how to make it happen became the focus of attention. A major characteristic of discussions at this time was practitioners’ contribution to significant reflections on creative experience during and after the performance of modern jingju productions. Their firsthand accounts addressed critical practical and technical concerns that emerged in rehearsals, thus offering invaluable insight to the challenges that practitioners faced and the gradual formation of some of their strategies. Artistic issues discussed during this period covered all major aspects of creation: acting, music, playwriting, directing, and design. The following discussion takes vocal expression of young and middle-aged female characters as an example. All young and middle-aged female characters in traditional jingju use smallvoice, also called false-voice, or falsetto, in song and speech. In modern plays, however, the question of whether the small-voice was still appropriate for modern women was one of the first issues that performers had to consider. Indeed, the penetrating, highly stylized small-voice of the traditional jingju stage is rather different from women’s voices in modern daily life. Therefore, the big-voice, also called truevoice, was proposed as an alternative because it “was closer to modern women’s natural voice in reality.”38 However, in jingju acting, the change from small-voice to big-voice is not merely a change in vocal timbre but is closely associated with a series of factors including the implementation of melodic and singing techniques, such as vocal placement and resonating cavities. In jingju music, especially melodic composition, the character’s gender is an important factor, and the singing pitch for young and middle-aged female characters—in falsetto—is significantly higher than that of all other characters except the young male. When restricted to using big-voice technique only, many performers “couldn’t reach the high pitches, and had to give up the original rich and beautiful female melodic patterns.”39 The singing techniques of young and middle-aged females are of course also designed for the small-voice. For many jingju audiences, the melody of various arias is often quite familiar, and they go to the theatre to listen to the singing techniques of star artists. However, many performers found 37. Zhao Feng, “Kaizhan qunzhongxing de jiaoxue pipan yundong, jianli wuchanjieji yinyue jiaoxue tixi” [Develop a mass education criticism, establish a proletarian music education system], Renmin yinyue [People’s Music] 11 (1958): 8–10. 38. Lin Lü, “Xiandaixi neng bu neng yong xiaosang” [Whether or not small-voice can be used in modern plays], in Lun xiqu fanying weida qunzhong shidai wenti (di-yi ji) [On issues of presenting the era of the great masses in xiqu (vol. 1)], ed. Xiju bao bianjibu [editorial team of Theatre Journal] and Xiqu yanjiu bianji weiyuanhui [editorial committee of Xiqu Studies] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1958), 79. 39. Ibid., 80.

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that “even though their small-voices were rather beautiful, the case was different with their big-voices; they were rather limited in terms of the presentation of voice, and therefore couldn’t demonstrate their vocal techniques.”40 A direct consequence was that, for some audiences, there was “nothing to listen to” in a performance with young and middle-aged female characters singing in the big-voice.41 Those performers, who were often chosen for young and middle-aged female characters because of the quality of their small-voice, started their education in jingju acting at the age of ten, and their vocal training had always focused on the small-voice. For them, performing in big-voice was a difficult adjustment that required both an innate aptitude for big-voice and experimentation in finding new placement and resonating cavities. Some performers, when first using big-voice, “quite often shouted themselves hoarse,”42 and some “totally lost their small-voice.”43 Speech was even more challenging than singing, in that it is by nature closer to normal communication in modern daily life, and every single audience member had enough life experience to distinguish the differences and similarities between the speech on a modern jingju stage and that used in reality. Master performer Tong Zhiling, from her own experience in Zhao Yiman (production title is named after the female protagonist), pointed out that “speech has comparatively more problems. If it is the same as real life, then there is no power, and the audience can’t hear it clearly; if I raise the placement of the voice higher, as in traditional female characters, it is not comfortable either.”44 Tong’s solution was to “raise the placement just a little bit higher, and to deal with the voice according to the development of the character’s emotions.”45 This new placement referred to somewhere between the smallvoice and the big-voice and, in Tong’s opinion, was closer to the placement of her big-voice. Addressing the same issue in The White-Haired Girl, master performer Zhao Yanxia focused on particular vocal strategies for particular characters. Her role, Xi’er, was a countryside girl with a tragic life story, profound hatred of landlords, and firm will. Her solution was to “mix the voice which is close to big-voice into small-voice,”46 so that Xi’er’s voice sounded broader and more tragic, conveying the colors of her life. In actuality, the dilemma surrounding voice choices for female characters in modern jingju had deeper roots: the mediation between loyalty to jingju’s style and the need to be true to reality. A simple, fundamental, and somewhat paradoxical fact of jingju is that it won popularity through compellingly creative experiments devised by generations of practitioners, but these innovations almost always took 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid. 44. Tong Zhiling, “Guanyu xiqu yishu gexin de taolun” [Discussions on the innovations in the art of xiqu], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 13 (1960): 18. 45. Ibid. 46. Zhao Yanxia, “Jilei jingyan zhubu yanhao xiandaixi” [Accumulating experience to present good modern plays step by step], in Wo de wutai yishu [My stage art] (Beijing: Changjiang wenyi chubanshe, 1983), 58–60.

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place in the space regulated by the established system of artistic elements and practices in traditional jingju, which is most comfortable when presenting characters and stories set in the past. Innovations perceived as deviating too far from the authentic and signature qualities of the jingju style would suffer the devastating label that Three Mountains received, “being neither a donkey nor a horse.” In 1958, pondering a particular voice issue, Lin Lü stated, “Artistically, when [we] use xiqu to present modern lives, if [we] over-emphasize being true to reality, it will have ramifications on artistry. Not only will it have an impact on the choice of voice, but will also have negative influences on other aspects including acting.”47 But neither would it work to mechanically apply jingju conventions to modern characters in order to keep its style, as evidenced in master performer Li Yuru’s experiments in the 1958 production, The Spring Wind Blows Thousands of Willow Branches (Chunfeng yangliu wan qian tiao), a modern jingju praising the Great Leap Forward. In order to make the play look like jingju, Li and the cast applied da chushou [spear-throwing], one of the conventional martial skills, to the scene in which the community builds a new house. . . . This skill usually is employed in battle scenes in the traditional repertoire. One performer is placed in the middle, surrounded by four to six others, and they use their hands, arms, shoulders, legs, heads and even head-dresses to throw weapons to each other. In The Spring Wind, the performers employ these “spear-throwing” skills to hand round bricks, logs and other building materials. This badly integrated scene made the performance look ridiculous, and neither performers nor audiences were happy with the production.48

Master performer Li Yuru had become one of the most popular jingju actresses during the 1940s. Her recollection of the first exposure to modern jingju during the 1950s illustrates the level of disruption that the best jingju practitioners were facing at that moment: “I had nowhere to place my hands. I did not even know how to walk. I simply felt I was almost bare in front of the audience.”49

Artistic Experiments in The White-Haired Girl Of all modern jingju created during this period, the China Jingju Company’s The White-Haired Girl deserves special attention for the enthusiastic reviews it received and the extensive discussions on artistic challenges and strategies it aroused. In the summer of 1958, it was presented in the Public Performances of Modern Xiqu. Organized by the Ministry of Culture, the Public Performances was a fair concurrent with the aforementioned Conference on Presenting Modern Life in Xiqu, during which Liu Zhiming declared the policy for creating “a new, national, socialist xiqu” as the priority in theatre work. Thirteen theatrical troupes participated in the Public 47. Lin, “Xiandaixi neng bu neng yong xiaosang,” 80. 48. Li Ruru, “Mao’s Chair: Revolutionizing Chinese Theatre,” Theatre Research International 27, no. 1 (March 2002): 8–9. 49. Ibid., 6.

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Performances, representing nine performing art forms. The White-Haired Girl by the China Jingju Company quickly became the focus of attention in both the Public Performances and the Conference, and Theatre Journal dedicated special sections in two issues to discussing its creative experience. In contrast to Fan Rong’s review of Three Mountains, which vaguely mentions that “people still think it is jingju and do not feel it is awkward”50 but omits the criticism of “being neither a donkey nor a horse,” Zhang Menggeng particularly emphasizes practitioners’ acceptance of The White-Haired Girl: “The assessment from the xiqu circle is that ‘it does not appear awkward and is inspiring for further experiments.’”51 Compared to the criticism of “being neither a donkey nor a horse” that Three Mountains received two years earlier, “it does not appear awkward” was a true compliment for The White-Haired Girl. A close examination of the production reveals that, different from the somewhat radical approach to innovating jingju in Three Mountains, in The White-Haired Girl, the focus of the creators’ attention had shifted back to the skillful use of traditional techniques and conventions in order to convey jingju’s flavor in presenting modern lives. At the same time, to a certain extent, this production’s approach to telling a modern story in jingju is a vivid illustration of the mixture of belief in the need for new content and the ongoing, albeit somewhat tentative, search for the appropriate form for the new content during the transitional late 1950s phase. Adapted from a folk opera of the same title, The White-Haired Girl is about poor peasants in northwestern China during the 1930s. Tenant farmer Yang Bailao borrows money at a usurious interest rate from his landlord, Huang Shiren. On New Year’s Eve, Huang forces Yang to relinquish his daughter, Xi’er, as payment of the debt. Out of sorrow and anger, Yang commits suicide, and the landlord seizes Xi’er. The girl’s fiancé sneaks into the landlord’s home in a failed attempt to rescue her. He then escapes to participate in the CCP army. At the landlord’s home, Xi’er is sexually assaulted, but she manages to escape before the landlord can sell her and lives on a mountain for years. Her hair turns completely white, and local people regard her as a white-haired goddess. Finally, the CCP army liberates the area, and Xi’er’s fiancé finds her on the mountain. The lovers reunite, and the landlord and his followers are punished. The plotting of the jingju version clearly promotes the modern theme that the old society turns human beings into ghosts, but the new society turns ghosts back into human beings. However, the linear structure, major conflicts, and clear character types all bear palpable similarities with jingju’s melodramatic style. As Meng Yue succinctly outlines, “A father’s sudden death on New Year’s Eve, the desolate girl abducted from her fiancé just before the wedding, the lovers’ hopeless separation followed by their tearful reunion, and the revenge taken on a vicious man in the end—all these motifs are familiar narrative structures in popular culture and 50. Fan, “Miaoxie Menggu renmin shenghuo de jingju San zuo shan,” 33. 51. Zhang Menggeng, “Chenggong de changshi” [Successful experiments], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 7 (1958): 14.

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folklore.”52 In this play, what we see is the narration of a harrowing story with a happy ending. Life-and-death struggles between the rich and the poor are certainly an important theme, but the emphasis in plotting and characterization is not on Xi’er’s rebellion or her rescuer—be it the abstract CCP or the specific fiancé—critical considerations that directed artistic creations a decade later. Rather, the misery of the oppressed and their experiences dominate the play. From the jingju practitioners’ point of view, this familiar tale of “the sorrows and joys of partings and reunions (bei huan li he)”53 offers the maximum flexibility for role-type arrangements in casting and leeway for performance, reminiscent of the plotting and narrative structure that already seen in Three Mountains. In the rehearsal hall, The White-Haired Girl creators determined that the challenge “is that it should both present jingju’s artistic features and present [modern] life in reality. We cannot distort life—making it look somewhat awkward—to fit in the form of jingju, nor should we undermine or abandon jingju’s artistic features so as to present modern life in its natural form.”54 In searching for the fine balance of a convincing portrayal of modern characters with a palpable jingju flavor, experiments involved carefully arranged accompanying music, innovative use of percussive music, skillful arrangements of metrical types in arias, cautious choice of specific modes for arias, and special attention to the musicality in movement. The following discussion focuses on the first entrances of Xi’er and Yang Bailao. As playwright Fan Junhong points out, in traditional jingju, entrance and exit conventions comprise a complex and sophisticated practice. “There are all kinds of ways for characters to enter and exit. . . . [N]o matter how many patterns could be used, there is one basic principle, that is, characters (except for roles like family servants and maids) must enter and exit within musical rhythms.”55 Here, “within musical rhythms” refers to a continuing and consistent musicality before, during, and after the entrance and exit of a character. In traditional jingju, this musicality is quite often realized through acting conventions, which are usually accompanied by percussive passages. Fan observes that “the [acting] conventions for entrances and exits in traditional plays are mostly not suitable to present modern life, and the rhythms of the percussive passages often used for entrances and exits somehow are different from the rhythms of modern life.”56 In searching for alternatives, playwrights and composers chose nanbangzi as the mode for the music accompanying 52. Chen, Acting the Right Part, 83. Original source in Meng, “Baimaonü yu Yan’an wenxue de lishi fuza xing,” 172. 53. Ibid. 54. Ajia, “Women zenyang paiyan jingju Bai mao nü” [How did we rehearse jingju The White-Haired Girl], in Ajia xiju lunji [Collection of Ajia’s articles on theatre], ed. Li Chunxi (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 573. 55. Fan Junhong, “Gaibian jingju Bai mao nü de yixie tihui” [Some experience in adapting jingju The WhiteHaired Girl], in Lun xiqu fanying weida qunzhong shidai wenti (di-er ji) [On issues of presenting the era of the great masses in xiqu (vol. 2)], ed. Xiju bao bianjibu [editorial team of Theatre Journal] and Xiqu yanjiu bianji weiyuanhui [editorial committee of Xiqu Studies] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1959), 102. 56. Ibid.

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Xi’er’s entrance and first aria. In traditional jingju, this mode is often associated with young female and young male characters, thus matching Xi’er’s age. In addition to the role-type association, Fan explains two other reasons for this choice: “On the one hand, it matches her lyrics which describe the complex feelings of desolation, sadness, yearning, and concern; on the other hand, in the introductory and connective interludes of nanbangzi music, we can add percussive music played by the small gong, so that Xi’er’s entrance is rhythmically vivid, and the audience will know that it is a jingju Xi’er instead of a Xi’er of any other theatrical form.”57 Yang Bailao enters after Xi’er finishes the first aria. To have his entrance smooth rather than jarring, playwrights and composers changed the metrical type of Xi’er’s last melodic-line from quadruple meter to free meter. The major rhythm change in song introduces new actions on the stage: immediately following Xi’er’s free metered melodic-line, the percussive music imitates the sound of the wind; along with the wind, Yang Bailao enters. He performs his first liangxiang simultaneously with the last percussive strike imitating the sound of the wind.58 The percussive transition matches the situation that Xi’er describes in her lyrics, “North wind soars; heavy snow blows,” and also accompanies Yang Bailao’s dance-acting. Master performer Li Shaochun, who created Yang Bailao, emphasized the importance of performing dance-acting movement in jingju style in the first entrance. “Through discussions with the directors, we decided to use jingju movement vocabulary during the entrance, and also to use liangxiang upon the entrance, and to move consistently in this way throughout the performance; through movements and expressions, we want to bring the audience into the theatricality, and make them feel that this is jingju.”59 The reasoning underlying the entrances of these two major characters reveals important characteristics of jingju experimentation during the transitional phase of the late 1950s: Musical and acting conventions were identified as the two aspects that most cogently convey unique jingju artistic features. Therefore, the focus of creative attention was on selecting appropriate musical and acting materials and integrating them as seamlessly as possible. Modes and metrical types in all arias in The White-Haired Girl are from traditional jingju. As Liu Jidian, who also served as the composer in Three Mountains, states, “In designing the melodic-passages for this production, we did not do anything brand new. We took advantage of traditional materials, and changed a bit according to jingju’s melodic principles, primarily to add the sense of a new era to serve the new character. . . . For example, for the 57. Ibid., 103. 58. Liangxiang (presenting the appearance) is a basic acting convention in xiqu. While performing a liangxiang, actors move into a pose and hold it for a short moment. The length of the pause depends on the characteristics of the liangxiang. Liangxiang can be used upon entrance, before exit, and after a sequence of dance or combat movement. 59. Li Shaochun, “Wo yan Yang Bailao de jingguo he tihui” [My process of and experience in performing Yang Bailao], in Lun xiqu fanying weida qunzhong shidai wenti (di-er ji) [On issues of presenting the era of the great masses in xiqu (vol. 2)], ed. Xiju bao bianjibu [editorial team of Theatre Journal] and Xiqu yanjiu bianji weiyuanhui [editorial committee of Xiqu Studies] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1959), 189.

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first melodic-line of Xi’er’s first aria in the mode of nanbangzi, the melody is from the first melodic-line in Sanniang Admonishes the Son (Sanniang jiao zi). But with some new arrangements and changes in some melodic-phrases, it matches the new psychological state, and therefore it is possible to convey a new atmosphere.”60 To a certain extent, this drawing from traditional practice may have had some relation to the limited rehearsal time. Ajia, a director, and Li Shaochun both confirmed that the rehearsal lasted altogether about seventy hours.61 Under such a time constraint, the rehearsal process bears intriguing similarities to the traditional jingju practice called cuanxi (to assemble a production). Ajia analyzes it as follows: In the past, the habit of xiqu rehearsal—I am not talking about traditional repertory that are already finalized, but focusing on the practice of famous performers creating a new play as his/her private repertory and joined-stage productions—is to prioritize the arrangement of scenes and the overall structure, instead of spending much time on studying scripts. . . . Their directors began with rehearsals and rarely conducted preparation in writing. Their problem is the absolute centering on the lead. . . . [T]he lead performer tries every possible way to be innovative yet the rest [of the cast] are nothing but the copy of traditional conventions. In the rehearsal of The White-Haired Girl, we took advantage of their merits but avoided their problem.62

Ajia’s strategy was to work out the allocation of actions to each scene with the other director, Zheng Yiqiu. With this overall design clearly understood, playwrights composed the script scene by scene. With a newly composed scene in hand, the directors designed basic stage blockings, and performers experimented with techniques to realize the arrangements. Ajia stressed that character analysis deepened gradually, and the director was to lead performers to understand their characters through the analysis of specific actions instead of abstract concepts. The creators of The White-Haired Girl took advantage of traditional rehearsal practices, while keeping an overall focus on selecting appropriate traditional musical and acting conventions. They also started conscious explorations of new materials and methods to serve new characters, though the changes were subtle and carefully kept within a limited range. Two production photos of Yang Bailao helping Xi’er put on a hairband in the first scene reveal the dance-acting in the original performance. Both performers face diagonally downstage right, thus offering the audience a three-quarter view. This positioning is completely consistent with jingju practice. In the meantime, the spatial relationship between the two, with the daughter sitting on a lower stool, convincingly presents a real-life arrangement. More importantly, the two photos illustrate master performer Du Jinfang’s—the creator of Xi’er—nuanced performance. Her legs, no matter which one is higher, are 60. Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 52. 61. Ajia, “Women zenyang paiyan jingju Bai mao nü,” 582. Li, “Wo yan Yang Bailao de jingguo he tihui,” 188. 62. Ajia, “Women zenyang paiyan jingju Bai mao nü,” 580–81. Joined-stage productions often last for multiple days.

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always posed in a beautifully stylized jingju fashion, with thighs tightly together, the knees slightly different in height, and the heel of the lower foot slightly raised. Her left arm in one photo (see Figure 3.1) is almost identical to the natural state in daily life, and—interestingly—somewhat counters jingju aesthetics by doing jiabangzi (squeezing arms to the torso), but in the other photo (see Figure 3.2), she returns to the gestures compatible with traditional jingju body language, with both arms raised leaving ample space under the armpits.63 Following an appraisal of the artistic choices and creative process of The White-Haired Girl, some reasons for the xiqu circle’s compliment of “it does not appear awkward” may become clear: the text uses Chinese popular and folk narrative structures, and playwrights paid special attention to maintaining and conveying jingju musicality through characters’ entrances and exits. The body language includes elements from daily life, but performers made a point to take advantage of jingju movement vocabulary and to accentuate such practice as liangxiang. Melodic composition was entirely based on traditional materials, and the rehearsal process was very similar to that of traditional jingju. In addition, performers and performance were the clear focal point: as the playwright, the composer, and the director explained, the scripts, musical composition, stage arrangements, and rehearsal process all prioritized performance practices. This in itself was consistent with traditional jingju’s creative mechanism and was fundamentally different from what Ma Yanxiang proposed and most probably applied to Three Mountains: “The music follows the performance, and the performance follows the scripts.”64 The White-Haired Girl’s production team is a dazzling array of superstars, with the best directors, performers, playwrights, composers, musicians, and designers of the time. In reflecting on the creative process, Ajia pointed out that, because of time constraints, the characterization was not thorough enough, but “performers are very well versed in traditional practices and techniques, so in quite a few instances . . . it compensates for the lack of life experience [as portrayed in the play].”65 To a certain extent, this is a description of the creative development of all jingju productions—including the traditional—because the majority of its repertory is about characters set in the past, and performers do not have access to the life experience portrayed in those stories. However, in the context of modern plays, this creative process is phenomenal. According to Ma Shaobo’s description, “Beginning from 8 March [1958], they revised [The White-Haired Girl’s] script and conducted directorial design, then were devoted to rehearsals immediately. By 20 March [1958], the rehearsal was accomplished. . . . During this period of more than ten days, they also continued public performances.”66 Despite for the fervent drive to be greater, faster, 63. Figure 3.1 is from Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 1. Figure 3.2 is from Zhang, Dangdai Zhongguo xiqu, plate. 64. Ma, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan,” 20. 65. Ajia, “Women zenyang paiyan jingju Bai mao nü,” 576. 66. Ma Shaobo, foreword to Bai mao nü [The White-Haired Girl], adapt. Ma Shaobo and Fan Junhong (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1958), 3.

Figure 3.1 The White-Haired Girl, production photo 1 Du Jinfang as Xi’er (left) and Li Shaochun as Yang Bailao (right)

Figure 3.2 The White-Haired Girl, production photo 2 Du Jinfang as Xi’er (left) and Li Shaochun as Yang Bailao (right)

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better, and more economical in the China of 1958, the most significant factor of The White-Haired Girl’s success was the judicious selection of traditional practices and techniques—based on creators’ artistic competence—by the production team. Not all companies had this luxury, and new modes of production had to be established if modern jingju was to achieve a higher level.

4 Model Jingju as Pinnacle of Cultural Reconstruction

The early 1960s witnessed the divergence among the CCP’s top leaders and the policy ambiguities resulting from differing opinions on the direction of xiqu work. Byungjoon Ahn and Harry Harding meticulously trace the process of conflicts between Mao Zedong and some other leaders in economy, education, health care, military, and culture, dating back to the Great Leap Forward.1 Roderick MacFarquhar, with so far the most detail, describes the agony of deteriorating collegiality that eventually put an end to the Yan’an leadership.2 As Harding aptly observes, between 1962 and 1965, Mao “tried, in five areas of long-standing personal interest, to alter the policies that the Party had adopted in the immediate post-Leap period,” one of which was to denounce “the reappearance of traditional themes and revisionist theories in intellectual affairs.”3 These years—1962–1965—have long needed a thorough interpretation of Mao’s party rivals’ responses—with their mixed signals and possible causes—to his initiatives. Also obscure have been Mao’s further responses and the interactions among Mao’s party rivals and Mao with his allies. What is evident from the surface of the mystery is, as Harding points out, “Mao’s conclusion was that the sluggishness of the bureaucracy, the emergence of traditional and ‘bourgeois’ ideas in intellectual life, and the emphasis on efficiency in national economic strategy together created the danger that revisionism—a fundamental departure from a genuinely socialist path of development—was emerging in China.”4 Concurrent with this was Mao’s anticipation of counterattacks, with critical moves such as mobilizing the disadvantaged urban young, securing control over the military and fostering its increasingly active role in politics, and maneuvering literature and art through a coalition with radical

1. Byung-joon Ahn, Chinese Politics and the Cultural Revolution: Dynamics of Policy Processes (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1976), 89–184. Harry Harding, Organizing China: The Problem of Bureaucracy, 1949– 1976 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1981), 195–234. 2. Roderick MacFarquhar, The Origins of the Cultural Revolution, vol. 3, The Coming of the Cataclysm 1961–1966 (Oxford: Oxford University Press; New York: Columbia University Press, 1997). 3. Harry Harding, “The Chinese State in Crisis, 1966–1969,” in The Politics of China: Sixty Years of the People’s Republic of China, 3rd ed., ed. Roderick MacFarquhar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 151–52. 4. Ibid., 152.

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intellectuals.5 In this context, as Paul Clark aptly points out, the cultural realm was used as a beachhead in Mao and his close allies’ conflicts with their party rivals,6 and modern jingju became a primary battlefield of the revolution in culture.

From Modern Jingju to Model Jingju Starting in September 1963, Mao Zedong repeatedly criticized literature and art, with special reference to theatre. On 27 September 1963, Mao requested new content for old literary and artistic forms such as xiqu and the film, warning that they would lose audiences otherwise.7 In November, his criticism escalated, warning that the Ministry of Culture will turn into “the Ministry of Kings, Ministers, Scholars, and Beauties, or the Ministry of the Foreign and the Dead” since it did not effectively encourage the creation of modern plays.8 The waves of attack reached a climax on 12 December 1963, when Mao responded to a report on xiqu work in Shanghai: Problems abound in all forms of art such as drama,9 ballads, music, the fine arts, the dance, the cinema, poetry and literature, and the people involved are numerous; in many departments very little has been achieved so far in socialist transformation. The “dead” still dominate in many departments. What has been achieved in the cinema, new poetry, folk songs, the fine arts and the novel should not be underestimated, but there, too, there are quite a few problems. As for such departments as drama, the problems are even more serious. The social and economic base has changed, but the arts as part of the superstructure, which serve this base, still remain a serious problem. Hence we should proceed with investigation and study and attend to this matter in earnest. Isn’t it absurd that many Communists are enthusiastic about promoting feudal and capitalist art, but not socialist art?!10

Mao criticized the entire domain of culture and art, but theatre was the primary example of fields that failed to serve the socialist economic foundation. Mao’s comment on the development in literature and art was a reinforcement of his 1942 “Talks” in that all forms, including theatre, must serve the prevalent ideology and politics. But he moved even further in 1963 by establishing two links: whether a Communist held a correct political position was intricately connected to the content of the art works that he/she preferred, and whether theatre presented modern lives was identified as a manifestation of whether theatre served socialism. These 5. Ibid., 153–60. 6. Paul Clark, “Model Theatrical Works and the Remodeling of the Cultural Revolution,” in Art in Turmoil: The Chinese Cultural Revolution, 1966–76, ed. Richard King et al. (Vancouver: UBC Press, 2010), 181. 7. Li, “Yangbanxi” biannianshi (qianpian), 77. 8. Ibid., 79. 9. In the Chinese version, it is xiju, a broad term for theatre of all types. 10. Mao Zedong, “Two Instructions Concerning Literature and Art,” Chinese Literature 9 (1967): 11–12. Originally published as “Guanyu wenxue yishu de liangge pishi” [Two instructions concerning literature and art], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 28 May 1967.

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sweeping attacks were a straightforward support of the proposal “Write intensively about the thirteen years,” advocated by Ke Qingshi in January 1963, and a negation of all previous policies encouraging, acknowledging, or tolerating traditional repertory, mostly supported by those whom Mao took as party rivals. To a certain extent, Mao’s criticism may be also interpreted as an endorsement of his wife and close ally Jiang Qing in her debut as the supervisor of modern jingju in 1963. Jiang’s official position was deputy chief of the Film Division of the Propaganda Department; she was also a board member of the Ministry of Culture’s Directory Committee of the Film.11 Jiang Qing studied huaju (“spoken drama,” Western-style theatre) and jingju acting at the Shandong Province Experimental Theatre in 1929–1930.12 Her most successful stage presence was in 1935 as the female lead role of the title character in Nora, a Chinese version of Ibsen’s A Doll House. Produced by the Association for Theatrical Amateurs, a CCP-led leftist group, Nora featured a cast of renowned huaju and film stars, including Zhao Dan as Mr. Helmer and Jin Shan as Nils Krogstad. The production premiered at the Jincheng Grand Theatre on 27 June 1935 and drew full houses for the following week.13 Before leaving Shanghai for Yan’an in 1937, Jiang played supporting roles in a couple of films. At Yan’an, Jiang was known for her performance in the 1938 On the Songhua River, a modern jingju based on the traditional play Fisherman’s Revenge, in which Ajia, the director of the 1958 The White-Haired Girl, played her father. One may say that Jiang’s acting credentials did not qualify her as a superb professional performing artist, however, in the context of the 1963 China’s cultural reconstruction, few, if any, political and cultural leaders had equivalent onstage experience in both huaju and jingju and the privilege of working with the best stage and screen practitioners in Shanghai during the 1930s. Jiang’s strategy was to select the best scripts, recommend them to the most appropriate jingju companies, and supervise rehearsals by giving meticulous suggestions for revision. This mode can be very efficient in terms of shortening creative cycles and refining productions in a particular direction, but it was based on the assumption of the supervisor’s artistic competence and the artists’/creators’ acknowledgment of this competence. Not everyone accepted Jiang as the authority on modern jingju, and her presence received different reactions in different cities and companies. In 1963–1964, Jiang recommended at least the scripts of The Red Lantern to the China Jingju Company and Morning on the Docks (Haigang de zaochen) to the Shanghai Jingju Company. From the end of 1963 to May 1964, Jiang observed the rehearsals—followed with suggestions for revisions—of these plays 11. For a further discussion of Jiang’s responsibilities in these positions, see Yu Guangyuan’s “Wo suo zhidao de Jiang Qing” [The Jiang Qiang that I know], Yanhuang chunqiu [Annals of the Land of Emperors Yan and Huang] 2 (2006): 17–24. 12. Ye Yonglie, Jiang Qing zhuan [Biography of Jiang Qing] (Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 1993), 25–30. Wang Suping, Ta hai mei jiao Jiang Qing de shihou [Before she was called Jiang Qing] (Beijing: Beijing shiyue wenyi chubanshe, 1993), 82–93. 13. Ye, Jiang Qing zhuan, 56–65. Wang, Ta hai mei jiao Jiang Qing de shihou, 168–72.

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and Tiger Mountain. The Shanghai Jingju Company, under the leadership of Zhang Chunqiao, then the vice head of the Propaganda Department of the CCP Shanghai Municipal Committee, was the most welcoming, and Jiang began rehearsal visits for the Tiger Mountain as early as December 1963. The production team of The Red Lantern at the China Jingju Company, under the direction of Ajia, partly accepted Jiang’s comments on two rehearsals and three public performances from May to July 1964.14 But the case of Sparks amid the Reeds (Ludang huozhong) has been marked with tension in political wrestling.15 The most popular chronicle of the production begins with Jiang recommending the huju script to the Beijing Jingju Troupe in 1963.16 For example, Paul Clark offers the critical record that Jiang watched the huju production in May 1963 and then recommended it to Beijing (month unspecified), Li Song asserts that Jiang made the recommendation in December 1963, and Wang Zengqi says it was in the winter of 1963 after Jiang’s trip to Shanghai.17 But Chen Tushou clearly pinpoints that it is the CCP Beijing Municipal Committee, under Mayor Peng Zhen, that made the decision to adapt Sparks amid the Reeds from huju and Azalea Mountain from huaju, and that the decision was made as early as October 1963.18 Chen in particular mentions that the theory of Jiang making the recommendation appeared only after the Cultural Revolution began, in an effort to credit Jiang as the supervisor of model works, because none of the 1963 official files at the Beijing Cultural Bureau makes any reference to Jiang. Although the absence of reference to Jiang in the Beijing Cultural Bureau’s files may as well be a sign of crediting the mayor—and discrediting Jiang—it is important to note that the CCP Beijing Municipal Committee under Peng, also the direct administrative leader of the Beijing Jingju Troupe, played an important role in organizing and supervising the early creation and revision of the production. As the divergence between Mao and his party rivals—Peng being one of them—increased during 1963–1964, the production of Sparks amid the Reeds somehow became sensitive territory that neither Peng nor Jiang was willing to give up. In April 1964, Jiang was rather upset when the CCP Beijing Municipal Committee approved Sparks amid the Reeds’ public performance without her permission. And even more egregiously, after the revised version of Sparks amid the Reeds—based on Jiang’s comments—became 14. These two rehearsals, on 23 and 31 May 1964, were in preparation for the Festival of Modern Jingju Performances for Emulation held from 5 June to 31 July 1964. During the festival, Jiang watched the production at least three times, on 20 June, 1 July, and 13 July. Her comments are collected in “Jiang Qing tongzhi lun wenyi” [Comrade Jiang Qing on literature and art], 1968, reprinted by the Center for Chinese Research Materials, Association of Research Libraries, 1974. 15. The production title changed to Shajiabang in 1965, upon Mao Zedong’s suggestion. See Chapter 5 for more details. 16. Huju is a regional theatre form that is popular in the Shanghai area. 17. Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution, 31. Li, “Yanbanxi” biannianshi (qianpian), 88. Wang Zengqi, “Guanyu Shajiabang” [About Shajiabang], in Wang Zengqi shuo xi [Wang Zengqi on theatre] (Jinan: Shandong huabao chubanshe, 2006), 122. 18. Chen Tushou, “Ludang huozhong de muhou fengyun” [Inside stories of Sparks amid the Reeds], Yanhuang chunqiu [Annals of the Land of Emperors Yan and Huang] 11 (2010): 72.

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the official version in July 1964, Peng ordered another troupe to reconstruct an earlier version, which may well be interpreted as disapproval of the revisions under Jiang’s supervision. Against this background, the Festival of Modern Jingju Performances for Emulation, held in Beijing from 5 June to 31 July 1964 (hereafter the 1964 Beijing Festival), reconfirmed the priority of modern plays in xiqu creation, reinforced the significance of modern jingju in literature and art, and firmly established Jiang Qing as the leader of this movement. Twenty-nine troupes from eighteen provinces presented thirty-five modern jingju productions during the festival, with the participation of another thirty delegations from provinces throughout the country. This contributed to an impressive amount of more than 2,400 official participants.19 From 5 June to 14 July, six cycles of performances were organized for official participants, followed by two weeks of performances for public audiences. The festival hosted altogether “244 performances (among which were 108 performances for emulation, ninety public performances, and forty-six other performances),”20 and “nearly 200,000 audience members in the capital watched the live performances; in addition, an audience of approximately 4,600,000 watched the performances in twenty-three evening programs broadcast by Beijing Television.”21 On 17 and 23 July, Mao Zedong watched live performances of Tiger Mountain and Sparks amid the Reeds, and congratulated the production teams in person. In the political climate of the early 1960s, the 1964 Beijing Festival signaled a distinct direction for cultural reconstruction, and modern jingju was identified as the primary medium. Concurrent with the festival, People’s Daily and the CCP’s official journal, Red Flag (Hongqi), published an editorial in which jingju reform was raised to the level of being “not only a cultural revolution, but also a social revolution.”22 This editorial reaffirmed socialist China’s class struggle, in which capitalists, imperialists, and landlords tried to transform socialism into capitalism through revisionism; “literature and art comprise a major bone of contention; theatre, as an important department of literature and art, is not an exception.”23 The editorial demanded, “Modern plays that present modern revolutionary life, and have new creations in both content and form, should occupy the principal position on the jingju stage, and should occupy the principal position on the stages of other theatrical forms.”24 An influential fruit of the 1964 Beijing Festival was Jiang Qing’s directives, later compiled as “On the Revolution in Jingju,” which functioned as an authoritative document during the Cultural Revolution. In many ways, it illustrated new 19. Gao and Li, Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi, 234. 20. Ibid. 21. Ibid. 22. “Wenhua zhanxian shang de yige da geming” [A big revolution on the cultural battlefront], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 1 July 1964. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid.

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approaches to modern jingju creation during the critical years of 1963–1965, when ideological interpretations of creative theories gradually took shape and increasing attention shifted to the core issues of jingju’s artistry. Emerging in Jiang’s talks were two concepts that later developed into guiding creative principles during the Cultural Revolution. One was the definition of the “foremost task”: “It is our view that opera on revolutionary contemporary themes must reflect real life in the fifteen years since the founding of our Chinese People’s Republic, and that images of contemporary revolutionary heroes must be created on our operatic stage. This is our foremost task.”25 It was closely associated with the Basic Task theory identified two years later in 1966. The other was the relationship between positive and negative characters in jingju. Referring to the revision of Tiger Mountain, Jiang stressed the urgency of emphasizing positive characters and, when necessary, of reducing the number and proportion of negative characters. Following this practical approach, further practices later developed into the Three Prominences theory during the Cultural Revolution. A critical aspect of Jiang’s directives was elevating the significance of playwriting in the creation of modern jingju. In doing so, she not only emphasized that scripts were the central issue but also warned against the practice of making “excessive concessions” to the performers.26 An example of this was star performers in major roles each getting an opportunity to showcase their singing skills, which, in her opinion, was somewhat common in traditional jingju but might result in slack dramaturgical structure. To a certain extent, this is suggestive of what Ma Yanxiang had advocated a decade previous when identifying the strategy of “the music follows the performance, and the performance follows the scripts” in reforming jingju.27 But Jiang went further in coping with jingju’s artistic style and was more generous with time needed to polish new productions. She required that the principle of keeping with jingju’s characteristics be applied in lyrics, music, movement, and artistic language. Acknowledging the necessity for a longer creative cycle, Jiang predicted that professional jingju playwrights would need time to develop this new type of modern play and that, once a production was created, resilience would be important to accommodate further revision. In the context of modern jingju experimentation under CCP leadership since the 1930s, Jiang’s directives may be interpreted as pragmatic strategies directly addressing the lessons on the journey: some of these resulted from the lack of professionals in the Yan’an period, the efforts to cross the style boundary in, for example, Three Mountains, and the haste to mount productions during the Great Leap Forward. Following the 1964 Beijing Festival, from May through August 1965, all six principal administrative areas in China organized festivals of newly created modern plays in jingju and other xiqu genres: In the Northeastern Area, seventeen jingju 25. Jiang Qing, “On the Revolution in Peking Opera [Jingju],” Chinese Literature 8 (1967): 120. 26. Ibid. 27. Ma, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan,” 20.

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troupes presented twenty-seven modern jingju.28 In the Eastern China Area, seven jingju troupes presented twenty-four modern jingju.29 In the Northern China Area, twelve jingju troupes presented thirteen modern jingju.30 In the Mid-Southern Area, forty-four troupes presented fifty-one modern xiqu productions in nineteen xiqu forms; among them, four jingju troupes presented five modern jingju.31 In the Northwestern Area, twenty-two performing troupes presented altogether thirtyfive huaju, jingju, and song drama productions, as well as sixty-seven songs, dances, and storytelling pieces; among them, six jingju troupes presented six modern jingju.32 The Southwestern Area was the only area whose festival focused solely on regional genres with no participating jingju troupes.33 In Beijing, the year 1965 witnessed modern plays dominating the market of public performance. According to Chen Tushou, the head of the Beijing Cultural Bureau, Zhao Dingxin, announced on 9 September 1965 that “modern revolutionary plays have absolutely dominated Beijing’s stages. During the first half of this year, performing troupes under the leadership of the Cultural Bureau staged ninety-five productions, and eighty-six of them were modern revolutionary plays, accounting for ninety-two percent of the total amount. Among the altogether 2,044 performances [of these ninety-five productions], all but six were modern plays.”34 The 1964 Beijing Festival and the following push for modern plays throughout the country in 1965 served as a kind of mass mobilization for jingju professionals and audiences, in which not only modern plays became dominant on stage but, more importantly, among the xiqu forms, modern jingju was the major focus. In February 1966, high praise for jingju “on contemporary revolutionary themes” appeared in the “Summary of the Forum on the Work in Literature and Art in the Armed Forces with which Comrade Lin Biao Entrusted Comrade Jiang Qing” (hereafter the “Summary”). The document is ostensibly the minutes of a conference during which Jiang Qing discussed “certain questions concerning the work in literature and art in the armed forces,”35 although Mao personally revised it, thereby prescribing the tone, policy, targets, and fashion of the forthcoming Cultural Revolution. The “Summary” opens with an attack on the cultural work since the founding of the PRC, declaring that Mao’s words “have basically not been carried out by literary and art circles. Instead, we have been under the dictatorship of a black anti-Party and anti-socialist line which is diametrically opposed to Chairman Mao’s thought.”36 In this fraught context, the “Summary” enthusiastically praises the rise of modern jingju “on revolutionary contemporary themes,” in particular, The Red 28. Gao and Li, Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi, 248–49. 29. Ibid., 252. 30. Ibid., 255. 31. Ibid., 257–58. 32. Ibid., 263–64. 33. Ibid., 266. 34. Chen, “Ludang huozhong de muhou fengyun,” 78. 35. “Summary,” Chinese Literature 9 (1967): 23. 36. Ibid., 26.

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Lantern, Shajiabang, Tiger Mountain, and White-Tiger Regiment, as a “most outstanding example” of a new direction in constructing socialist culture.37 Led by the Central Committee of the Party, headed by Chairman Mao, and armed with Marxism-Leninism, Mao Tse-tung’s [Mao Zedong’s] thought, literary and art workers engaged in revolutionizing Peking opera have launched a heroic and tenacious offensive against the literature and art of the feudal class, the bourgeoisie and the modern revisionists. Under the irresistible impact of this offensive, Peking opera, formerly the most stubborn of strongholds, has been radically revolutionized, both in ideology and in form, which has started a revolutionary change in literary and art circles. . . . They are pioneer efforts which will exert a profound and far-reaching influence on the socialist cultural revolution. They effectively prove that even that most stubborn of strongholds, Peking opera, can be taken by storm and revolutionized.38

Three months later, the enlarged meeting of the CCP’s Politburo took place between 4 and 18 May 1966. This event has generally been considered the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, for it approved the 16 May Circular that served as the theoretical justification and directive for the Cultural Revolution, and sanctioned the leading group handling the Cultural Revolution—the Central Cultural Revolution Group—which functioned as the highest leading organ of the CCP until April 1969 when the CCP’s Ninth Party Congress reshuffled the Politburo and members of the group officially took positions as central party leaders. On 28 November 1966, the Central Cultural Revolution Group organized the Proletarian Cultural Revolution Meeting for the Circle of Literature and Art in the Capital. During this meeting, the team head, Kang Sheng, announced that five jingju plays, Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, On the Docks, Shajiabang, and White-Tiger Regiment, together with the ballet dance-drama productions The Red Detachment of Women and The WhiteHaired Girl, as well as the symphonic music piece Shajiabang, were designated as “model revolutionary works” and the eight performing troupes that originally created the model works were now “model troupes.”39 On the national level, two editorials published on 31 May 1967, “Outstanding Models for Revolutionary Literature and Art” and “Acclaim for the Great Success in the Jingju Revolution,” in People’s Daily and Red Flag respectively, each officially confirmed the designation of this group of productions. The second group of nine pieces, including seven models and two models-tobe, was announced on 24 April 1974 in People’s Daily.40 The seven models included one piano concerto, Yellow River; one set of jingju arias with piano accompaniment, “The Red Lantern” with Piano Accompaniment; four model jingju: Song of the Dragon 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid., 27–28. 39. Gao and Li, Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi, 271. 40. Jiang Tian, “Jinyibu puji geming yangbanxi” [Make a further step in popularizing revolutionary model works], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 24 April 1974.

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River, The Red Detachment of Women, Fighting on the Plain, and Azalea Mountain; and one symphonic music piece, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy. The 1974 announcement also identified two dance-drama productions, Sons and Daughters of the Grassland and Song of the Yimeng Mountains, as being in the experimental performance phase, indicating that they were in the final phase of revision before attaining model status. Three months later, in July 1974, these two dance-drama productions were included in the list of “new model revolutionary works” in the article “Ten Years of Jingju’s Revolution” in Red Flag,41 thus officially joining the model repertory. But this is not the definitive list. The 1974 announcement in People’s Daily stated, “another group of productions is being revised and created,”42 thus anticipating future expansions of the model repertory. The Cultural Revolution came to an end with the abrupt arrest of the Gang of Four in October 1976,43 however, a complete list of the repertory until that time was never officially designated. According to Dai Jiafang, during the last two years of the Cultural Revolution, at least three additional modern revolutionary jingju were granted permission for public performance and to be filmed: Boulder Bay, Red Cloud Hills (Hongyun gang), and Sons and Daughters of the Grassland; by October 1976, the film version of the former two had been completed and released, and the film plan for the last one had been approved.44 Additionally, Dai Jiafang and Xie Bailiang together confirm that the recreation, revision, or adaptation of at least six additional works, five jingju and one dance-drama, was in process.45 In determining a more accurate list of the model repertory, Barbara Mittler identifies an article published on 9 March 1976 in Guangming Daily (Guangming ribao), a newspaper under direct leadership of the CCP Propaganda Department, as the last official source: “Spring in literature and art forever belongs to the proletarian.”46 This article reported that “[the quantity of] revolutionary model works has increased to eighteen.”47 In addition to the two groups comprising seventeen works, newly included was Boulder Bay. Following the practice of model work promulgation that featured the publication of their scripts, scores, and accounts of the creative experience, the script of Boulder Bay was published in People’s Literature 41. Chu Lan, “Jingju geming shinian” [Ten years of jingju’s revolution], Hongqi [Red Flag] 7 (1974): 67. 42. Jiang, “Jinyibu puji geming yangbanxi.” 43. The Gang of Four refers to Jiang Qing, Mao Zedong’s last wife, and her close associates Zhang Chunqiao, Yao Wenyuan, and Wang Hongwen. They were arrested on 6 October 1976 and later charged with a series of treasonous crimes. The Gang of Four was a prominent political force of the Cultural Revolution, and their arrest has been generally acknowledged as the end of the period. 44. Dai Jiafang, Yangbanxi de fengfengyuyu: Jiang Qing, yangbanxi ji neimu [The trials and hardships of the model works: Jiang Qing, model works, and the inside story] (Beijing: Zhishi chubanshe, 1995), 202–24, 220–24, and 227. 45. Ibid., 227–29; and Xie Bailiang, Zhongguo dangdai xiqu wenxue shi [History of contemporary Chinese xiqu literature] (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1995), 179–82. 46. Mittler, Continuous Revolution, 80. 47. “Wenyi de chuntian yongyuan shuyu wuchanjieji” [Spring in literature and art forever belongs to the proletarian], Guangming ribao [Guangming Daily], 9 March 1976.

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(Renmin wenxue) in the January 1976 issue. The journal’s February issue contained a summary of the production’s creative experience, and the Shanghai People’s Publishing House published Boulder Bay’s main melodic score in May 1976. By now, we may conclude that, during the Cultural Revolution, approximately twenty theatrical productions and musical pieces reached model status and that the official model repertory included eighteen works. Model works’ stage dominance during the Cultural Revolution is officially described as follows: During the entire decade from 1966 to 1976, an unprecedented phenomenon appeared on the Chinese xiqu stage: All xiqu forms in the country, every theatre troupe, no matter if big or small, all staged the eight or nine productions designated as “model revolutionary works.” Jingju troupes copied the original versions of each “model work,” and all other regional xiqu forms adapted the “model jingju” to their own styles. Everybody was watching “model works,” and everybody was singing “model works.” It became a major fashion at that time. All traditional plays and historical plays, together with all classical literature and art, were labeled “feudalist, capitalist, and revisionist,” and were “swept into the trash of history.”48

As Paul Clark points out, “The old joke: ‘Eight-hundred million people watching eight shows’ (Bayi ren kan ba ge xi) is frequently cited as adequately summing up culture during this decade.”49 It is inaccurate, however, to assume that model works were the only instances of culture during the Cultural Revolution. Recent scholarship has revealed a more complex picture, with model works promoted with fluctuating media coverage, its gradually waning dominance, and Chinese citizens gaining exposure to nonmodel works throughout the decade. Yang Jian offers a solid discussion of underground literature during the 1960s and the 1970s.50 Barbara Mittler, based on interviews with more than forty people, draws a multifaceted landscape of the lived experience of a Cultural Revolution culture that was composed of complex official and unofficial activities.51 Paul Clark aptly pinpoints the inconsistency in public media coverage of model works and links it to the changing political influence of Jiang Qing and her allies.52 Colin Mackerras’s firsthand experience in China from 1964 to 1966, and in May and June 1973, also offers intriguing details of model works’ stage presence in early days of the Cultural Revolution and a “regrowth of interest in traditional forms and themes in art” in the early 1970s.53

48. Gao and Li, Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi, 270. 49. Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution, 2. 50. Yang Jian, Wenhua Dageming zhong de dixia wenxue [Underground literature during the Cultural Revolution] (Beijing: Zhaohua chubanshe, 1993). 51. Mittler, Continuous Revolution. 52. Clark, “Model Theatrical Works and the Remodeling of the Cultural Revolution,” 180–81. 53. Mackerras, Chinese Theatre in Modern Times, 169–74.

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Principles and Theories for Creating Model Jingju Three interlocking principles served as primary references and theoretical foundation for discussing creative experiences and literary and artistic criticism in model works: the Basic Task (genben renwu lun), the Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism (geming xianshizhuyi yu geming langmanzhuyi xiang jiehe), and the Three Prominences (san tuchu). The Basic Task theory was first announced in the “Summary” in 1966: “The basic task of socialist literature and art is to work hard and create heroic models of workers, peasants and soldiers.”54 During the Cultural Revolution, it was condensed into “the basic task of socialist literature and art is to create proletarian heroic models.”55 Both Ellen R. Judd and Richard King have offered focused examinations of this theory, its theoretical sources, ideological genealogy, and the meaning of typicality in the historical context of the Cultural Revolution.56 In the realm of theatrical creation, three significant principles clarified for the concept of “proletarian heroic models” in 1966 deserve close attention. First, the lead character of a play must be a proletarian worker, peasant, or soldier, because the lead role’s social class membership signified the class that dominated the field of literature and art. Second, the “heroic models” were not to be normal proletarians from daily life; instead, they were “the quintessence of thousands and thousands of heroes coming to the fore in revolutionary struggles,”57 the avatars of all heroic qualities and features. In addition, they did not develop into heroes through struggle but were mature proletarian revolutionaries upon their first entrances. Third, the proletarian heroes were live models for the dedication to, and application of, Mao Zedong Thought, which was both the foundation for heroism and the guarantee of the hero’s success.58 In fulfilling the Basic Task, the overarching creative method was the Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism (hereafter 2RR in Combination), which, as the tenets of literary and artistic creation, can be interpreted as culminating the theoretical construction of China’s new culture under Mao’s leadership. Maria Galikowski, Yang Lan, and Ban Wang all offered observations of the intricate relationship between Revolutionary Realism and Socialist Realism—a literary theory imported from the Soviet Union in the early 1930s—and have traced the development of the 2RR in Combination since Mao first mentioned 54. “Summary,” Chinese Literature 9 (1967): 30. 55. Jiang Tian, “Nuli suzao wuchanjieji yingxiong dianxing” [Strive to create proletarian heroic models], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 12 July 1974. 56. Judd, “Prescriptive Dramatic Theory of the Cultural Revolution,” 94–118. Richard King, “Typical People in Typical Circumstances,” in Words and Their Stories: Essays on the Language of the Chinese Revolution, ed. Ban Wang (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 185–204. 57. Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team, “Strive to Create the Brilliant Images of Proletarian Heroes,” Chinese Literature 1 (1970): 60. 58. Yu Huiyong, “Rang wenyi wutai yongyuan chengwei xuanchuan Mao Zedong Sixiang de zhendi” [Let the stage of literature and art become an eternal battlefield for disseminating Mao Zedong Thought], Wenhui bao [Wenhui Daily], 23 May 1968.

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it in March 1958 while discussing folk songs and new poetry.59 Yang has contributed to the most thorough discussion of Socialist Realism during 1930s–1950s China, the social-psychological reasons for 2RR in Combination support during the Great Leap Forward, and manifestations of the 2RR in Combination in fiction.60 Yang points out that, although replacing Socialist Realism, the 2RR in Combination inherited the designation and further developed its predecessor by emphasizing four attributes: “idealism,” “the Marxist world outlook of writers and the ideological utilitarianism of literature and art,” “tendentiousness in literary and artistic zhenshi [truth or truthfulness],” and “idealized heroic characters.”61 Seen in this light, the articulation of the 2RR in Combination in the “Summary” was the first directive on how it should be manifest in model works and therefore calls for close examination. In the “Summary,” the concept of Revolutionary Realism was raised as the opposite of Bourgeois Critical Realism and was distinguished from the latter in that (1) in Revolutionary Realism, the leading roles are revolutionary heroes from the proletarian class of workers, peasants, and soldiers, instead of average people and (2) the actions of these proletarian revolutionary heroes are directed by Mao Zedong Thought and the approved line of the CCP. Revolutionary Romanticism has at least two manifestations. First, the creation of proletarian revolutionary heroes should not be limited by reality; instead, the focus is on creating ideals or paragons. The “Summary” quoted Mao to validate this position, “life as reflected in works of literature and art can, and ought to be on a higher plane, more intense, more concentrated, more typical, nearer the ideal, and therefore more universal than actual everyday life.”62 Second, in the portrayal of revolutionary wars, “our works must show our arduous struggle and heroic sacrifices, but must also express revolutionary heroism and revolutionary optimism.”63 The “Summary” clearly advised that, “while depicting the cruelty of war, we must not exaggerate or glorify its horror. While depicting the arduousness of the revolutionary struggle, we must not exaggerate or glorify the suffering involved.”64 Essentially, the 2RR in Combination as a creative method for model works required an emphasis on revolutionary heroism in the presentation of the cruelty of war and revolutionary optimism in the portrayal of the hardship of revolutionary struggles. With the ideological interpretation of the Basic Task and theoretical framework of the 2RR in Combination, a series of practical methods was theorized for literary and artistic creation, including the Three Prominences, the Three Set-offs 59. Galikowski, Art and Politics in China, 100–104. Yang Lan, “‘Socialist Realism’ versus ‘Revolutionary Realism plus Revolutionary Romanticism,’” in In the Party Spirit: Socialist Realism and Literary Practice in the Soviet Union, East Germany and China, ed. Hilary Chung et al. (Amsterdam: Rodopi, ca. 1996), 88–105. Ban Wang, “Socialist Realism,” in Words and Their Stories: Essays on the Language of the Chinese Revolution, ed. Ban Wang (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 101–18. 60. Lan Yang, Chinese Fiction of the Cultural Revolution (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1998), 14–31. 61. Ibid., 18–19. 62. “Summary,” Chinese Literature 9 (1967): 35–36. 63. Ibid., 36. 64. Ibid.

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(san peichen), the Three Appropriates (san duitou), and the Three Breakdowns (san dapo).65 Among these sets of threes, the Three Prominences served as the foundational principle of character portrayal. It first appeared in Yu Huiyong’s 1968 article: “Among all characters, give prominence to positive characters; among the positive, give prominence to major heroic characters; and among the major, give prominence to the most important, and that is to say, the central character.”66 A year later, in an editorial published with the script of Tiger Mountain in Red Flag, this theory was finalized as “among all characters, give prominence to positive characters; among the positive, give prominence to heroic characters; and among the heroic, give prominence to the principal heroic character.”67 Correspondingly, “the arrangement of all other characters (including positive and negative characters) and the description of environment should all follow the prerequisite of the prominence given to the principal heroic character.”68 In Jiang Qing’s 1964 “On the Revolution in Jingju,” we already see the initial effort to theorize the relationship between positive and negative characters and to mandate the practice of emphasizing the positive. The Three Prominences accomplished this mission through further categorizing characters and setting clear priorities. Both Ellen R. Judd and Yizhong Gu have examined this theory in the dual contexts of politics and aesthetics/poetics and have traced its ideological genealogy.69 In playwriting, as Xie Bailiang observes, it is a common practice to give prominence to the central character. Arguing that, “strictly speaking, the ‘Three Prominences’ was not any invention by the production team of Tiger Mountain, nor was it Jiang Qing’s discovery,”70 Xie refers to the seventeenth-century critic Jin Shengtan’s analysis of The Romance of the Western Chamber (Xixiang ji)—generally acclaimed as a masterpiece of Chinese dramatic literature—composed during the thirteenth century by Wang Shifu. In this classical drama, the playwright’s strategy bears striking similarities with the later Three Prominences, by using negative 65. The Three Set-offs includes “use negative characters as a foil to the principal hero,” “use other positive characters to set off the principal hero,” and “make sure of stage setting to bring the principal hero to the fore.” It appeared in Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team], “Nuli suzao wuchanjieji yingxiong renwu de guanghui xingxiang” [Strive to create the brilliant images of proletarian heroes], Hongqi [Red Flag] 11 (1969): 62–71, and the translation was published in Chinese Literature 1 (1970): 58–74. Both the Three Appropriates and the Three Breakdowns appeared in Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu’s “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji” [With full passion and in all possible methods], Hongqi [Red Flag] 2 (1970): 31–40. The Three Appropriates emphasizes conveying appropriate emotions, appropriate personality, and appropriate sense of the time in character portrayal. The Three Breakdowns includes breaking role-types, breaking acting styles, and breaking old forms in creating the new. Although this article focuses on music, both creative methods were applied to other artistic aspects. 66. Yu, “Rang wenyi wutai yongyuan chengwei xuanchuan Mao Zedong Sixiang de zhendi.” 67. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Nuli suzao wuchanjieji yingxiong renwu de guanghui xingxiang,” 68. 68. Ibid. 69. Judd, “Prescriptive Dramatic Theory of the Cultural Revolution,” 94–118. Yizhong Gu, “The Three Prominences,” in Words and Their Stories: Essays on the Language of the Chinese Revolution, ed. Ban Wang (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 283–304. 70. Xie, Zhongguo dangdai xiqu wenxue shi, 260.

78

Staging Revolution

characters to set off other regular characters, using other regular characters to enhance major characters, and using major characters to accentuate the central character.71 Despite the slight gap in Xie’s interpretation of Jin’s analysis—we do not see Jin categorizing characters in The Romance of the Western Chamber into the negative or the positive—Xie’s keen observation, that the Three Prominences is not entirely at odds with the basic principle of playwriting, is insightful. In the meantime, it is also critical to note that the Three Prominences, in the context of creating model jingju, functioned as practical guidance to fulfill the Basic Task under the overarching theme of 2RR in Combination. This special and specific ideological context demands particular practices of defining a character’s functions in model jingju playwriting. In addition, in practice, the application of the Three Prominences went far beyond playwriting and was manifested in each aspect of productions. It will be further examined in the following chapters.

General Process of Creating and Revising Model Jingju Between Mao Zedong’s “On New Democracy” in 1940 and Jiang Qing’s “Summary” in 1966, the construction of a new democratic culture developed from a blueprint envisioning a new culture to the first group of model works illustrating the fruits of the cultural reconstruction. The fact that model jingju were all canonized during the Cultural Revolution sometimes leads to the misunderstanding that they were mounted only during the ten years between 1966 and 1976. The actual creative process, however, was more prolonged. Early versions of six productions—Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, White-Tiger Regiment, The Red Detachment of Women, and Azalea Mountain—had already been performed at the 1964 Beijing Festival. The production team of On the Docks went to Beijing as part of the Shanghai delegation at the festival, but despite rehearsals, they did not present the production in public. In addition, preparation and initial development of Song of the Dragon River, Fighting on the Plain, and Boulder Bay also began before 1966.72 During this long creative process, each production was revised by various groups of artists. For the first five model jingju—Tiger Mountain, On the Docks, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, and White-Tiger Regiment—the creative process generally included three major phases: initial development from the late 1950s to the 1964 Beijing Festival, remounting or revision from 1964 to 1967 when they were designated as model works, and further revisions for the movie versions.73 The later five model jingju—Song of the Dragon River, The Red Detachment of Women, Fighting on the Plain, Azalea Mountain, and Boulder Bay—are slightly different in that they were chosen for remounting or revision after 1967, and the time frame for movie 71. Ibid. 72. See further details in Dai’s Yangbanxi de fengfengyuyu; and Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution, 70–73. 73. The movie versions were completed in 1970 for Tiger Mountain and The Red Lantern, 1971 for Shajiabang, 1972 for White-Tiger Regiment, and 1973 for On the Docks.

Model Jingju as Pinnacle of Cultural Reconstruction

79

revisions was quite often shorter or even happened simultaneously with the second phase.74 In hiatuses between major remountings and revisions, small adjustments and polishing occurred simultaneously with public performances. The creative process that developed Tiger Mountain through five major versions serves as a good example: there was a 1958 version, an October 1964 version, a 1967 version, an October 1969 version, and a July 1970 version.75 The artistic choices in playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing resulting in the final version will be thoroughly examined in later chapters; the following is a recounting of how the plot, in the context of the interrelationship among characters, gradually took its final shape— after passing through the hands of multiple groups of artists. In 1958, immediately after Liu Zhiming defined a “new, national, socialist xiqu” with modern plays as the key link, the First Troupe of the Shanghai Jingju Company adapted Tiger Mountain from the novel Tracks in the Snowy Forest (Linhai xueyuan), with reference to the Beijing People’s Art Theatre’s huaju production. The adapting playwrights’ group included Tao Xiong, Huang Zhengqin, Li Tongsen, Cao Shouchun, and Shen Yangsheng, with Shen as the actual writer. The directors included Tao Xiong, Li Zhonglin, and Li Tongsen. The production was first performed in August 1958 at the Zhonghua Theatre in Nanjing. The 1958 version centers on a small detachment of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), under the leadership of Shao Jianbo, in a battle of wits and bravery with local bandits in secret collusion with the Nationalists (see Table 4.1 for scene synopses and Table 4.2 for statistics of characters and language).76 The plotting bears palpable similarities to both 74. The movie versions were completed in 1972 for The Red Detachment of Women, Fighting on the Plain, and Song of the Dragon River, 1974 for Azalea Mountain, and 1975 for Boulder Bay. 75. It is impossible to exactly pinpoint how many versions the production underwent between 1958 and 1970, simply because changes were ongoing and meticulous polishing continuous. For example, referring to Dai’s Yangbanxi de fengfengyuyu, which identifies the 1958 version as the first one and the October 1964 version the second, Zhou Xiazou aptly observes that a section of the July 1964 performance—at the 1964 Beijing Festival—is not part of the October 1964 script that was published in the journal Scripts and therefore argues that the October 1964 version is actually the third version, a theory adopted by Zhang Jiemo and Guo Fengtao. However, Zhou’s observations only demonstrate that the July 1964 version most likely contains major changes instituted between 1958 and October 1964 but does not prove that this is the only version containing major changes during this period, since none of these revised scripts were published. Therefore, in this chapter, I focus on the five published scripts for reference. Sources for the description of this process include Gao and Li, Zhongguo xiqu xiandaixi shi; Xu Xingjie and Cai Shicheng, eds., Shanghai jingju zhi [Records of jingju in Shanghai] (Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua chubanshe, 1999), 131–32; Ma et al., Zhongguo jingju shi (xia), 1928–32; Tong Xiangling, “Yang Zirong” yu Tong Xiangling [“Yang Zirong” and Tong Xiangling] (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian chubanshe, 2000); Zhou Xiazou, “Cong xiandaixi dao yangbanxi: Zhiqu Weihushan yu shenti guixun de yanbian” [From a modern play to a model play: Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy and the changes in the principles of body], Wenyi yanjiu [Literature and Art Studies] 10 (2011): 86–94; Zhang Jiemo and Guo Fengtao, “Zhiqu Weihushan liuge banben de meixue fenxi—cong yishihua jiaodu tanqi” [An aesthetic analysis of the six versions of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy: From the ritualistic perspective], Wenyi zhengming [Discussions on Literature and Art] 1 (2013): 79–86; Dai, Yangbanxi de fengfengyuyu; Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution, 27–29; and personal interviews with Shen Liqun, Beijing, 18 April 2005; Gong Guotai, Shanghai, 15 May 2005; Zhang Xinhai, Shanghai, 16 May 2005; Gao Yilong, Shanghai, 20 May 2005; Ma Ke, Shanghai, 21 May 2005; Gao Yiming, Shanghai, 23 May 2005; and Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005. 76. Shanghai Jingju Yuan Yituan [First Troupe of Shanghai Jingju Company], adapt., Zhiqu Weihushan [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy] (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe), 1958.

1958 version

At the Shanlanzhan Village: Shao Jianbo and his detachment arrive a minute too late to protect the villagers from a bloody attack that causes more than a hundred deaths and injuries. Yang Zirong reports that bandits of Tiger Mountain are the culprits. Shao orders an immediate trace of Vulture’s (bandit chieftain of Tiger Mountain) trail.

At an old hunter’s home: Horse Cudgel Xu’s (bandit chieftain of Breast Mountain) Contacts Map is held by Luan Ping’s wife, although she does not know that Luan is already captured by the PLA. Vulture’s intelligence adjutant Tuft Cheek kills her and gets the map. Shao tries to save the woman; hearing about the map from the old hunter and his wife, he senses this must have something to do with local bandits.

Scene

Prelude

1

In a snowy forest: Shao Jianbo and his detachment arrive at Tiger Mountain. Yang Zirong reports to Shao on Vulture’s trail. Shao orders more scouting. (This is part of the prelude in the 1958 version, with changes, including newly added information on Chairman Mao’s directive to “build stable base areas in the Northeast.”)

At the Jiapi Village: Vulture (bandit chieftain of Tiger Mountain) leads a bloody pillage. Vulture kills Li Yongqi’s wife. (Both location and action are simplified: Shanlanzhan Village in the 1958 version is replaced with Jiapi Village, now the primary location for villagers’ action throughout the play; the prelude focuses on the bandit.)

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version

The plot is very similar to Scene 1 in the 1964 version, except that the original information on Horse Cudgel Xu (bandit chieftain of Breast Mountain) is deleted. Yang Zirong and Shao Jianbo each deliver an aria; Yang’s is longer. Chorus aria in the 1964 version is deleted.

N/A

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison

The plot is identical to Scene 1 in the 1967 version, except for changes in the PLA soldiers’ names, and Shao Jianbo’s title changes to Chief of Staff. Yang Zirong’s aria is slightly shortened, and Shao’s aria in the 1967 version is deleted. The scene ends with the entire group striking a pose, including Yang Zirong and his three fellow scouts; in the 1967 version, Yang and the other three scouts exit before Shao’s aria and the ending group pose.

N/A

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

(continued on p. 81)

The script is almost identical to Scene 1 in the 1969 version, except for several newly added stage directions. Shao Jianbo’s name is replaced by Chief of Staff in this version.

N/A

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At the Shenhe Temple: Daoist Ding He, an undercover agent under Commissioner Hou and in collusion with bandits, hides Tuft Cheek in his temple and prevents Shao Jianbo and his fellow soldiers from entering and searching. Tuft Cheek does not reveal the map to Ding He. Ding He asks Tuft Cheek to stay overnight and then deliver a letter to Vulture.

In a room next to the railroad: Next day, Yang Zirong and other PLA soldiers capture Tuft Cheek. Yang investigates Luan Ping, acquiring further information on the map. Turning to investigating Tuft Cheek, Shao does not only get the Contacts Map but acquires the map of Tiger Mountain. Yang gets familiarized with the bandit double-talk. Shao, Yang, and other soldiers analyze different plans to take Tiger Mountain, realizing it is best to send someone disguised as a bandit to collect further intelligence. Yang volunteers. Shao finally assigns Yang to this job.

Scene

2

3

The plot is similar to Scene 2 in the 1958 version, except that Yang Zirong replaces Shao Jianbo in leading the move. The dialogue between Yang and Ding He is adapted from, and is shorter than, the part between Shao and Ding He in the 1958 version.

The plot is similar to Scene 1 in the 1958 version, with the old hunter and his wife removed. The dialogue between Tuft Cheek and Luan Ping’s wife is shortened. The opening chorus singing and Tuft Cheek’s aria in the 1958 version are deleted.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version

A new scene created for the 1967 version. Hunter Chang and Chang Bao are two new characters. Chang Bao delivers an important, long aria lamenting her family’s tragic story and testifying to the bandits’ crime. Tuft Cheek and Luan Ping’s wife are deleted; their actions centering on the Contacts Map are narrated by Hunter Chang.

The plot is similar to prelude in the 1964 version, with a new dialogue between Vulture and Flatnose added, which sets the background of the play, identifies the three major groups of negative characters, and directly reveals Vulture’s ambition to control northeastern China.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version

The plot is identical to Scene 3 in the 1967 version, except for characters’ name changes. The dialogue among the three is slightly shortened. Both Yang’s and Chang Bao’s arias now have more metrical types, building up to acceleration.

The plot is identical to Scene 2 in the 1967 version, except that the names of Big Pockmark and Flatnose are replaced by their positions at Tiger Mountain, and Tuft Cheek’s name changes into Howling Wolf. The dialogue between Vulture and his chief adjutant is slightly shortened, and Vulture’s aria in the 1967 version is deleted.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 82)

The script is almost identical to Scene 3 in the 1969 version, with Yang laughing twice more while communicating with Hunter Chang. Stage directions provide more details.

The plot is identical to Scene 2 in the 1969 version. The moment of Bandit Captain killing Li’s son is accentuated by Li and his wife calling “my child.” The scene ends with Li’s mother calling “Yongqi” three times (instead of once as in the 1969 version).

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At the foot of Tiger Mountain: Yang Zirong, disguised as Horse Cudgel Xu’s cavalry adjutant Hu Biao, arrives at the foot of Tiger Mountain. He kills a tiger and runs into Big Pockmark and other bandits. Yang asks to see Vulture in person.

At Vulture’s headquarters: Yang first passes the test of bandit double-talk and shows his familiarity with the situation on Breast Mountain. With the Contacts Map as an entrance gift, he quickly wins Vulture’s trust, being proclaimed as the Ninth Invincible. Vulture introduces Rose, his adopted daughter, to Yang.

Scene

4

5

The plot is similar to Scene 4 in the 1958 version. A section portraying the bandits’ cruelty is added before Yang’s entrance. Yang’s aria is enhanced from four lines to more than ten lines, recalling his tragic family story and confirming his dedication to liberating all mankind.

The plot is similar to Scene 3 in the 1958 version; a major difference is, at the end of the scene, Shao decides to capture Daoist Ding He so that he cannot cause trouble for Yang. Two investigation sections in speech are shortened. The section of finalizing strategies to take Tiger Mountain is expanded: Shao Jianbo delivers six arias altogether, double those in the 1958 version, and Yang Zirong delivers two arias. Yang Zirong’s love song in the 1958 version, imitating the salacious tone popular among bandits, is deleted.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version

The plot is similar to Scene 5 in the 1964 version. The section portraying bandits’ cruelty, added before Yang’s entrance in the 1964 version, is deleted. In Yang’s aria, his tragic family story is replaced by lyrics reinforcing his determination to fulfill the task and his dedication to liberating all mankind.

The plot is based on Scene 4 in the 1964 version but is simplified. Now, Yang Zirong, instead of Shao Jianbo, gets the Contacts Map from Tuft Cheek (taking place offstage), and, therefore, the investigation of Tuft Cheek, part of both the 1958 (Scene 3) and the 1964 (Scene 4) versions, is deleted. The communication between Shao and other soldiers on the challenges with Tiger Mountain is shortened. The analysis of different plans is replaced by Shao’s solo aria, pondering over plans. Daoist Ding He is deleted completely in the 1967 version.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version

The plot is identical to Scene 5 in the 1967 version, with minor changes in lyrics and order of lines.

The plot is identical to Scene 4 in the 1967 version. Dialogues are slightly shortened. Shao’s aria delivered while pondering over the best candidate is slightly shortened. Yang’s aria indicating his determination to fulfill the task now has one more metrical type, contributing to a palpable acceleration.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 83)

The script is almost identical to Scene 5 in the 1969 version, with Yang’s newly added laughter at the end of the scene. Stage directions offer more details, with information on dance design.

The script is almost identical to Scene 4 in the 1969 version, except for several newly added modal particles.

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At Li Yongqi’s home in the Jiapi Village: Railroad worker Li Yongqi’s son is deadly ill, but he and his mother do not even have food to feed the child. Li mistakes Shao and his detachment as bandits and refuses to allow them to stay inside overnight. Shao orders nurse Bai Ru to take care of Li’s son and the other soldiers to give their food and clothes to villagers. When bandits from Tiger Mountain attempt a raid, the PLA soldiers successfully defeat them. Li and other villagers realize that the PLA is for the masses.

Scene

6

The plot is similar to Scene 5 in the 1958 version, except that the ending section with Rose is deleted. Lines are slightly shortened. Yang delivers one more aria at the beginning of the scene.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version The plot is identical to Scene 6 in the 1964 version. Lines are slightly shortened. Yang alternates between song and speech while telling the story of acquiring the Contacts Map; in both the 1958 (Scene 5) and the 1964 (Scene 6) versions, this section is in dialogue.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version The plot is identical to Scene 6 in the 1967 version, with slightly shortened dialogues. Vulture’s aria upon receiving the Contacts Map is shortened from six lines to two lines.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 84)

The script is almost identical to Scene 6 in the 1969 version. While narrating how he gets the Contacts Map from Luan Ping, Yang’s line changes to “I filled him three bowls, one after the other” from “I filled him eight bowls, one after the other.” When Vulture talks about controlling northeastern China, Yang sneers, instead of laughing as in the 1969 version. Stage directions involve more details.

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At Tiger Mountain: Yang Zirong ponders over how to send the collected intelligence to Shao. Rose, under Vulture’s orders, flirts with Yang, asking for further details about Breast Mountain. Vulture joins them, testing Yang. They are interrupted by the bandits’ return to the mountain, defeated by the PLA soldiers at Jiapi Village. Vulture, feeling the need to confirm Yang’s identity, announces an attack by the Communists troops. Yang sees through the trick and puts up a show of fight. He completely convinces Vulture, who tells him that the whole thing is a practice manoeuvre.

At Tiger Mountain: Yang Zirong successfully leaves collected intelligence hidden in a tree. Three days later, Sun Dade picks it up.

Scene

7

8

The plot is based on Scene 7 in the 1958 version, but a long section of Rose flirting with Yang is deleted, and the dialogue between Yang and Vulture is shortened. The scene ends with Yang’s aria, instead of Vulture’s line as in the 1958 version.

The plot is similar to Scene 6 in the 1958 version, with the original section on defeating bandits deleted and the section on the little train—in Scene 9 in the 1958 version— moved here. Shao Jianbo delivers one more long aria, explaining the PLA’s mission. An aria with multiple parts—including Li Yongqi, Shao, Li’s mother, Bai Ru, Zhang Dashan, Liu Xuncang, and Sun Dade—in the 1958 version is replaced by Li and his mother’s duet, conveying their excitement for the PLA’s arrival. The scene ends with villagers’ chorus singing, instead of Li Yongqi’s line.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version

The plot is similar to Scene 8 in the 1964 version. The communication between Vulture and Yang regarding Breast Mountain is deleted. Yang’s aria, delivered while pondering how to send the intelligence, is now delivered outdoors and is enhanced from six lines to more than twenty lines.

The plot is similar to Scene 7 in the 1964 version, with the newly added Hunter Chang and Chang Bao, and Li’s son removed (killed at the beginning). The communication between Li Yongqi and his mother is shortened. Li and his mother’ duet aria delivered upon knowing the PLA’s mission is replaced by Li’s solo aria.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version

The plot is very similar to Scene 8 in the 1967 version. Vulture’s communication with his chief of staff is shortened. Yang’s aria, delivered while pondering how to send the intelligence, now uses a more compact metrical type in the last section. Vulture’s aria in the 1967 version is deleted.

The plot is identical to Scene 7 in the 1967 version. Li’s mother’s aria at the beginning is shortened from four to two lines. The dialogue between Li and his mother is shortened. In Li’s aria delivered upon the realization that the PLA is for the masses, a faster metrical type replaces the original type in the 1967 version, conveying Li’s excitement. Li’s solo aria at the end of scene is now delivered through a duet of Li and other villagers.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 85)

The script is almost identical to Scene 8 in the 1969 version, with several changes in modal particles.

The script is almost identical to Scene 7 in the 1969 version, with several slightly adjusted stage directions.

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At Li Yongqi’s home in the Jiapi Village: The PLA soldiers vigorously practice skiing skills. Shao and his detachment nervously wait for Sun’s return; Shao keeps calming his comrades down. With the PLA soldiers’ help, villagers have their little train running again and are preparing for the first happy New Year in a long time. Sun finally returns with Yang’s intelligence. Li Yongqi and other militiamen request to join the PLA in the move and finally get approval. At this moment, they receive the news that the little train to the Peony River City is being attacked by bandits. Soldier Gao Bo dies, and Luan Ping, who was being escorted, escapes. Shao, realizing this would endanger Yang at Tiger Mountain, orders an immediate departure.

Scene

9

The plot is similar to Scene 8 in the 1958 version, but it is now Sun Dade’s solo scene, with Yang’s part deleted.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version The plot is based on Scene 10 in the 1964 version. (Scene 9, featuring Sun Dade’s solo in the 1964 version, is deleted.) The sections of PLA soldiers practicing skiing and Shao receiving his leader’s letter are removed. Li Yongqi and Chang Bao’s participation is enhanced. The travel scene featuring skiing, in Scene 11 in the 1964 version, is included at the end of this scene. Luan Ping’s section in the original Scene 11 is deleted.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version The plot is similar to Scene 9 in the 1967 version. The dialogues between Shao and Li’s mother, between Shao and soldiers, and between Shao and Li are all shortened. A new aria, in which Chang Bao anxiously yearns to participate in battle, is added. Shao’s aria at the end of the scene is slightly shortened. The travel scene is more elaborate than that in the 1967 version.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 86)

The script is almost identical to the 1969 version, with a girl’s voice added at the very beginning, announcing the little train’s departure.

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

In a snowy forest: The detachment is skiing to Tiger Mountain, with Li Yongqi as the guide.

Scene

10

The plot is based on Scene 9 in the 1958 version. The original segment of the detachment helping villagers with their little train is moved up to Scene 7, the villagers’ preparation for the New Year is shortened, and the section containing Gao Bo’s death is deleted. Shao Jianbo now delivers three arias; in the 1958 version, Shao does not sing in Scene 9.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version The plot is similar to Scene 12 in the 1964 version, with heightened dramatic tension. In both the 1958 and the 1964 versions, Yang Zirong recognizes Luan Ping— without being seen by Luan— before Luan gets a chance to see Vulture. In the 1967 version, Luan—although not knowing Yang is at the mountain—meets Vulture first, congratulating Vulture on his birthday. Therefore, when Vulture summons Yang to confront Luan, it catches both of them off guard. The number of Yang’s arias in this scene increases to four; Vulture’s aria is deleted. The combat scene at the end is more elaborate than that in the 1964 version.

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version The plot is identical to Scene 10 in the 1967 version, with slightly shortened dialogues. Yang’s short aria upon entrance is removed. The combat scene at the end is more elaborate than that in the 1967 version.

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

(continued on p. 87)

The script is almost identical to Scene 10 in the 1969 version, with bandits’ lines slightly shortened.

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

At Vulture’s headquarters: On New Year’s Eve, Yang Zirong is serving as the officer of the day at Vulture’s Hundred-Chicken Feast, and Luan Ping’s arrival surprises everyone. In a one-on-one confrontation, Yang takes advantage of Vulture’s mistrust of anyone who has been captured by the Communists and forces Luan into a dilemma: that identifying Yang as a Communist would automatically discredit himself in Vulture’s eyes. Yang wins Vulture’s trust, and Luan gets killed. Soon after this, Daoist Ding He arrives at the dinner party. He quickly becomes skeptical about Yang’s identity. Upon knowing that Yang delivered the Contacts Map to Vulture and it was also Yang who killed Luan Ping, Ding He challenges Yang, saying that he cannot be Hu Biao. Yang fearlessly reveals his true identity. At this critical moment, Shao and his detachment arrive and capture all the bandits alive.

11

The plot is similar to Scene 10 in the 1958 version, with the section of Luan Ping being on his way to the Tiger Mountain added.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version N/A

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version N/A

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

Scene N/A

(continued on p. 88)

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

1958 version

N/A

Scene

12

The plot is similar to Scene 11 in the 1958 version, with the final section featuring Daoist Ding He deleted. Yang wins Vulture’s trust and executes Luan. While waiting for his comrades, Yang intoxicates many bandits. Shao and the detachment arrive, and capture all bandits alive. The combat scene at the end is more elaborate.

Oct. 1964 version, compared to the 1958 version N/A

1967 version, compared to the Oct. 1964 version N/A

Oct. 1969 version, compared to the 1967 version

Table 4.1  Scene synopses for Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, five versions in comparison (continued)

N/A

July 1970 version, compared to the Oct. 1969 version

Amount of characters without personal names or nicknames (positive in bold; negative in regular)

3 individuals, plus PLA soldiers and villagers 4 individuals, plus 8 Invincibles (bandits)

2 individuals, plus PLA soldiers and villagers 3 individuals, plus 8 Invincibles (bandits)

3 individuals, plus PLA soldiers and villagers 1 individual, plus 8 Invincibles (bandits)

5 individuals, plus PLA soldiers and villagers 3 individuals, plus 8 Terribles (bandits)

6 individuals, plus PLA soldiers and villagers 3 individuals, plus 8 Terribles (bandits)

Amount of characters with personal names or nicknames (positive in bold; negative in regular)

9 7

11 7

10 4

9 2

8 2

Version

1958

October 1964

1967

October 1969

July 1970

5 individuals, plus villagers 1

5 individuals, plus villagers 1

6 individuals, plus villagers 1

6 individuals, plus chorus (PLA soldiers and villagers) 3

9 individuals, plus chorus (PLA soldiers and villagers) 3

Amount of characters who get a chance to sing (positive in bold; negative in regular)

10,765

10,574

12,387

13,830

17,468

Amount of writtencharacters in total

2,519; 17 (Total: 2,536) Shao Jianbo: 613 Yang Zirong: 1,184

2,516; 17 (Total: 2,533) Shao Jianbo: 612 Yang Zirong: 1,182

2,730; 115 (Total: 2,845) Shao Jianbo: 823 Yang Zirong: 1,228

2,005; 187 (Total: 2,192) Shao Jiaobo: 972 Yang Zirong: 571

1,397; 384 (Total: 1,781) Shao Jianbo: 500 Yang Zirong: 303

Amount of writtencharacters in aria lyrics (positive in bold; negative in regular)

Table 4.2  Statistics of characters and languages in five versions of Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

5,932; 2,297 (Total: 8,229)

5,850; 2,191 (Total: 8,041)

7,034; 2,508 (Total: 9,542)

7,372; 4,266 (Total: 11,638)

9,602; 6,085 (Total: 15,687)

Amount of writtencharacters in speech (positive in bold; negative in regular)

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the novel and the huaju script, offering a fairly long character list with a collusive network of negative characters. The three groups of enemies, all trying to get hold of a Contacts Map that guarantees the control of the Peony River area, include (1) Horse Cudgel Xu’s band—he is the owner of the map and bandit chieftain of Breast Mountain—Xu’s contact adjutant Luan Ping, and Luan’s wife; (2) Vulture, bandit chieftain of Tiger Mountain, his adjutant Tuft Cheek, Tuft Cheek’s wife, Vulture’s chief of staff Big Pockmark, Vulture’s chief adjutant Flatnose, Vulture’s adopted daughter Rose, and other bandits; and (3) Commissioner Hou’s group representing the Nationalists—primarily Hou’s staff officer, who is working undercover as Daoist Ding He. Among the three groups, Luan Ping and Tuft Cheek are sworn brothers. Luan’s wife and Tuft Cheek’s wife are both followers of Daoist Ding He, who is also in collusion with Tuft Cheek. Altogether, nine negative characters with personal names or nicknames, eight “Invincibles” (Vulture’s chief bandits), and other bandits make a strong party contending with the positive characters, who include ten with personal names, other PLA soldiers, and villagers. Among the positive characters, Shao Jianbo and Yang Zirong both motivate the dramatic action, but Shao is obviously a bigger role in terms of singing, delivering nine arias altogether—in addition to single musical lines as part of shared arias with other characters—with 500 written-characters in lyrics. Yang has seven arias, in addition to single musical lines, and he has 303 written-characters in lyrics. This allocation may be interpreted as a practical consideration on the part of the playwriting team: Li Zhonglin, the performer of Yang Zirong, specialized in martial dignified male roles, and therefore was especially strong in dance-acting and combat, and Ji Yuliang, the performer of Shao Jianbo, specialized in older dignified male roles, and therefore had more experience in song and speech. In 1963, the Shanghai Jingju Company decided to participate in the forthcoming 1964 Beijing Festival with a revised Tiger Mountain. Tao Xiong and Liu Mengde joined in script revision, and Ying Yunwei, the directing team. Composers at this stage included Xin Qinghua, Zhang Xinhai, Chen Lizhong, Gao Yiming, and Shao Shuiquan. For a short while in 1963, the production title changed to Tracks in the Snowy Forest (Linhai xueyuan), later Capturing Vulture by Strategy (Zhiqin Zuoshandiao). At the 1964 Beijing Festival, the original title was restored. In “On the Revolution in Jingju,” Jiang Qing discussed some major changes during this phase: In the original version . . . the negative characters stood out sharply, while the positive characters were quite colorless. Since the leadership attended to this question personally, this opera has been improved in a positive way. Now, the scene about the Taoist Ting Ho [Daoist Ding He] has been cut. The part of the bandit leader, the Eagle [Vulture], has not been basically altered (the actor who plays the part acts very well), but since the roles of Yang Tzu-jung [Yang Zirong] and Shao Chien-po [Shao Jianbo] have been made more prominent, the images of those negative characters have paled by comparison.77 77. Jiang, “On the Revolution in Peking Opera [Jingju],” 123.

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The revision work was of course more extensive than this. Daoist Ding He, a staff officer of Commissioner Hou who represents the Nationalists, one of the three enemy powers in the 1958 version, now appears only in Scene 3 in the October 1964 version (see Tables 4.1 and 4.2).78 Daoist Ding He still prevents PLA soldiers from entering his temple and searching for Tuft Cheek in Scene 3. However, with the removal of his part in the final scene, in which—in the 1958 version—he breaks Yang Zirong’s cover before the PLA soldiers’ arrival, the dramatic function and power of his character is significantly weakened. In addition, with Shao Jianbo’s decision to capture Daoist Ding He in Scene 4, there are only two groups of primary enemies during the second half of the production. Also, Vulture’s adopted daughter, Rose, who has a flirtation scene with Yang Zirong in the 1958 version, is missing from the 1964 script. Strengthening positive characters resulted in enhancing the musical images of Shao Jianbo and Yang Zirong through increased song: Shao now delivers twelve arias, in addition to single musical lines, with altogether 972 writtencharacters of lyrics, and Yang delivers nine arias, in addition to single musical lines, with altogether 571 written-characters of lyrics. This is double the number of their songs in the 1958 version. The proportion of song lyrics between Shao and Yang in the October 1964 version (972:571) is very close to that in the 1958 version (500:303), and they continue to share the dramatic action. However, Yang’s share of the plot is subtly increased through a Scene 3 change in which Yang, replacing Shao, leads the PLA soldiers in a confrontation with Daoist Ding He; Shao no longer appears in this scene. After successful presentations at the 1964 Beijing Festival—in particular the 17 July 1964 performance for which Mao Zedong congratulated the production team in person—in March 1965, the CCP Committee of the City of Shanghai announced the establishment of the Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team, thus commencing the process of revising the work so as to qualify it for the title of model works. The production team further clarified the division of labor: Zhang Lihui was designated as the head of both the entire team and its playwriting team, Li Zhonglin the head of the directing team, Liu Ruzeng the head of the composition team, and Xing Xi the head of the design team. During this phase, playwrights included Zhang Lihui, Tao Xiong, Liu Mengde, Ding Guocen, and Gao Yilong. Guan Erjia and Ma Ke joined Li Zhonglin on the directing team. Designers included Xing Xi, Zhou Chujiang, Hu Guanshi, and Xu Fude. Huang Jun, Shen Liqun, and Wang Xieyuan joined the composition group with the original musicians. Revisions between March 1965 and May 1967—when the production’s model status was officially confirmed in an editorial in People’s Daily—directly reflect the reprioritization of characters. In the 1967 version, the group of negative characters shrank significantly: Daoist Ding He is completely removed, and the name of Commissioner Hou—Ding He’s 78. Shanghai Jingju Yuan [Shanghai Jingju Company], adapt., “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy], Juben [Scripts] 12 (1964): 1–28.

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boss—is only briefly mentioned (see Tables 4.1 and 4.2).79 Thus, with Commissioner Hou’s marginalized influence, there are only two enemy groups in the 1967 version. Furthermore, Tuft Cheek, Tuft Cheek’s wife, and Luan Ping’s wife are all deleted, and the plot surrounding Tuft Cheek killing Luan Ping’s wife is now only briefly recounted by Yang Zirong. Compared to the first version in 1958, in which the three enemy groups engage in fairly complex interaction, negative characters in the 1967 version are simplified, with the major focus on Vulture of Tiger Mountain. In the meantime, revisions of positive characters included adjusting their respective stature and redesigning supporting characters. The most important change in the 1967 version is the redefinition of Shao Jianbo and Yang Zirong in terms of their dramatic relationship. In both the 1958 and the October 1964 versions, Shao and Yang seem evenly match with regard to instigating dramatic action, and although Yang sings only half as much as Shao in both versions—as the October 1964 indicates—by replacing Shao in the scene at the Shenhe Temple, Yang plays an increasingly important role in executing military plans. In the 1967 version, Yang becomes the central hero, instigating all dramatic action critical to the final successful raid on Tiger Mountain. More importantly, Shao’s crucial role in several plot complications is now credited to Yang; these include identifying the potential connection between Tuft Cheek and the Contacts Map and securing the map from Tuft Cheek. Yang’s prominence is also directly reflected in the expansion of his singing role. In the 1967 version, Yang delivers fourteen arias with 1,228 written-characters in lyrics altogether, which is one and a half times as many as Shao has, with 823 written-characters in his lyrics for seven arias. In line with the construction of Yang as the principal proletarian hero and the use of major supporting roles to bolster his prominence, Chang Bao, a proletarian hunter’s daughter, was created for the 1967 version. Chang delivers a long aria, in the newly composed Scene 3, lamenting her tragic family story; according to Zhang Lihui, head of the production team and the playwriting team for this version, Scene 3 was created “to portray Yang’s close relations with the masses and his feelings for the proletarian class.”80 In response to the rearrangements in plot and characters, many new major arias were composed, and the stage scenery was redesigned. In 1965, Tong Xiangling was chosen to perform Yang Zirong. A well-rounded actor, Tong specialized in traditional jingju’s older dignified males and therefore had more experience with song and speech than did Li Zhonglin and He Mengli, his predecessors who both specialized in martial dignified males.

79. Shanghai Jingju Yuan [Shanghai Jingju Company], adapt., “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy], Hongqi [Red Flag] 8 (1967): 75–97. 80. Zhang Lihui, “Zhuyi zongjie lishi de jingyan jiaoxun—cong jingju Zhiqu Weihushan de biao dao yan tanqi” [Paying attention to draw lessons from history: From the performance and directing in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy], in Xiqu xiandaixi daoyan biaoyan yishu lunwenji [Collection of essays on directing and performance of modern xiqu], ed. Xinjuzuo bianjibu [editorial team of New Theatre] (Shanghai: Shanghai yishu yanjiusuo, 1985), 26.

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Soon after the production was officially designated as a model work, further revisions for its movie version began. In 1967, composer Yu Huiyong was appointed as the head of the production team. By April 1969, the length of the production had been shortened from almost three hours to no longer than two hours. The plot of the October 1969 version is almost identical to that of the 1967 version (see Tables 4.1 and 4.2).81 To condense the production, speech lines—especially those delivered by supporting characters—in each scene were shortened; Vulture’s—bandit chieftain of Tiger Mountain—song was also abridged. Shao Jianbo would now deliver six arias with 613 written-characters of lyrics altogether, which amounts to half of Yang Zirong’s song passages in thirteen arias with 1,182 written-characters of lyrics. In the meantime, group travel scenes were polished and—based on the October 1969 script—became more elaborate. Chang Bao was the only character whose song was enhanced for this version: in Scene 9, she delivers a new aria conveying her anxiety about being refused participation in the final raid on Tiger Mountain, thus conforming to the desired character portrayal of a proletarian girl transforming into a determined revolutionary female soldier. Probably the most significant revision at this phase was the assembling and development of a new orchestra, generally referred to as “Chinese-Western combined orchestra” (Zhong-Xi hunhe yuedui), a combination of traditional jingju orchestra, Chinese folk instruments, and Western instruments. Yu Huiyong supervised the orchestra’s organization, and Liu Zhuang, Jun Chi, and Gong Guotai participated in the composition team. The movie version of Tiger Mountain was released on 1 October 1970, the PRC’s National Day, with the July 1970 stage performance script approved as the final stage version. The July 1970 script is almost identical to the October 1969 version, with minor changes such as modal particles, numerals, and instances of onomatopoeia (see Tables 4.1 and 4.2).82 A change that has not received much attention is that, although Shao Jianbo’s stage time, lyrics and speech, and dramatic functions remain the same between October 1969 and July 1970, in the final version, his personal name is replaced by the title Chief of Staff on the character list. The highest military commander of the PLA detachment, Shao was addressed in several ways from 1958 to 1969: “Commander 203” and “203” in the 1958 version; “203,” “Commander,” or “Comrade Jianbo”—only by Yang Zirong—in the October 1964 version; and “203” and “Comrade Jianbo”—only by Yang—in the 1967 version. And his personal name was always present on the character list. Along with his demotion from a lead to a major supporting character, Shao was addressed by his military rank, “Chief of Staff,” throughout the October 1969 production, although his personal name was 81. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team], “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy], Hongqi [Red Flag] 11 (1969): 33–61. 82. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (July 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1971), 7–76.

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still present on the character list. Compared to “Commander 203,” an enigmatic code name, and “Comrade Jianbo,” a personal name, the designation “Chief of Staff ” singled Shao out as a commander but also reduced his character to a function. And this was further confirmed in the July 1970 version when he is not only addressed by his comrades as “Chief of Staff,” but also appears on the character list as “Chief of Staff.” To a certain extent, the final removal of Shao Jianbo’s personal name is a farewell to the Commander 203 who used to lead the dramatic action with Yang. The July 1970 stage performance script was included in the production book, published in 1971, which can serve as an encyclopedic manual for remounting and reconstructing the production. It includes the script, production photos, principal melodic score, and explanations of dance movements, as well as detailed information regarding scenery, lighting, costume, makeup, and stage properties, with both renderings and construction instructions. After twelve years of reassessment and revision, the July 1970 version of Tiger Mountain became the officially approved and finalized version. From August 1958 to July 1970, Tiger Mountain developed from a modern jingju, “a delightful fruit of the Great Leap Forward,”83 to a polished model for revolutionary literature and art, representing the culmination of the PRC’s cultural reconstruction. In 1958, the playwriting team finished the first draft within the short period of ten days, and it chose as its focus “to loyally convey the original novel’s message,”84 which was defined as follows: “In the early phase of the Liberation War in 1946, in northwestern China, ‘a small detachment of the PLA go into deep mountains and forests in the severely cold winter, and with their surprising wisdom and bravery, overcome numerous unbelievable difficulties and obstacles, and finally wipe out several groups of dominant, local bandit troops.’”85 In the process of adaptation, the creative team emphasized four issues: (1) The detachment’s decision to infiltrate Vulture’s headquarters is carefully planned and an urgent necessity, instead of a reckless adventure; (2) an intimate relationship with the masses guarantees the detachment’s success; (3) although Yang Zirong has a decisive role in the raid on Tiger Mountain, the success is the result of collective effort; and (4) Yang Zirong embodies the good qualities shared by all PLA soldiers and is not an individualistic hero.86 In retrospect, the four major issues in 1958 were still extant in the final, July 1970 version, although the focus of attention is no longer on a heroic PLA’s detachment but on a single proletarian hero, Yang Zirong. As Table 4.2 illustrates, over the twelve years of development, the camp of negative characters shrank from nine roles with names or nicknames plus other group characters in 1958, to merely Vulture and other bandits in 1970. Negative characters’ song lyrics drastically reduced from 384 written-characters in 1958 to seventeen in 1970, as those for positive characters 83. Shanghai Jingju Yuan Yituan, adapt., Zhiqu Weihushan, iii. 84. Ibid., i. 85. Ibid. 86. Ibid., ii.

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increased from 1,397 in 1958—slightly short of 4 times of the negatives’ song—to 2,519 in 1970, which is 148 times of the negatives’ song. During this period, Yang Zirong evolved from someone leading military actions and having the second-biggest singing part in 1958 to the major dramatic lead instigating the main dramatic action, playing the biggest singing part, and enjoying the most stage time in 1970. Other positive characters were rearranged, removed, or revised, fulfilling the task of validating and enhancing the principal hero. It is imperative to note that constructing a plot by way of character allocation was merely one component of this play’s creative journey. Mao Zedong’s 1942 “Talks” clearly demanded “a unity of politics and art, a unity of content and form, a unity of revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible.”87 The creative journey of Tiger Mountain—and those for all model jingju—encompasses a search for both revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible. The following chapters offer a close examination of the artistic choices that defined the final versions of model jingju.

87. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 78.

Part II Inside Model Jingju

5 Foundation of Productions: Scripts and Playwriting

Wang Zengqi, a playwright who participated in creating both Shajiabang and Azalea Mountain, describes the moment when Shajiabang’s script was finalized: It was in a room at the Great Hall of the People (to the best of my memory, it was in the Anhui Hall).1 Behind a line of desks sat Jiang Qing, Yao Wenyuan, and Ye Qun (perhaps with other people but I can’t recall).2 Facing them another line of long desks, behind which performers and I sat. Everyone had a script with characters printed in a large size. . . . Performers took turns reading the script, sentence by sentence. At a certain point, Jiang Qing said, “Changes are needed here.” Then [I] was expected to offer suggestions right away. It was almost like a “palace interview.”3 After listening [to me], Jiang Qing said, “Okay.” Then, this would mean, “the answer pleases Her Majesty.”4

This happened in May 1970, as part of the preparation for the production’s film version. For Wang Zengqi, the script’s finalization was the culmination of a sevenyear journey during which three major versions were crafted and under constant revision. As early as in Jiang Qing’s 1964 “On the Revolution in Jingju,” playwriting and scripts were pinpointed as the foundation of modern jingju; it demanded a reprioritization of the artistic constituents of jingju, elevating scripts to the center of creation, in replacement of the performer. This practice was strictly followed in creating model jingju, and a revisit of Wang Zengqi’s seven-year journey will reveal some central issues in establishing the foundation for productions. It began in the winter of 1963, when the Beijing Jingju Troupe was assigned the task to create a modern jingju based on the huju script, Sparks amid the Reeds. The play focuses on Sister Aqing, a female underground CCP member stationed in 1. The Great Hall of the People, located in Beijing, hosts the country’s most important meetings and ceremonies. Meeting rooms in the building are named after each administrative region at the provincial level. The Anhui Hall is named after the Anhui Province. 2. Yao Wenyuan was a member of the Central Cultural Revolution Group and the Political Bureau of the CCP’s Central Committee in 1970. He was an important leader in ideology, propaganda, and cultural criticism, and was prosecuted as one of the Gang of Four after the Cultural Revolution. Ye Qun was a member of the Central Committee of the CCP and the Political Bureau of the CCP’s Central Committee in 1970. 3. The palace interview used to be the final step of the civil service exam in the imperial China. For a palace interview, candidates were summoned to the capital for an interview with the emperor. 4. Wang, “Guanyu Shajiabang,” 125.

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a village called Shajiabang, who helps hide and take care of wounded New Fourth Army soldiers. Planning to stage the production during the New Year’s season of 1964, Wang, Xiao Jia, and Yang Yumin adapted the script to jingju within five days, and the troupe then rehearsed intensively. For this version, they used the title An Underground Liaison (Dixia lianluoyuan), because “it is suspenseful and catchy.”5 According to Wang, Jiang Qing watched a dress rehearsal but cancelled the public performance, concerned that the adaptation and production were crude.6 The creative process of developing a second version was then launched; Wang and Xue Enhou took more than ten days this time and rewrote the script during the early spring of 1964. For the second version, they strengthened Sister Aqing’s singing part by adding arias and reinstated the original title, Sparks amid the Reeds. After more elaborate rehearsals, the show premiered on 31 March, and the troupe staged this version at the 1964 Beijing Festival. On 23 July 1964, Mao Zedong watched the production and offered suggestions on issues including New Fourth Army soldiers’ musical images, the use of stage combat at the end, and the play’s title. Based on Mao’s suggestions transmitted to the troupe by Jiang Qing, Wang and his colleagues revised the script into its third version during late 1964 and finished in early 1965. In the third version, Guo Jianguang, the political director of the wounded New Fourth Army soldiers, was significantly strengthened; new songs and speeches were added for Guo, and he took the lead in the final combat scene; and the play title was now Shajiabang. In 1969, following the directive that model plays should be no longer than two hours, Wang, Xue, and Yang further revised the third version, rearranging the order of some arias and shortening stage speech.7 The revised third version became the foundation for revision and finalization in May 1970, described at the beginning of this chapter. Considerations of crafting and revising activities during this process were closely associated with supervision from political authorities. For example, Jiang Qing offered comments and suggestions on specific issues including characters’ interaction, the use of nouns in song lyrics, characters’ names, and the language in Sister Aqing’s stage speech.8 Opinions from top political leaders such as Tan Zhenlin, a chief commander of the New Fourth Army—the troop portrayed in Shajiabang—were taken as important reference. Furthermore, the enhanced attention to Guo Jianguang is the result of direct political interferences. Until the 1964 Beijing Festival, Sister Aqing was the absolute central figure, leading stage actions and making the final arrangements for New Fourth Army soldiers infiltrating the 5. Ibid., 122. 6. Ibid. Wang recalls that the Beijing Jingju Troupe already announced the premiere of An Underground Liaison, and Jiang went to the performance venue and ordered the advertisements to be removed. Otherwise, Chen Tushou identifies that this order was from Mayor Peng Zhen; see Chen’s “Ludang huozhong de muhou fengyun,” 72. 7. Two references are important in delineating this process: Wang’s “Guanyu Shajiabang”; and Dai’s Yangbanxi de fengfengyuyu, 51–60 and 156–58. 8. Wang, “Guanyu Shajiabang,” 125–26.

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enemy’s headquarters, disguised as instrumentalists and chefs for the chief enemy’s wedding, and capturing all enemies. Initiated from Mao Zedong’s 1964 suggestion that the play ends with a direct raid—and the approach was later interpreted as to emphasize military struggles (signified by Guo) instead of underground struggles (signified by Sister Aqing)—beginning from the 1965 version, Guo was raised to the status of a principal hero. He now leads a newly composed final combat scene that replaces the original wedding scene, and new arias in earlier scenes are designed with the specific purpose of portraying “the blood-and-flesh relationship between soldiers and the masses, and a political director’s—with firm revolutionary spirit— readiness for devotion to revolution and battles,” as well as “the hero’s calmness and bravery.”9 But Guo’s raising prominence causes irresolvable difficulties, because he simply does not play a significant role in dramatic actions in early scenes, which are led by Sister Aqing. This explains why, even though Guo is listed first on the character list in the finalized version, which, in the practice of model jingju, indicates his status as the principal hero, both Guo and Sister Aqing are discussed as “principal heroic characters” in this production.10 Commenting on Guo’s increased prominence, Wang Zengqi diplomatically acknowledges that a combat scene featuring a direct raid could accommodate jingju dance-acting and combat techniques.11 But Wang’s children recorded a private conversation in their family, revealing the playwright’s concerns: “It was in the early 1970s, when model works were in their heydays. We were discussing [at home] which plays were good. Dad [Wang] suddenly said, ‘In twenty years, no one knows how it will be. In my opinion, only The Red Lantern and Tiger Mountain will pass on.’ . . . [Dramatically] Shajiabang is not quite consistent; the first half features Sister Aqing but the second half, Guo Jianguang.”12 Yet supervision from political authorities does not make any of the leaders an author; as Wang straightforwardly puts it, “Jiang Qing did not write a single line of song lyrics.”13 The scripts are the fruit of the collective efforts of professional playwrights, poets, writers, editors, directors, composers, and performers, coalescing in each version. In some cases, for instance in The Red Lantern, the director Ajia served as a primary playwright, and suggestions from various sources were absorbed during revisions. In some cases, such as On the Docks, multiple groups of playwrights contributed to different versions. And in other cases, Azalea Mountain for one, particular scenes drafted by single playwrights were appraised in group discussions during which colleagues offered comments and suggestions to each other. 9. Jiang Zhishui, “Cong Ludang huozhong dao Shajiabang” [From Sparks amid the Reeds to Shajiabang], Xiju bao [Theatre Journal] 2 (1965): 34–35. 10. Hong Guang, “Pijingzhanji tuichenchuxin: Tan Shajiabang changqiang he wudao chuangzuo de jidian tihui” [Break open a way through bramble and thistle; weed through the old to bring forth the new: Some experience in designing song and dance for Shajiabang], Renmin ribao [People’s Daily], 8 February 1970. 11. Wang, “Guanyu Shajiabang,” 124. 12. Wang Lang, Wang Ming, and Wang Chao, Laotou’er Wang Zengqi: Women yanzhong de fuqin [Wang Zengqi the old guy: Father in our eyes] (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 2000), 129. 13. Wang, “Guanyu Shajiabang,” 125.

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Once rehearsals were launched, directors, composers, and performers might offer further input based on their practical experience. Playwrights kept polishing scripts during the entire process. In examining the textual foundation for these theatrical productions, I approach these scripts from five aspects: synopses, characters, themes, plotting and theatricality, and dramatic narrative. We begin with a review of the stories and their characters. The synopses, followed by a discussion of the roles and functions of dramatic characters, serve as the foundation for exploring overarching themes. To afford insight into the delivery of those significant motifs, I offer further analysis on plotting and theatricality. The last section focuses on crafting, an especially noteworthy aspect, examining the narrative structure and use of language in model jingju in the context of their connections to traditional practices.

Synopses The majority of model jingju are adaptations from fully developed works. Similarly to Shajiabang, the script of The Red Lantern is adapted from a huju play; On the Docks is adapted from a huaiju script;14 Tiger Mountain is based on the novel Tracks in the Snowy Forest, with reference to a huaju production; the dance-drama The Red Detachment of Women is the foundation of the jingju version; Song of the Dragon River, Azalea Mountain, and Boulder Bay are based on huaju plays; and major events in Fighting on the Plain are obtained from three films—Guerrillas on the Plain (Pingyuan Youjidui), Tunnel Warfare (Didao zhan), and Mine Warfare (Dilei zhan)—and two novels—Guerrillas on the Railroad (Tiedao Youjidui) and An Armed Team behind Enemy (Dihou Wugongdui). It is no coincidence: These original sources were fairly mature and successful pieces on their own merits. With established characterization and plotting, they offered a solid textual foundation for adaptation. The synopses of Tiger Mountain and Shajiabang are made clear in Chapter 4 and the beginning of this chapter respectively; those for the rest eight plays are as follows. The Red Lantern recounts the story of Li Yuhe, an underground CCP member during the War of Resistance against Japan (1937–1945). Li lives in the guise of a switchman with his adopted mother, Granny Li, and adopted daughter, Tiemei. He receives the task of sending secret codes to the guerrillas but is betrayed to the Japanese gendarmerie by a traitor. Foreseeing danger, Granny Li reveals their family story to Tiemei. The Japanese kill Li and Granny Li, who refuse to submit the secret codes, but they release Tiemei, hoping that she will lead them to the codes. With the help of her neighbors, Tiemei escapes from home and finally succeeds in sending the codes to the guerrillas. The guerrillas annihilate the Japanese gendarmerie and kill both the traitor and the head of the Japanese gendarmerie. 14. Huaiju is a regional theatre form that is popular in Jiangsu Province, Shanghai, and Anhui Province.

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On the Docks tells the story of stevedores in Shanghai in the summer of 1963. Led by Fang Haizhen, the secretary of the CCP branch of a stevedores’ brigade, workers are rushing to load seed rice being sent as aid to Africa by the Chinese government. Qian Shouwei, a dispatcher who previously worked for Americans and Japanese controlling the docks, arranges to sabotage the stevedores’ efforts out of his hatred for the new China. Qian mixes fiberglass with wheat and switches it with a sack of seed rice; he also cultivates a young stevedore’s feelings of disappointment and humiliation in his job. Fang discovers Qian’s sabotage, leads her colleagues in searching for the switched wheat, and persuades the young stevedore to stay. At the end, the seed rice to Africa is sent on time, and Qian is captured. White-Tiger Regiment is set during the Korean War (1950–1953). Yan Weicai, leader of a scout platoon of the Chinese People’s Volunteers, is designated as the head of a Dagger Squad. He is given the task of annihilating the headquarters of the White-Tiger Regiment, a South Korean crack unit. Yan and his comrades disguise themselves as South Korean soldiers and approach the headquarters in darkness. With the guidance of Sister Choe, a local Korean woman, the squad goes around the central guard post in front of the headquarters and approaches the target from the back. The squad conducts a successful raid on the White-Tiger Regiment, kills the American advisor, and captures the head of the regiment alive. The Red Detachment of Women is about a female troop under the CCP’s leadership during the Second Civil War (1927–1937). Hong Changqing, the CCP representative of the detachment, saves Wu Qinghua, a maid near death who escaped the detention of the Tyrant of the South (hereafter South), a landlord who murdered her parents. At Hong’s advice, Wu joins the army. In a raid on South’s headquarters, Wu cannot restrain her hatred and fires before receiving a command for action; this leads to South’s escape. Hong patiently helps Wu understand the meaning of revolution as a fight for the proletariat, rather than for personal revenge. In a later fight, Hong is captured by South; he refuses to cooperate and is killed. At the end, the Red Army and the Red Detachment of Women kill South. Wu is appointed as the new party representative of the detachment. Fighting on the Plain is set in the War of Resistance against Japan (1937–1945). Zhao Yonggang, a platoon leader of the Eighth Route Army, receives the task of carrying out armed guerilla struggles on the plain, thus preventing Japanese from sending reinforcements to the Taihang Mountain. Zhao and his comrades first burn the Japanese central blockhouse and capture their food supplies. To destroy the Japanese arms, Zhao and one fellow soldier disguise themselves as special agents working for Japanese and blow up a train loaded with weaponry right before it departs for the mountains. Japanese troops follow Zhao and his compatriots to the Zhang Village to ambush them. Eighth Route Army soldiers and the militia of the Zhang Village take advantage of tunnels in the fight. At the end, the leader of Japanese troops is captured alive and executed.

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Song of the Dragon River tells a story of peasants on the southeastern coast in 1963. In combating a severe drought in the rear mountain area, Jiang Shuiying, a CCP branch secretary of the Dragon River Agriculture Team, leads peasants in building a dam so that the diverted water can save 90,000 mu good farmland.15 This, however, is at the sacrifice of 3,000 mu farmland of their own. Huang Guozhong, who previously worked for a landlord, arranges to sabotage the peasants’ efforts out of his hatred for the new China. He tries to delay the dam’s completion and spreads the rumor that the drought on the rear mountain is now in control and the sluice gate should be closed. Jiang patiently persuades her colleagues who have reservations regarding the dam, and she also discovers and reveals Huang’s true identity. Later in the year, all agriculture teams in drought areas have a good harvest, and they support the Dragon River Agriculture Team with food supplies. Azalea Mountain is set during the Second Civil War (1927–1937) between the CCP and the Nationalist Party. Ke Xiang is a CCP representative in a peasants’ selfdefense troop established by Lei Gang on Azalea Mountain. The major local despot, Viper, schemes to wipe out the troop. In secret collusion with the deputy leader of the troop, Wen Qijiu, Viper lures Lei into coming down from Azalea Mountain by capturing Lei’s adopted mother; he then captures Lei. Ke leads a Dagger Squad in swinging over mountain streams on rattans and rescuing Lei and his adopted mother. Returning to Azalea Mountain, Ke reveals Wen’s true identity and points out that taking revenge for wrongs inflicted upon individuals only leads to sacrifice in vain, and that to follow the party is the fundamental rule of revolution. At the end, Lei’s self-defense troop is officially absorbed into the China Workers’ and Peasants’ Army under the CCP. Set in September 1963, Boulder Bay is about the militia at a fishing harbor in southeast China, fighting against the Anti-Communist National Salvation Army’s plan of a raid on the coast. A fisherman discovers an empty knife sheath that a Nationalist covert agent at Boulder Bay is meant to use as an identifying device when making contact with the outside. With the sheath, Lu Changhai, the militia leader successfully establishes contact with the enemy agent holding a dagger and acquires intelligence regarding the raid. The militia prevents the Nationalist troops from escaping. Lu follows the head of the Nationalist unit to a lonely reef close to the open sea. He lures the enemy’s backup forces inside the cordon established by the CCP’s naval vessels and sends out a summoning signal to his comrades. Ultimately, the enemy agents are wiped out, and the commander of the Nationalist unit is captured alive.

15. 90,000 mu comprises approximately 14,826 acres, or sixty square kilometers.

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Meeting the Characters The amounts of characters with personal names or nicknames in a single model jingju range from nine in On the Docks to twenty-one in Shajiabang. Also present in each play are anonymous minor supporting roles that appear in groups of different sizes. According to their roles and functions in plotting, characters can be divided into three major categories: principal heroes/heroines, other positive characters, and negative characters. Principal heroes/heroines are the most mature of revolutionaries—the bravest, wisest, most resolute, and most loyal to the CCP and Chairman Mao, with the deepest love for the proletariat and the most hatred for class enemies; also, they maintain a dependable consistency in terms of their personalities, revolutionary spirits, Communist belief, and loyalty to the CCP and Chairman Mao. They are mature proletarian revolutionaries from their first entrances, and the difficulties they encounter do not have any impact on them except to confirm their revolutionary determination. Class traits are significant for these characters, as the absolute majority of the scripts identify the proletarian family history of the principal heroes/ heroines, thus confirming that they are from the lowest of the low. Yang Zirong is born to a landless peasant family, Li Yuhe used to be an apprentice worker, Fang Haizhen starts work as a coal shoveler before the Liberation, Yan Weicai tells the story of his mother, a proletarian, being killed by Americans and Nationalists, Hong Changqing is born to a sailor’s family, Zhao Yonggong used to be a miner before joining the army, Jiang Shuiying is from a poor peasant’s family, Ke Xiang is born to a coal worker family and loses all her relatives in a fire deliberately set by a mine owner, and Lu Changhai is a son of poor fisher-folk. Accompanying the principal heroes/heroines on their journeys is a large group of other positive characters, which can be further divided into three subcategories: mature supporting positive characters, positive characters experiencing personal growth, and positive characters in groups. The mature supporting positive characters are determined comrades and active supporters of the principal heroes/heroines: some cooperate with them in critical actions, and others provide resolute support in spirit, materials, or both. In each play, there is at least one such character: Chief of Staff in Tiger Mountain, Granny Li in The Red Lantern, Granny Sha in Shajiabang, Gao Zhiyang in On the Docks, Aunt Choe in White-Tiger Regiment, Company Commander in The Red Detachment of Women, Granny Zhang in Fighting on the Plain, Uncle Ajian in Song of the Dragon River, Granny Du in Azalea Mountain, and Granny Zeng in Boulder Bay. Some other positive characters experience major changes during the development of the plot. They grow from proletarians with no or limited understanding of the CCP and its revolution into revolutionaries with a clear vision of the struggles and firm beliefs in the CCP. Some of their early choices cause obstacles or reversals for the principal heroes/heroines in fulfilling their tasks; the process of their personal growth sometimes contributes significantly

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to dramatic tension. These characters include Li Yongqi and Chang Bao in Tiger Mountain, Tiemei in The Red Lantern, Han Xiaoqiang in On the Docks, Li Zhitian in Song of the Dragon River, Wu Qinghua in The Red Detachment of Women, Lei Gang in Azalea Mountain, and Qiaolian in Boulder Bay. The rest of the positive characters often appear in groups, such as soldiers, peasants, workers, and poor people, and may not have individual names. They have few lines and rarely sing but often play important roles in travel scenes and combat scenes. The third major category encompasses negative characters. They are the targets of the CCP’s series of struggles: during the Second Civil War (1927–1937), as in Azalea Mountain and The Red Detachment of Women, the targets are local despots, the Nationalist Party, and its troops; in the War of Resistance against Japan (1937– 1945), as in The Red Lantern, Fighting on the Plain, and Shajiabang, the primary enemies are Japanese invaders, though other targets include the Nationalist Party and its troops, as well as local bandits; in Tiger Mountain, which takes place during the War of Liberation (1945–1949), the revolution focuses on local bandits, the Nationalist Party, and its troops; White-Tiger Regiment, during the Korean War (1950–1953), has as the enemy both Americans and South Koreans; in the 1960s, with On the Docks, Song of the Dragon River, and Boulder Bay, the villains are welldisguised Chinese enemies who hate the new China, the Nationalist Party, and its troops. The moral opposites of the principal heroes/heroines, these negative characters are depicted as brutal, lusty, malicious, greedy, amoral, corrupt, and, sometimes, devious. Character categorization is a primary step of characterization in model jingju, and, as Richard King concisely points out, it intricately associates with the effort to portray “typical people in typical circumstances” in the special context of “The Basic Task.”16 “Typical characters, in their Cultural Revolution manifestations, were entirely exemplary. . . . The typical circumstances in which they emerged were the product of the struggles or contradictions in the party’s official reading of the history of the Chinese Revolution in the Mao era, that is, the years since the early revolutionary activities of Mao Zedong.”17 In the practice of playwriting, this typicality is conveyed through realizing the Three Prominences, through negotiating principal heroes’/heroines’ individual with universal qualities, and by granting principal heroes/heroines greater agency in literary and musical narrative in confrontations with the negative. Principal heroes’/heroines’ typicality, as King pinpoints, places the emphasis on them being exemplary of the qualities attributed to other positive characters, and therefore the negotiation between principal heroes’/heroines’ individual and universal qualities manifests in the relationship and interaction between the two groups of characters. It was raised to the level of “one of dialectical unity:” “While the principal hero is one of the [proletarian] class and one of the masses, he is at the 16. King, “Typical People in Typical Circumstances,” 185–204. 17. Ibid., 200–202.

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same time the representative of his class and the masses. The masses are the basis from which the hero springs, and the hero sets an example for the masses. It is only from a heroic collective that a great hero emerges.”18 Based on this explanation, certain specific rules were derived from the creative experience: In portraying the principal hero, while we must not alienate him from the masses, we must, however, make him stand head and shoulders above the masses. When we create a heroic image towering above the ordinary positive characters, we must also create a group of heroes who form the basis of the principal hero’s existence and on whom the principal hero exerts his influence. However, the two must not be of one and the same stature. When portraying the ordinary positive characters we must give the principal hero primary consideration. Such portrayals must set off the principal hero with ordinary positive characters, who are not allowed to steal his show. On the other hand, we should on no account belittle the masses in order to show off the principal hero as a “superman,” “a crane among a brood of chickens.”19

Scene 4 of Tiger Mountain is believed to be “the most typical example in which Yang Tzu-jung [Yang Zirong] is set off by other characters.”20 In this scene, Yang Zirong, Chief of Staff, and other soldiers draw up a plan for taking Tiger Mountain. During a process of investigation, deliberation, and brainstorming, the strategy of sending someone to infiltrate the enemy’s lair in disguise—and Yang is the ideal candidate—is proposed, by coincidence, by three separate groups: Chief of Staff, Yang himself, and other soldiers after their group meeting. At the end, Chief of Staff indicates that the plan is pending approval from a party branch committee meeting, therefore emphasizing the message that “Yang Tzu-jung [Yang Zirong] draws inexhaustible strength from the party leadership and his comrades-in-arms.”21 Later, this message is confirmed in Scene 8: Yang has been on the mountain for seven days and has collected the needed information. But as he is ready to send out the intelligence, the local bandit, suspecting Yang’s real identity, decides to put him to the test. At this dramatic moment filled with tension and suspense, anticipating a critical plot reversal, the principal hero delivers the core aria; the lyrics of the opening section reinforce the message of the party leadership and the significance of his comrades’ support: Yang: (Offstage sings “er huang dao ban.”)22 Hacking through thorns and thistles, I battle in the heart of the enemy. (Enters.) 18. Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team, “Strive to Create the Brilliant Images of Proletarian Heroes,” 69. 19. Ibid., 69–70. 20. Ibid., 70. 21. Ibid. 22. Er huang is the mode of this aria. Dao ban, along with the hui long and man ban in the following parentheses, are all metrical types.

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Staging Revolution (Changes to “hui long.”) When I look into the distance and think of my Comrades-in-arms, the army and the people, waiting for the signal To attack these wolves, my spirits soar. (Changes to “man ban.”) The Party places great hopes on me, Comrades at the Party branch committee meeting offer weighty advice. Their many exhortations give me strength, Their flaming hearts warm my breast.23

When confronting negative characters, principal heroes’/heroines’ leading position in dramatic actions directly manifests in song lyrics and melody; this is best seen in the trio sung by Sister Aqing, Hu Chuankui, and Diao Deyi in Scene 4 of Shajiabang. The dramatic situation is the very first meeting of the principal heroine and two major negative characters: Sister Aqing needs to figure out why Hu and Diao have come to Shajiabang and how long they will stay, Diao tries to determine Sister Aqing’s background and identity, and Hu has trouble understanding why the other two are testing each other. In this trio, each character’s narration of inner thoughts alternates with those of others, yet is not overheard. It is an extended application of beigong (back-to-back), a convention widely used in traditional jingju, though usually employed with only two characters. Diao: This woman is quite out of the ordinary. Sister Aqing: What dirty tricks is Diao Deyi up to? Hu: This fellow Diao simply gives me no face. Sister Aqing: This silly fool is useful for keeping off the wind. . . . Diao: She’s neither humble nor pushy. Sister Aqing: He’s both sinister and crafty. Hu: What can Diao Deyi be driving at? Sister Aqing: Whom are they working for, Jiang or Wang?24 Diao: I’ll sound her out in a roundabout way. Sister Aqing: I must watch his every move and not fall into his trap.25

Creators of this trio state that, “in this ‘beigong,’ the three characters respectively focus on their own inner thoughts, so this trio is actually three monologues happening at the same time. But their thoughts arise from observations of and inspirations from each other, so that the thoughts are also connected. [In musical composition, t]his trio is treated as a duet, and in fact, it is a special duet, a modified version of 23. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, rev., Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy: A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1971), 39–40. 24. Jiang refers to Jiang Jieshi, the commander-in-chief of the Nationalists; Wang refers to Wang Jingwei, the head of the Japanese puppet government. 25. Peking Opera Troupe of Peking, rev., Shachiapang: A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1972), 18–19.

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duets.”26 In this special duet, Sister Aqing’s part is considered one and the other two’s are combined to make only one other; playwrights and musicians use different approaches in their lyrics and corresponding melody. Both positive and negative characters have their independent lines of lyrics, but in terms of jingju music, they are related as lines in couplets. We give a negative character the opening line of a couplet, and Sister Aqing sings only the closing line, so that she gains mastery after the opponents have struck. Negative characters serve as a foil, and Sister Aqing is the lead. The melodies of negative characters are all unstable, yet those of Sister Aqing sound firm and determined. . . . Chairman Mao educates us that the characterization of negative characters “should only become the foil of brightness, instead of so-called half vs. half.” In this aria of beigong sung by three people, even though the negative characters outnumber the positive character two to one, the positive character Sister Aqing is in control.27

The Overall and Supporting Messages Chinese proletarian revolution and its victory constitute the definitive theme of model jingju. These plays are more than about justice defeating evil, because justice is here defined with specific ideological, national, and class considerations. Altogether, the plays portray a revolutionary history from the 1920s to the 1960s, during which proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers, under the guidance of the CCP, fight for freedom against oppressors, defend their country’s and their neighboring country’s sovereignty against foreign invaders, and protect their socialist construction from sabotage. During the course of this history, the targets of the proletarian revolution vary, but the final victory always belongs to proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers. This overarching message is supported by a series of specific themes: that the CCP’s leadership and Mao Zedong Thought guarantee the victory of the proletarian revolution, the essential role of the masses and their significance in the proletarian revolution, and the concept of class and its manifestations in the proletarian revolution. In model jingju, the CCP and Chairman Mao are often closely linked, bringing hope, warmth, life, and light. The CCP is the rescuer of the proletariat from their bitter lives, and Chairman Mao offers the wisest directives for their revolutionary effort. The fact that all principal heroes/heroines are CCP members declares that the CCP takes the most critical, challenging, and dangerous tasks in all kinds of struggles. These individual CCP members identify themselves as cells of the party and are willing to dedicate all they have to the party’s mission. In Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong’s reaction, when assigned the daunting task of penetrating the enemy stronghold alone, is a prime example of a principal hero’s/heroine’s dedication. 26. Hong, “Pijingzhanji tuichenchuxin.” 27. Ibid.

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110 [sings] A Communist always heeds the Party’s call, He takes the heaviest burden on himself; I’m set on smashing the chains of a thousand years To open a freshet of endless happiness for the people.28

In each script, Mao Zedong Thought shows the correct orientation and attitude for revolutionaries and encourages proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers to persevere in their struggles. At the most challenging moment during the principal heroes’/heroines’ journeys toward the fulfillment of their tasks, they always recall Chairman Mao and his directives. Mao Zedong becomes an icon whose spiritual power calms the proletarian revolutionaries’ agitation and helps them regain confidence. In Scene 5 of Azalea Mountain, Ke Xiang faces the biggest challenge for her and the self-defense troop. By capturing Lei Gang’s adopted mother, Viper tries to lure the self-defense troop into leaving Azalea Mountain. Lei leaves the mountain despite Ke’s disapproval, but other soldiers want to follow him. Meanwhile, Ke notices that the deputy-leader of the troop is reacting to the situation strangely. She is aware that a trap has been set for the self-defense troop and that the situation is truly urgent. Ke’s aria at this critical moment starts with a narration of the dilemma, followed by further inner thoughts. Victory hangs in the balance; my comrades’ peril Weighs heavily on my heart. (Turns and paces round.) Chorus of Women (sing offstage): With heavy heart I gaze into the distance, Gaze into the distance And think of the Chingkang Mountains. Ke Xiang (turns and sings): I seem to see the Red Flags on those heights Where Mao Tsetung [Mao Zedong] charts our course, His brilliance illuminating our world! Chorus of Men and Women (sing offstage): His brilliance illuminating our world! Ke Xiang (sings): The thought of you Brings redoubled strength, resolution and confidence; Resolution and confidence; Relying on the Party and the masses We shall overcome obstacles, defeat all foes And turn back the powers of darkness, Our men fearless and high-hearted.29 28. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, 19. 29. Wang Shu-yuan et al., Azalea Mountain: A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1976), 39–40.

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The recollection of Mao Zedong’s image inspires the principal heroine, and she quickly calms down and recalls the strategy of “relying on the Party and the masses,” which eventually leads her and the self-defense troop to final victory. As Ke’s strategy indicates, in model jingju, an awareness of the essential role of the masses is a significant element of the proletarian revolution and its victory. Two major perspectives complement each other in delivering this theme. On the one hand, the depiction of the masses’ bitter life validates the revolution under the CCP. In each play, we see specific arias, speeches, or scenes that portray what the masses have encountered in their old lives. Some characters offer first-person, detailed descriptions of their personal life stories, such as Chang Bao’s aria in Scene 3 of Tiger Mountain, Granny Sha’s aria in Scene 2 of Shajiabang, Ma Hongliang’s aria and speech in Scene 6 of On the Docks, Aunt Choe’s aria and speech in Scene 2 of White-Tiger Regiment, Aunt Panshui’s aria in Scene 7 of Song of the Dragon River, Wu Qinghua’s aria in Scene 2 of The Red Detachment of Women, and Uncle Xiangwu’s speech in Scene 1 in Boulder Bay. In other plays, for instance Scene 2 of The Red Lantern, Scene 3 of Azalea Mountain, and Scene 5 of Fighting on the Plain, the masses are depicted as a group, and their wretched life is shown through speeches and dialogues. Quite often, these arias, speeches, and group scenes are followed by an aria of exclamation by the principal heroes/heroines who are deeply moved by the stories of blood and tears, which justify and revitalize their decision to carry out the revolution. On the other hand, in model jingju, the masses are also active revolutionary masses (geming qunzhong); instead of submitting to oppression, their action is portrayed as the critical support of the principal heroes’/heroines’ tasks. The masses’ importance in the proletarian revolution is raised to such levels that, without their support, the major tasks of the principal heroes/heroines cannot be completed. In Tiger Mountain, hunter Li Yongqi becomes a guide for the CCP troops and leads them on a secret path on the back of the mountain. In The Red Lantern, Huilian, a neighbor of the Lis, disguises herself as Tiemei and attracts the attention of the enemy so that Tiemei can escape to send the secret codes to the guerrillas. In Shajiabang, Granny Sha detects a trap set for her and Sister Aqing by Diao Deyi and protects Sister Aqing. In On the Docks, Ma Hongliang, a retired stevedore, actively participates in all actions in the plot, especially in persuading Han Xiaoqiang to stay with his current job. In White-Tiger Regiment, Sister Choe is the guide for the Dagger Squad led by Yan Weicai in their final raid on the enemy. In Azalea Mountain, Granny Du clears up Lei Gang’s misunderstanding of Ke Xiang and helps Lei realize his mistakes. In Fighting on the Plain, Granny Zhang sacrifices her life to protect a CCP member. In The Red Detachment of Women, Granny Zheng and Xiao’e help Wu Qinghua escape from detention. In Song of the Dragon River, Aunt Panshui provides the critical clue with which Jiang Shuiying uncovers Huang Guozhong’s true identity. And in Boulder Bay, Granny Zeng, an old fisherwoman, not only discovers enemy agents’ real identity and sends a Young Pioneer to notify

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the militia, but also fearlessly confronts the enemy. In model jingju, the proletarian revolution is indeed for the masses, of the masses, and by the masses. The fact that the masses are restricted to the particular social class of proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers raises the concept of class and its manifestations in proletarian revolution to a significant level in model jingju. Foremost among these manifestations are the depiction of profound feelings that proletarians have for each other, and the demonstration of the critical meaning of class struggle between the proletariat and their enemies. In The Red Lantern, the three generations in the Li’s “family” do not have any blood relationship; the only bond that connects them is class love. In Scene 8, when all three are on the execution ground, Li Yuhe attempts to use his last opportunity to let his adopted daughter know the story of their family. Li Yuhe [sings]: One thing I have wanted to tell you many times, It’s been hidden in my heart for seventeen years. I . . . Tiemei (quickly stopping him): Don’t say it, dad, you are my own father. (Kneels.) [sings] Don’t say it, father, I know the bitter tale of these seventeen years. . . . Li Yuhe [sings]: People say that family love outweighs all else, But class love is greater yet, I know. A proletarian fights all his life for the people’s liberation. Making a home wherever I am, I have lived in poverty all these years. The red lantern is my only possession, I entrusted it to your safe keeping.30

The farewell conversation between the father and daughter conflates their personal feelings for each other with a proletarian class connection, and their class feelings function as an engine of power for their revolutionary actions. It is on this foundation that the true meaning of proletarian revolution unfolds. Lei Gang in Azalea Mountain and Wu Qinghua in The Red Detachment of Women, both joining in armed struggles when pushed to the edge of death by the oppressors, confirm that proletarian revolution is for the good of the entire class, rather than for the revenge of an individual. Class love extends to proletarians in other countries and manifests in internationalism both in White-Tiger Regiment, in which Chinese People’s Volunteers fight with the North Korean People’s Army in defending the North Korea’s sovereignty, and in On the Docks, which is about international aid to Africa by the Chinese government. 30. China Peking Opera Troupe, rev., The Red Lantern: A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1972), 36.

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Class love among proletarians occurs in tandem with the class struggle that the proletariat engages in against other classes. In the seven scripts that feature wars, class struggle takes the form of armed campaigns, but it also extends to the three plays set in the peaceful, new China. Hidden enemies play a critical role in the plotting in On the Docks, Song of the Dragon River, and Boulder Bay, and class struggle takes the form of protecting the socialist construction against sabotage. Qian Shouwei in On the Docks and Huang Guozhong in Song of the Dragon River share critical characteristics: both used to work for the oppressors and deeply hate the new China, they each take on a false identity to hide among proletarians after the Liberation, and each has been waiting for an opportunity to take revenge. They not only conduct sabotage in person but also take advantage of some proletarians’ weaknesses and create critical obstacles for the principal heroines. The damage caused by the class enemies and the urgency of the situations in the plays proves that anti-revolutionaries do not take their defeat lying down. As Fang Haizhen states in On the Docks, “Although Chien Shou-wei [Qian Shouwei] has been caught, there will be others like him. . . . We must always remember Chairman Mao’s instructions never to forget class struggle, every year, every month and every day.”31 This message is reinforced in Boulder Bay when Haigen offhandedly reveals the militia’s secret to a Nationalist agent hidden in the Boulder Bay Brigade and Qiaolian almost lends a fishing boat to the disguised Nationalist unit who schemes to escape.

Plotting and Theatricality Even though the arrangements of specific events might vary, the standard plot pattern of model jingju is always evident: A principal hero/heroine with an impeccable proletarian background undertakes some long journey during which he/ she overcomes insurmountable obstacles, struggles with enemies and traitors, and solves challenging problems, all to fulfill tasks designated by the CCP. The principal heroes’/heroines’ journey, constituting the plot’s main body, may encompass single or multiple tasks. Subsidiary to the main thread of the principal heroes’/heroines’ tasks are the life stories of revolutionary masses and the revolutionary efforts of the comrades of the principal heroes/heroines, with interludes depicting opposing characters who are, quite often, anti-revolutionaries. All stories unfold chronologically. Within this plotting pattern, three scene types contribute significantly to theatricality: direct confrontations between revolutionaries and anti-revolutionaries; encounters between heroic characters and their rivals, with one side’s identity in disguise; and conflicts between principal heroes/heroines and other positive characters caused by misunderstandings or disagreements. Since the primary dramatic conflict in model jingju is that between proletarians and anti-revolutionaries, 31. “On the Docks” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, rev., On the Docks: A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1973), 40.

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face-to-face confrontations between the two often involve life-and-death struggle. These direct confrontations sometimes take place in an investigation room, such as in Scene 6 in The Red Lantern in which Li Yuhe struggles against a traitor and Hatoyama, chief of the Japanese gendarmerie, and Scene 7 in Shajiabang in which Granny Sha denounces Hu Chuankui and Diao Deyi. An execution ground offers an ideal, highly dramatic location in Scene 6 in The Red Detachment of Women, Scene 2 in Azalea Mountain, and Scene 2 in White-Tiger Regiment. In these examples, Hong Changqing, Ke Xiang, and Aunt Choe, with the end of their lives in sight, fiercely debate their enemies and firmly hold to their revolutionary beliefs. Face-to-face confrontations also take the form of military conflicts during which revolutionaries ambush their enemies and achieve the final victory. Except for On the Docks and Song of the Dragon River, all plays conclude with combat scenes portraying successful armed struggles. Unlike direct confrontations between justice and evil, which tend to accentuate extreme dramatic situations, encounters between heroic characters and their rivals, with one side’s true identity in disguise, enhance theatricality by intensifying the danger and risk involved. Some of the principal heroes/heroines successfully maintain cover identities, perform critical strategies while in disguise, or perceptively identify a hidden enemy, making for a sense of thrilling adventure. In Scene 6 of Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong, disguised as a cavalry adjutant, successfully convinces Vulture of his new identity by way of fluent bandit argot, superb shooting skills, well-knitted personal stories, and a map for which Vulture has been drooling. In Scene 4 of Shajiabang, Sister Aqing, ever alert, plays the role of a teahouse’s proprietress when Diao Deyi, a suspicious and cunning chief of staff, tests the water with her in a roundabout way. In Scene 3 of Boulder Bay, Lu Changhai and the enemy agent 08—both under cover—try to detect the other one’s real identity, and Lu outwits the enemy and collects critical intelligence from the latter. Perhaps the master of disguise is Zhao Yonggang in Fighting on the Plain: he appears as a coachman at a Japanese’s blockhouse in Scene 4; in Scene 6, Zhao becomes a businessman at a restaurant controlled by the Japanese; and in Scene 9, he enters a railway station in the guise of a special agent working for the Japanese. The battle of wits is equally dramatic when a disguised enemy is revealed. In Scene 5 of The Red Lantern, when the naïve Tiemei is about to fall into a Bogus Liaison Man’s trap, Granny Li ingeniously reveals that he is a fraud. In Scene 5 of On the Docks, Fang Haizhen artfully probes Qian Shouwei with meaningful questions and comments, thus forcing the latter to expose his intention of sabotage the brigade’s loading task. The above two types of scenes both involve conflicts between justice and evil, whereas the third type of dramatic scene contributes to theatricality by featuring misunderstandings and disagreements among positive characters. The true meaning of proletarian revolution, including its ultimate goals, right paths, and practical policies, is the focus of disputes. Motivated by individual revenge or private interests, some positive yet naïve characters can cause severe obstacles for principal heroes/

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heroines. Not incidentally, the process of clarifying misunderstandings and solving disagreements also facilitates the former’s personal growth. In Scene 3 of Azalea Mountain, Lei Gang becomes furious at Ke Xiang upon learning her policies on confiscated properties; he then has a heated argument with the principal heroine regarding whether the self-defense troop should leave the mountain in Scene 5; at the end, convinced by Ke that proletarian revolution is about the liberation of the entire class instead of personal revenge, Lei becomes a whole-hearted follower of the CCP. In Scene 2 of On the Docks, Han Xiaoqiang, a young stevedore whose dream is to become a sailor, is exploited by Qian Shouwei in his scheme to delay Chinese government aid to Africa by mislaying a wheat sack; in Scene 5, Han vehemently clashes with the principal heroine, Fang Haizhen, when desiring to resign his post; at the end, with Fang’s patient counsel regarding just how one’s personal career can complement and augment proletarian revolution, Han provides key evidence that reveals Qian’s sabotage and decides to keep working as a stevedore.

New Narrative for New Characters In telling these stories, model jingju develops a narrative that is quite different from that in traditional repertory in both structure and language. The narrative structure of xiqu in general, including jingju, as Zhu Zhaonian theorizes, “is a series of plot segments that are of varying lengths.”32 With this structure, traditional jingju uses the “entering and exiting” method of narration in which, as the discussion in Chapters 2 and 3 indicates, the entrance and exit of a major character often signifies a comparatively independent segment of the plot. Upon entering, a major character often sets the scene by a self-introduction, identifying the location and actions onstage. Along with the exit of this major character, the location also “exits” with the performer; the stage is empty and ready for the next identification. As Zhu Zhaonian precisely describes, this narrative structure enhances the freedom in transitions in both time and space, because it not only allows swift time and location changes within a fairly short period of stage time but also makes it possible to strengthen travel scenes in which neither time nor location is set. The opening section of a traditional production, Wujia Slope (Wujia po), illustrates this approach fairly well.33 The production opens with Xue Pinggui, a fictional military commander during the Tang dynasty (618–907), on his way home after eighteen years. Xue delivers his first musical line, “Riding on a horse, I left the border of Xi Liang,” from offstage. Upon entrance, Xue holds a whip in his right hand and performs dance-acting imitating 32. Zhu Zhaonian, “Xiqu jiegou yu gaochao” [The structure and climax of xiqu], in Zhu Zhaonian xiqu lunwen xuan [Zhu Zhaonian’s selected essays on xiqu], ed. Ma Guojun and Zhu Haiwei (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1998), 143. 33. Wujia Slope is part of the traditional play, Wang Baochuan (production title is named after the female protagonist, also called Hong zong lie ma [A Red-Maned Boisterous Horse]), and is often performed as a separate short play.

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horse riding, primarily during the song’s musical interludes. Xue’s concise lyrics set the background of the story. Once again, I can’t hold my tears. With lush mountains and green water, the world is such splendor, whereas I travel alone like a swan goose looking for home. Wang Yun [Xue’s father-in-law] holds such a high ranking as the prime minister, but he never gives me, a person from the poor, a place in his heart. Wei Hu [Xue’s brother-in-law], a family member, stabbed me in the back, without even any reason. [Arriving] at the Wujia Slope, I tie up my horse, and ask the lady passersby [for my wife’s whereabouts].

Using ten musical lines, the protagonist expresses mixed feelings on the way home, outlines complex family interrelations, and more importantly, accomplishes the trip and arrives at his destination. As Zhu Zhaonian aptly points out, with this approach, “xiqu rarely focuses on ‘cross sections’ of life, but rather follows the track of plot, with the pursuit of complete beginnings and endings, intriguing twists and turns, clear threads leading from points to points, all emphasizing on appealing stories.”34 In practice, this narrative structure makes much better sense on a stage that does not define the specificity for particular segments, instead, offering a neutral space open to different identifications. The narrative structure in model jingju conveys a hybridity of that in traditional dramatic literature and that in huaju. It reveals a palpable interest in what Zhu Zhaonian calls “‘cross sections’ of life.”35 Although all stories unfold in chronological order, the majority of scenes have set locations, visually illustrated and strengthened by stage design, which will be discussed in Chapter 8. More importantly, transitions between scenes—and locations—are no longer part of stage presentation except for between-scenes music (mujianqu), which will be discussed in Chapter 7, played with curtain closed. What this presents onstage is multiple “‘cross sections’ of life” on the principal heroes’/heroines’ journey. At the same time, inserted into some plays, such as Tiger Mountain, White-Tiger Regiment, Shajiabang, and Azalea Mountain, are travel scenes that do not have set locations and often feature dance-acting and combat techniques. Also, just as in traditional repertory, in model jingju, multiple plot segments may take place in one location. For example, as the above discussion of Scene 4 of Tiger Mountain illustrates, although the set location is inside the command post at the Black Dragon Valley, four comparatively independent segments are obvious: Chief of Staff ’s first solo, Yang Zirong’s investigation of Luan Ping, Chief of Staff ’s second solo, and the final plan making by Chief of Staff and Yang Zirong.

34. Zhu, “Xiqu jiegou yu gaochao,” 143. 35. Ibid.

Foundation of Productions: Scripts and Playwriting 117

In playwriting, a narrative structure intricately associates with its language. The language in traditional jingju is a critical aspect of its artistic style, with several distinguishing characteristics. First, characters with a higher level of dignity, social status, education, or age often speak and sing in a language that is closer to classical Chinese than it is to the vernacular. Second, the mixture of classical Chinese and the vernacular is used in both verse and prose. Song lyrics are often in verse, but the more complex stage speech includes heightened speech and colloquial speech— speech type is often another indicator of a character’s level of dignity, social status, experience of education, or age. Heightened speech is often a mixture of verse and prose, in which classical Chinese is frequently used, though sometimes it is blended with the vernacular. Colloquial speech is in the vernacular; it is mostly in prose but sometimes may also use verse. And, last, the stage language of traditional repertory is derived from the pronunciation and speech tones of different dialects. The pronunciation and speech tones of song lyrics and heightened speech primarily follow the dialects in the Hubei area, though also with influence from dialects in the Anhui area and the Yellow River valley, whereas those of colloquial speech primarily follow the Beijing dialect. The multiple origins of pronunciation and speech tones lead to some signature practices of traditional repertory. For example, a system of thirteen rhyme categories is established;36 palatal consonants j, q, and x in some writtencharacters are pronounced as alveolar consonants z, c, and s; and a group of special pronunciations of certain characters maintain their ancient versions that date back as early as the fourteenth century.37 Drastically different from the above traditional practices, putonghua (common speech)—standard Mandarin Chinese as defined in October 1955 by the Chinese government—is the primary language of song lyrics and stage speech in model jingju. The pronunciation of putonghua is based on that of the regional dialect of Beijing, its vocabulary is based on those of northern China’s major dialects, and the grammar is modeled after the vernacular used in modern Chinese literary classics. Since 1955, putonghua has been the official language in China, and the term has become interchangeable with Mandarin Chinese. Legitimized by the new government of the PRC, putonghua is literally the language for the new era and is therefore a major means by which to differentiate modern characters in model jingju from those in traditional repertory: serving as the primary choice in both song lyrics and stage speech, it grants model jingju characters new aural dimensions. The level of language is no longer associated with the social status, educational background, or age of a character; rather, the difference in the language level is found between song lyrics and stage speech, and between positive characters and negative ones. In 36. Two written-characters with the same ending vowels or the same vowel and terminal consonants represent each rhyme category. The thirteen rhyme categories are: yi-qi, gu-su, fa-hua, suo-bo, mie-xie, huai-lai, hui-dui, yao-tiao, you-qiu, yan-qian, ren-chen, jiang-yang, and zhong-dong. 37. He Peisen, Liyuan sheng yun xue [Sound and rhymes of the Pear Garden] (Tianjin: Tianjin guji chubanshe, 2004). For discussion in English, see Wichmann’s Listening to Theatre, 25–53.

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most song lyrics, the language is closer to written language than it is to colloquial language, and in most stage speech, the opposite is common. In addition, although all characters in model jingju speak and sing in putonghua, the language of positive characters is generally more refined than that used by negative characters. Similar to the language in traditional repertory, a mixture of verse and prose is present in model jingju, with all song lyrics in verse and most stage speech in prose, except for the speech in Azalea Mountain and Boulder Bay, which is mostly rhymed and will be discussed below. Although all rhymes are from the traditional thirteen categories, a couple of categories are more favored than others. According to Zhu Keyi’s statistics (see Table 5.1),38 categories yan-qian and jiang-yang have the highest frequency in use—together, they appear in more than 60 percent of song lyrics, and three traditional rhyme categories are absent in model jingju: suo-bo, gu-su, and mie-xie. The choice of rhyme categories is significant in Chinese dramatic literature, in that there has been a long tradition of associating the aesthetic qualities of rhyme categories with corresponding emotional states and dramatic characters, as Elizabeth Wichmann summarizes: “The four rhyme categories with terminal consonants—yan qian, ren chen, jiang yang, and zhong dong—and the fa hua category are experienced as ‘clear and sonorous.’ . . . Suo bo, huai lai, yao tiao, and you qiu are . . . felt to be ‘soft, gentle, and mild.’ Yi qi, gu su, mie xie, and hui dui . . . are felt to be ‘slight, fine, and subtle.’”39 In traditional jingju, the choice of rhyme sound of song lyrics is often a significant method of strengthening the emotion, atmosphere, or tension of a dramatic scene. In model jingju, with yan-qian and jiang-yang—the two rhyme categories with firm and straightforward aural qualities—used in more than 60 percent of song lyrics, and the absence of suo-bo, gu-su, and mie-xie—the three rhyme categories famous for grace and subtleness—the choice of rhyme in song lyrics delivers an overall bright, clear, and imposing quality. Zhu Keyi observes a paradox as a consequence of this selection. On the one hand, in model jingju, traditional rhyme categories are chosen or abandoned because of inherent aesthetic qualities that were formed in classical dramatic literature, and they function “classically” in the model plays. On the other hand, unlike rhyme usage in traditional dramatic literature, this choice upsets the classical balance between the strong and the soft, the striking and the mellow, and the bold and the moderate.40 The preference for yan-qian and jiang-yang categories probably arose from both practical and aesthetic considerations. As Zhu points out, yan-qian and jiang-yang are two of the five categories—the 38. Zhu Keyi, Yuyanxue shiye zhong de “Yangbanxi” [“Model works” through the lens of linguistics] (Kaifeng: Henan daxue chubanshe, 2004), 88. My statistics confirm Zhu’s study except for one data point. In Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong’s short aria at the end of Scene 6 is in the rhyme of you-qiu, but this is not reflected in Zhu’s statistics. This difference does not change the statistical results; therefore, Table 5.1 is primarily based on Zhu’s study, with only two changes—the amount of you-qiu and total for Tiger Mountain. 39. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 43. 40. Zhu, Yuyanxue shiye zhong de “Yangbanxi,” 85–91.

4

2

11

6

jiang-yang

ren-chen

zhong-dong 2

yao-tiao

Total

39

34

35

35

36

2

1

1

3

3

5

10

11

25

6

4

4

11

Boulder Bay

1.8%

1.8%

2.4%

3%

3.3%

3.8%

7.8%

9.9%

31.3%

34.9%

Percentage

0% 32

1

1

2

2

1

3

2

15

8

Azalea Mountain

mie-xie

33

1

1

4

12

17

Fighting Raid on the White- on the Plain Tiger Regiment

0%

35

1

2

1

2

2

3

8

15

The Red Detachment of Women

gu-su

1

4

6

2

4

9

13

Song of the Dragon River

0%

32

1

5

2

13

11

On the Docks

suo-bo

2

you-qiu

1

2

yi-qi

hui-dui

3

3

fa-hua

3

3

16

1

7

7

Shajiabang

huai-lai

1

2

11

yan-qian

13

Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

Rhyme categories

The Red Lantern

Table 5.1  Rhyme categories in model jingju

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other three are zhong-dong, ren-chen, and fa-hua categories—that contain comparatively more written-characters in the first place, and therefore they provide more word choices for playwrights. Aesthetically, Zhu argues that “they fit the themes emphasizing revolutionary idealism and heroism,”41 because the yan-qian category “is suitable for an expression of profound, strong, and lasting feelings and it serves the need to portray proletarian class feelings,”42 and the jiang-yang category “with a bright and high sound . . . is suitable for conveying an unfettered, powerful, and glorious atmosphere.”43 Zhu’s analysis is confirmed in a 1973 article summarizing the creative experience with language in Azalea Mountain. Among rhymed characters in the script, those from masculine categories are dominant; that is to say, characters with nasal vowels with terminal consonants such as dang-yang, qian-jian, shen-en, and xing-ming are used frequently. On the one hand, this is because there are quite many characters with these pronunciations in our language. On the other hand, this is also because characters with nasal vowels with terminal consonants sound forceful, uplifting, harmonious, and striking; when used to convey revolutionary passion and to portray the sound of struggles, they fit the character of this era better.44

The first two pairs of written-characters listed in the article, dang-yang and qianjian, are from the jiang-yang and yan-qian categories, respectively. The technique of choosing rhymed written-characters was applied to not only song lyrics but also to stage speech in Azalea Mountain and Boulder Bay, contributing to mostly rhymed vernacular. A large proportion of the stage speech is in couplets; the lengths of the two lines in a single couplet are mostly the same, except for some auxiliary words inserted in the middle or interjections added at the end. A monologue or dialogue may include as many couplets as necessary, and different characters can deliver different lines of a single couplet as part of a conversation. At the very beginning of Azalea Mountain, Granny Du helps Lei Gang, who has just escaped from Viper’s prison, by smashing his shackles and feeding him. Then, they have a short, one-couplet conversation; each character delivers one line. Lei Gang: Jiǔ hàn de hé miáo féng gān lín, diǎn diǎn jì zài xīn. Granny Du: Qiān zhī wàn yè yī tiáo gēn, dōu shì shòu kǔ rén.

The basic meaning of the conversation is: 41. Ibid., 87. 42. Ibid. 43. Ibid., 89. 44. Xing Ying and Shi Yin, “Xianming de shidai tedian; dute de minzu fengge” [Vivid era characteristics; unique national style], in Geming yangbanxi pinglun ji [Collection of revolutionary model works criticism], ed. Shanghai renmin chubanshe [Shanghai People’s Publishing House] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1976), 609.

Foundation of Productions: Scripts and Playwriting 121 Lei Gang: Parched paddy soaked by sweet rain, remembers every drop. Granny Du: Ten thousand leaves grow from a single root; all the poor are one family.45

The two lines both involve metaphors in describing the characters’ state of mind: Lei Gang is deeply grateful for Granny Du’s timely help, and Granny Du firmly believes that the poor should help each other. Each line contains two sections and the last written-characters of the four sections, lín, xīn, gēn, and rén—all underlined in the text—are from the same rhyme category of ren-chen. The first section of the first line contains one more written-character than does the first section of the second line, but this is due to the de, the third written-character inserted in the former. Here, de functions only as an auxiliary word connecting Jiǔ hàn (parched)—as a modifier—with hé miáo (paddy), and is in light tone; therefore, in performance, the two lines are almost identical in metrical rhythm. The two lines of this couplet, with similar rhetorical device, rhymes from the same category, and nearly identical metrical rhythm, offer a vivid portrayal of the two characters who literally speak the same language and warmly empathize with each other. Rhymed vernacular is also used in lines of various lengths, often in communication among a group of characters. In Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain, self-defense soldiers, disguised as hunters and peasants, secretly gather on an execution ground, scrutinizing their surroundings, and discussing their plan to rescue a CCP member who is going to be executed. The transliterations of their speeches are as follows. Rhymed written-characters are underlined. Du Xiaoshan: Dà yàn, shān jī, hú li, yě yáng—! [line 1] Zheng Laowan: Jīn zhēn, mù ěr, mó gu, shēng jiāng—! [line 2] Lei Gang: Zhǔn bèi qíng kuàng zěn yàng? [line 3] Li Shijian: Dōu yǐ ān pái tuǒ dàng. [line 4] Lei Gang: Nà wèi gòng chǎn dǎng yuán? [line 5] Zheng Laowan: Jiù yào yā chū cí táng. [line 6] Luo Chenghu: Tīng shuō shì ge nǚ de. [line 7] Lei Gang: Nǚ de? [line 8] Luo Chenghu: Qiǎng bù qiǎng? [line 9] Lei Gang: Zhǐ yào tā shì gòng chǎn dǎng, qiǎng! [line 10]

The basic translation of the conversation is: Du Xiaoshan: Wild geese, pheasants, foxes, wild goats . . . ! [line 1] Zheng Laowan: Day lilies, fungus, mushrooms, ginger . . . ! [line 2] Lei Gang: How are things going? [line 3] Li Shijian: Everything’s ready. [line 4] Lei Gang: And the Communist? [line 5] Zheng Laowan: Will be brought out any minute from the temple. [line 6] 45. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 2.

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122 Luo Chenghu: I hear it’s a woman. [line 7] Lei Gang: A woman? (He is staggered.) [line 8] Luo Chenghu: Shall we still rescue her? [line 9] Lei Gang (decidedly): Yes, so long as she’s a Communist.46 [line 10]

The primary rhyme here is jiang-yang, and the use of rhyme, with an interval of two short unrhymed lines—lines 7 and 8—contributes significantly to the dramatic situation through changes in speech musicality. The first six lines form three complete couplets. The four nouns in each of the first two lines are names of the goods that the two self-defense soldiers, disguised as a hunter and a vendor respectively, pretend to sell. The following two couplets each contain a question and an answer. In the first three couplets, five lines are in the same rhyme, thus conveying a dense yet stable atmosphere. This rhyme scheme is interrupted in lines 7 and 8, when Luo Chenghu brings up the brand-new information about the CCP member’s gender, startling Lei Gang; these two lines are irregular in length, and neither is rhymed. Even though the following two lines—lines 9 and 10—are not the same length, when Lei decisively chooses to save the woman, they return to the same rhyme, thus quickly restoring the musicality. With discernable metrical rhythms and carefully chosen rhymes, Azalea Mountain and Boulder Bay were groundbreaking in the development of speech in modern jingju. A long-standing criticism of modern jingju is simple but blunt, censuring it as “spoken drama plus singing” (huaju jia chang). This refers to the fact that all aspects except for arias are almost identical to Western-style spoken drama and that, in acting, spoken text lacks distinguishable rhyme sounds or the signature musicality in jingju. In Azalea Mountain and Boulder Bay, rhymed vernacular speech allows smooth transitions between song lyrics and stage speech, thus contributing to a new dimension of musicality. An important section in Scene 3 in Azalea Mountain contains Ke Xiang telling self-defense soldiers about her painful family story. The entire section is in the you-qiu rhyme. Here, rhymed vernacular speech introduces an aria, serves as an interlude and supports modal transitions within an aria, and reinforces the aria’s powerful ending. It begins with dialogue. Zheng Laowan (admiringly): So in fighting and farming both You have what it takes. Ke Xiang (modestly): Roughing it all year long, In wind and rain Has given me nothing but Iron shoulders and horny hands . . . (She appears lost in thought.) Luo Chenghu (surprised): Are you from a poor family too? Ke Xiang (sighs): Hard to tell all the bitterness I knew, All the wrongs I suffered . . . (Sits down slowly . . .)47 46. Ibid., 8–9. 47. Ibid., 15.

Foundation of Productions: Scripts and Playwriting 123

In transliteration, the section is as follows. Rhymed written-characters are underlined. Zheng Laowan: Xiǎng bù dào, kàn bù tòu, dǎ zhàng gàn huó’er, háng jiā lǐ shǒu! Ke Xiang: Fēng lǐ lái, yǔ lǐ zǒu, zhōng nián láo lèi hé suǒ yǒu? Zhǐ shèng dé, tiě dǎ de jiān bǎng cū zhuàng de shǒu . . . Luo Chenghu: Nǐ yě shì qióng kǔ chū shēn? Ke Xiang: Ài! Tǔ bù jìn mǎn fù kǔ shuǐ, yì qiāng yuān chóu . . .

During the rhymed conversation, Ke Xiang sits down and begins her reminiscence, and the dialogue leads smoothly into the principal heroine’s solo; each line of her lyrics ends in the same rhyme. The first half of the aria contains the tragic story of Ke losing her entire family. Appropriately, this section is in the fan erhuang mode, which is often used to express the most profound, usually mournful, emotions. In the latter half of the aria, Ke narrates the path that led her to become a revolutionary, and her grief turns into determination; correspondingly, the mode changes into erhuang. Four short speech lines spoken by the self-defense soldiers, in the same rhyme and accompanied by music, ensure a smooth modal transition. Zheng Laowan (fumes): The bosses and their foremen— Luo Chenghu: Are vipers, wild beasts! (Pounds the table.) Li Shijian: We must take our revenge! All: We must pay them back!48

The transliterations of the short speech lines are as follows. Zheng Laowan: Kuàng zhǔ, gōng tóu, Luo Chenghu: Dú shé, yě shòu! Li Shijian: Yào xuě hèn! All: Yào bào chóu!

With lyrics maintaining the same rhyme and in erhuang mode, the second half of Ke’s aria becomes brighter in color and it finishes with a declaration of her firm determination to fight until the victory is achieved. Two spoken lines delivered by two soldiers, with an ensemble confirmation by all the rest of the soldiers, immediately follow this, thus wrapping up this section with a powerful ending. Zheng Laowan: We must advance together, united as one. Li Shijian: Carry the revolution through to the end. All (eagerly): Right, that’s the spirit.49 48. Ibid., 15–16. 49. Ibid., 16.

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Zheng and Li’s lines are in verse, and all the other solders repeat their concurrence three times. Zheng Laowan: Tuán jié yī xīn xiàng qián zǒu, Li Shijian: Gé mìng dào dǐ bù huí tóu. All: Duì! Duì! Duì!

The use of language in playwriting, in particular the technique of choosing rhymed written-characters in both song lyrics and some stage speech, helps reveal the intricate relations among playwriting, musical composition, and acting in jingju. Although scripts and playwriting were elevated to the level of foundation for creation in model jingju, ultimately it was the performers who granted life to a script: they were responsible for convincing the audience of their characters, which demanded a successful portrayal of modern characters in a convincing jingju style. The modernity in character portrayal, yet in a palpable jingju flavor, was one of the biggest challenges to performers in rehearsals and onstage.

6 The Broken and the Breakthroughs in Acting

Tong Xiangling, the original performer of Yang Zirong in Tiger Mountain,1 vividly describes one of the biggest challenges in rehearsals for his debut during the 1960s: One day [in 1965], Prime Minister Zhou [Enlai] and Jiang Qing watched our dress rehearsal in the Art Theatre. After the rehearsal, Prime Minister Zhou told me that I was not performing Yang Zirong, but Zhuge Liang. . . .2 This was a big shock for me—why would Prime Minister Zhou compare Yang Zirong with Zhuge Liang? I thought it over and found the reason: Yang is a modern revolutionary but Zhuge Liang is a strategist who lived in the past. Traditional [jingju] productions are all about figures who lived in the past; therefore, we always try to get close to the classical flavor in melody and singing methods. When I portrayed Yang with traditional singing methods, I was actually dressing a PLA soldier with classical armor, which was absolutely incompatible with modern characters.3

As discussed in Chapters 1 to 4, from the 1930s through the 1970s, performers of modern jingju faced the same dilemma: the incompatibility between the content of modern stories and the form of traditional jingju first manifests in the fact that not all traditional practices are applicable to modern characters and, furthermore, modern lives contain actions that did not exist in traditional Chinese society. The deep, core issue here is jingju’s style. For performers of modern jingju, the task was to write the meaning of modern life in a palpable, convincing jingju’s way. In fulfilling this task, an important creative method for model jingju was the Three Breakdowns (san dapo), which can be literally translated into “to break roletypes (dapo hangdang), to break schools of performance (dapo liupai), and to break the old form (dapo jiu geshi).”4 Role-types, schools of performance, and the old form of traditional jingju served as the primary approaches through which extensive 1. All “original performers” in Chapters 6 to 9 refer to the performers in the officially finalized version of model jingju. They are the original in the sense that model jingju were widely transplanted into other theatrical forms and by local jingju companies throughout the country. This should not be mistaken as their having been the first performers or creators of the characters. 2. Zhuge Liang, a famous strategist in Chinese history who lived from 181 to 234 CE, is one of the most famous characters of the laosheng (older dignified male) role-subcategory in traditional jingju performance. 3. Tong, “Yang Zirong” yu Tong Xiangling, 90. 4. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji,” 40.

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innovations took place in acting, and therefore I adopt these three perspectives in this chapter’s discussion. Through examining the fusion of selectively adapted traditional practices and newly invented performance in acting, this chapter offers an insight into how performance practices in model jingju are intricately related to traditional jingju yet their associations through these three perspectives unfold in different fashions.

Breaking Traditional Role-Types In traditional jingju, all characters who are more than longtao can be categorized as belonging to one of four principal role-types: sheng (dignified male roles), dan (female roles), jing (larger-than-life male roles), and chou (comic earthy male roles). All four role-types are further divided into subcategories. Each role-subcategory is indicative of a particular gender, age, social status, level of dignity, and certain primary acting skill(s). Particular role-subcategories feature one or more acting skills. Table 6.1 lists jingju’s principal role-types, their subcategories, and some major characteristics. Role-types are a common practice in xiqu, although the categorizations may vary according to particular theatrical forms. In jingju, the four principal role-types and their subcategories gradually formed during the first half of the nineteenth century and finalized from the 1840s to the 1860s.5 The significance of role-types in traditional jingju acting is evident in at least two aspects: role-types serve as the foundation of character portrayal, and most jingju performers are trained and then specialize in only one, or maximally two or three related, role-subcategories. To identify a particular role-subcategory is usually the starting point for creating a dramatic character, and only on this basis can the character’s individuality, personality, psychological experience, and emotional state be further unfolded. The convention of role-types has a double function: it both guarantees an effective presentation of the commonalities among characters included in the same particular role-subcategory and allows an efficient identification of the differences among the variety of role-subcategories. The commonalities among the characters of the same particular role-subcategory are presented through similar vocal and physical stylization, including voice timbre and physical features, as well as the extent and pace of movement. It means that a particular role-subcategory often requires specific rules for the application of acting skills. For instance, a basic stage-step (taibu) of a laosheng (older dignified male) character is different from the basic stage-step of the characters included in all other male role-subcategories in at least the size of steps, the pace of walking, and the extent of raising the legs while making a step. In traditional jingju, a successfully portrayed dramatic character needs to be, first of all, a good representative of his/her role-subcategory. 5. Ma Shaobo et al., eds., Zhongguo jingju shi (shang) [History of China’s jingju (1)] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1990), 106–7.

Major features of role-types

male; intrinsically dignified

female

Principal role-types

sheng

dan

Table 6.1  Role-types in traditional jingju

lively and young; usually with lower social status; features speech and dance-acting old; mostly intrinsically dignified; features song and speech young or middle age; features high combat skills young or middle age; usually with high social status; features high combat skills

huadan (young lively female)

laodan (older female) wudan (martial female) daomadan (martial dignified female)

young; usually literate; features song, speech, and dance-acting, sometimes combat

xiaosheng (young dignified male) young and middle age; usually with high social status or high dignity; features song and speech

features high combat skills

wusheng (martial dignified male)

qingyi (young and middle-aged dignified female)

middle age or older; usually literate; features song, speech, and dance-acting, sometimes combat

Specific features of major role-subcategories

laosheng (older dignified male)

Major role-subcategories

(continued on p. 128)

female generals

female warriors

old mothers

maids

loyal wives, daughters from a rich household

young scholars

warriors, generals

scholars, strategists, officials

Typical roles

wuchou (martial clown)

wenchou (civil clown) earthy male; most characters have a patch of white in the center of their faces; often comic

usually with a lower social status; features high combat skills and dance-acting

can be with either high or low social status; features speech, song, and dance-acting

features high combat skills; usually supporting roles

wujing (martial larger-than-life male)

chou

usually with a lower social status bandit-heroes than the “copper hammer”; features dance-acting and speech

jiazi hualian (“posture” painted-face)

thieves, warriors

comic officers, comic scholars

warriors

officials, judges, gods, spirits

usually with high social status and high dignity; features song and speech

tongchui hualian (“copper hammer” painted-face)

larger-than-life male; all characters’ faces are painted with facial charts

jing

Typical roles

Specific features of major role-subcategories

Major role-subcategories

Major features of role-types

Principal role-types

Table 6.1  Role-types in traditional jingju (continued)

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The fundamental functions of role-types in character portrayal, especially the specific requirements for acting skills applied to particular role-subcategories, help to explain the fact that most jingju performers are trained and then specialize in only one or a very few role-subcategories.6 In the latter case, the role-subcategories are always subdivisions of the same principal role-type. For instance, master performer Li Shaochun, who performed Yang Bailao in the 1958 The White-Haired Girl discussed in Chapter 3, was famous for his performance of both laosheng and wusheng (martial dignified male) roles, and master performer Qiu Shengrong was successful in both tongchui hualian (“copper hammer” painted-face) and jiazi hualian (“posture” painted-face). Master performers who succeed in more than one role-subcategory have always been highly respected for their special talent and artistic effort. For most other jingju performers, though, their close association with a particular role-subcategory lasts through their entire career. In the above discussion, role-types seem to set boundaries among different groups of characters in traditional jingju. But within each group, when portraying characters with commonalities, good performers always manage to portray individual characters as opposed to treating their roles as a stereotype. For them, role-types serve as the framework for character portrayal rather than the overall interpretation of characters. As Elizabeth Wichmann points out, “The characters included in each of the several role-types and subcategories may be good or bad, strong or weak, intelligent or stupid. Role-type specialization produces patterns of performance technique rather than dramatic characters with stereotyped personalities.”7 In jingju jargon, there is even a term for stereotyped character portrayal, yi dao tang (the same bowl of soup), which is an analogy for lack of creativity and originality in performance. To avoid serving the same bowl of soup all the time, traditional jingju actors are expected to, on the basis of the specific vocal and physical stylization often unique to a particular role-subcategory, look for appropriate methods to portray the individuality, personality, psychological experience, and emotional state of their characters in particular dramatic situations. The methods may include the carefully adjusted tempo of a speech, new designs in movement sequences, or changes in the placement of voice or voice timbre, among many other methods. One ultimate purpose and ideal achievement of character portrayal in traditional jingju is, within the framework of a particular role-subcategory, to precisely present a dramatic character with the most effective methods that, at the same time, allow the maximum demonstration of the actors’ best performance techniques. Despite role-type specializations, most jingju actors accept basic training in all four acting skills: song, speech, dance-acting, and combat. Performers capable of fulfilling 6. Exceptions exist only in the principal role-type of dan, female characters. Some master dan performers, for instance, master performer Mei Lanfang, were famous for their versatility in three or four role-subcategories, including qingyi (young and middle-aged dignified female), huadan (young lively female), wudan (martial female), and daomadan (martial dignified female). Master performer Mei Lanfang is also credited for solidifying the role-subcategory of huashan (flower shirt), by combining qingyi, huadan, and daomadan. 7. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 7.

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well-rounded acting featuring all the four acting skills are always highly appreciated and therefore the most popular. In model jingju, the association between character portrayal and traditional role-types is looser than in traditional jingju. This change is directly based on artists’ realization that characters in model jingju cannot be simply included in any particular traditional role-subcategory. The incompatibility arises primarily from the modern temperament of the characters who live in the twentieth century, a new historical period that grants them new manners of thinking, behaving, and communicating, which bear little similarity to the characters included in any particular traditional role-subcategory. This incompatibility led to a series of changes in model jingju acting. First of all, role-types, or particular role-subcategories, no longer served as the framework for character portrayal. None of the principal heroes/heroines is portrayed on the basis of a single particular role-subcategory. Rather, the specific features of particular characters in each dramatic situation were given the highest priority. Yang Chunxia, the original performer of Ke Xiang in Azalea Mountain, confirmed the following in her creative experience: “In traditional jingju, we always include a character in a particular role-type. But it is very different in Azalea Mountain. Which role-type do you think Ke Xiang belongs to? Qingyi [young and middle-aged dignified female]? Huadan [young lively female]? Or wudan [martial female]? I believe none of them is applicable. When we created this character, we focused on her inner world, her personality, and her individuality. This is a major difference between modern jingju and traditional jingju.”8 Paradoxically, in model jingju, the “liberation” from strictly regulated roletypes in character portrayal does not imply an abolition of the concept of role-types or less attention to differences in performance techniques among particular rolesubcategories. Rather, it was a common practice to borrow performance techniques from multiple particular role-subcategories and then fuse them into the presentation of a character’s inner world, personality, and individuality. In Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain, Ke Xiang, an independent, bold revolutionary, rebukes a local despot on her execution ground with extraordinary bravery and courage. Her aria and speech are accompanied by newly designed movement sequences that include a series of wusheng movements, especially step movements. According to Yang Chunxia’s description, “In Scene 2, Ke’s stage-steps are basically wusheng stage-steps, so are her yuanchang.9 In this situation, traditional female stage-steps and traditional female 8. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 9. Yuanchang (round circles) is one of the most basic step movements in traditional jingju performance. Starting with relatively slow steps and then accelerating, the feet step forward alternately, each foot pressing down in the order of heel, sole, and then toes. While both ankles and soles press down, knees bend slightly. The length of steps should be even, and the pace needs to be steady. Routes can be either direct and straight or circular. Information summarized from Wan Fengshu, Xiqu shenduan biaoyan xunlian fa [Training strategies for body movements in xiqu] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 83–84; and Yu Handong, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian [Dictionary of the performing art in China’s xiqu] (Wuhan: Hubei cishu chubanshe, 1994), 550.

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yuanchang are not appropriate. I practiced for a long time, just for this wusheng yuanchang. Each step needs to be big. The waist holds the torso and leads the entire body in a different manner [from traditional young female movement]. In the middle of the scene, Ke performs a cuobu;10 that is also borrowed from wusheng movement vocabulary.”11 Similarly, wusheng and xiaosheng (young dignified male) performance techniques were applied to Fang Haizhen in On the Docks and Jiang Shuiying in Song of the Dragon River. The fusion of the performance techniques of laosheng, wusheng, and xiaosheng is apparent in the principal heroes, Yang Zirong in Tiger Mountain, Li Yuhe in The Red Lantern, Guo Jianguang in Shajiabang, Yan Weicai in White-Tiger Regiment, Hong Changqing in The Red Detachment of Women, Zhao Yonggang in Fighting on the Plain, and Lu Changhai in Boulder Bay—all brave, intelligent, and larger than life in spirit, yet down to earth in fulfilling tasks. Zou Huilan, an expert in jingju performance, provided an observation of the portrayal of Yan Weicai in White-Tiger Regiment: Yan Weicai is a leader of a scout platoon of the Chinese People’s Volunteers; he is calm, decisive, quick in response, and brave. . . . Song Yuqing [the original performer] has a rather good vocal quality meanwhile is well trained in martial skills; therefore, he is able to fuse the manners of laosheng, wusheng, and xiaosheng into the portrayal of this character. Upon Yan Weicai’s first entrance, his liangxiang on a mountain with one hand on his waist is the manner of laosheng; while singing an aria, he straightens up his waist and elegantly looks to his left and right, which is the manner of xiaosheng; his combat skills are in the manner of wusheng.12

There is no doubt that this approach to role-type specific performance techniques can be a severe challenge for performers, who need to familiarize themselves with the performance techniques of other role-subcategories and then fuse them with those of their original role-subcategories. But model jingju creators demonstrated an even greater capacity: some actors portrayed characters with which their original role-type specialization had little applicable experience. Granny Li in The Red Lantern is in her sixties, a typical age for traditional laodan (older female) roles, yet Gao Yuqian, the original performer, had no previous experience with this role-subcategory. I was thirty-seven when I was cast for Granny Li. In traditional productions, I specialized in huadan, qingyi, and also performed daomadan [martial dignified 10. Cuobu (slipping steps) is frequently used in traditional jingju performance when characters, often male characters, are in an urgent, anxious, or nervous situation/state. The two feet are kept at least a shoulder-width apart, and knees bend slightly. While performing a cuobu toward the left, the right leg, led by the right foot and right ankle, rapidly moves toward the left foot with small steps so that the left foot is forced to move in the same direction in the same manner. A cuobu toward the right is performed in the same manner, with the left leg initiating the movement. Information summarized from Wan, Xiqu shenduan biaoyan xunlian fa, 90; and Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 70. 11. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, 11 August 2005. 12. Zou Huilan, Shenduanpu koujue lun [On the movement vocabulary formula] (Lanzhou: Gansu renmin chubanshe, 1985), 85.

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female] roles. I never studied laodan roles, not an aria. . . . Since I knew nothing about traditional laodan, I created Granny Li according to my understanding of this character and did not really think about how to use traditional laodan performance techniques. . . . In the speech, I paid special attention to her inner world, trying to relate it to my own life experience with Japanese invaders; in terms of her stage-steps, I spent a lot of time slowing down because as a huadan performer I was used to moving quickly and nimbly; in terms of her eyes, I had to change my eyes from the big eyes of a younger dan to an old person’s eyes; also, hand gestures are different in that an old woman should not point at things in the very neat way of a young girl.13

A similar case is Han Xiaoqiang, a young dockworker in On the Docks. The script indicates that he is a recent high school graduate, which means he is younger than twenty, a typical age for traditional xiaosheng roles. But the original performer, Zhou Zhuoran, specializes in laosheng. While recalling his experience, Zhou first mentioned the contradictions between his role-type specialization and the new character: It is impossible to use laosheng performance techniques to portray this young man. . . . I was requested to get close to real life as much as possible. But it was a painful process. In early rehearsals, before I picked up a cup, I couldn’t help making a pose first. The director asked me if this was how I would pick up a cup at home. It made me realized that I was trying to apply laosheng movements to my new character. Of course, it was not appropriate, but this was exactly how I was acting because I was not used to the new character. Gradually, I realized that I simply needed to throw my role-type specialization away, as far as possible. Then I had to look for appropriate performance techniques for this new character; if nothing is applicable, then new methods should be created.14

With no direct connections between their role-type specializations in traditional repertory and their parts in model jingju, Gao and Zhou probably stand at one extreme of the spectrum of the changes in the association of role-type specialization and character portrayal in model jingju. To the majority of performers, the bond between characters and traditional role-types loosened so that the latter functioned more like a “database” of performance techniques, and performers took liberty in the arrangement and application of the “data.” Rich as the database is, it was not always able to provide satisfying sources for the portrayal of all new characters; in such cases, performers were expected to create new acting methods. Different from traditional jingju, in which role-types serve as the foundation for the portrayal of individuality and comprehensive performance, in model jingju, character creation was first based on a breakthrough of traditional role-types, and new dynamics were given to the comprehensive use of performance techniques. 13. Gao Yuqian, personal interview, Beijing, 24 December 2004. 14. Zhou Zhuoran, personal interview, Shanghai, 26 May 2005.

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Breaking Traditional Schools of Performance A rich variety of schools of performance constitute a significant dimension of traditional jingju. By the founding of the PRC in 1949, master performers of each principal role-type, and in some cases of particular role-subcategories, had established numerous schools of performance. Major influential schools of performance in traditional jingju during the first half of the twentieth century are listed in Table 6.2. Master performer Ma Lianliang, the founder of the Ma school of laosheng roles, gave the following description of the formation and development of the schools of performance: There are often complex causes of the formation of a particular school of performance. But at least, the founder must have solid training as the foundation. He also needs to learn as many productions as possible and at the same time observe others’ performance as much as possible. With his rich life experience and stage practice, while inheriting a certain school of performance, the actor develops his performance according to his own [vocal and physical] quality. Only in this way could he make the audience realize a unique style in his song, speech, dance-acting, combat, and even in makeup, costumes, music, and repertory. This is the process of starting with inheriting a certain artistic school and then gradually forming one’s own. . . . The formation of a school of performance is the result of developing all that has been inherited.15

Master performer Ma Lianliang’s analysis sheds light on a series of important issues for understanding the significance of the schools of performance in traditional jingju. First, a school of performance often contributes to a self-contained acting style with consistent characteristics in all major aspects of the stage performance. It is true that the primary acting skills featured by a particular role-subcategory usually serve as the major criteria to differentiate the variety of schools of performance associated with the role-subcategory—for example, the major differences among all the schools of performance associated with the laosheng role-subcategory lie primarily in song and speech. However, the unique song and speech of each laosheng school of performance is supported in performance by correspondingly distinctive danceacting and if necessary, combat. In addition to acting skills, master performers often paid special attention to innovations in makeup, costumes, and stage properties. This pattern is consistently evident in all major schools of performance. The second important issue as declared in master performer Ma’s analysis is the crucial interrelation between a particular school of performance and its repertory. During the process of establishing a school of performance, the founding performer interprets both new characters in new plays and old characters in existing plays through his/her acting skills and innovations in all major aspects of stage 15. Ma Lianliang, “Lun shi tu” [On the practice of master-disciple], in Ma Lianliang yishu pinglun ji [Collection of criticism of Ma Lianliang’s art], ed. Wu Xiaoling and Ma Chongren (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian chubanshe, 2001), 413.

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Table 6.2  Major influential schools of performance in jingju during the first half of the twentieth century Role-Type/Role-Subcategory Name of school Founder laosheng (older dignified male) Sun school Sun Juxian Tan school Tan Xinpei Yu school Yu Shuyan Gao school Gao Qingkui Yan school Yan Jupeng Qi school Zhou Xinfang Ma school Ma Lianliang Yang school Yang Baosen Xi school Xi Xiaobo wusheng (martial dignified Shang school Shang Heyu male) Yang school Yang Xiaolou Gai school Gai Jiaotian xiaosheng (young dignified Cheng school Cheng Jixian male) Jiang school Jiang Miaoxiang Yu school Yu Zhenfei Ye school Ye Shenglan dan/younger dan (female/ Wang school Wang Yaoqing younger female) Mei school Mei Lanfang Cheng school Cheng Yanqiu Shang school Shang Xiaoyun Xun school Xun Huisheng Xiao school Xiao Cuihua Zhang school Zhang Junqiu Zhao school Zhao Yanxia Song school Song Dezhu dan/laodan (female/older Gong school Gong Yunfu female) Li school Li Duokui Jin school Jin Shaoshan tongchui hualian (larger-thanlife male, featuring song and Qiu school Qiu Shengrong speech) Hao school Hao Shouchen jiazi hualian (larger-than-life male, featuring speech and Hou school Hou Xirui dance-acting) wujing (larger-than-life male, Qian school Qian Jinfu featuring combat) Xiao school Xiao Changhua wenchou (comic earthy male, featuring song, speech, and dance-acting) Wang school Wang Changlin wuchou (comic earthy male, featuring dance-acting and Ye school Ye Shengzhang combat)

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performance. As a result, a group of new plays and new versions of existing plays become representative of the unique style of a particular school of performance. This process is confirmed in master performer Gao Shenglin’s observation that “every jingju master performer, such as Mei Lanfang [founder of the Mei school], Zhou Xinfang [founder of the Qi school], Yang Xiaolou [founder of the Yang school], and Gai Jiaotian [founder of the Gai school], used to be able to perform 300–400 productions. Only in this way, at the senior stage of their career, could the best repertory be kept and passed down.”16 All the founding performers listed in Table 6.2 contributed their own signature plays and signature characters to the jingju repertory. The third key element in the significance of a school of performance is the individuality in acting, stemming from the close association between a unique acting style and the vocal and physical quality of the founding performer. Based on individual qualities, master performers developed their strengths to the maximum and worked around their weaknesses. For example, in the realm of song, unique singing styles manifest first in variations in vocal placements. Elizabeth Wichmann describes the different approaches of two major schools of performance of dan roles, Mei school and Cheng school: “The vocal technique of the Mei Lanfang school places the voice in the mask of the face. . . . The entire mask of the face is used in resonation; performers describe this process as placing each tone high in the head and forward in the face. . . . In the Cheng [Yanqiu] school, the voice is placed more directly in the centre of the face and somewhat farther back than in the Mei school; it also makes some use of back-of-the-head-sound and spray-mouth projection and is augmented by a bit more resonation in the chest cavity.”17 Different vocal placements are based on the inborn features of performers, and in turn produce variations in vocal timbre. A founding performer of a particular school of performance is usually able to accurately identify his/her advantages as well as disadvantages in vocal and physical quality. Based on this realization, the development of schools of performance contributes to remarkable individuality in jingju acting. Lastly, in the larger picture of the jingju history, schools of performance play a crucial role in the continuation and growth of the performing art. A particular school of performance is often based on the innovations in one or even several schools of performance. After a founding performer establishes a reputation on stage for a unique acting style, the style often serves as the foundation for later performers’ development. It is a crucial step in the career of a professional jingju performer to be accepted in a particular school of performance. Sometimes a performer can be associated with more than one school. This was a common practice until the Cultural Revolution. To a tremendous extent, the development of schools of performance constituted and guaranteed the flowering of traditional jingju. 16. Gao Shenglin, “Yi wu zhi jing” [The path of art does not have an end], in Gao Shenglin biaoyan yishu [Gao Shenglin’s performing art], ed. Zhou Xiaoxian and Jiang Xiwu (Wuhan: Wuhan chubanshe, 1998), 23. 17. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 215.

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The association between traditional schools of performance and acting in model jingju is not explicit. Extensive innovations in acting did not follow a self-contained acting style of any traditional school of performance. But it would be inaccurate to deny the impact of traditional schools of performance on model jingju. This impact manifests in at least two aspects: most performers of major roles were closely associated with one or more traditional schools of performance when they were cast for these productions; in addition, some performance practices directly or indirectly stemmed from the signature plays of certain schools of performance. The association between most performers of major roles in model jingju and traditional schools of performance is surprisingly extensive. Some performers were official disciples of one founder of a school of performance—Liu Changyu, the original performer of Tiemei in The Red Lantern, became an official disciple of master performer Xun Huisheng, the founder of the Xun school, in 1958.18 Some performers were official disciples of more than one founder of a school of performance—Tong Xiangling became an official disciple of master performer Ma Lianliang in 1955, and later, in 1966, became an official disciple of master performer Zhou Xinfang.19 Some performers were official disciples of one master performer while being closely associated with other master performers—Ma Changli, the original performer of Diao Deyi in Shajiabang, studied the Yu school during his early years; then he became an official disciple of master performer Tan Fuying, the representative of the Tan school and the grandson of the founder of the Tan school, Tan Xinpei, in 1954; in the same year, master performer Ma Lianliang accepted him as an adopted son and started instructing him personally in acting; additionally, Ma Changli also studied under master performer Yang Baosen, the founder of the Yang school, during the 1950s.20 Other performers, while not being official disciples, accepted personal instruction from the founders of schools of performance or their direct disciples in the signature plays and characters of the schools—Qian Haoliang, the original performer of Li Yuhe in The Red Lantern, studied under master performer Shang Heyu, who founded the Shang school, master performer Gai Jiaotian, who founded the Gai school, and master performer Gao Shenglin, a generally acclaimed representative of the Yang school.21 Some performers studied intensively under representatives of schools of performance, often disciples of the founders of the schools—Yang Chunxia had years of training under master performer Yan Huizhu, an important representative of the Mei school and a disciple of 18. Huang Jun and Xu Xibo, eds., Jingju wenhua cidian [Dictionary of jingju culture] (Shanghai: Hanyu dacidian chubanshe), 568. 19. Tong, “Yang Zirong” yu Tong Xiangling, 39 and 61. 20. In the jingju circle, the “adoption” bears no legal obligations on either side. It is more of a sign of personal affection. Ma Changli, “Huiyi he Ma Lianliang xiansheng xiangchu de rizi” [Recalling the days spent with master Ma Lianliang], in Ma Lianliang yishu pinglun ji [Collection of criticism of Ma Lianliang’s art], ed. Wu Xiaoling and Ma Chongren (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian chubanshe, 2001), 318–21; and Huang and Xu, Jingju wenhua cidian, 500–501. 21. Huang and Xu, Jingju wenhua cidian, 524.

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master performer Mei Lanfang.22 In addition to the above cases, Tan Yuanshou, the original performer of Guo Jianguang in Shajiabang, is the son of master performer Tan Fuying and therefore continued the family association with the Tan school. With close associations with one or more traditional schools of performance, most performers of major roles in model jingju brought rich experience with the traditional repertory and unique acting styles to their productions. Although the extensive innovations in model jingju acting did not follow the style of any traditional school of performance, many performers recognized that traditional schools of performance nurtured the portrayal of modern characters. In some cases, acting styles were absorbed comprehensively and, therefore, it is difficult to identify specific performance practices unique to a particular school. Tong Xiangling clearly stated, “From the bottom of my heart, I feel that I am lucky because so many master performers supported my artistic explorations. . . . Later in Tiger Mountain, I absorbed all their acting styles and kind of accurately portrayed Yang Zirong through song, speech, dance-acting, and combat.”23 In other cases, traditional performance practices unique to a particular school directly inspired performers in both vocal and physical performance. For example, Ma Yong’an, the original performer of Lei Gang in Azalea Mountain, revealed that “Lei Gang’s movement sequence with chains on his feet in Scene 1 is inspired by master Hao Shouchen’s representative production Li Qi at Changting (Li Qi Changting) in which Li Qi moves around onstage with chains on his feet.”24 Ma confirmed that “the restraint on his [Li Qi’s] leg makes his entrance unique in the jingju tradition: he hops out, and this acting convention always received full-house applause.”25 Performers also studied performance practices of traditional schools with which they were not familiar. Yang Chunxia and Li Lifang—Li is the original performer of Fang Haizhen in On the Docks—were not associated with the Cheng school before participating in model jingju. But they both identified the singing method of the Cheng school as a major inspiration of their song in the model productions.26 Compared to traditional role-types, traditional schools of performance are more loosely associated with acting in model jingju. This situation raises a fascinating and imperative question: Would the performance not be repetitive in the portrayal of the intrinsically similar principal heroes/heroines, without any regular association with schools of performance emphasizing the individuality in acting? Similarities in model jingju acting are evident in aspects including some postures, basic movement vocabulary, and singing dynamics. However, the individuality and personality, psychological state, and emotional experience of characters in particular dramatic situations, including not only principal heroes/heroines but also 22. Ibid., 568. 23. Tong, “Yang Zirong” yu Tong Xiangling, 62. 24. Ma Yong’an, personal interview, Beijing, 1 March 2005. 25. Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 179–80. 26. Liu, Xiandai jingju “yangbanxi” danjue changqiang yinyue yanjiu, 286–87.

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supportive roles, are equally obvious. In model jingju, the portrayal of characters’ individuality is significantly strengthened by breakthroughs in the old form.

Breaking the Old Form The old form of jingju acting refers to the four acting skills, song, speech, danceacting, and combat, that are synthesized through stylized conventions. Elizabeth Wichmann concisely defines that conventions “include specific practices to which fairly precise meanings have been ascribed by tradition. The use of a particular conventional sign serves to signal its ascribed meaning to the audience.”27 Stylization “is considered to be the act of raising and refining the behaviours of daily life, with the aim of making them beautiful—making them a part of the world of Beijing opera performance.”28 And synthesis manifests in the fact that song, speech, and dance-acting are present in almost every jingju performance, and many include stage combat and acrobatics as well. In creating model jingju, a critical move of breaking the old form was crystallized in Jiang Qing’s directive, “Use conventions, avoid conventionalization” (yao chengshi, buyao chengshihua).29 The edict calls for a deconstruction of traditional jingju’s system of conventions and asks for close attention to specific conventions and their applicability to modern stories and characters. Song, speech, dance-acting, and combat in model jingju, therefore, developed specific strategies in creation.

Song The primary principle of song in model jingju is “to stick to the mission of portraying the musical images of proletarian heroes/heroines, and to demonstrate the glamour of their spiritual world precisely, deeply, and vividly.”30 The ideal style is described as “vigorous, bright, guileless, and unostentatious, conveying the sense of a new era.”31 In searching for this style, close attention was directed to four major aspects: vocal production, enunciation, melody embellishment, and dynamics.32 The physical process of producing voice in model jingju is similar to that in traditional jingju in terms of the function of vocal cords, the use of breath, and the 27. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 6. 28. Ibid., 4. 29. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team], “Yuanyu shenghuo gaoyu shenghuo” [Be from life; being higher than life], Hongqi [Red Flag] 12 (1969): 56. 30. Xiao Congshu, foreword to Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao [An introduction to basic knowledge of song study in modern revolutionary jingju] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1975). 31. Ibid., 3. 32. Information summarized from personal interviews with Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February 2005; Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; Yan Guixiang and Tan Xiaozeng, Beijing, 15 April 2005; Zhou Zhuoran, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; and Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005; and telephone interview with Yang Chunxia, Beijing, 11 August 2005; as well as Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao.

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identification of a series of body parts as resonating cavities. A major difference lies in the vocal timbre: As discussed in Chapter 3, traditional young and middle-aged female characters all use small-voice or falsetto. But in model jingju, most young and middle-aged female characters use a combination of small-voice and big-voice. Generally, the higher the pitch gets, the more small-voice is used; the lower the pitch goes, the more big-voice is used.33 Creators generally accepted this new vocal timbre for a vivid portrayal of the bold nature of modern women and for its obvious difference from the traditional soft and sweet aural image of women. Yang Chunxia described her experience with the two vocal timbres as follows: After the Cultural Revolution, sometimes I was invited to sing selected arias. When two arias, one from Azalea Mountain and the other from a traditional production, were performed one after the other, no matter in which order, I always felt that it was hard to adjust my voice [for the second aria]. And I am not the only one who feels so. This is because of the different vocal timbre required by different arias. Traditional voice should be soft and sweet while modern characters should sound uninhibited and straightforward. So, we used a combination of small-voice and big-voice in modern productions. . . . It is very different from the singing in traditional jingju.34

The new vocal timbre is delivered through extended placements of voice with new resonating cavities. Specific positions vary according to individual specific physical features. In Yang’s case, “Placements for both small-voice and big-voice, as well as that for the range in between are used. In terms of resonating cavities, traditional young and middle-aged female roles use the front part of the head the most, but in model jingju, the middle part of the head, sometimes the rear part of the head is used; so is the chest.”35 The changes in vocal timbre for male characters are more case specific. This is primarily because each of the three role-types for traditional male characters has a role-type-specific vocal timbre. When actors with different role-type specializations were cast for a variety of new characters, they encountered different needs for the adjustments. For example, Zhou Zhuoran, when portraying Han Xiaoqiang in On the Docks, adjusted the vocal placement to “a higher place than that of laosheng [Zhou’s role-type specialization] so that he sounds young and energetic.”36 Ma Yong’an observed, “My voice for Lei Gang is not a pure hualian [“painted-face,” another name for larger-than-life male, Ma’s role-type specialization] voice. Lei Gang is thirty-five in the play; a pure hualian voice would make him sound too old. For Lei Gang’s vocal timbre, I tried to get closer to, in Western terminology, the 33. Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 5. 34. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 35. Ibid. In traditional jingju, placements of voice also vary according to schools of performance, which, as a matter of fact, is closely related to the different physical features of performers. Yang Chunxia studied the Mei (Lanfang) school and the Zhang (Junqiu) school, so her analysis is based on the practice of the Mei school and the Zhang school. 36. Zhou Zhuoran, personal interview, Shanghai, 26 May 2005.

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vocal timbre of a tenor; it sounds much brighter than traditional larger-than-life male voice.”37 Enunciation was the second aspect to which performers paid special attention in song. The ideal quality—precision—is highly appreciated in both traditional jingju and model jingju, except that, as discussed in Chapter 5, the pronunciation in the former is based on a combination of dialects, primarily those of Hubei, Anhui, Henan, and Beijing, while putonghua is used in all model jingju. In the song of model jingju, a precise enunciation has at least two major implications: accurate pronunciation and precise feelings conveyed through lyrics. In pursuing clear pronunciation, performers strictly followed the traditional vocal technique emphasizing precise articulations of the “head,” the “belly,” and the “tail” of the single syllable used to pronounce each written-character: the syllable head (written-character head) refers to the beginning section of the syllable, often consisting of consonants; the syllable belly (written-character belly) includes the middle section of the syllable, mostly vowels; the syllable tail (written-character tail) is the ending section of the syllable, including vowels and sometimes consonants. Clear articulation does not imply an equal emphasis on each of the three portions of every syllable, or the same duration for each of the three portions in the pronunciation of a syllable. Rather, it is the diversity in dynamics and duration in pronouncing different sections of syllables that contributes to the emphasis in meaning. For example, the lyrics of the first melodic-line in Ke Xiang’s first aria in Azalea Mountain are “Wuchanzhe dengxian­kan jingtaohailang” (A communist stands firm through wind and storm).38 As the very first melodic-line in the entire production for the principal heroine, it is a significant portrayal of Ke’s extraordinary bravery and calmness upon entering her execution ground. This melodic-line can be further divided into three melodic-sections, wuchanzhe (a communist), dengxiankan (stands firm), and jingtaohailang (through wind and storm). In the first melodic-section, emphasis is given to the syllable heads of both chan and zhe, namely ch and zh, and the syllable bellies and syllable tails of these two syllables are all very short; this compact effect contributes to a decisive musical image. In the second melodic-section, kan (look) is the only verb in the melodic-line; therefore, it is emphasized first by a very short pause after the previous syllable xian, then by “bumping out” the syllable head k, and at last by the clear, yet short, duration of the syllable belly a and the syllable tail n. The third melodic-section jingtaohailang literally means “turbulent waters and fierce waves.” To portray a fearless heroine standing above the waters and waves, the belly and tail of the third syllable hai, a and i, are prolonged. It is followed by a pause before the last syllable lang is delivered in a firm yet smooth manner which conveys the sense that Ke has all the “waters and waves” in control.39 37. Ma Yong’an, personal interview, Beijing, 1 March 2005. 38. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 9. 39. Information summarized from personal interviews with Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005; and Li Zhongcheng, Shanghai, 18 May 2005; as well as my own analysis.

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The other important criterion for enunciation is precision in conveying the specific feeling in a particular dramatic situation. For example, the same writtencharacter used in different contexts can be enunciated in different ways. In Ma Hongliang’s first aria in Scene 6 in On the Docks, he asks, “Who snarled and bared their claws like wolves? Who worked like horses and toiled like oxen? Who set up the steep and narrow ‘high plank’? Who trudged on endlessly in sheer exhaustion?”40 The third Chinese written-character in each line is the same, ren (who/person), but they are enunciated differently when sung. In the first and the third lines, they refer to the old bosses of the docks who exploited the stevedores without mercy, so the syllable head r is given a special emphasis and a front nasal voice is used for en, to convey Ma’s inner tension when he recalls the bitter life in the past. In the second and the fourth lines, ren refers to Ma’s friends and workmates who suffered the exploitation with him, therefore the syllable head r is pronounced much more softly and a less nasal voice is used, to express Ma’s deep feelings for his comrades.41 Based on clearly delivered lyrics made possible by precise enunciation, successfully designed and executed embellishments contribute to a rich and full-flavored melody. Melody embellishment was the third aspect through which performers searched for the ideal singing style in model jingju. In traditional jingju, melody embellishment is a major part of creativity through which performers apply embellishing elements, including grace notes, changes in vocal timbre, and changes in dynamics in song, according to their understanding of a particular melodicpassage.42 Major functions of melody embellishment include to establish a unique style of singing, to convey a particular feeling or musical image, and to help the enunciation.43 In model jingju, melody embellishment is granted the same, if not more, significance. It is considered a crucial artistic method that guarantees the “jingju-ness” of the modern productions.44 Traditional embellishing elements are inherited, and some are used innovatively. In model jingju, three major types of traditional grace notes are utilized: chanyin (shaking-tone), huayin (glide-tone), and yiyin (attached-tone). Each is further divided according to its relationship to the notes that it embellishes. Chanyin, produced by singing a regular pulsating change of pitch by one tone or semitone from the note being embellished, is divided into shang chanyin (upper shaking-tone) with variations above the note, and xia chanyin (lower shaking-tone) with variations below. Huayin, produced by singing a smooth pitch progression, is divided into shang huayin (rising glide-tone) with pitches rising up, xia huayin (falling glidetone) with pitches falling down, and ping huayin (level glide-tone) with a smooth 40. “On the Docks” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, On the Docks, 32. 41. Information summarized from the personal interview with Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005; and Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 32; as well as my own analysis. 42. Yu Huiyong, “Minzu minjian yinyue qiangci guanxi yanjiu” [Relations between melody and lyrics in folk music], Yinyue renwei xushi [Humanistic Narratives in Music] 1 (1997): 74. 43. Ibid. 44. Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 34.

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glide among pitches with very small variations. Yiyin is produced by singing a single or multiple note(s) before or after the main note; the duration of yiyin is usually shorter than half of the main note. Yiyin is divided into dan yiyin (single attached-tone) and fu yiyin (multiple attached-tones). Dan yiyin is further divided into shang yiyin (higher attached-tone), which is higher in pitch than the main note, and xia yiyin (lower attached-tone), which is lower in pitch.45 Traditionally, chanyin and huayin are frequently used for the principal role-type of sheng, in particular laosheng roles, and chanyin and xia huayin are often used at the end of melodiclines of young and middle-aged female roles, in particular qingyi roles. In model jingju, these traditional associations are loosened, and the grace notes are chosen primarily on the basis of the dramatic situation and the emotional state conveyed in particular melodic-passages. For example, shang huayin is delivered in a more compact manner in order to portray an energetic and heroic personality: the progression of pitch is smooth yet very fast, and it even accelerates toward the target note. It is used in Li Yuhe’s last melodic-line in Scene 2 in The Red Lantern, in Yang Zirong’s core aria in Scene 8 in Tiger Mountain, and in Guo Jianguang’s aria in Scene 2 in Shajiabang.46 In addition, it is applied to female characters as well, for instance Ke Xiang’s aria in Scene 5 of Azalea Mountain. As a melody-embellishing element, changes in vocal timbre refer to temporary changes in the vocal timbre while singing certain melodic-phrases. In model jingju, they are often used to emphasize a particular emotional state. For instance, kuyin (crying voice) is used in Chang Bao’s aria in Scene 3 in Tiger Mountain when she recalls her mother’s death; jiasheng (falsetto) is used in Lei Gang’s aria in Scene 8 in Azalea Mountain when he is in deep sorrow for his comrade’s death; kenyin (biting voice) is used in the middle of Ke Xiang’s aria in Scene 5 in Azalea Mountain to portray her inner tension.47 Probably the most innovative vocal timbre change is the use of staccato, a vocal technique borrowed from Western opera, in Fang Haizhen’s aria in Scene 5 in On the Docks. In Fang’s second aria in this scene, she first describes the urgent yet challenging task of finding a missing wheat sack, then recalls the CCP as the “navigating light” that illuminates a voyage’s course,48 and finally confirms the belief that the task will be accomplished successfully. In the middle of this aria, in the ending section of the line “Oh, Party! You’re wind in our sails, navigation light. . . . Wind, speed us through the billowing eaves; light,

45. Ibid., 35–43. 46. Lu Songling, personal interview, Beijing, 9 June 2005; and Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 38. 47. Information summarized from Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 46–49; and personal interviews with Shen Liqun, Beijing, 18 April 2005; Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; and Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005. Kuyin (crying voice) is produced by the combined use of low voice and some nasal voice while singing. Kenyin (biting voice) is produced by slight and rapid changes of the shape of mouth by movement of the lower jaw. 48. “On the Docks” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, On the Docks, 26.

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illuminate our long voyage course,”49 staccato is a powerful method to convey Fang’s tremendous excitement and strength inspired by the CCP.50 As mentioned earlier, changes in vocal dynamics are frequently used in traditional jingju as a melody-embellishing element; usually they are not clearly regulated but are often a flexible issue left to the performers’ discretion. In model jingju, vocal dynamics were emphasized as the fourth area in which performers searched for the ideal singing style. An aspect of major innovation, nine different dynamics are regulated for the song of all characters, and clearly differentiated dynamics are strictly followed in performance (see Table 6.3 for notations).51 Variations in singing Table 6.3  Dynamics in the song of model jingju Notation

Meaning

ppp pp p mp mf f ff fff sf fp sfp

softest very soft soft moderately soft moderately forceful forceful very forceful most forceful extremely forceful forceful then soft extremely forceful then immediately soft

49. Ibid. 50. Information summarized from personal interviews with Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February 2005; and Zhou Zhuoran, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; as well as Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 48. 51. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 227; Zhongguo Jingju Tuan [China Jingju Troupe], Geming xiandai jingju Hongdeng ji (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju The Red Lantern (May 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1972), 186; Beijing Jingju Tuan [Beijing Jingju Troupe], Geming xiandai jingju Shajiabang (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju Shajiabang (May 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1976), 207; Shanghai Jingju Tuan Haigang Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe On the Docks Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Haigang (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju On the Docks (January 1972 version)] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1974), 222; Geming xiandai jingju Dujuanshan zhuxuanlü yuepu (1973 nian 9 yue Beijing Jingju Tuan yanchuben) [Principal melodic score of the revolutionary modern jingju Azalea Mountain (Beijing Jingju Troupe September 1973 version)] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1974), 191; Shandongsheng Jingju Tuan Qixi Baihutuan Juzu [Shandong Province Jingju Troupe Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Qixi Baihutuan zhuxuanlü yuepu (1972 nian 9 yue yanchuben) [Principal melodic score of the revolutionary modern jingju Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (September 1972 version)] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1973), 117; Shanghaishi Longjiang song Juzu [Shanghai Song of the Dragon River Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Longjiang song zhuxuanlü yuepu (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben) [Principal melodic score of the revolutionary modern jingju Song of the Dragon River (January 1972 version)] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1975), 102; and Geming xiandai jingju Panshiwan zhuxuanlü yuepu (Shanghai Jingju Tuan 1975 nian 5 yue yanchuben) [Principal melodic score of the revolutionary modern jingju Boulder Bay (Shanghai Jingju Troupe May 1975 version)] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1976), 106.

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dynamics become a major method for portraying the feelings and inner worlds for all characters, and female characters in model jingju often use more forceful dynamics than their traditional counterparts do. In the songs of major female characters, including Chang Bao in Tiger Mountain, Tiemei and Granny Li in The Red Lantern, Sister Aqing in Shajiabang, Ke Xiang in Azalea Mountain, Fang Haizhen in On the Docks, Jiang Shuiying in Song of the Dragon River, Wu Qinghua and Company Commander in The Red Detachment of Women, and Haiyun in Boulder Bay, dynamics of varying forcefulness are frequently used to emphasize written-characters and melodic-phrases, to express strong emotions, to confirm a belief, and to underscore dramatic tension. These more forceful musical dynamics contribute to the portrayal of independent, modern, and heroic female images.

Speech The most significant feature of speech in model jingju is the use of putonghua, associating with the regional dialect of Beijing, thus contributing to a palpable difference from traditional jingju speech, which consists of a blend of dialects of Hubei, Anhui, Henan, and Beijing.52 In model jingju, performers paid special attention to two major innovations: one was the pursuit of new placements of voice; the other was the experiments in speech rhythms. Despite using the official language in actual life, performers emphasized unanimously, “speech in putonghua should never be an amplified version of daily conversation.”53 Rather, the vocal placement in speech is close to that in song.54 For most female characters, a combination of small-voice and big-voice is used in song, and the placement of the voice between pure small-voice and pure big-voice is significant for speech. According to Yang Chunxia, “In speech, [performers] need to first identify the placement somewhere in-between pure small-voice and pure big-voice. It is higher than that of the pure big-voice. So, the voice can transfer either way smoothly.”55 For major male characters, the changes in the vocal timbre of song are more case specific, but it is time consuming for all performers to adjust vocal placements of song for the speech in putonghua. According to Chi Jinsheng, one of the directors of Shajiabang, “It took time to practice; it is simply very important. Performers all spent time to practice. The pronunciations

52. Occasionally speech in Shanxi dialect and Suzhou dialect is also used in traditional jingju. 53. Personal interviews with Gao Yuqian, Beijing, 24 December 2004; Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February 2005; Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; Yan Guixiang and Tan Xiaozeng, Beijing, 15 April 2005; Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005; Shen Jianjin, Beijing, 26 April 2005; Zhou Zhuoran, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; and Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005; and telephone interviews with Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005; and Yang Chunxia, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 54. Personal interviews with Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February 2005; Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; Yan Guixiang and Tan Xiaozeng, Beijing, 15 April 2005; Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005; and Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005; and telephone interviews with Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005; and Yang Chunxia, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 55. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005.

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and the speech-tones of the speech are all similar to Beijing dialect, but you have to find the correct placement of voice which is close to that of song.”56 With the correct vocal placement, musicality in speech is conveyed through carefully designed and delivered speech rhythms with variations both in long monologues or conversations and in single lines. In Scene 5 in The Red Lantern, Granny Li delivers an important passage of speech in which she reveals the family secret to Tiemei, interspersed with the girl’s reactions. Granny: It’s a long story. Your grandfather was a maintenance man in the Kiangan Locomotive Depot near Hankow. He had two apprentices. One was your own father, Chen Chih-hsing. Tiemei: My father, Chen Chih-hsing? Granny: The other was your present dad, Chang Yu-ho. Tiemei: Oh, Chang Yu-ho? Granny: At that time, the country was torn by strife among warlords. Then (Rises.) Chairman Mao and the Communist Party led the Chinese people in waging revolution. In February 1923, workers of the Peking-Hankow Railway set up a federation of trade unions in Chengchow. One of the warlords, Wu Pei-fu, a stooge of the foreign invaders, tried to ban it. At the call of the federation, all the workers on the line went on strike. More than ten thousand in Kiangan took to the street and demonstrated. That was another cold, dark night. I was so worried about your grandfather I couldn’t sit still or go to sleep. I was mending clothes by the lamp when I heard someone knocking at the door, calling, “Aunty, aunty, quick, open the door.” I did, and in rushed a man. Tiemei: Who was it? Granny: Your dad. Tiemei: My dad? Granny: Yes, your present dad. He was covered with wounds, and in his left hand he held this very signal lantern . . . Tiemei: The signal lantern? Granny: In his right arm he held a baby. Tiemei: A baby . . . Granny: A baby less than one year old. Tiemei: That baby . . . Granny: That baby was none other than . . . Tiemei: Than who? Granny: Than you. Tiemei: Me? 56. Chi Jinsheng, telephone interview, Beijing, 10 August 2005.

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Granny: Hugging you tightly to his chest, with tears in his eyes your dad stood before me and shouted, “Aunty, aunty . . .” For several minutes he just stared at me and couldn’t go on. Terribly worried, I urged him to speak. He . . . he said, “My master and Brother Chen . . . have been murdered. This is Chen’s child, a future successor to the revolution. I must bring her up to carry on the revolution.” He added, “Aunty, from now on I am your own son and this child is your own granddaughter.” Then I took you and held you tight in my arms. Tiemei: Granny! (Buries her head in Granny’s arms.)57

In this passage, Granny Li’s speech consists of 407 written-characters. Gao Yuqian recalled her initial reactions vividly. “I did not anticipate so much speech in this production. It was a big surprise that the family history was told by speech [instead of song]. In this speech, Granny Li needs to clarify the complex relations among five people: Li Yuhe, Granny Li’s husband, Tiemei’s father, Tiemei, and Granny Li herself. It was indeed a challenge. I worked on it sentence by sentence. Changes in rhythm are extremely important.”58 Rhythm changes here embrace variations in both speech tempo and dynamics. When Granny Li starts the story, her tone is mild, her speech tempo moderate. As she excitedly recalls “Chairman Mao and the Communist Party led the Chinese people in waging revolution,” her speech tempo starts to accelerate and her vocal dynamic also starts to strengthen. This section comes to the first climax in the line “More than ten thousand in Kiangan took to the street and demonstrated.” Immediately following a short pause after this climax is “That was another cold, dark night,” which is delivered in a decelerated tempo as Granny Li relates the sad memory of her husband’s death. The speech reaches its slowest tempo in the line “I was mending clothes by the lamp.” When Granny Li starts the important narration of Li Yuhe’s arrival on that cold and dark night, her speech tempo quickens, yet the speech dynamic is very soft; it conveys the danger and urgency of the situation. The dynamic grows with the narration of Li Yuhe’s arrival, and the voice is strong and firm during the short and fast conversation between Granny Li and Tiemei. As the conversation shifts to Granny Li’s monologue about the formation of this special family, the emotion is at its apex; the speech tempo is fast with several writtencharacters slowed down for emphasis, and the dynamic builds all the way to the last line, “Then I took you and held you tight in my arms.” In the course of Granny Li’s monologue about the formation of the special family, the overall speech tempo is rapid, and lines are connected in a compact manner, yet the speech rhythm of each line is also meticulously rehearsed, and certain written-characters are delivered with variations in speech tempo. For example, when Granny Li narrates Li Yuhe recalling the death of her husband and Tiemei’s father, her line is “Wo shifu gen wo Chen shixiong dou .  .  . xisheng le” 57. China Peking Opera Troupe, The Red Lantern, 20–21. 58. Gao Yuqian, personal interview, Beijing, 24 December 2004.

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(My master and Brother Chen have both . . . been murdered). In order to convey Granny Li’s deep sorrow, the pronunciation of the syllable dou (both) is prolonged and slowed down, followed by a short pause. Similarly, when Granny Li narrates Li Yuhe’s decision to adopt Tiemei, her line is “Wo yao ba ta fuyang chengren, jicheng geming” (I must bring her up to carry on the revolution). The last four syllables, jicheng geming (to carry on the revolution) are slightly slowed down with the last one, ming, prolonged yet delivered very firmly so as to emphasize the strong revolutionary belief of both Li Yuhe and Granny Li. Granny Li’s spoken delivery of her family history has been an exemplary innovation in the art of speech in model jingju. Gao Yuqian specially emphasized the significance of her earlier performing experience in huaju productions in nurturing this creation. She described her use of huaju speech techniques as “a subconscious borrowing.”59 In fact, for speech in model jingju, many performers worked closely with huaju practitioners and learned from them with special attention and interest. For both On the Docks and Azalea Mountain, huaju performers went through the speech passages line by line with jingju performers, sharing their experiences with vocal production, rhythm, tone, and stress.60 Many performers considered this beneficial. Yang Chunxia confirmed, “Huaju performers have extremely rich experience with speech. In our production, I learned two major things from them: one was that they taught us how to use stress to emphasize the right words; the other was how to convey the sense of real life in speech. Huaju speech sounds closer to real life than traditional jingju speech. If we want to portray modern characters, we need to learn from them.”61 Zhou Zhuoran described the collaborative experience: Speech in model jingju was a new challenge for us. . . . Huaju performers worked with us very seriously. They listened to us first and contributed their opinions. Then we practiced with their help. Of course, they understood that jingju was different from huaju, so we need to pay attention to some special jingju practices. For instance, jiaoban is a special jingju thing and we need to keep the musicality in it,62 otherwise performers can’t start the singing. . . . We worked together line by line. Speech in On the Docks needs to be close to real life, so huaju speech was very useful.63

59. Ibid. 60. Personal interviews with Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February and 3 May 2005; Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; Yan Guixiang and Tan Xiaozeng, Beijing, 15 April 2005; Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005; Zhou Zhuoran, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; and Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005; and telephone interview with Yang Chunxia, Beijing, 11 August 2005. Huaju performers from Beijing People’s Art Theatre and Shanghai Huaju Company participated in this process. Among the huaju performers were master performer Dong Xingji, who worked for On the Docks, and master performers Diao Guangtan and Zhu Lin, who worked for Azalea Mountain. 61. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 62. Jiaoban (calling-out ban) refers to a short phrase delivered right before an aria starts. Usually the tempo and dynamics of jiaoban indicate the tempo and dynamics of the aria. In traditional jingju, jiaoban is used before most arias. It is also frequently used in model jingju. 63. Zhou Zhuoran, personal interview, Shanghai, 26 May 2005.

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Dance-acting For the production team of Tiger Mountain, “how to deal with jingju dance conventions” was “one of the first conflicts” they encountered, and they described mixed feelings for traditional dance-acting as follows:64 In revolutionary modern jingju, if the old conventions were applied mechanically in the intact form, we would have damaged and distorted proletarian heroic images and moved backward by hundreds and thousands of years in the sense of era. However, on the other hand, if these old dance conventions were totally abandoned, the signature style of jingju dance would have been lost, the sources beneficial to our creations would have been missed, and we would have separated ourselves from the masses.65

The summary of this creative process indicates that Jiang Qing’s directive “Use conventions, avoid conventionalization” had a two-faceted manifestation: on the one hand, it required a certain extent of stylized refinement and opposed naturalistic performance; on the other hand, it called for vivid portrayals of specific dramatic actions and opposed formalistic approaches.66 Using this rationale, for the skiing dance in Scene 9, technique directors did not use ski poles that were considered “naturalistic elements limiting performance,” nor did they apply completely conventionalized movement sequences that are frequently used for travel scenes in traditional repertory, because these techniques were considered “a formalistic digression from life.”67 The final section of the skiing dance portrays twelve soldiers ascending a mountain during a heavy snowstorm. The description in script consists of four simple sentences: “One solider starts climbing and slips; two others mount, carrying ropes. One of them slips and tries again. They lower the ropes when they reach the top. Chief of Staff and his men grasp the ropes and follow.”68 Mountain climbing with ropes is certainly an action of modern times, and the movement vocabulary in traditional jingju does not provide any set of gestures or motions that can be directly applied to portray this process. Consequently, the final form of this dance portrays the adventure through an innovative combination of carefully chosen traditional acting conventions and refined dance-acting movements imitating mountain climbing. The stage is empty, the movement sequences are executed with musical accompaniment, and performers do not use any stage properties. The core section of this dance features two lead climbers.

64. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Yuanyu shenghuo gaoyu shenghuo,” 56. 65. Ibid. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 48.

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The front soldier grasps a hand of the rear soldier’s, and the two mount together. The rear solider executes bengzi and, with both hands, indicates grasping hold of a rock.69 The two release [imaginary] ropes from the [imaginary] racks on their waists and throw them upwards at the same time, using their right hands. They execute piantui while leaping to portray that the two top ropes are anchored.70 They land with gongjian bu, and then lie down, first on their right sides.71 [To indicate that they climb up using ropes,] the actors lie on the ground with knees bent and weight on heels and upper backs; they move in the direction towards which their heads point, with their hands alternating in grasping [imaginary] ropes in the air. They then execute diejian and stand in gongjian bu,72 alternating hands three times in grasping the ropes while climbing up, with right hands moving first. They turn around and stand straight, looking up, and climb up the ropes while their feet perform suibu.73 This is followed by the technique feiyan while their hands alternating twice in grasping the ropes to climb up.74 They then execute shuaiti and land with right legs executing sheyan.75 After a small cuanbu,76 the soldier on the right stops in the pose gongjian bu, the left soldier stands straight, and the two pose [to indicate a successful ascend].77 69. Bengzi is a basic acting convention featuring jumping techniques in traditional jingju. Performers leap with the left leg raised first and the right leg follows. 70. Piantui is a basic acting convention featuring leg techniques in traditional jingju. Performers first stretch both arms level, then swiftly raise a leg, swing the leg to the side after the foot reaches the highest point possible, and kick the hand of that side. Piantui can be performed on either side. 71. Gongjian bu is a basic acting convention featuring legs and feet techniques in traditional jingju. When performing a gongjian bu on the right side, performers move the right leg and make a big step to the right until the right thigh is parallel to the ground, and straighten the left leg with the left sole flat upon the ground. While performing gongjian bu, the upper torso should be straight, and performers can design movements for arms and hands that are appropriate for a particular dramatic situation. Gongjian bu can be performed on either side. 72. Diejian, also called diejin, is a basic acting convention of traditional jingju, featuring jumping and turning techniques. Performers first lie on the ground with palms pressing flat on the floor on each side of the head, fingers pointing down toward the feet. Then, with both legs straight and held together, the performer raises the midtorso and buttocks from the floor and, with weight now on the upper back and shoulders, jumps upright by pushing against the ground with palms and leading the jump with legs and torso. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 170. 73. Suibu is a basic acting convention featuring stepping techniques in traditional jingju. Performers raise the heels and place body weight on the balls of the feet, then move rapidly in very small steps. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 70. 74. Feiyan, also called shuang feiyan, is a basic acting convention featuring jumping and turning techniques from traditional jingju. There are three types of feiyan: front, back, and side; in this movement sequence, performers use the side feiyan. For the side feiyan, performers jump high in the air with legs raised to either side and then pat the tops of the feet with their hands, eyes looking forward and upper torso leaning forward. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 126–27. 75. Shuaiti, also called shuaicui, is a basic acting convention of traditional jingju, featuring jumping and turning techniques. Performers perform a back somersault and land on either both feet at the same time or on only the right foot. Sheyan is a basic acting convention featuring leg techniques from traditional jingju. With both arms stretched to the side, performers stand on one leg, raise the other leg, and lean the torso backward until it forms a straight line with the working leg. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 145. 76. Cuanbu is a basic acting convention in traditional jingju, featuring stepping techniques. Performers raise the left foot and make a small jump, then land on the left foot only, with the right leg joining the left but with the right foot raised in the air. 77. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 255–57.

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The fusion of acting conventions from traditional jingju and refined danceacting movements imitating mountain climbing illustrates a fine balance between tradition and innovation. In this movement sequence, traditional acting conventions help to achieve a convincing portrayal of modern mountain climbing with ropes and, simultaneously, remain loyal to the musicality and indicative style of jingju acting. For example, performers use suibu—a traditional, basic acting convention featuring stepping techniques—to portray the swift moves of the two lead soldiers. In traditional jingju, suibu is usually used to indicate a character’s anxiety or excitement. A typical dramatic situation calling for this technique would be a farewell scene in which a couple ran into each other’s arms to say goodbye: trembling with high emotion, characters raise their heels, placing their weight on the balls of their feet, then rapidly move toward each other taking very small steps. In Scene 9 of Tiger Mountain, suibu is not associated with its traditional function or context but is used to denote the small and rapid steps that a soldier takes to mount a cliff. With this successful imitation of realistic movement, the acting convention convincingly conveys a sense of urgency and suspense. In the meantime, because the performers’ feet move on the ground instead of climbing up any realistic set piece, the movement is also consistent with the style of “writing meaning” in traditional jingju acting. When movement vocabularies absorbed from various sources were woven together, special attention was placed on close observation of the “grammar” in jingju dance-acting language, or, in the performers’ words, “they simply need to look like jingju.”78 In Scene 7 of White-Tiger Regiment, Yan Weicai performs a movement sequence depicting the removal of a mine. A primary member of the original creative team, Zhou Wenlin, analyzed the considerations for the arrangements as follows: To remove a mine is new for jingju performance. We never had it before. The movements need to appear realistic in the military sense; meanwhile they have to look like jingju movements. So, our design is that Yan Weicai steps on the mine with his right foot and this foot keeps still; this is military common sense. But what is the next? I thought that we had to exaggerate because this is jingju performance. So, we used the basic leg movement of traditional wusheng roles. While facing the auditorium, he moves the left foot slowly to stage left. When the two feet are wide apart, he takes a dagger out of a pocket, digs around the right foot softly, and then listens to the mine carefully. These are all imitations of military movements. After making a judgment about the mine, he goes ahead with the removal. For this part, we used woyu for his left leg:79 Yan Weicai keeps his right foot still and moves the 78. Personal interviews with Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; and Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005. 79. Woyu is a basic movement in traditional jingju performance. Performers crouch low to the floor, knees bent, one on top of the other, with feet out to the sides in a modified “crossed legs” posture; the torso stays straight up, then turns until the back, or part of the back, touches the ground. The turn can be performed from either side of the body. Information summarized from Wan, Xiqu shenduan biaoyan xunlian fa, 135; and Yu,

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left foot towards stage right, putting the left leg behind the right one, and then crouches on the ground. For his torso, we used tanhai.80 Then he uses the dagger and disconnects the mine. After the mine is removed, he performs a dan manzi [single side somersault] and leaves the spot.81

Zhou specially emphasized the significance of “jingju-ness” in the design and arrangement of movements. “For this kind of movement sequence, you can’t make things up out of the blue. Jingju is good at exaggeration so you have to choose a suitable jingju movement vocabulary for this exaggeration. Sometimes imitation of military movements is necessary, but they need to be fused with our [jingju] movements.”82

Combat Combat in model jingju shares similar characteristics with dance-acting: the most basic movement sequences are selected from traditional combat, they also serve as the foundation for variations, and combat design is developed for particular dramatic situations with a blend of selected traditional movement sequences and their variations, as well as modern military movements. In addition, model jingju combat reflects at least two major aspects of experimentation: it conveys a stronger sense of reality, and it uses modern weapons. Conveying a sense of reality is an important principle of combat in model jingju. In movement, this sense of reality calls for innovations in tempo, angle, size, and dynamics.83 Wang Zhenpeng, a technique director and performer in Tiger Mountain, pointed out that “a sense of reality is a must. It is the same with all combat movements in model jingju. . . . You have to look like you are really fighting. So, our goal is that the more real, the better. The tempo has to be fast. For the characters, the combat is for survival.”84 Wang Zhenpeng used the combat between Yang Zirong and Vulture in Scene 10 of Tiger Mountain as an example: At the beginning of the battle, Yang Zirong uses a pistol. But as the lead role, he should perform combat more directly with the bandits. So, our design is that he is out of bullets when Vulture attacks him with a sword. In this way, the battle becomes very dramatic and breathtaking. In addition, we can use movements from Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 101. 80. Tanhai is a basic movement in traditional jingju performance. Performers stand on one foot, and the torso leans forward slowly with both arms stretching out to the side and the other leg rising from behind until the sole faces up. Information summarized from Wan, Xiqu shenduan biaoyan xunlian fa, 134; and Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 101. 81. Zhou Wenlin, personal interview, Jinan, 22 June 2005. 82. Ibid. 83. Information summarized from personal interviews with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005; Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005; and Sun Hongxun, Beijing, 29 July 2005. 84. Wang Zhenpeng, personal interview, Shanghai, 29 May 2005.

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Staging Revolution the traditional movement sequence of tushou dui dandao [bare hands vs. single sword]. At first, Vulture has the sword, but later Yang Zirong takes it from Vulture’s hand. In this combat sequence, all movements are more forceful, sharper, and faster than a regular traditional combat sequence. No matter who uses the sword to attack, the blade is always very close to the target person. It requires high combat skills.85

Compared to regular traditional combat scenes, combat movements in model jingju evidence a commonality in the pursuit of this sense of reality: they are larger in size and are connected in a more compact manner with a faster tempo and a sharper dynamic. The sense of reality is closely associated with and realized by the use of modern weapons. In addition to pistols, Type 38 rifles, sometimes with bayonets, are the major weapons widely used in combat.86 Type 38 rifles were extensively used in China during the Second Civil War (1927–1937), the War of Resistance against Japan (1937–1945), the War of Liberation (1945–1949), and the Korean War (1950– 1953); it is historically accurate to use them in productions set in these historical periods. But, for performers, new weapons initiated a series of challenges including, among many others, how to hold rifles or whether to carry them on shoulders while moving around, how to use force with new weapons and bayonet-fighting, as well as combat with rifles and other weapons.87 A simple movement of turning around with a rifle on one shoulder requires both familiarity with the weapon and the creation of a turn with jingju’s flavor. As Wang Zhenpeng described, “We were not familiar with these weapons. At first, my rifle-strap kept slipping down the shoulder as soon as I moved.”88 Familiarity with modern weapons was later achieved through intensive military training, in some cases by performers living and training with soldiers for several months, as for the production of Tiger Mountain, and in other cases by soldiers coaching performers on particular military movements such as bayonet-fighting, as for the production of White-Tiger Regiment.89 Such firsthand experience was further supported by contributions from dancers and martial art masters. For example, Zhou Wenlin emphasized that a solo dance piece for a soldier with a rifle was a significant inspiration for his creation;90 in Azalea Mountain, performers received

85. Ibid. 86. Weapons are made of materials including wood, bamboo, and fabric. 87. Information summarized from personal interviews with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005; and Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005. 88. Wang Zhenpeng, personal interview, Shanghai, 29 May 2005. 89. Information summarized from personal interviews with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005; and Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005. 90. Zhou Wenlin, personal interview, Jinan, 22 June 2005.

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special training in a martial art movement sequence with a three-section cudgel stick for the combat scene in which it is used as a major weapon.91 In the acting of model jingju, creators and performers were both idealists and realists: in the pursuit of an original, yet not entirely strange, form, which did not only serve the content but also constituted the content, they devoted themselves to the search for appropriate opportunities to introduce traditional practices to modern characters. From specific strategies, especially the Three Breakdowns, an overall pattern of creation can be discerned: the deconstruction of traditional practices and the liberty of selecting appropriate traditional elements and fusing them with new ones, be they borrowed from other performing arts or newly created. In some cases, to deconstruct means to destroy, and to break down leads to abandonment. In other cases, to break down leads to breakthrough; the deconstruction nurtures innovative and alternative practices that embody unique aesthetic qualities of model jingju, and it will be further examined in Coda. In the original wording of the Three Breakdowns (san dapo), the verb dapo is intriguing. In Chinese, it can indicate either “to break down” or “to break through.” The summary of this creative method, as highlighted at the beginning of this chapter, first appeared in an article delineating the creative experience with musical imagery in Tiger Mountain. The article called for new developments free from the limitations of traditional musical composition and singing techniques; the verb dapo, therefore, seems to embrace both “to break down” and “to break through.” The discussion in this chapter stems from, and to certain extent is inspired by, this ambiguity that is directly implicated in the interrelationship between tradition and innovation in model jingju. We will soon see in the next chapter that music is yet another domain for breakthroughs.

91. Gao Mukun, personal interview, Beijing, 4 April 2005; and Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005.

7 Fresh yet Familiar: Music

When describing the experience of cooperating with a general conductor of an orchestra comprised of both Chinese and Western instruments, master gushi—the orchestra conductor in traditional jingju—Zhang Xinhai, recalls challenges in Tiger Mountain: At first, I felt it was stressful to have a general conductor who was accustomed to conducting a Western orchestra: I had to follow him, while the other three percussionists [players of the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals] followed me. We [all instruments] had to play in ensemble. But sometimes we couldn’t make it; quite often they [Western instruments] began sooner and we [Chinese percussive instruments] began later. . . . In addition, it has been a rule [in traditional jingju] that the percussive orchestra follows the stage performers. So, my two eyes were actually looking at different places, one eye focusing on the stage performers, the other looking at the general conductor.1

In searching for solutions, Zhang memorized the entire comprehensive score, so that he was aware of all the cues and the timing for percussive music participation. Meanwhile, he and other jingju percussionists practiced meticulously, aiming at a faster start realized by a quickened reaction time to the gushi’s signals. “As for the problem of coming in too late, we realized that it was due to our way of playing. We were used to the way in which they waited for [and then reacted to] my signals, but in this production, I had to wait for the signals of the general conductor first. Therefore, using these traditional methods, we were always too late. So, we decided to experiment for a tighter connection. As soon as I moved, they had to start immediately. We had numerous rehearsals because this is actually a change in our way of playing.”2 As Zhang accurately observes, changes in playing techniques for percussionists in Tiger Mountain are closely associated with a new orchestral structure, a new type of musical composition, and a new conceptualization of musical accompaniment. The experiments conducted by Zhang and his colleagues reveal merely the “tip of 1. Zhang Xinhai, personal interview, Shanghai, 16 May 2005. 2. Ibid.

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the iceberg” of the comprehensive innovations required of music in model jingju. In xiqu, distinctive music often provides the signature characteristics of a particular form, and therefore plays a crucial role in defining and shaping major changes in the form. As Chapter 2 revealed, the significance of music to traditional jingju was raised as early as January 1951, when the Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau acknowledged that jingju was more suitable for presenting stories set in the past, and pinpointed music as the key element in future development, emphasizing that “to make this old music present the rhythm of social life in service of the new reality, we think this should be raised as the issue for jingju development today.”3 Two decades later, music in model jingju offered answers to this quandary, and the musical dimension has been generally acknowledged as the most successful among these productions’ artistic aspects. Wang Renyuan—a Chinese researcher whom Paul Clark precisely acknowledges to be “among the first Chinese scholars to draw a distinction between the art and the politics of the Cultural Revolution works, and take the former seriously”4—argues, “From the artistic perspective, the most prominent achievement of ‘model jingju’ is music. It is the reason for the fairly high artistic value of this group of modern plays, and for the popularity of quite a few melodic-passages today, even when the productions are not active onstage any longer.”5 Forcefully arguing against the iconoclastic and xenophobic approaches to Cultural Revolution culture, Barbara Mittler emphasizes that music in model works “is based in great part on traditional Chinese as well as Western musicodramatic heritage,”6 proposing the concept of “pentatonic romanticism” to interpret the hybrid of the two.7 In this chapter, I approach music in model jingju from four perspectives: orchestra organization (yuedui), percussive music (daji yue), instrumental music (peiqu), and vocal-melodic music (changqiang). This organization parallels the structure of traditional jingju music, thus allowing an efficient approach to the connections between the two. In model jingju, extensive innovations in each of the four major constituents demonstrate significant, new dimensions of musical composition.

Orchestra Organization The orchestra of model jingju, often referred to as the Zhong-Xi hunhe yuedui (Chinese-Western combined orchestra) or Zhong-Xi hunbian yuedui (ChineseWestern mixed orchestra), is a combination of traditional jingju orchestra, Chinese folk instruments, and Western instruments. This combination is realized through 3. “Wenhuabu Xiqu Gaijinju fuhan tan youguan xigai zhengce de sange wenti,” 22. 4. Clark, Chinese Cultural Revolution, 44. 5. Wang, Jingju “yangbanxi” yinyue lungang, 3. 6. Mittler, “Cultural Revolution Model Works and the Politics of Modernization in China,” 73. 7. Barbara Mittler discusses the concept and its manifestations in model works in both “Cultural Revolution Model Works and the Politics of Modernization in China” and her book, Continuous Revolution.

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artistic experiments in the use of instruments, orchestral composition, orchestral conducting, and playing techniques. The size of the new orchestra, with thirty to forty musicians playing fifty to sixty instruments, is fairly substantial compared to its more economical traditional counterpart, which features only eight or nine musicians who sometimes need to play more than one instrument. Table 7.1 provides a list of instruments commonly used in the traditional jingju orchestra.8 The most frequently used—in bold—include five percussive instruments and three melodic instruments. Except for water cymbals, which are often used for battle scenes set in water, all instruments in Table 7.1 are included in model jingju, where they are augmented with more than twenty other Chinese instruments and, on average, thirty Western instruments. Table 7.2 lists instruments forming the orchestras of Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, On the Docks, and White-Tiger Regiment. There are often five to seven percussionists playing both Chinese and Western percussive instruments; musicians playing Western woodwind instruments often play Chinese wind instruments as well.9 Despite slight variations in the number of string instruments, flutes, and kettledrums, all five orchestras cited in Table 7.2 include every major section of Western orchestral structure, including Western string, woodwind, brass, and percussive instruments. The Western section actively participates in the musical accompaniment that runs throughout every production, a significant innovation in the jingju history. The practice of using Western instruments in jingju began during the first two decades of the twentieth century, but their role in accompaniment was often limited. One famous example is using the piano and the violin in master performer Shang Xiaoyun’s production Matanga Girl (Modengjia nü) during the 1920s. Recordings of arias and descriptions of the performance clearly indicate that the piano and the violin were most probably used to accompany only the master performer’s England country dance toward the end of production.10 Therefore, the 8. Information summarized from Liu Jidian, Jingju yinyue gailun [General discussions on jingju music] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1993), 7–10; and Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 225–36. 9. Information summarized from “Orchestra Formation” pages in Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan zongpu (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (July 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1971); Zhongguo Jingju Tuan [China Jingju Troupe], Geming xiandai jingju Hongdeng ji zongpu (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju The Red Lantern (May 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1971); Shanghai Jingju Tuan Haigang Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe On the Docks Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Haigang zongpu (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju On the Docks (January 1972 version)] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1977); Beijing Jingju Tuan [Beijing Jingju Troupe], Geming xiandai jingju Shajiabang zongpu (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju Shajiabang (May 1970 version)] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1973); and Shandongsheng Jingju Tuan Qixi Baihutuan Juzu [Shandong Province Jingju Troupe Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment Production Team], Geming xiandai jingju Qixi Baihutuan zongpu (1972 nian 9 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (September 1972 version)] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1977). 10. See more information in Goldstein, Drama Kings, 165–66; and Zhang Yihe, Lingren wangshi: Xie gei bu kan xi de ren kan [Stories of performers: Written for people who do not go to theatre] (Changsha: Hunan wenyi chubanshe, 2006), 7.

Fresh yet Familiar: Music 157 Table 7.1  Instruments frequently used in the traditional jingju orchestra Major types

Instruments

Quantity

Percussive orchestra

single-skin drum (danpigu) clappers (ban) large gong (daluo) small gong (xiaoluo) cymbals (naobo) large tang drum (datanggu) small tang drum (xiaotanggu) water cymbals (shuibo) large cymbals (dabo) chaguo qi cymbals (qibo) muyu Cantonese clappers (Guangdongban) “bump bells” (pengzhong) small tang gong (xiaotangluo) large “screen” gong (dashailuo)

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

Melodic orchestra

jinghu jing’erhu yueqin xiaosanxian dizi sheng suona haidi

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 or 2 1

use of Western instruments in Matanga Girl is fundamentally different from the experiments in the orchestra of model jingju in that the two individual instruments participate in performance separately from the traditional jingju orchestra, they only appear in a particular scene during the performance, and they accompany a Western-style performance. Imposing stricter pitch and intonation requirements for Chinese instruments is the primary strategy employed to ensure that instruments from the three sources—Western symphony, Chinese folk music, and traditional jingju—can perform together. As Table 7.2 illustrates, some Chinese percussive instruments are categorized with clear indications of their pitch range. For example, three types of large gongs with different pitch ranges—high, medium, and low—are used in all productions. Various small gongs and cymbals are also categorized according to pitch range. In general, high-pitched percussive instruments accompany the song,

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158 Table 7.2  Instruments in the orchestra of five model jingju Major sections Chinese instruments

Chinese percussive instruments

Instruments

Quantity

clappers (ban) Cantonese clappers (Guangdongban)*** single-skin drum (danpigu) large tang drum (datanggu)** small tang drum (xiaotanggu) Korean long drum (Chaoxian changgu)** “military” gong (wuluo) medium “bright” gong (zhongguangluo)* high pitch large gong (gaoyin daluo) medium pitch large gong (zhongyin daluo) low pitch large gong (diyin daluo) large “bright” gong (daguangluo)* high pitch small gong (gaoyin xiaoluo)* medium pitch small gong (zhongyin xiaoluo)* low pitch small gong (diyin xiaoluo) small gong (xiaoluo) large “screen” gong (dashailuo) “clear-the-way” gong (kaidaoluo)** cymbals (naobo) small cymbals (xiaobo) “hoarse” cymbals (yabo) large “hat” cymbals (damaobo)**** high pitch cymbals (gaoyinbo)* medium pitch cymbals (zhongyinbo)* large cymbals (dabo)* qi cymbals (qibo)*** large qi cymbals (daqibo)** large ding cymbals (dadingbo)** chaguo [similar to small cymbals]*** “bump bells” (pengzhong)

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 or 2 1 or 2 1, 2, or 3 1 1 1 1 1, 2, or 3 1 or 2 1 1 or 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1

(continued on p. 159) * Only used in The Red Lantern ** Only used in White-Tiger Regiment *** Only used in Shajiabang **** Only used in Tiger Mountain ***** Only used in On the Docks

Fresh yet Familiar: Music 159 Table 7.2  Instruments in the orchestra of five model jingju (continued) Major sections Chinese instruments

Instruments Chinese melodic instruments

Quantity

Chinese bowed instruments

jinghu jing’erhu banhu gaohu* erhu zhonghu***

1 1 or 2 1 1 1 or 2 2

Chinese plucked instruments

yueqin xiaosanxian*** pipa zhongruan*** daruan dasanxian***

1 1 1 1 1 1

Chinese wind zhudi instruments qudi haidi bangdi** zhuguan**** guanzi*** suona paisheng others

Western instruments

jianpan paisheng yangqin*** bianzhong**

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 or 2 1 1 1 1

Western string instruments

violin I violin II viola violoncello contrabass

4 or 3*** 3 or 2*** 2 1 or 2* 1

Western woodwind instruments

piccolo flute oboe clarinet bassoon English horn*

1 2 or 1*** 1 1 1 1 (continued on p. 160)

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160 Table 7.2  Instruments in the orchestra of five model jingju (continued) Major sections Western instruments

Instruments

Quantity

Western brass instruments

horn trumpet trombone

2 2 1

Western percussive instruments

vibraphone kettledrum cymbals suspension cymbal snare drum celesta***

1 2 or 3 1 1 1 1

others

harp*****

1

speech, and dance-acting of positive characters; low-pitched ones are used for negative characters. A similarly strict approach to intonation was applied to melodic instruments. Cao Baorong, a jinghu and jing’erhu player, recalled her experience with the requirement. “Intonation was a big issue. Musicians were asked to be very precise with it. It was never so strict in traditional jingju where there was much more elasticity for intonation. But when we had to play with Western instruments, it was a different story. All instruments had to be precisely tuned.”11 The elaborate combination of Chinese and Western instruments called for careful orchestral composition. According to Zhang Jianmin, a major orchestral composer for The Red Lantern, and Gong Guotai, a major orchestral composer for Tiger Mountain, On the Docks, Azalea Mountain, Song of the Dragon River, and Boulder Bay, the focus of their work was to create arrangements for ensemble play that took advantage of both the Western and the Chinese instrumentation, accommodating their different timbres while maintaining the characteristics of jingju. Composer Yu Huiyong was the general leader, organizer, and supervisor of this experiment.12 Both Zhang and Gong confirmed several principles that Yu established for orchestral composition: first, to avoid orchestrations that sound exotic, heavy, strange, or messy; second, to follow a certain hierarchy of priorities in the use of instruments in vocal-melodic music; and, third, to arrange for Chinese and Western instruments to support each other in the orchestration in general.13

11. Cao Baorong, personal interview, Beijing, 4 February 2005. 12. Yu Huiyong was a lead composer for On the Docks, Tiger Mountain, Azalea Mountain, and Song of the Dragon River. He also served as the production director for Azalea Mountain. For Yu’s life story, creative experience, and artistic accomplishments, see Kraus, “Arts Policies of the Cultural Revolution”; Ludden, “Making Politics Serve Music”; and Yawen Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution: From Beijing Opera to Yangbanxi” (2013), Theses and Dissertations—Music, paper 19, http://uknowledge.uky.edu/music_etds/19. 13. Personal interviews with Zhang Jianmin, Beijing, 7 December 2004; and Gong Guotai, Shanghai, 15 May 2005.

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The first principle addresses the inappropriate use of Western instruments. Gong explained, “Being exotic means simply imitating Western orchestration in melodies and modes. This had to be avoided by all means, because we were composing for a Chinese production. Being heavy refers to orchestration being too full, especially the accompaniment of an aria; when the orchestration sounds heavy, it is very difficult for performers to showcase their singing skills. Being strange addresses harshness in certain parts of the arrangements that might not sound harmonious with other parts. And a messy orchestration contains inappropriate and unnecessarily complicated arrangements.”14 Yu’s second principle concerns the issue of maintaining jingju’s unique musical characteristics. Vocal-melodic music, mostly complete melodic-passages, is identified as the key component of jingju music and is taken as the most important for maintaining the jingju flavor. Zhang summarized the priorities to be followed when arranging orchestration to accompany melodic-passages as follows: The first priority is given to the three major melodic instruments: the jinghu, jing’erhu, and yueqin. They are the most important in maintaining jingju’s basic style, and therefore should be highlighted. The second priority is given to all other string instruments, including both Chinese and Western string instruments, which share quite a few similarities in playing techniques and the use of bows. And the lowest priority is given to Western woodwind instruments and brass instruments. Yu Huiyong believed that the major responsibility of Western instruments was to add specific colors to the music in order to convey a particular atmosphere.15

The hierarchy of priorities in using instruments to accompany melodic-passages is closely related to the third principle of the general interrelationship between Western instruments and Chinese instruments: Gong emphasized that it was a rule that these two major groups of instruments should function as a supplement to each other. He analyzed their strengths and some striking features: “The timbres of Western string instruments are the most appropriate for harmony while woodwind instruments and brass instruments are all good at contributing to the dynamics of a particular atmosphere. As for Chinese instruments, each of them has a unique timbre with a vivid style. Also, a big challenge for the orchestration is the lack of alto instruments in the Chinese section. Realizing this, a composer should highlight the strengths of the instruments, using them appropriately so that they can supplement each other.”16 The overture to Scene 5 in Tiger Mountain is a good example of the orchestration in model jingju in which, as Barbara Mittler comments, “The musical tradition of Beijing Opera is . . . amplified by the telling use of foreign instruments to the Chinese ‘orchestra,’ and by the application of certain European musical conventions 14. Gong Guotai, personal interview, Shanghai, 15 May 2005. 15. Zhang Jianmin, personal interview, Beijing, 7 December 2004. 16. Gong Guotai, personal interview, Shanghai, 15 May 2005.

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as the use of leitmotifs and of particular musico-iconographic concepts and the employment of peak notes and long melismas for key words and messages.”17 In Scene 5, Yang Zirong is riding up to Vulture’s headquarters on Tiger Mountain. Immediately following the final liangxiang by Yang Zirong and Chief of Staff at the end of Scene 4, a percussive passage—contributed by jingju percussive instruments—begins, accentuating Yang’s intensive preparation for his challenging task and setting the tempo for the overture and the fifth scene. Other instruments then join in; as Gong explains, the intent of this section is “to convey a tense atmosphere. And here, Western instruments contribute to the substance of the melody; they contribute to a vigorous momentum.”18 Instruments participating in this section include one jingju percussive instrument—the singleskin drum—and the three major jingju melodic instruments: the jinghu, jing’erhu, and yueqin; two Chinese melodic instruments—the pipa and jianpan paisheng; four Western woodwind instruments—two flutes, one oboe, and one clarinet; five Western brass instruments—two horns, two trumpets, and one trombone; three Western percussive instruments—two kettledrums and one suspension cymbal; and eleven Western string instruments—four violins I, three violins II, two violas, one violoncello, and one contrabass. This section, as Yawen Ludden vividly describes, “with its relentless rhythmic pattern of rapid notes in a sequence of upward and downward motion, as well as its asymmetric and irregular phrases and frequent dramatic changes, sets an atmosphere of impending drama and provides a musical portrait of the natural scenery of arduous mountains, towering trees, and the sound of a horse’s gallop in the distance.”19 With the atmosphere established, a short transition leads to the musical portrayal of the principal hero, featuring a French horn solo supported by the string section. Ludden offers an insightful analysis into this section: The distinctive long-held notes by the French horn and constant rhythmic pattern in the string section (accompanied by the sound effect of the wind) invoke a dramatic contrast between two levels of meanings. The first is a picturesque depiction of nature (the outside world), a peaceful night in the mountains covered by snow and forest, with the clear sound of horse hooves coming from afar. The second is a depiction of the hero’s spiritual inner world; he is fearless, loyal to the Party, and willing to sacrifice for the cause of liberating the people. . . . The music captures the dramatic tension and the moral strength that confidently propels the hero forward under the banner of his just cause. Together, these two images create a lively picture of natural space, scenery, and moving creatures, vividly describing the heroic character Yang Zirong on horseback dashing through the snow-covered forest in the mountains.20

17. Mittler, Continuous Revolution, 70. 18. Gong Guotai, personal interview, Shanghai, 15 May 2005. 19. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 329–30. 20. Ibid., 330.

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At the end of the section focusing on the principal hero, Western woodwind instruments, the single-skin drum, and the three major jingju melodic instruments, as well as Western brass instruments, enter in turn. The orchestra returns to playing as an ensemble, reaffirming the musical image of the protagonist undertaking an impossible task and conquering hardship with tremendous bravery and courage. The percussive passage at this moment imitates the sound of a galloping horse. Smoothly blended into the latter half of this ensemble section is the prelude to Yang’s aria: Western brass instruments drop out first, and the jinghu also stops playing; within six beats of this shift, the volume of the entire orchestra gradually diminishes. After the volume gradually increases within the subsequent four beats, the jinghu returns, contributing a bright and confident sound after its brief absence and the volume change of the orchestra. The jinghu introduces Yang’s voice. Upon the entrance of the performer’s voice, the three major jingju melodic instruments provide the primary accompaniment for the vocalist. The pipa and Western string and woodwind instruments contribute to the musical background of the melodicpassage, joining in for musical connectives. With unconventional orchestration played by a fairly elaborate orchestra consisting of both Chinese and Western instruments, orchestral conducting is a requisite and fascinating area for exploration and experimentation. In a traditional jingju orchestra, the gushi, who plays the single-skin drum and the clappers, performs the role of conductor. One of their major responsibilities is to maintain the tempo and rhythm as established by the stage performers. In developing model jingju, two options were explored: in Tiger Mountain, On the Docks, Shajiabang, and Azalea Mountain, there is a general conductor for the entire orchestra, and the gushi conducts only jingju instruments, while in The Red Lantern and White-Tiger Regiment, the gushi conducts the entire orchestra. In the productions with both a general conductor and a gushi, cooperation between the two becomes crucial for a successful performance. In master gushi Zhang Xinhai’s experience, discussed at the beginning of this chapter, this cooperation may require a new type of playing on the part of jingju percussionists, which requires an intimate collaboration with the stage performers. At the same time, the general conductor needs to pay close attention to the gushi, especially when instrumental and percussive music are used simultaneously to accompany dancing-acting and combat scenes. When the gushi himself performs the role of the general conductor for the entire orchestra, the primary challenges involve conducting the other instruments while also playing the single-skin drum and the clappers. Lu Hua, the gushi and general conductor of White-Tiger Regiment, pointed out, “One major difference between the conducting in a jingju orchestra and the conducting in a Western symphony is that a gushi is also an instrument player. [In traditional jingju] we conduct in two major ways, silently via gestures, and with the sounds of the drum strokes and the

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clappers. In model jingju, we used both methods.”21 While answering the question of “how to conduct Western instruments while playing the drum-and-clappers,” Lu Hua recalled: At first, we experienced quite a mess. But later, we figured out that, as the general conductor, it is not enough for the gushi to simply play percussive passages well; instead, he must memorize the comprehensive score. Once I memorized everything, I was able to use my eyes, and all other possible gestures, to warn the relevant musicians. For example, we made it clear in rehearsals that at a certain point, as soon as I shifted my eyes to a musician, he should get ready, and then come in at a certain beat after my eyes found him. This meant that the gushi had to look for every possible gesture of the hands, feet, eyes, etc. It called for tremendous energy.22

Master gushi Geng Jinqun, the general conductor of The Red Lantern, confirmed Lu Hua’s account. Geng recalled that “when both of my hands were busy but I had to give a cue for other instruments to come in, I chose to use my head to give a signal. For example, in Scene 5, at the end of Tiemei’s aria, both woodwind instruments and brass instruments need to come in to accompany Tiemei’s movement of raising the red lantern. Since both of my hands were playing, I wanted the musicians to pay attention to my head signal, and the nodding of my head became the cue for them.”23 In either of the two options for orchestral conducting, the gushi had to memorize comprehensive scores and to strictly follow the scores throughout the performances. This practice reveals a significant dimension of the orchestra in model jingju: the new organization required adjustments in playing techniques for musicians in both Chinese and Western sections. On the Chinese side, adjustments included formal changes in playing, as the percussionists searching for a more compact connection between conducting and response discussed at the beginning of this chapter. The adjustments also severely restricted the latitude for improvisation and elasticity in tempo, dynamics, and melody. In traditional jingju, stage performers are the center of the performing art and have the authority to interpret an aria or to perform a sequence of movements differently from one performance to another. Sometimes different interpretations are due to temporary changes in the physical and psychological states of the performers. When they make changes, the orchestra correspondingly makes adjustments in its musical accompaniment. In addition, during a performance, lead instrumentalists, in particular the gushi and the qinshi (the jinghu player), often have the opportunity to demonstrate their consummate performance technique, thus often receiving warm applause from the audience. Improvisation and elasticity in tempo, dynamics, and melody are a common practice in the traditional jingju orchestra. In model jingju, this flexibility 21. Lu Hua, personal interviews, Jinan, 21 and 23 June 2005. 22. Ibid. 23. Geng Jinqun, personal interview, Beijing, 15 June 2005.

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is reduced to almost nil: all musicians were required to play according to the finalized comprehensive scores, and there were no exceptions. Aiming at a smooth blend of technique and sound, stringed instrumentalists on the Western side practiced playing the jinghu, and then applied those playing techniques to their own instruments as much as possible. Describing this process, Ji Junneng, a violinist in White-Tiger Regiment, recalled, “We were required to get as close as possible to the playing techniques of the jinghu, especially in the use of the bow. Of the two strings of the jinghu, the outer string usually has a brighter and stronger sound than the inner string. The sound of the strings of a violin is more stable, and the difference is not as obvious. This major difference between the ways of playing required us [Western string instrumentalists] to adjust our way of playing and get closer to the sense of jingju.”24

Percussive Music Traditional jingju percussive music is generally performed by four musicians playing five major instruments: the gushi, playing the single-skin drum and the clappers, and three other musicians, playing the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals. Except for the cymbals and the clappers, the percussive instruments are played with beaters: two for the single-skin drum, and one each for the large gong and the small gong. Each of the instruments can be struck in several ways, and “the methods of striking are all named and are each represented by a written-character for which a romanized symbol based on that written-character’s pronunciation is sometimes substituted. Percussive scores may therefore be written down . . . using either written-characters or romanized symbols.”25 Table 7.3 lists the methods of striking the instruments and the names of the strokes.26 The percussive music in traditional jingju includes more than one hundred standard percussive passages, each of which is comprised of a specific combination of particular strokes; fifty to sixty of these passages are frequently used. Percussive music is performed both in conjunction with vocal-melodic music and independently. Played with vocal-melodic music, it marks the rhythm and tempo, as well as introducing and punctuating passages of singing. The functions of independently played percussive music include underscoring the speech of the stage performers, accentuating movement including conventional entrances and exits as well as combat scenes, contributing sound effects, and providing structural punctuation for each play as a whole.27

24. Ji Junneng, personal interview, Jinan, 23 June 2005. 25. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 239. 26. Information in Table 7.3 is summarized from Liu, Jingju yinyue gailun, 12–13; Lu Hua, Jingju dajiyue qianxi [Initial discussions on percussive music in jingju] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1991), 10–15; and Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 240. 27. Liu, Jingju yinyue gailun, 7–58; Lu, Jingju dajiyue qianxi; and Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 233–36, 238–43, and 252–62.

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Table 7.3  Major methods of striking the four major percussive instruments in the traditional jingju orchestra Name

Writtencharacters

Romanized Method of striking symbols

da

大

D

one firm stroke of the right drum stick

ba

八

B or b

one firm simultaneous beat of both drum sticks

daba

大八

Db

one firm beat of each drum stick in succession

du’er

嘟

d///

continuous rapid roll of both drum sticks

la

拉

d

one rapid roll of both drum sticks

duo

多

ď

one light beat of the right drum stick

longdong

隆冬

ld

yi, ge

乙，個

Y, G

one simultaneous light beat of the clappers and right drum stick, followed by one light beat of the right drum stick, or two successive light beats of the right drum stick a rest

zha, yi

紮，衣

X, E

one beat of the clappers

cang

倉

C

qing

頃

q

za

匝

z

tai

台

D

one firm beat of the large gong or one simultaneous firm beat of the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals one light beat of the large gong or one simultaneous light beat of the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals one muffled beat of the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals one firm beat of the small gong

ling

令

L

one light beat of the small gong

cai

才

I

pu

撲

P

one firm clap of the cymbals or one simultaneous firm beat of the cymbals and the small gong one muffled clap of the cymbals

In model jingju, percussive music performs all the above functions with innovations in two major areas: the adaptation of traditional percussive passages for specific dramatic situations, and the creation of new percussive passages to accompany arias, movement, and combat. According to Xu Guohua’s statistics, twenty-three traditional percussive passages are frequently used in model jingju,28 and quite a few of these passages have been flexibly adapted for specific dramatic situations. The focus of the adaptations is their internal structure.

28. Xu Guohua, Geming xiandai jingju yinyue jieshao [An introduction to music in revolutionary modern jingju] (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin chubanshe, 1975), 253–68.

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Most of the traditional percussive passages are complete and self-contained, consisting of three major sections: the head, the body, and the tail.29 The head refers mainly to the initial one or several strokes, functioning as the prelude to the percussive passage and setting the tempo of playing. The body of a traditional percussive passage is the main section of the passage, containing its salient features. The tail puts an end to a percussive passage; it also facilitates a transition to the next passage when multiple percussive passages are played consecutively.30 Short percussive connectives may be used before and after the body section to serve as the transition from the head to the body, and then from the body to the tail. For example, the percussive score of a passage called “Twisted Silk Threads” (niu si) is: “隆冬 八 拉台 | 倉台 才台 ||: 倉台 才台乙台 :|| 倉台 才 | 倉台 才台 | 倉O ||” (ld bdD | CD ID ||: CD IDYD :|| CD I | CD ID | C O ||). In this passage, “隆冬 八拉台 |” (ld bdD |) is the head, and “| 倉台 才台 |” (| CD ID |) serves as the transition from the head to the body, “||: 倉台 才台乙台 :||” (||: CD IDYD :||). After the repetitions of the body section, “| 倉台 才 |” (| CD I |) leads the passage to the tail, “| 倉台 才台 | 倉 O ||” (| CD ID | C O ||). In model jingju, it is common practice to omit, shorten, or modify the head and the tail sections of a traditional percussive passage, with the body—which presents the salient features of the passage—remaining intact. For example, an adapted version of “Twisted Silk Threads” is the main music punctuating and accompanying Li Yuhe’s performance upon the first entrance in The Red Lantern. Li arrives at the location where he is about to meet the Liaison Man. The tense atmosphere supports Li’s secret and dangerous task. In performance, an opening melodic musical line and the short percussive passage, “Tearing the Edge and One Hit” (si bian yi ji, “嘟~~~~~~~~~倉O” [d///CO]), accompany Li’s entrance, with the percussive stroke of “倉” (C) accompanying the principal hero’s first liangxiang, a dynamic and dramatic pose with a red lantern in his right hand. Immediately following, an adapted “Twisted Silk Threads” with a compact inner structure ably serves the performance in conveying a suspenseful atmosphere: the modified head section, a single stroke of “才” (I), punctuates Li turning his head to check out the area to his right. The following section of the percussive passage, “| 倉台 才台 ||: 倉台 才台乙 台 :||” (| CD ID ||: CD IDYD :||), accompanies Li’s swift movements as he scouts the area. Toward the tail section, “| 倉台 才O |倉” (| CD IO | C), Li returns to center stage and gets ready for his first aria. In the adapted version of “Twisted Silk Threads”: “才O O | 倉台 才台 ||: 倉台 才台乙台 :|| 倉台 才O | 倉” (IO O | CD ID ||: CD IDYD :|| CD IO | C), the head

29. There are also some short percussive passages that cannot be further divided, for example, the percussive passage called “Tearing the Edge and One Hit” (si bian yi ji), which is d/// C. These short percussive passages usually remain the same in model jingju. 30. Information summarized from personal interviews with Lu Hua, Jinan, 21 and 23 June 2005; and Lu, Jingju dajiyue qianxi, 69–72.

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section of the traditional version, “隆冬 八拉台 |” (ld bdD |), is modified to a single stroke of “才” (I). Remaining intact are the connective between the head and the body sections, “| 倉台 才台 |” (| CD ID |), and the body section, “||: 倉台 才台乙 台 :||” (||: CD IDYD :||). The transition from the body to the tail sections is compacted by the “才” (I) finishing at the first half of the second beat, “| 倉台 才O |” (| CD IO |). The tail section of the traditional version, “| 倉台 才台 | 倉 O ||” (| CD ID | C O ||), is shortened to a single stroke of “倉” (C). Master gushi Geng Jinqun, also the chief composer of the adapted percussive passage, confirmed that changes in the adaption were “meant to accompany and punctuate Li Yuhe’s performance of scouting the area at this specific moment in the first scene.”31 Discussing the choice of percussive pattern in relation to the vocalmelodic music, Geng pointed out, “Traditionally, ‘Twisted Silk Threads’ is often used as an introduction to arias in dispersed-meter [sanban], and Li Yuhe’s first aria is in dispersed-meter. Therefore, although the percussive passage is changed a little, the audience won’t feel uncomfortable with the overall tempo. Even though the tail section is shortened to a single ‘倉’ (C), the audience will still take it as jingju, and won’t be uncomfortable with the change.”32 In addition to adapting traditional percussive passages, musicians composed new percussive passages to build up a specific psychological and emotional rhythm in arias and to punctuate and accompany newly designed or arranged physical movement for the stage performers. As discussed in Chapter 6, the dance-acting and combat in model jingju incorporate movements and movement sequences from traditional jingju performance and Chinese folk dance, as well as military gestures and activities using modern weapons. In accompanying the newly designed movements, composers placed great significance on the new rhythms and tempi of the new movement language. In Scene 9 of White-Tiger Regiment, soldiers of the Chinese People’s Volunteers and the North Korean People’s Army conduct a raid on the enemy’s headquarters. Percussive music is the major accompaniment for the main body of this combat scene. A movement sequence by Lü Peilu, a Chinese soldier, and an American soldier is highlighted in a critical section of the combat, and the accompanying percussive music is “| 八 倉O | 嘟~~~~~~~~八 倉O O | 倉 才 | 倉 才 | 倉 台台 | 才 台 乙台 | 倉大 O | 倉•才 乙才 | 倉 O | 台才 乙台 | 倉 . . .” (| B CO | d/// B CO O | C I | C I | C DD | ID ED | Cd O | C•I EI | C O | DI ED | C . . .). Lu Hua, the chief composer of this percussive passage, explained that the section “| 八 倉O | 嘟~~~~~~~~八 倉O O |” (| B CO | d/// B CO O |) accompanies the movement sequence during which Lü seizes the American soldier’s hand, making him drop his gun.33 When the percussive passage moves into a regular meter of 2/4, the two soldiers perform a fight with bare fists. Lu said that “The section ‘|  倉 才 | 倉 才 | 倉 台台 | 才台 乙 31. Geng Jinqun, personal interview, Beijing, 15 June 2005. 32. Ibid. 33. Lu Hua, personal interviews, Jinan, 21 and 23 June 2005.

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台 | 倉大 O |’ [| C I | C I | C DD | ID ED | Cd O |] depicts the situation in which each soldier is trying to feel out his opponent. In addition, it somehow matches the personality of Lü Peilu, who is simple and honest.”34 Lu was particularly satisfied with the composition of the following section, “| 倉•才 乙才 | 倉 O | 台才 乙台 | 倉 . . .” (| C• I EI | C O | DI ED | C . . .), in that “| 倉•才 乙才 | 倉” (| C• I EI | C) and “| 台 才 乙台 | 倉” (| DI ED | C) parallel each other in terms of their major structure and rhythm, therefore forming a complete percussive couplet; in the meantime, in terms of sound, the initial line of this couplet, “| 倉•才 乙才 | 倉” (| C• I EI | C), features the large gong and the cymbals, while the latter line of the couplet, “| 台才 乙台 | 倉” (| DI ED | C), features the small gong and the cymbals, therefore portraying two competing forces. Lu emphasized that “this composition transmits the sense of fighting back and forth, which is exactly what happens in such a fight. If there had been no change in the sound, leaving ‘| 倉•才 乙才 | 倉’ [| C•I EI | C] being merely repeated, then it would have sounded like a combat sequence in a traditional play.”35

Instrumental Music In model jingju, instrumental music includes the overture (xuqu), the coda (weisheng), close-curtain music (bimuqu), between-scenes music (mujianqu), atmospheric music (qifen yinyue), and dance music (wudao yinyue). The first four types provide the structural framework of a play: the overture and coda open and close a play; close-curtain music and between-scenes music provide musical transitions between scenes. Atmospheric music, mostly accompanying speeches and dance-acting, establishes and intensifies the mood of these actions. Dance music accompanies travel scenes and dance sequences. Most instrumental music is played simultaneously with percussive music. In traditional jingju, percussive passages take the primary responsibility of providing the structural framework of productions, and the functions of accompanying speeches, dance-acting, and travel scenes are filled by a small body of set and reusable melodic patterns—sometimes played with percussive music—with two major types: action-strings (xingxian) and fixed-melodies (qupai). Generally speaking, except for the difference in length, they are both essentially fixed sets of musical lines reserved for specific uses and are repeated throughout the traditional repertory. The instrumental music in model jingju is both interpretively and aesthetically more sophisticated than its traditional counterparts. Each instrumental musical piece in model jingju is an original composition created for a specific circumstance, thus providing a unique atmosphere for designated scenes and contributing tremendously to the musical individuality of each specific play. Corresponding to specific 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid.

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historical backgrounds, the preludes and codas often incorporate musical material from songs which are closely related to the appropriate period of time. The melody of “The March of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army” (“Zhongguo Renmin Jiefangjun jinxingqu”) is adapted into the overture and coda of Tiger Mountain. Frequently appearing in the overture and coda of The Red Lantern is the melody of “Marching with Giant Swords” (“Dadao jinxingqu”), a song composed in 1937 at the beginning of the War of Resistance against Japan. The melody of “The Three Rules of Discipline and Eight Points for Attention” (“San da jilü, ba xiang zhuyi”), which was composed during the 1930s to popularize the principles of the Red Army directed by the CCP, is used in the overture and coda of Shajiabang. The melody of “The Internationale” appears in the overture and coda in both On the Docks and White-Tiger Regiment, in which proletarian internationalism is a major theme. Close-curtain music and between-scenes music function as transitions between particular scenes and, like overture and coda music, are intended to emphasize specific dramatic circumstances. These musical passages conclude a scene, establish a distinct atmosphere for the following scene, and underscore the emotional situation of the characters. Transitions between scenes are realized primarily via two methods: some scenes end with a passage of close-curtain music, followed by a passage of between-scenes music that also serves as an introduction to the next scene; other scenes end with an aria or a travel scene, followed directly by a passage of between-scenes music that also serves as an introduction to the next scene. In both cases, percussive music is widely used in conjunction with instrumental music. Specifically composed close-curtain music and between-scenes music contribute to a smooth flow of musical accompaniment in model jingju. Atmospheric music—sometimes a fairly short musical line but occasionally a long musical passage—often accompanies speeches and dance-acting, which may be the entrance of a character or a long monologue consisting of more than eighty lines. More than a dozen pieces of atmospheric music appear in each model jingju. In Scene 5 of The Red Lantern, the atmospheric musical piece, “Recounting the Family’s Revolutionary History Music,” illustrated in Figure 7.1, serves as a good example of how these pieces correspond to specific actions onstage and the specific mood and emotional state of characters.36 This piece accompanies Granny Li’s speech revealing the real relationships among the three members of their family to Tiemei. The discussion of the art of speech, with a translation, is provided in Chapter 6. In this long narrative, Granny Li’s emotional state undergoes several changes. As the recollections take her back to that painful time, from “it’s a long story” to “at that time, the country was torn by strife among warlords,” Granny Li’s heart is very heavy while recalling her late husband and Tiemei’s late father. During this section, her tone is mild, her speech tempo moderate. Appropriate to the grave feeling of 36. I thank Padraic Costello for transcribing all musical scores in this chapter.

Figure 7.1 “Recounting the family’s revolutionary history music” in The Red Lantern

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the first section, as the composer Liu Jidian points out, the music piece starts with a “rather slow and heavy melody” (bars 1–15).37 In the next section, Granny Li describes the grand strike led by the CCP with excitement and enthusiasm; her speech tempo accelerates and her voice also becomes louder. From “then Chairman Mao and the Communist Party led the Chinese people in waging revolution” to “more than ten thousand in Kiangan took to the street and demonstrated,” Granny Li’s description is accompanied by a musical line (bars 16–23) adapted from The Great Ambush (Shimian maifu)—a classical musical piece about a famous ancient war during the third century BCE—and several variants of this line. With the basic musical materials signaling a fighting spirit, this section, with an accelerated tempo and slow crescendo, focuses on the portrayal of the powerful proletarian revolution lead by the CCP (bars 16–65).38 As the story unfolds, Granny Li’s account arrives at the saddest yet most important section as she reveals Tiemei’s real identity. As the narration turns to the tragic night, starting from the line “that was another cold, dark night,” the atmospheric music gradually fades out with several repetitions of a melody in decelerated tempo and decrescendo. When the dramatic tension gets even stronger with “I was mending clothes by the lamp when I heard someone knocking at the door,” the atmospheric music stops (bars 66–86). In the following section without musical accompaniment, Granny Li’s narration of her conversation with Li Yuhe reveals the key information regarding Tiemei’s real identity; the absence of atmospheric music leaves the important conversation to continue as the only onstage sound, thus the focus of the audience’s attention. At last, when the climax of this conversation arrives with Tiemei crying “Granny,” and both characters are overcome by emotion, the atmospheric music comes in with a free metered musical line at fortissimo (bar 88). As closely linked with its own distinct sections as atmospheric music is to speeches and dance-acting, dance music accompanies travel scenes and dance sequences in which stage performers showcase dance-acting and combat skills. Each model jingju has at least one—some entail several—major dance music piece: “Advancing in Victory,” “Horse Dance,” “Shooting a Tiger,” and “Skiing” in Tiger Mountain; “Searching the Warehouse” in On the Docks; “Celebrating the Victory” in The Red Lantern; “Soldiers Somersaulting over the Wall” in Shajiabang; “Mine Hunting” and “Swimming across a Mountain Stream” in White-Tiger Regiment; “Dam Closure Dance” in Song of the Dragon River; “Military Drill” in The Red Detachment of Women; “Delivering Food Supplies” in Fighting on the Plain; “Swinging over Mountain Streams” in Azalea Mountain; and “Water Battle” in Boulder Bay. Composed mainly to accompany movement, tremendous significance is placed on dance music’s relationship with the jingju movement vocabulary, particularly with 37. Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 183. 38. Ibid.

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regard to both tempo and dynamics. For example, Yawen Ludden vividly describes the music accompanying the skiing dance in Scene 9 of Tiger Mountain: “It is the instrumental music that plays a crucial role in setting the dramatic atmosphere and building tension as it vividly portrays the soldiers’ struggle to overcome the challenges of weather and terrain to infiltrate the enemy camp. The music uses a fast tempo and several short, simple rhythmic motifs with varied repetitions, matching perfectly the movements of the dancers on stage, who are going through the motions of skiing and mountain climbing.”39

Vocal-Melodic Music The vocal-melodic music in traditional jingju consists of three major elements: modes (diaoshi) and modal systems, metrical types (banshi), and melodic-phrases (qiang). As Liu Jidian states, “The composition is based on jingju’s musical principles and style. In addition to [portraying] precise musical images, in terms of form, it has to follow the characteristics of modes, metrical types, and various role-types, as well as special pronunciations and use of rhymes which are rather different from popular songs.”40 Yawen Ludden concisely lists some formal features of melodic-passages in traditional jingju, one of which is that “a significant portion of each aria is made up of recycled instrumental passages serving as a sort of barely perceptible background music framing the highlighted aria. Each aria is preceded by a stereotyped instrumental prelude that indicates the aria-type as well as the meter and tempo.”41 The rich tradition of principles, formal features, and styles manifests in a somehow paradoxical circumstance of traditional vocal-melodic music: a large portion of melodic-passages, based on the same system of musical conventions, sound repetitive, hence the criticism of “repetitive uses of the same melody” (yi qu duo yong); at the same time, vocal-melodic music is a major area for experimentation by master performers and their qinshi, who arrange innovative melodicphrases, singing techniques, and musical accompaniment, thus establishing and reinforcing their particular school of performance. In creating model jingju, vocalmelodic music was prioritized as the key component maintaining the jingju identity, giving rise to significant experiments. Fei Yuping identifies three dimensions of the “comprehensive accomplishments in creation”: “ground-breaking developments in structure and form, absorption and adaption of musical materials from diverse sources, and conscious applications of compositional techniques in pursuing new melodies.”42

39. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 334. 40. Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 135. 41. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 230. 42. Fei Yuping, Jingju zuoqu jifa [Jingju compositional techniques] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 5.

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Modes and modal composition In traditional jingju, modes provide an overall atmosphere for an entire play, a single scene, and a specific aria. Two major modal systems, xipi and erhuang, constitute the main body of traditional vocal-melodic music. The xipi modal system “is experienced as ‘sprightly, bright and clear, energetic, forceful, and purposeful’” and “is therefore considered best suited to expressing joy, delight, and vehemence.”43 The erhuang modal system “is experienced as ‘relatively dark, deep and profound, heavy and meticulous’” and “is considered most expressive of grief, remembrance, and lyricism.”44 Both systems encompass a principal and several secondary modes. The xipi modal system contains the principal mode, xipi, and secondary modes, fan xipi and nanbangzi; the erhuang modal system contains the principal mode, erhuang, and secondary modes, fan erhuang, sipingdiao, and gaobozi. In addition to the two major systems, additional modes such as chuiqiang, nanluo, and wawa, mostly borrowed from other theatrical forms, are also used.45 Four types of structural patterns help identify a particular mode: “its unique, characteristic patterns of modal rhythm, song structure, melodic contour and construction, and keys and cadences.”46 Of the ten or more modes, the two principal ones, xipi and erhuang, are the most representative of their respective modal systems and are also the most frequently used. In traditional jingju, three standard patterns are fundamental for modal composition. A play can be “entirely in one mode of one modal system, in more than one mode of one modal system, or in one or more modes of both modal systems. . . . Music for both one-act and multi-scene plays may be composed according to any of the three patterns, although the first two are used most frequently for one-act plays.”47 A play composed in the third pattern usually consists of two parts, with one part in one or more modes of the xipi modal system and the other part in one or more modes of the erhuang modal system. In these plays, the modal system switch often corresponds to a major change in the plot and conveys the consequential difference in dramatic atmosphere. In the small number of traditional plays that alternate back and forth between modal systems, modulation between modes “normally takes place between songs and not within them. Only very rarely is there modulation between modal systems within a single passage of lyrics.”48 In model jingju, composers focused on a comparatively smaller group of modes (see Table 7.4): xipi and erhuang are the primary modes in all plays, fan erhuang appears in seven plays, fan xipi is used in three plays, and chuiqiang appears only once. The modal composition, however, incorporates two original approaches: 43. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 85. 44. Ibid. 45. Information summarized from Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 71–130; and Liu, Liu Jidian xiqu yinyue zuopin xuanji, 166–499. 46. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 72. 47. Ibid., 132. 48. Ibid., 135.

Fresh yet Familiar: Music 175 Table 7.4  Modes used in model jingju in order of frequency Play

Modes

Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy The Red Lantern Shajiabang On the Docks Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment Azalea Mountain The Red Detachment of Women Song of the Dragon River Fighting on the Plain Boulder Bay

xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang xipi, erhuang xipi, erhuang, fan xipi xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang xipi, erhuang, chuiqiang xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang, fan xipi xipi, erhuang, fan erhuang, fan xipi

one or more modes of both modal systems appear in each play—as Table 7.4 illustrates—and modulation between modal systems is achieved in an extremely flexible manner. The use of the two modal systems, with their unique modal identities, not only contributes to the strong and vivid “jingju-ness” in music but also offers a powerful musical portrayal of twists and turns in the plot, contrasts between dramatic characters, and the complexity of psychological situations. It evinces significant innovation in the implementation of modal changes. Modulation between the two modal systems within a single scene is a primary method of delineating the progression of a dramatic situation, providing contrast between or among personalities or psychological states, and revealing different perspectives on developments within a single character’s psychological state. Three primary patterns include a single character singing arias in both modal systems, each of two or more characters singing in at least one specific mode or modal system different from those of the other character or other characters, and modulation between modal systems within a single passage of lyrics. The first primary pattern, a single character singing arias in both modal systems in a single scene, often conveys the sense of a plot unfolding or the progression of a dramatic situation. Scene 5 of Shajiabang includes four songs, in the modes of erhuang, xipi, xipi, and xipi, respectively; the modulation from erhuang to xipi closely serves the plot development. The central event in this scene is Guo Jianguang leading the soldiers to persevere in the marshes despite various difficulties. The context is challenging: the soldiers have been in the marshes for five days, waiting for Sister Aqing to escort them back to Shajiabang. They have run out of food and medicine, yet there has been no message from Sister Aqing, and they heard only the sound of shooting from the direction of Shajiabang. After listening to a discussion among several anxious soldiers, Guo sings the first aria in the mode of erhuang, in which he ponders the complex situation with its many unknowns, analyzes the importance of curbing the soldiers’ impatience, recalls the guidance of Chairman

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Mao and the Party Central Committee, and affirms his determination to overcome the current difficulties with flexibility. Guo is a strong and purposeful person, and this kind of personality is traditionally portrayed via the mode of xipi. However, in this first aria, erhuang, which is frequently used to convey heavy and profound feelings, reflects Guo’s meditative concern for the people of Shajiabang and the complex situation. Furthermore, with most of the other soldiers growing increasingly impatient, the erhuang mode contributes tremendously to the portrayal of Guo’s firmness and calmness. After making up his mind, Guo turns to encourage the soldiers and to prepare to carry out plans to reconnoiter the situation in Shajiabang. At this moment, his aria mode switches to xipi, which is traditionally believed the best to convey an energetic and forceful atmosphere. In the second aria, Guo explains the tasks to the two scouts whom he sends to Shajiabang in disguise. In the third aria, he encourages all the other soldiers to persevere in the struggle. Guo’s heroism comes to a climax in the solo musical line that opens the fourth song, “We must be like the pine on the summit of Mount Tai!”49 In xipi mode, this song is accompanied by the suona, a wind instrument often used to depict heroic enthusiasm. Thus, Scene 5 of Shajiabang begins with a group of anxious soldiers discussing the complex and challenging situation and ends with the same soldiers, under Guo’s encouragement, heroically and fearlessly persevering. The mode switch from erhuang to xipi is a powerful device to convey the scene’s major atmospheric change. The second primary pattern of modulation in a single scene, each of two or more characters employing at least one mode or modal system different from those utilized by the other character or other characters is used to portray the feelings, reactions, and personalities of different characters in the same dramatic situation. In Scene 3 of Tiger Mountain, three arias are sung by two characters: the first and the third by Yang Zirong in the mode of xipi and the second by Chang Bao in the mode of fan erhuang. The central incident of this scene involves Yang winning the trust of Hunter Chang and Chang Bao, who later provide key clues to the raid on Vulture’s headquarters. In the first aria, in xipi mode, Yang establishes that he is looking for clues to Vulture’s whereabouts and needs to ask a hunter for help. After Yang explains the PLA’s mission, Chang sings her aria in fan erhuang mode, often used for the most tragic atmosphere. Chang’s aria comprises a tearful recollection of her grandmother and mother being killed by Vulture, a description of her experience of pretending to be a mute boy for eight years, and an announcement of her determination to avenge her family. Immediately after her aria, Yang’s second aria, back to xipi mode, laments the family’s sad story and confirms his determination to destroy Vulture and win the people’s liberation. In this scene, Yang’s strong and resolute personality is best conveyed via xipi mode, while fan erhuang is the most appropriate for the profoundly tragic feelings that Chang expresses. The alternation between the modal systems, from xipi to fan erhuang and back to xipi, strengthened 49. Peking Opera Troupe of Peking, Shachiapang, 29.

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by the contrast inherent in the two modes belonging to different modal systems, contributes to a vivid and precise manifestation of the characters’ inner worlds. In the first two primary patterns of mode change, the transition happens after the completion of an aria. But through the third primary pattern, in order to convey the nuances of a character’s inner world and reveal different aspects of that character’s psychological state, the modulation between modal systems, and sometimes between modes of the same modal system, occurs within a single aria. For example, in Scene 5 of Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong’s solo aria switches mode from erhuang to xipi. The scene begins with Yang’s solo, with the first half in erhuang mode: I press through the snowy forest, spirit soaring! To express my determination the mountains I staunchly face. Let the red flag fly all over the world, Be there seas of fire and a forest of knives, I’ll charge ahead. How I wish I could order the snow to melt, And welcome in spring to change the world of men.50

At this moment, Yang, on his way to the enemy’s headquarters, is attempting a tremendously dangerous task, yet he is fearless with the revolutionary ideal held fast in his mind. Erhuang mode distinctly conveys his heroic calmness and the profundity of his devotion to revolutionary duty. After this, Yang describes his immediate task but with the mode switched to xipi: The Party gives me wisdom and courage, Risks and hardships are as naught; To wipe out the bandits I must dress as a bandit, And pierce into their stronghold like a dagger. I’ll bury Vulture in these hills, I swear, Shake the heights with my will. With my courage the valleys fill, At the Hundred Chickens Feast my comrades and I Will make a shambles of the bandits’ lair.51

Yang’s personality is enthusiastic, purposive, and energetic. The use of xipi mode in the second half of the aria best portrays the young scout’s noble fighting spirit and passion for fulfilling his task, emphasizing the scout’s bravery and determination. The mode switch in this aria helps to express the broad range of feelings Yang has about the means for accomplishing his task. The mode switch between modal systems within an aria is challenging for several reasons. There is the logistical fact that the two modal systems require separate jinghu for accompaniment. In addition, the tempo of the second half in xipi mode is much faster than that of the first half ’s erhuang mode, and the performer 50. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, 21. 51. Ibid., 22.

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also needs time for vocal adjustments. A smooth transition here is realized through changes in the metrical type at the end of the first half and a bridge carried out by both Western and Chinese instruments. In the last musical line of the first half in erhuang mode, “And welcome in spring to change the world of men,” the metrical type changes from primary-meter (yuanban), which is regularly metered, to dispersed-meter (sanban), which is free metered. Immediately following the musical line in dispersed-meter, the orchestra, including jingju melodic instruments, jingju percussive instruments, and Western instruments, plays a bridge in a gradually accelerating rhythm. During this section, Yang performs a yuanchang; starting relatively slowly and then accelerating, his route is a half circle, after which he arrives at downstage center. After a two-beat pause, the orchestra plays a brief, rapid phrase in xipi mode, and the rhythm turns into the regularly metered fast-meter (kuaiban), serving as the introduction to the second half of aria. The modal composition in model jingju maintained the traditional practice of selecting and arranging modal systems and modes to provide an appropriate musical atmosphere and the essence of the characters’ musical images. Even though only five traditional modes were selected, an innovative flexibility resulting in the alternation between modal systems created precise and vivid musical portrayals of the characters. Building on this foundation, the psychology and emotion of a character and interactions among characters were further depicted through a variety of metrical types and metrical-type composition.

Metrical types and metrical-type composition In the vocal-melodic music in traditional jingju, ten principal metrical types form two categories according to rhythmic regulation: metered metrical types include primary-meter (yuanban), slow-meter (manban), fast-three-eyes-meter (kuaisanyan), two-six-meter (erliu), flowing-water-meter (liushui), and fast-meter (kuaiban); free metrical types include lead-in-meter (daoban), dispersed-meter (sanban), shakingmeter (yaoban), and undulating-dragon (huilong). Each principal metrical type is identified with its particular metrical organization, tempi, melodic tendencies, and, sometimes, the relationship between the tempo of the accompanying music and the singer’s tempo. Table 7.5 includes some of the major characteristics of the ten principal metrical types.52 Vocal-melodic music in traditional jingju has standard practices for the association between metrical types and particular modes. When a metrical type is associated with a mode, it is often specifically identified by indicating “the mode + the metrical type.” For example, when the primary-meter is associated with the mode of xipi, it is called xipi-primary-meter (xipi yuanban). Table 7.6 lists the traditional 52. Information summarized from Liu, Jingju yinyue gailun, 166–499; Wu Junda, Jingju changqiang yanjiu [Studies in jingju vocal-melodic music] (Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1995), 26–141; and Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 59–71.

Fresh yet Familiar: Music 179 Table 7.5  Ten principal metrical types in traditional jingju Metered metrical types

Metrical organization

slow-meter fast-three-eyes-meter

4/4 4/4

primary-meter two-six-meter flowing-water-meter fast-meter Free metrical types dispersed-meter shaking-meter lead-in-meter undulating-dragon

Tempo

the slowest metrical type faster than slow-meter yet slower than primary-meter 2/4 moderate; fundamental metrical type 2/4 or 1/4 faster than primary-meter yet slower than flowing-water-meter 1/4 faster than two-six-meter yet slower than fast-meter 1/4 the fastest metrical type Major characteristics The tempo of accompanying music is the same as the tempo of singing. The tempo of accompanying music is about twice as fast as the tempo of singing. Only used in the first line of the opening couplet of a passage of lyrics. Only used in correspondence to lead-in-meter.

Table 7.6  Traditional possibilities for the association between the ten principal metrical types and the three modes frequently used in model jingju Metrical types primary-meter slow-meter fast-three-eyes-meter two-six-meter flowing-water-meter fast-meter dispersed-meter shaking-meter lead-in-meter undulating-dragon

erhuang

fan erhuang

xipi

X X X – – – X X X X

X X X – – – X X X X

X X X X X X X X X X*

* Traditionally, in the mode of xipi, undulating-dragon is not used as an independent metrical type in correspondence to the previous line in the lead-in-meter, as it is used in erhuang mode. Rather, it is used as an extension, and usually at the end, of a line in another metrical type which itself is in correspondence to the previous line in the lead-in-meter. X = presence – = absence

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possibilities for interconnection among the ten principal metrical types and xipi, erhuang, and fan erhuang, the three modes frequently used in model jingju—the first two appearing in each play, and the last in seven plays. The associative possibilities illustrated in Table 7.6 connote the more than twenty specific metrical types in the modes of xipi, erhuang, and fan erhuang in traditional jingju. In model jingju, the majority of these traditional metrical types are retained. In addition, composers created ten or so new types, which serve as the means of portraying life and dramatic situations not presented in traditional repertory, and for precisely conveying characters’ feelings, emotions, and psychological states in particular dramatic situations. The two primary methods for developing new metrical types were to employ new metrical organizations and to create new rhythms and tempi through new associations between traditional metrical types and modes. In Scene 1 of White-Tiger Regiment, Northern Korean villagers deliver an aria in xipi-one-accented-beat-and-two-eyes (xipi yi ban liang yan), an original triple meter uniquely created for this scene. “Eye” (yan) refers to an unaccented beat; in this meter, each measure includes one accented and two unaccented beats. As Table 7.5 illustrates, traditional metrical types can be free metered, single metered, duple metered, or quadruple metered, but never triple metered.53 In this particular scene, the highly innovative triple metered xipi-one-accented-beat-and-two-eyes accompanies the song and dance performed during a happy reunion of soldiers from the Chinese People’s Volunteers and the Northern Korean people who helped them heal their wounds a year previous. Composer Liu Ruyi confirms that “the metrical regulation of xipi-one-accented-beat-and-two-eyes is adapted from a common rhythm in Korean folk songs and dances. Korean people are all very good at singing and dancing, and triple meter seems to be a signature style in their musical and dancing language. Therefore, we created this new metrical type for this song, and it provides a special color for the dramatic situation.”54 Indeed, the triple metered aria performed with dance not only vividly portrays the thrilling moment when the Northern Korean people and the Chinese People’s Volunteers soldiers see each other once again but also underscores the specific ethnic culture of the production. In model jingju, other new metrical types with new metrical organizations include xipi-broad-meter (xipi kuanban), xipi-lined-up-meter (xipi paiban), both of which were used in On the Docks; fan erhuang-chant-meter (fan erhuang yinban), which was used in On the Docks and Azalea Mountain; and xipi-clear-dispersed-meter (xipi qing sanban) in The Red Detachment of Women.55 53. The opening section of the prelude of Three Mountains, discussed in Chapter 2, is in triple meter, except that it is not associated with a jingju mode. 54. Liu Ruyi, personal interview, Jinan, 22 June 2005. 55. Xipi-broad-meter (xipi kuanban) was created for Fang Haizhen’s opening aria in Scene 4 in On the Docks. This metrical type is based on the rhythm of xipi-primary-meter, but the tempo of the accompanying music is twice as fast as the tempo of the singing, thus conveying Fang’s complex inner feelings, a mixture of an awareness of the seriousness of class struggle and a firm belief in the revolutionary path. Xipi-lined-up-meter (xipi paiban) is used in Ma Hongliang’s aria in Scene 2 in On the Docks. Both the rhythmic regulation and the tempo of this metrical type are similar to those of xipi-primary-meter, except that, after each musical line,

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The other primary method for developing new metrical types in model jingju— that is, by creating new rhythms and tempi through new associations between traditional metrical types and modes—was used to design a new version of certain metrical types for the modes that traditionally do not utilize those metrical types. For example, the erhuang modal system—often conveying heavy, sorrowful emotions—is traditionally only associated with metrical types in slower and moderate tempi. In model jingju, new associations between the erhuang modal system and faster metrical types were established, contributing to new metrical types including erhuang-two-six-meter (erhuang erliu), erhuang-flowing-water-meter (erhuang liushui), erhuang-fast-meter (erhuang kuaiban), and fan erhuang-two-six-meter (fan erhuang erliu). With the four new metrical types, which are faster than most of the traditional metered metrical types in erhuang and fan erhuang modes, the vocalmelodic music in model jingju has more latitude in portraying the inner worlds and emotional progress of various characters. For example, in Scene 5 of The Red Lantern, erhuang-fast-meter is used in the final section of Tiemei’s last aria to highlight the climax of the scene. With her father being arrested and her grandmother revealing their family history, this scene is the most significant regarding Tiemei’s personal growth. In this aria, Tiemei first expresses her gratitude for her father and grandmother and makes the decision to follow her father’s career, using erhuangprimary-meter, a moderate metrical type. Then, with erhuang-fast-meter signaling strong emotions and firm determination, she vows never to withdraw from the revolutionary path. The consistent use of erhuang mode maintains an overall tragic color that matches Tiemei’s psychological state right after losing her father. In the meantime, the accelerating tempo vividly portrays the young woman’s heightened emotional state. When fast-meter is associated with the mode of erhuang, this extremely fast metrical type coupled with profound emotion conveys a hot, explosive passion, thus contributing to a powerful climax at the end of the scene. The use of erhuang-fast-meter in the last section of an aria, as it helps to build the musical climax, exemplifies the approach to metrical-type composition in model jingju. The arrangement of metrical types follows the standard patterns of traditional practice in which arias are composed in one, two, or multiple metrical types. In arias composed in two or more metrical types, at least one of the metrical types is often metered; the aria may develop in an accelerating tempo or may alternate between metered metrical types and unmetered ones. In the former case, it the accompanying music plays a connective in parallel melodies, which sounds like an echo of the character’s inner voice, thus reflecting Ma’s excitement and surprise when he revisits the dock after retirement. Fan erhuang-chant-meter (fan erhuang yinban) is used in Fang Haizhen’s core aria in Scene 6 in On the Docks and Ke Xiang’s core aria in Scene 8 in Azalea Mountain. This metrical type is free metered, without any beat or “eye.” In addition, singing has no musical accompaniment. Fan erhuang-chant-meter is often used for a single, or a section of a single, melodic-line within a melodic-passage, to convey a character’s strongest emotion. Xipi-clear-dispersed-meter (xipi qing sanban) appears in Company Commander’s musical line in Scene 4 of The Red Detachment of Women. It is essentially in dispersed-meter but does not have musical accompaniment, thus accentuating the lyrics. For a more detailed discussion of xipi-broad-meter and xipi-piled-up-meter, see Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 254–55 and 266.

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may begin with a free or a slower metered metrical type and then switch to metered or accelerate to faster metered ones; in the latter case, one or more metered metrical types alternates with one or more free metered metrical types. The most complex arias may consist of sections with accelerating tempo and sections that alternate between free metered metrical types and metered ones. While maintaining respect for the traditional practices, the metrical-type composition in model jingju indicates purposeful efforts to create “complete arias with coherently arranged multiple layers” (you cengci de chengtao changqiang) for the principal heroes/heroines, so as to delineate and highlight their musical images and to reveal their inner worlds. This concept was officially elaborated upon in an essay summarizing the creative experience of Tiger Mountain: “The concept of ‘complete arias with coherently arranged multiple layers’ .  .  . has been one of the primary organizational methods for emphasizing the important arias and maintaining the balance among all arias in one production. Especially for the most important core arias [hexin changduan], we should try all possibilities to coherently arrange multiple metrical types and try to use these arias in solo scenes.”56 In Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong has altogether twelve arias, and the following four are important arias: “Bring the land a new life” emphasizes his class love and class hatred; “A Communist always heeds the Party’s call” portrays his firm commitment to a revolutionary career; “Welcome in spring to change the world of men” depicts his ideal of the revolution in China and the world as well as his supreme heroism; and “I’ve the morning sun in my heart” emphasizes his inner-world—his loyalty to Chairman Mao’s revolutionary directives and Mao Zedong Thought are the origin of his wisdom and strength. Of these four arias, “I’ve the morning sun in my heart” is the core aria.57

Each principal hero/heroine has multiple major arias; the most important arias, referred to as the “core arias,” are composed on average in five or six metrical types, arranged according to acceleration and alternation or a combination of acceleration and alternation (see Table 7.7). Even though the practice of composing complex arias consisting of multiple metrical types for protagonists is also used in traditional repertory, in model jingju, this practice was consciously theorized and implemented within the context of each play’s overall musical organization. With effective combinations and arrangements of the more than thirty specific metrical types—more than twenty traditional and ten or so newly created—metrical-type composition in model jingju clearly positions characters in specific dramatic situations, while revealing their psychological makeup. Building on this foundation, melodic-passages directly depict nuances of the psychology and emotion of a character, as well as within the characters’ interactions. 56. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji,” 32. 57. Ibid.

Guo Jianguang

Shajiabang Scene 5

Scene 8

Scene number of the core aria Scene 8 Metrical types in the core aria in order of the appearance erhuang-lead-in-meter* erhuang-undulating-dragon erhuang-slow-meter erhuang-fast-three-eyes-meter erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-two-six-meter erhuang-lead-in-meter erhuang-undulating-dragon erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-slow-three-eyes-meter erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-piled-up-meter erhuang-lead-in-meter erhuang-undulating-dragon erhuang-slow-three-eyes-meter erhuang-fast-three-eyes-meter erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-piled-up-meter

* Free metered metrical types are in bold; metered metrical types are in regular typeface.

Li Yuhe

Principal hero/ heroine Yang Zirong

The Red Lantern

Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

Play title

Table 7.7  Metrical-type composition for core arias in model jingju

(continued on p. 184)

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a slow and then to increasingly faster metered metrical types.

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a moderate metered metrical type; slows down; then switches to increasingly faster metered metrical types.

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to the slowest and then to increasingly faster metered metrical types.

Metrical-type structure

Scene 6

Hong Changqing

The Red Detachment of Women

Scene number of the core aria Scene 6

Scene 8

Principal hero/ heroine Fang Haizhen

Song of the Dragon River Jiang Shuiying

On the Docks

Play title Metrical types in the core aria in order of the appearance fan erhuang-slow-meter fan erhuang-primary-meter fan erhuang-piled-up-meter fan erhuang-shaking-meter fan erhuang-chant-meter fan erhuang-shaking-meter fan erhuang-piled-up-meter fan erhuang-shaking-meter fan erhuang-piled-up-meter fan erhuang-fast-piled-up-meter fan erhuang-dispersed-meter fan erhuang-slow-meter fan erhuang-primary-meter fan erhuang-dispersed-meter fan erhuang-shaking-meter fan erhuang-two-six-meter erhuang-lead-in-meter erhuang-undulating-dragon erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-slow-meter erhuang-fast-primary-meter erhuang-shaking-meter erhuang-piled-up-meter

Table 7.7  Metrical-type composition for core arias in model jingju (continued)

(continued on p. 185)

Begins with a free metrical type; transits to a moderate metered metrical type; slows down then accelerates; switches to a free metrical type; ends in a very fast metrical type.

Begins with a slow metered metrical type; becomes faster; switches to free meters; ends in a metered, faster type.

Begins with a slow metered metrical type; becomes increasingly fast; switches to free meters; free and metered metrical types alternate; ends in a free metrical type.

Metrical-type structure

Scene 8

Zhao Yonggang

Ke Xiang

Lu Changhai

Fighting on the Plain

Azalea Mountain

Boulder Bay Scene 8

Scene 8

Scene number of the core aria Scene 4

Principal hero/ heroine Raid on the White-Tiger Yan Weicai Regiment

Play title Metrical types in the core aria in order of the appearance xipi-lead-in-meter xipi-undulating-dragon xipi-primary-meter xipi-two-six-meter xipi-fast-meter fan erhuang-lead-in-meter fan erhuang-undulating-dragon fan erhuang-slow-three-eyes-meter fan erhuang-fast-three-eyes-meter fan erhuang-piled-up-meter fan erhuang-primary-meter fan erhuang-small-lead-in-meter fan erhuang-primary-meter fan erhuang-chant-meter fan erhuang-primary-meter fan erhuang-fast-meter erhuang-lead-in-meter erhuang-undulating-dragon erhuang-slow-meter erhuang-primary-meter erhuang-piled-up-meter

Table 7.7  Metrical-type composition for core arias in model jingju (continued)

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a slow metered metrical type; accelerates to a moderate metered metrical type; ends in a very fast metered metrical type.

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a moderate metered metrical type; free and metered metrical types alternate; ends in a fast metered metrical type.

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a slow and then to increasingly fast metered metrical types; ends in a moderate metered metrical type.

Begins with a free metrical type; switches to a moderate and then to increasingly fast metered metrical types.

Metrical-type structure

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Melodic-phrases and motifs in melodic-passage composition In traditional jingju’s vocal-melodic music, a melodic-phrase is the “melodic progression (i.e., passage of specific pitches) for singing a single written-character.”58 A traditional melodic-passage can contain single or multiple couplets; each couplet consists of two musical lines. Each musical line often contains ten or seven writtencharacters, which can be further divided into three units; each unit is called a dou. Corresponding to this lyric structure, the melody of each dou consists of two or more melodic-phrases. In traditional jingju, as Elizabeth Wichmann describes it, each mode and metrical type influences the melodic progressions of melodicphrases and their combinations, “however, melodic-phrases themselves have certain innate melodic tendencies. These tendencies arise from two types of influence: the influence of language, and the influence of age and gender.”59 Speech-tone is the key issue for composing and singing a melodic-phrase for a written-character. The general rule is “‘first set the written-character, then move the melodic-phrase.’ In other words, the first several pitches of a given melodic-phrase usually make the speech-tone of that written-character clear; further pitches sung during a continuation of that syllable need not convey speech-tone and can therefore be sung without denotative restrictions in melodic contour, except that the final pitch of a given melodic-phrase must be one that allows the speech-tone of the following written-character to be set clearly relative to it.”60 Following this rule, the melodic tendencies in the majority of traditional melodic-phrases are directly influenced by the speech-tones of Huguang dialect, primarily the dialect of the Hubei area. Age and gender, both of which are closely associated with role-types, also have profound influence on the innate tendencies of the melodic-phrases. Gender serves as a fundamental determinant: “female melodic-passages are pitched higher than male, are more melismatic (i.e., have more individual pitches within each melodic-phrase) than male, and tend to be slower in tempo.”61 But sometimes age is the basis for interpretation. Overall, “these melodic tendencies are modified somewhat by each individual role type. Role types that feature the expressive display of song skill are in most instances interpreted musically with somewhat higher overall pitch and somewhat more melisma than are those in which song is not the major expressive skill.”62 In model jingju, melodic-phrases perform the same function as the fundamental element in melodic-passages. Language still has direct influence on the innate tendencies of melodic-phrases. The traditional general rule, “first set the writtencharacter, then move the melodic-phrase,” is retained except that the language in model jingju is putonghua, with pronunciation and speech-tones based on Beijing dialect. Despite the fact that female melodic-passages are also pitched higher than 58. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 54. 59. Ibid., 55. 60. Ibid. 61. Ibid., 57. 62. Ibid., 58.

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male, other influences of age and gender on the innate tendencies of the melodicphrases are less evident. The primary reason for this change is the looser association between musical composition and role-types in model jingju. In these plays, music interacts with the reworking in acting, so that role-types and particular role-subcategories do not serve as the principal framework for melodic composition. Rather, the scene- and plot-specific circumstance of a particular character in a particular dramatic situation is given the highest priority. Similar to and concomitant with the situation in acting, it was common practice to borrow vocal-melodic elements from several role-subcategories and then fuse them into the vocal-melodic music to portray the inner world, personality, and individuality of a character. Finally, the melodic-phrases of female characters in model jingju were given a masculine flavor. The summary of the creative experience in On the Docks includes an analysis of the melodic tendencies of Fang Haizhen’s melodic-passages. When we tried to depict Fang’s heroic image from multiple interlocking aspects, the biggest contradiction we encountered in musical composition was the one between the old musical form in jingju and her feelings and personality, as well as the sense of a new age. . . . In order to portray her decisive and unrestrained personality, we used the melodic tendencies in xiaosheng melody in her arias including “Reading the Communique stirs me deeply” and “Mao Zedong Thought is conveyed on the wings of east wind”; in “I’ll haul your sailless boat back to port,” we used the melodic tendencies in hualian melody in her melody.63

With new melodic tendencies in melodic-phrases, the melodic-passage composition in model jingju places primary importance on two issues. One is that new melodies are refined to precisely portray the feelings and personalities of the characters, as well as the time period in which the characters live. The other is that the use of motifs is widely employed as a significant method for strengthening musical images. Tiemei’s aria in Scene 2 in The Red Lantern, in xipi-flowing-water-meter, offers a glimpse of the first aspect. Tiemei sings this aria after Granny Li tells her that an “uncle” (who is actually an undercover agent) is coming for a visit yet refuses to tell her which uncle it is. The lyrics of this aria are as follows. Tiemei: Granny, just listen. (Sings “xi pi liu shui”) I’ve more uncles than I can count; They only come when there’s important business. Though we call them relatives, we never met before, Yet they are closer to us than our own relatives. Both dad and you call them our own folk;

63. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Haigang Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe On the Docks Production Team], “Fanying shehuizhuyi shidai gongren jieji de zhandou shenghuo” [Reflecting the battle life of the workers’ class in the socialist age], Hongqi [Red Flag] 5 (1972): 57–58.

Staging Revolution

188 I can guess part of the reason why: They’re all like my dad, Men with red, loyal hearts.64

This melodic-passage retains some salient features of the traditional melody for xipi-flowing-water-meter for young and middle-aged females, yet the composition contains refreshing new melodic tendencies that particularly match Tiemei’s psychology. The organizational rules and melodic principles of traditional melodic-passages in xipi-flowing-water-meter include (1) the metrical organization is 1/4 meter; (2) the first written-character in the first couplet is placed on the first half of the first beat of the musical line; all other musical lines—whether the opening or the closing line of a couplet—begin on the second half of the first beat of a line; (3) all musical lines end on a beat; (4) the opening lines end on notes la or re, and the closing lines end on notes sol or do; and (5) except for the last couplet, all musical lines often last for six to seven beats.65 Tiemei’s aria (see Figure 7.2) indicates a consistent loyalty to the traditional practice with the ending notes for musical lines. In all four couplets, except for the opening line of the second couplet, all opening lines end on the note la (bars 6, 24, and 40) and all closing lines end on the note sol (bars 9, 19, 36, and 50). The consistent use of the cadence pattern is very important in maintaining the xipi modal identity. Building on this traditional base, composer Liu Jidian devised innovations in both metrical organization and in the placement of the first written-characters of lines within the metrical organization, as well as employing new melodic tendencies and flexibility in emphasizing written-characters. Liu recalled his creative experience as follows. “Tiemei is seventeen years old. This is a special age; she is not a kid any more, yet not a mature adult. When she delivers this aria, the overall atmosphere on stage is warm and joyful. She is very proud of herself because she knows her guess [about the real identity of her father and the ‘uncle’] is right. When making the guess, she is actually thinking while talking. Also, she is very close to her grandma. All these circumstances mean that this melodic-passage must convey the sense of a teenager’s daily language; therefore, there had to be changes in rhythm, tempo, and melody.”66 The first major innovation is the mixture of 2/4 meter and 1/4 meter. The change in metrical organization immediately brings a sense of irregularity to the melodic rhythm, with the 1/4 metered sections being more syllabic than the 2/4 metered ones. With a somewhat half-spoken half-sung musical image portrayed through the irregular melodic rhythm, this innovation directly conveys the colloquial nature of the lyrics. Second, the opening notes in the four couplets of this melodic-passage alternate between on-beat and off-beat (bars 3, 10, 20, and 37): the 64. China Peking Opera Troupe, The Red Lantern, 4–5. 65. Liu, Jingju yinyue gailun, 326 and 389. 66. Liu Jidian, personal interview, Beijing, 26 July 2005.

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Figure 7.2 Tiemei’s aria in xipi-flowing-water-meter in The Red Lantern

first written-characters of the first and third couplets are placed on the second half of a beat; those of the second and fourth couplets are placed on the first half of a beat. This alternation strengthens the elasticity in the rhythm. Third, in the portrayal of Tiemei’s vibrant energy, a signature melodic tendency of xipi-children’s-tune-meter (xipi-wawadiao) (bars 3 and 4), is fused into Tiemei’s melodic-phrases for the first five written-characters of her first musical line. In traditional jingju, xipi-children’stune-meter is frequently associated with young males, and “gives the impression of great strength—perhaps the strength peculiar to youth.”67 In this melodic-passage, the melodic tendency of xipi-children’s-tune-meter vividly accentuates Tiemei’s lively musical image from the very beginning of the aria. Finally, in order to emphasize certain written-characters in the lyrics, the corresponding melodic-phrases are elaborated with carefully composed melodic tendencies. For example, traditional xipi-flowing-water-meter often only embellishes the final written-characters of a melodic-passage. In this melodic-passage, however, the melodic-phrases for the fourth and fifth written-characters in the sixth musical line, “ao miao” (reason/ secret), are enhanced with melodic-tendencies featuring melodic-phrases lasting for five and half beats (bars 26–31). This elaboration and its contrast to the duration of the melodic-phrases for the majority of other written-characters—mostly half

67. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 63.

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beat and single beat—help to emphasize Tiemei’s excitement and pride when she makes the correct guess and uncovers the secret.68 In the melodic-passage composition for model jingju, composers embraced extensive innovation in metrical organization, tempo, interrelationship between lyrics and melodic-passages, and new melodic tendencies, as well as elaboration of the melodic-phrases for specific written-characters. Tiemei’s melodic-passage discussed above illustrates the extent of innovation in merely one metrical type, xipi-flowing-water-meter. If we include in our consideration that it is one of the faster metrical types, which by their nature leave limited room for elaboration in melodic-passage composition, the magnitude of accomplishment in the melodicpassage composition for the more than two hundred passages in model jingju becomes even more evident. The other major focus for innovation in the melodic-passage composition is the use of motifs: specific melodic themes composed as a character’s musical signature. Contrasted with traditional jingju, which does not embrace thematic development, motifs in model jingju appear repeatedly in the preludes and connectives of melodic-passages, provide an important source for melodic-phrases in melodicpassages, and often accompany the entrances of major characters. The musical theme for the principal heroine Ke Xiang in Azalea Mountain, consisting of four motifs as illustrated in Figure 7.3,69 is of masterful design. As Wang Renyuan comments, “With vivid musical personality, precise character portrayal, elasticity for melodic development, and salient features of the theatrical [jingju’s] musical form, it significantly strengthens characterization; at the same time, it easily fits in not only vocal-melodic music, but also instrumental interludes and musical connectives, and registers well on both Chinese and Western instruments, thus offering a key compatibility among a variety of components.”70 Yawen Ludden interprets the association between the four component motifs and melodic-phrase composition: “The motifs that make up the Ke Xiang theme are like motivic seeds. They will recur in various guises through the opera in both aria and instrumental music, become associated with various emotions and symbolic meanings.”71 Throughout the production, Ke’s theme—be it in its entirety, variants, or selected component motif(s)—reoccurs in a nuanced, complex, and flexible fashion. Scholars have contributed to detailed, revealing analysis of its manifestation in the 68. Analysis of this melodic-passage is a summary of my personal interview with Liu Jidian on 26 July 2005; Liu, Xiandai jingju “yangbanxi” danjue changqiang yinyue yanjiu, 125–32; and my own analysis. 69. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 381. Materials of this theme include folk song melody in the Hunan area—where the story takes place, melodic-phrases from storytelling in the Suzhou area, and the melody of traditional jingju. In terms of the last component, Fei Yuping pinpoints a key melodic-phrase in the connective of the xipi mode in the three-eyes-meter (see Fei, Jingju zuoqu jifa, 194–95). And Yawen Ludden argues that Ke’s theme and the prelude of a traditional jingju aria in the erhuang mode are similar with regard to the issues of pitch, key notes, emphases of the same pitch, ending notes, range within an octave, and melodic flexibility. 70. Wang, Jingju “yangbanxi” yinyue lungang, 84. 71. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 383–84.

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musical phrases, interludes, and connectives in some of Ke’s arias.72 The following discussion examines the prelude to each of Ke’s twelve arias, illustrating how the principal heroine’s musical theme entwines with melody in guiding the audience to a particular mood, rhythm, and atmosphere.73 Ke’s first aria (in Scene 2) begins offstage, introducing her first entrance of the entire production, and the stage depicts her execution ground. In portraying the principal heroine’s extraordinary bravery, the prelude consists of her theme in its entirety and its restatement at fifth higher (see Figure 7.4). Before Ke’s physical appearance, this prelude effectively signals a vigorous, fighting spirit. Very different from the first aria, the second one (in Scene 3) begins with Ke’s recollection of her tragic family story and bears an especially bleak emotional color. The prelude (see Figure 7.5) is a variant of Ke’s theme, with the rhythm of motifs

Figure 7.3 Ke Xiang theme in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.4 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s first aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.5 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s second aria in Azalea Mountain 72. Wang, Jingju “yangbanxi” yinyue lungang, 84–93; Fei, Jingju zuoqu jifa, 194–95; and Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 379–417. 73. For general readers, I pay closer attention to more salient features such as formal changes, rhythm, and dynamics in discussion.

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“a” and “d” augmented. The prolonged beginning note of motif “a,” in fortepiano— beginning loudly but softening immediately—serves as a musical portrayal of the principal heroine’s emotional reaction to a soldier’s question, “Are you from a poor family too?”74 It also accompanies Ke’s speech line beginning with a sigh, “Hard to tell all the bitterness I knew, / All the wrongs I suffered . . .”75 Then, motif “b,” followed by motif “c,” begins moderately but gradually slows down, in crescendo. The prolonged ending note of motif “d,” in decrescendo, leads the audience into Ke’s past. Ke’s third aria (in Scene 3) is delivered in the midst of a debate with Lei Gang on differentiating between the allies and enemies of revolution. The prelude (see Figure 7.6) begins with the last two notes of motif “a,” followed by motif “b”—both modified with dotted notes—moves on to motif “c,” and ends on the note re replacing motif “d.” The modification with dotted notes adds lyrical power to the principal heroine’s musical image in an argumentative aria, and the unexpected ending note, preventing the completion of her theme, introduces her subsequent argumentation. The above aria is followed by Lei Gang’s aria indicating that he is truly remorseful for mistaking a class brother for an enemy. Ke’s fourth aria follows immediately, in which she passionately embraces Lei Gang’s reasoning and highlights the true purpose of proletarian revolution. Lei’s aria and Ke’s fourth aria are connected by a compact, two-measure interlude (see Figure 7.7). It includes motif “c” of Ke’s theme in fifth higher, conveying her excitement upon witnessing Lei Gang’s political growth. Ke’s fifth aria (in Scene 4) contains a short narration of her strategy for leading the self-defense troop in fighting the stronger Viper. The compact, two-measure prelude (see Figure 7.8) contains motif “c” and the first note of motif “d,” with that note accentuated by a simultaneous, firm beat from the large gong, the small gong, and the cymbals. This device contributes to a decisive and confident musical image.

Figure 7.6 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s third aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.7 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s fourth aria in Azalea Mountain 74. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 15. 75. Ibid.

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Figure 7.8 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s fifth aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.9 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s sixth aria in Azalea Mountain

Following the relatively tranquil Scene 4, a dramatic dilemma challenges Ke in Scene 5. In pondering the urgent news that a trap has been set for the self-defense troop, the principal heroine delivers her sixth aria, a central aria of the production. In the prelude (see Figure 7.9), we see two modifications of Ke’s theme in treble; these are connected by a one-measure bass bridge. The first modification includes all four motifs, altered with a prolonged beginning note in motif “a” and dotted notes for the rest of “a” and “d.” In the second modification, motif “c” registers at a higher octave, and motif “d” is replaced by an unexpected note which leads to the recurring of a rhythmically augmented motif “a.” The permutations of Ke’s theme, with meticulous orchestration, take the audience on Ke’s emotional roller coaster. As Yawen Ludden comments, “The long upward rushing string tremolos, the sudden dynamic change from mezzo forte to fortissimo, the intensified percussion, the tightened speed, the higher tessitura and harmonic coloring, all converge to vividly create a striking atmosphere of terror and tension, clearly describing the adversity that Ke Xiang is facing at this point of the story.”76 Later in the same scene, Ke applies the strategy of swinging over mountain streams on rattans to rescue Lei Gang and his adopted mother, thus avoiding the trap set by Viper. Before setting out with a Dagger Squad, she leads the seventh aria, and soldiers join her. For this extremely heroic four-line aria, the prelude (see Figure 7.10)—accentuating their determination to conquer all difficulties—begins with a prolonged beginning note of motif “a” and includes Ke’s theme in its entirety, in 1/4 meter with percussive accompaniment. Her eighth aria (in Scene 7) is also short, with only three musical lines; it is delivered during the combat between the self-defense troop and Viper’s soldiers. 76. Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution,” 408.

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Figure 7.10 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s seventh aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.11 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s eighth aria in Azalea Mountain

Reflecting the tense and dangerous situation, the three-and-a-half-measure prelude (see Figure 7.11) includes compact versions of motifs “b,” “c,” and “d,” ending at the first half of the beat; Ke’s voice comes in at the second half of the beat. When Ke returns to Azalea Mountain in Scene 8, her theme—in its entirety (see Figure 7.12)—accompanies her entrance and serves as the prelude for her ninth aria. After she has experienced crisis, risks, and combat, the original version of the principal heroine’s theme reinforces her musical image. In the same scene, Ke confronts the deputy-leader of the self-defense troop and reveals his real identity as a traitor. Ke’s severe reprimand begins in speech, and develops into a four-line aria—her tenth aria—in fast-meter. The neat, two-andhalf-beat prelude (see Figure 7.13) consists of motif “c” and the beginning note of “d” from the Ke Xiang theme. The eleventh aria (also in Scene 8) is right after Lei Gang’s aria in which he painfully asks “What makes me repeat my mistakes, / Bringing loss after loss?”77 In her aria, Ke patiently analyzes the reasons for Lei’s mistakes, her points straightforward and her tone firm yet understanding. This prelude (see Figure 7.14) adopts the strategy of the prelude for her third aria, which emphasizes a calm, reasonable musical image and introduces her further argumentation. Ke’s last aria is at the end of Scene 8, delivered at a festive moment upon the news that the self-defense troop will be incorporated into the China Workers’ and Peasants’ Revolutionary Army. Ke leads the aria and alternates musical lines with other soldiers. The prelude (see Figure 7.15) includes motifs “b,” “c,” and “d” with percussive accompaniments conveying an exciting and joyful mood. Ke’s theme, appearing in the prelude to all of her twelve arias, highlights a consistent musical image, gives nuances to dramatic situations, and leads the audience into the principal heroine’s rich inner world. As the design and use of Ke’s theme illustrates, composers’ efforts from the four major perspectives—orchestra 77. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 59.

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organization, percussive music, instrumental music, and vocal-melodic music— offered truly elaborate answers to the question raised in 1951: “how to make this old music present the rhythm of social life in service of the new reality.”78 Their efforts seem to have centered on the key objective of taking full advantage of “the old music” and strengthening it with new practices created or borrowed from Chinese and Western sources. For the prioritized task of maintaining jingju’s flavor, the performing art’s rich musical tradition offers a solid foundation for experiments. For artists from other disciplines in the model works’ production teams, however, experiences may be very different: for many designers for example, what they faced was a set of traditional practices that were barely adaptable for “the new reality.”

Figure 7.12 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s ninth aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.13 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s tenth aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.14 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s eleventh aria in Azalea Mountain

Figure 7.15 Prelude to Ke Xiang’s twelfth aria in Azalea Mountain

78. “Wenhuabu Xiqu Gaijinju fuhan tan youguan xigai zhengce de sange wenti,” 22.

8 Visual Communication through Design

Sun Yaosheng, the chief costume designer of Tiger Mountain and Boulder Bay, recalls a major challenge in designing the PLA’s military uniforms in Tiger Mountain: I suffered for quite some time, just for these pieces. Backstage, everybody looked great . . . with tight belts around their waists. But as soon as they started to move onstage, even a movement as simple as raising one arm up, the jackets started to move with them! The actors certainly did not have time to adjust their costumes because they had movement sequences to deal with. So, after a combat sequence, the costumes looked messy and none of the soldiers looked as good any more. This was really a big issue. Later, after the experiments of our costume makers, we added a piece of fabric in the armpits, which allowed more space for the movement of the arms and the torso. In this way, no matter how big the motions were, the body of the uniform stayed neat and smooth.1

As trifling as the pieces of fabric in the armpits may appear, their use vividly illustrates a designer’s dilemma and efforts to accommodate costumes to dance-acting and combat movement needs. The challenge that Sun Yaosheng had to face was partly because this type of military uniform was a new costuming concept specifically formed for this production and therefore the designer had to accomplish the adjustments—and readjustments—of the cut to performer’s practical needs during a fairly short time. This would have otherwise taken much longer, as is the case of traditional jingju wardrobe, which came into being simultaneously with the development of acting through mutual influences. With regard to traditional wardrobe management, Alexandra B. Bonds provides an important observation: “The conventionalized costumes eliminate the need for a costume designer, and as a result, dressers generally manage traditional Jingju costumes. The wardrobe personnel for each troupe maintain a stockroom of conventionalized costumes from which they select the costumes for each performance.”2 Garment choices are often made by dressers, sometimes combined with the insights of principal players. Major elements of consideration include “traditional patterns for the role types and specific 1. Sun Yaosheng, personal interview, Shanghai, 17 May 2005. 2. Alexandra B. Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes: The Visual Communication of Character and Culture (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 48–49.

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characters that have been refined for generations, as well their own artistic sensitivities and the individual acting style of the performers in the production.”3 In staging traditional repertory, jingju’s backstage personnel traditionally include seven categories of functionaries; four of the seven are closely associated with costumes, makeup, and stage properties. Juzhuangke are wardrobe personnel discussed above; rongzhuangke are hairdressers, mainly for female characters; kui­xiangke, headdress personnel, are responsible for headdresses and hats; and jutongke, stage properties personnel, who take care of positioning and removing stage properties, and sometimes special fire spectacle during performance.4 These professional practitioners perform two significant roles simultaneously: attiring characters and setting the stage appropriately, and managing their stockrooms of conventionalized pieces. Through their work, the visual images of characters and stage in traditional repertory are established through combinations of conventional costumes, makeup, hairpieces, headdresses, and stage properties. Although their responsibilities do not exclude creativity—as the above discussion indicates, dressers’ artistic sensitivities are critical for the refinement of costuming practices—the position of designer or the concept of design is not associated with these professional practitioners or the domain of their work in staging traditional repertory. In model jingju, scenery, lighting, costumes, and makeup each carries more expectations and functions than their traditional counterparts. In this chapter, I discuss design in three areas: scenic design, lighting design, and costume and makeup design.5 This approach follows and reflects the typical organizational structure and division of responsibilities within a design team in model jingju production groups, each consisting of a scenic design team, lighting design team, and costume and makeup design team, with the chief scenic designer often appointed as the head of the entire production design team. Such a structure in itself not only reveals a major departure from the visual dimension of traditional jingju but also is a culmination of increasing significance given to design in jingju creations since the turn of the twentieth century. Contextualizing the design of model jingju in its departure from that of traditional repertory and in its gradual formation through its creative evolution during the twentieth century, I pay special attention to three issues: new concepts and practices introduced by the design teams of model jingju, 3. Ibid., 244. 4. Fire spectacle (huocai) is an important special spectacle that jutongke perform to accompany the entrance of gods, ghosts, spirits, and scenes with fire. The other three categories of traditional backstage personnel are jinglike, manager-agents; yinyueke, instrumentalists; and jiaozuoke, who have two primary responsibilities: to notify performers of their parts in a production before a performance and to ensure performers are ready for their entrance during a performance. 5. The discussion in this chapter is based on six productions: Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, On the Docks, White-Tiger Regiment, and Azalea Mountain. The production books for the first four productions offer detailed information on design. Discussion of the design in White-Tiger Regiment is based on my personal interviews with Zhao Zhentang, Jinan, 25 June 2005; and Liang Yiqiang, Beijing, 30 June 2005. Detailed information regarding Azalea Mountain is from “Dujuanshan (wutai meishu wenzi ziliao)” [Azalea Mountain (stage fine art records and data)] (Beijing Jingju Tuan [Beijing Jingju Troupe], ca. 1973).

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the overall style and characteristics of design, and specific issues that challenged designers and their resulting strategies.

Scenic Design Traditional jingju repertory rarely if ever use scenery designed explicitly for an individual production; rather, generic stage properties conventionally serve as scenery, as Elizabeth Wichmann observes. “The traditional Beijing Opera stage is bare, with a decorative rather than realistic backdrop, and a carpet covering the floor for the protection of acrobatic performers. The only scenery used is one or more tables and one or more chairs.”6 Traditional stage properties include daily life utensils such as teapots and cups, brushes, fans, and lanterns; weapons such as swords, spears, and hammers; and transportation tools such as oars and horse whips. Two pieces among them are closest to the sense of scenery: bucheng (cloth city wall), a piece of fabric painted with a city wall and gate; and shanshipian (mountain rock piece), a soft flat—often a piece of fabric, or sometimes a hard flat—often a board, painted with rocks. Even though the images of a city wall and mountain rocks convey clear messages of an environment, the paintings of the images are not in proportion or perspective, and the two pieces function as symbolic conventions much as do other stage properties. Simple as it is, the staging of traditional jingju does not fail to convey a certain atmosphere specific to the dramatic action; it performs this service mainly through a conventional use of color. For example, the scenery of a birthday party hall typically consists of tables and chairs with red covers that convey a festive mood, while the same set of tables and chairs may be used to symbolize a mourning hall in a different scene or production when they are furnished with white covers, thus imparting a sorrowful atmosphere. The second half of the nineteenth century witnessed the first nonconventional scenery on the jingju stage. During the early Tongzhi years (1862–1874), playhouses in Shanghai first employed festive dengcai (fancy lanterns) which “did not only illuminate the stage, but also strengthened the atmosphere and therefore functioning partly as scenery.”7 By the mid-twentieth century, jingju practitioners had explored scenery options such as machine-operated stage scenery (jiguan bujing), which featured seemingly magical stage spectacle, soft and hard flats with painted landscapes or locales—most of which conveyed a growing sense of perspective—and realistic stage properties. These nonconventional scenic devices were sometimes used in combination, often accompanied by novel stage lighting. Together, they contributed 6. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 6. 7. “Dengguang yu bujing” [Lighting and scenery], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Shanghai juan [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Shanghai], ed. Sun Bin et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1996), 468. Dengcai (fancy lanterns) is a traditional handicraft, often consisting of a frame made of bamboo strips, wood, or metal, covered by paper or gauze. Dengcai can be of various sizes and fairly sophisticated shapes, showcasing Chinese traditional arts and crafts such as painting, calligraphy, paper cut, and mechanisms.

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to an original visual experience in several particular groups of productions, but the interrelation between scenery and acting remained a challenge for practitioners. The machine-operated stage scenery, made possible by technological advancements and creative engineers, were famous for vivid representations of natural phenomena, such as waterfalls and oceans, and dazzling special effects, such as abrupt character changes and onstage explosions, and therefore became a popular choice for productions featuring mythology, martial heroes, and the supernatural. For some productions, it became the primary selling point: during the 1930s and the 1940s, some venues and jingju companies in both Beijing and Shanghai were dedicated to “plays with machine-operated stage scenery” (jiguan bujing xi), and master engineers even became the motivating force of theatrical creations.8 Commenting on the machine-operated stage scenery in its heyday, Qian Jiuyuan aptly notices its growing independence of other components of a production and how it sometimes overpowered acting.9 Some performers experimented with soft and hard flats with painted landscapes or locales in newly created productions. For example, during the 1910s and the 1920s, master performer Mei Lanfang used flats with paintings of villages, trees, and houses in his modern-dress plays;10 scenery pieces portraying the interior of a palace appeared in one scene in Xi Shi (production title is named after the female protagonist) that Mei created and premiered in 1923;11 and in Pretty Xiren (Jun Xiren), adapted from A Dream of Red Mansions (Hong lou meng) and premiered in 1927, Mei experimented using flats painted with the interior of two adjacent rooms and furnished the stage with real furniture—including internal decorations and books—from his own household. But Mei obviously had reservations about using scenery, arguing, “In certain scenes, when scenery pieces do not conflict with acting, it is okay to use them in a flexible fashion, just as stage properties are used in the traditional [repertory]. Of course, it is fine not to use scenery [at all]. It will eventually be self-limiting if we want to use scenery throughout every production.”12 Mei believed that scenery portraying the interior of a palace in the scene in Xi Shi did not cause any conflict with acting, because that particular scene features the protagonist’s dance inside of a palace. And for the same reason, the furnished rooms onstage served Pretty Xiren, which is a single-act production with all action taking place in one location. In contrast, in Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan 8. For example, in the Gengxin Stage (Shanghai), where Zhou Xiaoqing served as the chief technologist, and the Qinjie She (Beijing), where Chen Zhengmin was the chief technologist who later joined the Xinxing Jingju Troupe (Beijing), performance programs and production plotting were designed and adjusted to feature their machine-operated stage scenery. “Dengguang yu bujing,” 474; “Wutai bujing yu zhuangzhi” [Stage scenery and installation], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Beijing juan (shang) [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Beijing (1)], ed. Jin Hezeng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1999), 767. 9. Qian Jiuyuan, Haipai jingju de aomi [The secret of Shanghai-style jingju] (Hefei: Hefei gongye daxue chubanshe, 2006), 103–12. 10. “Wutai bujing yu zhuangzhi,” 766. 11. Mei Lanfang, Wutai shenghuo sishinian [Forty years onstage] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1987), 209. 12. Ibid., 711.

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congjun), premiered in 1912,13 for a travel scene featuring the protagonist’s elaborate movement sequences, Mei eventually decided not to use scenery, not even a flat with paintings of mountains, because “no scenery could convey the sense of Mulan riding on a horse, rushing day and night—for thousands of miles—to the front.”14 At the core of master performer Mei’s concerns and choices is the potential aesthetic conflict between representational scenery and jingju’s indicative style. Joshua Goldstein offers an excellent observation of how technique functions in this style: “Like snails, Peking opera actors carry the world of the play on their backs. They do not walk onto a built set; rather, the way they walk builds the setting in which they tread. The opera actors’ body, through footsteps, posture, and hand movements, evokes the imaginary surroundings.”15 Intertwined with this performer-centered, indicative style are the format of jingju’s literary and physical narrative conventions, and the physical venues hosting its performance; these two components are often neglected in examining jingju practitioners’ dilemma when facing scenery choices. As discussed in Chapters 2, 3, and 5, traditional jingju uses the “entering and exiting” method of narration, in which the entrance and exit of a major character often signifies a comparatively independent segment of the plot. Upon entering, a major character sets the scene by a self-introduction, identifying the location and actions onstage. Along with the exit of this major character, the location also “exits” with the performer; the stage is empty and ready for the next identification. This narrative structure makes much better sense on a stage that does not define the specificity for particular segments, instead, offering a neutral space open to different identifications. Corresponding to this minimalist approach to stage are the physical features of venues hosting traditional jingju repertory: usually a three-sided stage that accentuates performers—and their techniques—but does not allow a fly system for scenery installations. It was not until 1908 when the first proscenium theatre for xiqu, the New Stage (Xin Wutai), was completed in Shanghai,16 and then in 1914, the First Stage (Di Yi Wutai), was established in Beijing. In summary, from the mid-nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth century, scenery on the jingju stage became increasingly complex. Most traditional repertory used generic stage properties conventionally serving as scenery, but the 1930s and the 1940s witnessed the practice of “putting up a fabric backdrop with paintings of generic locations such as ‘landscape,’ ‘forests,’ ‘villages,’ ‘parks,’ ‘temples,’ 13. Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan congjun) features a legendary female warrior who lived during the fifth century. Mei played the title role. 14. Mei, Wutai shenghuo sishinian, 710. 15. Goldstein, Drama Kings, 182. 16. The New Stage (Xin Wutai) in Shanghai is sometimes referred to as the first proscenium theatre in China. But Wang Xindi convincingly argues that the Lanxin Theatre (Lanxin Juchang), established in 1874 in Shanghai by the British, used a proscenium arch and a modern fly system, although it staged primarily European productions and therefore was not well known among the xiqu audience or practitioners. See further discussion in Wang Xindi’s “Xinshi juchang de jianli yu guanyan guanxi de gaishan” [The establishment of new theatres and the improvement of the audience-performance interrelation], Xiqu yishu [The Art of Xiqu] 2 (1996): 86–89.

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‘a courtroom,’ and ‘a living-room,’ etc.” for traditional repertory.17 In addition, as master performer Mei Lanfang’s artistic choices indicate, in some newly created productions, performers sometimes decided to use scenery only in selected scenes and to return to the traditional practice in other scenes. Finally, the first half of the twentieth century witnessed the mixture of traditional, three-sided stages and modern proscenium theatres, in different sizes and with different capacities for scenery installation. Venue renovations and new construction during the 1950s, in particular, increasing proscenium theatres with enhanced capacities for scenery installations, made further scenery experiments possible. For example, in Beijing, by the end of the 1950s, at least ten new public performance venues had been completed; all of them were proscenium theatres, established to host theatre productions, movies, and public gatherings such as celebratory activities.18 With the addition of another ten or so newly renovated performance venues with a proscenium arch, these proscenium theatres became the primary venues for professional jingju companies in Beijing.19 Although stage sizes vary, they often accommodate an acting area no smaller than “approximately eight meters in depth by ten meters in width,” with the cyclorama area no smaller than “six meters in depth by ten meters in width.”20 These stages are often equipped with a fly system consisting of up to thirty beams for lighting instruments, curtains, draperies, and scenery.21 It was in these proscenium theatres that modern jingju—and, later, model jingju—came into being. Differing from both traditional staging and the experiments in scenery during the first half of the twentieth century, model jingju design developed elaborate scenery specifically created for each production, and the scenery indicates an overall close-to-realistic style. A significant fact about scenic design in model jingju is that each design was separately developed by a team consisting of a chief scenic designer and multiple subordinate scenic designers. Before the design work began, scenic designers often participated in script analysis and took field trips to the specific places depicted in the scripts. With data collected from the field trips and after initial discussion with directors and playwrights, the scenic design team worked collaboratively on sketches scene by scene.22 As Chapter 5 explained, model jingju scripts always clearly indicate the location of actions for each scene, and location changes are limited to the minimum, except for travel scenes. Specific scenery was designed for each location. Within a production, the same scenery—with necessary 17. “Wutai bujing yu zhuangzhi,” 766. 18. “Huiguan xitai ji yingyexing changsuo” [Playhouses, stages, and venues for business performances], in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Beijing juan (xia) [All-China xiqu gazetteer: Beijing (2)], ed. Jin Hezeng et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo ISBN zhongxin, 1999), 885–98. 19. Ibid. 20. “Wutai bujing yu zhuangzhi,” 766. 21. Ibid. 22. Information summarized from personal interviews with Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005; Zhang Huikang, Shanghai, 14 May 2005; Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005; and Cui Zhongliang, Beijing, 16 June 2005.

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variations in stage properties and stage lighting demanded by the plot—could be used more than once in the production as long as the corresponding location was revisited in the plot. For those scenes with multiple locations, changes of scenery were always the physical and direct indicator of changes of location. This design approach, with its special attention to specific locations, contributed to elaborate scenery consisting of three major components: images on the cyclorama, often referred to as yuanjing (distant scenery); the scenery in the upstage half of the stage, also referred to as zhongjing (middle scenery); and the scenery in the downstage half of the stage, also referred to as jinjing (close scenery).23 A carpet covers the stage floor. The cyclorama marks the far upstage border of the stage. Approximately three meters downstage of it is a line of projectors on the floor that project still pictures as background images, such as the sky, clouds, the sun, the moon, mountains and so on, onto the cyclorama. Scenery in the upstage half of the stage entails mostly two-dimensional, both hard and soft flats. They are often flown in, providing further information on the environment and location of the actions on stage. Supplementing two-dimensional scenery are some scrims to provide a visual sense of depth. Scenery in the downstage half of the stage provides the most specific information regarding the environment and location of the stage action. These pieces include both two-dimensional hard scenery, such as door and window flats for a room, and three-dimensional scenery, such as platforms and stairs. This basic pattern of three major components, with a combination of two- and three-dimensional scenery, brought a significant increase in the quantity of scenic pieces. It was also closely associated with an overall close-to-realistic style. For scenic designers of model jingju, it was a basic requirement that the scenery should serve the scripts by reinforcing an understanding of the environment, historical period, mood and spirit, season of the year, locale, socioeconomic level of characters represented, the personalities of those characters, and the theatricality of the action. This ultimate goal was pursued by designing and building stage scenery that was as close to reality as possible.24 While recalling the incubation and selection of the scenic concept of Scene 2 in Azalea Mountain, Zhao Yingmian, the production’s chief scenic designer, provided the following memory: This is a very important scene because Ke Xiang makes her first entrance in the entire production. It is also highly dramatic: she is about to be executed but then gets rescued. The initial design portrayed a ferry with water as the background and a huge maple tree in front. With the color of the maple tree, it could have been rather beautiful. But the director didn’t like it. Through our further script analysis, I gradually came to the thought that the focus of the scenery should not be any natural beauty. This is an execution ground. The idea of the maple tree was indeed inappropriate. I recalled that we saw many family ancestry temples in our 23. Ibid. 24. Information summarized from personal interviews with Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005; Li Chang, Beijing, 31 March 2005; Zhang Huikang, Shanghai, 14 May 2005; Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005; and Cui Zhongliang, Beijing, 16 June 2005.

Visual Communication through Design 203 field trips to that area. The clan authority was really very powerful in that area, and this is typical of the feudal bonds in Chinese society. So, I thought a family ancestry temple might be appropriate for this scene. Since the execution ground needs to be outdoors somewhere, we thought it could be the ground outside of the family ancestry temple so that Ke can come out of the temple and perform her first liangxiang right at the gate. I feel this concept portrays the social and historical background of the story more precisely and it can also strengthen the dramatic atmosphere on stage. All our design [concepts] for these productions [model jingju] came from the scripts.25

This entire set of scenery is realistic in proportion and perspective. On the cyclorama is an image of the overcast sky over mountains. We also see an old pine tree and bamboo stands covering the silhouette of some faraway houses, and a winding path outlined with houses on both sides leads to the ground open to us. This ground is right in front of the family ancestry temple gate, with a three-dimensional set piece consisting of a flagpole on a stone pedestal facing the temple gate diagonally across the stage. The accuracy in proportion and perspective contribute to a believable illusion of the depth and spatial arrangements of the space portrayed. Strengthening this realistic style is the special attention to the choice of vegetation and architecture. According to Zhao, pine trees and bamboo are typical plants in the border region of Hunan and Jiangxi provinces, the location indicated in the script; therefore, they became the first choices.26 For all the architecture features in this design, including both the temple gate painted on a two-dimensional hard flat and the houses painted on a two-dimensional soft drop, the curved lines of the roof tops not only add visual interest but also highlight the signature style of local architecture.27 The rendering of the temple gate also requires perspective drawing of carefully chosen decorative designs. With the use of proportion and perspective, implemented with the most representative vegetation and architecture, the scenery provides a close-to-realistic visual experience of the environment depicted in the specific scene. This scenic design, consistent in model jingju, raises an immediate question: How does performance interact with the set? Similar to the creative process that Sun Yaosheng went through, as described at the beginning of this chapter, scenic designers consciously pursued solutions that accommodated jingju’s acting style and the needs of the actors. In general, they minimized scenery pieces, using only those most representative of particular dramatic situations, and for travel scenes, they avoided three-dimensional scenery in the downstage half so as to provide performance space. Scenery designed for Scene 5 in On the Docks may serve as a good example of the general approach. The location is a warehouse entrance. The image on the cyclorama, visible through the entrance, indicates that it is late at night (see

25. Zhao Yingmian, personal interview, Beijing, 19 March 2005. 26. Ibid. 27. Ibid.

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Plate 8.1 for rendering).28 The major scenery is a two-dimensional hard flat located approximately along the center line of the stage, facing the auditorium; it is painted as the interior wall of the entrance (see Figure 8.1 for construction drawing). Two slogans, “Strive to Be Strong” and “Self-Reliance” flank the door. On the walls, we see red and green signals highlighting the words “Safety First” and “No Smoking.” To stage right of the entrance are a table and chairs with a clock standing on the table and a tea container on a chair. To stage left are fire extinguishers standing close to the wall. Two crates are placed downstage left, one larger than the other (see Figure 8.2 for floor plan). Zhang Huikang, a scenic designer for this production, recalled the finalization of this design as follows: We tried our best to make it as simple as possible. For the warehouse in Scene 5, our initial design included piles of crates and rice on the floor and other small objects, such as soap, on the table. It was how a real warehouse looked. Gradually we realized that it was too much: our traditional [jingju] staging is really very simple, and naturalistic scenery looks so odd. Also, actors need the space for their dance. So, we only kept the most typical elements for a warehouse, such as the slogans, clock, and fire extinguishers. Actors needed the two crates downstage left for their performance so we kept the crates, too.29

With the same goal of accommodating acting, for some travel scenes in which the location is less specific and performers are constantly required to move around, the scenery often consists of only the cyclorama and two-dimensional soft flats, leaving the downstage area empty. The location of Scene 5 in Tiger Mountain is deep

Figure 8.1 Construction drawing for the major scenery, Scene 5 in On the Docks 28. Plate 8.1, Figure 8.1, and Figure 8.2 are from Shanghai Jingju Tuan Haigang Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Haigang (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben), 281, 307, and 297, respectively. 29. Zhang Huikang, personal interview, Shanghai, 14 May 2005.

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Figure 8.2 Stage floor plan, Scene 5 in On the Docks

in a snowy forest at the foot of the Tiger Mountain. In this travel scene, Yang Zirong performs sequences of dance-acting movement including riding on a horse and killing a tiger. The still image of the sky and the faraway mountains are projected onto the cyclorama (see Plate 8.2 for rendering).30 Downstage of the cyclorama is a two-dimensional soft flat illustrating a painting of the forest (see Figure 8.3 for construction drawing). In front of the soft flat is a blue-gray scrim to provide a sense of depth. The rest of the stage—approximately two-thirds of the stage area—is empty (see Figure 8.4 for floor plan). The exploration of the interrelationship between performance and scenery in model jingju prompted decades of debate. Interestingly, both sides of the debate often refer to this scenery as example. One criticism is stated as follows: When the curtain opens, we see the entire mountain is covered with thick snow and huge trees are everywhere. The scenery looks close-to-real and contributes to a grand beauty. Yang Zirong’s dance sequence of riding on a horse is mostly based on stylized traditional conventions and it is truly wonderful. However, the danceacting is meant to show that Yang Zirong rides down a hill, then rides up another one, crossing rivers and forests. During the entire process of the dance-acting, the scenery keeps still which makes it looks like Yang Zirong keeps turning around in the same place. It fails to provide an overall harmony.31 30. Plate 8.2, Figure 8.3, and Figure 8.4 are from Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 313, 331, and 323, respectively. 31. Li Wei, “Jingju ‘yangbanxi’ yishu deshi pingyi” [An objective discussion of the achievements and failure in the artistry of “model” jingju], Xiqu yishu [The Art of Xiqu] 29, no. 1 (2008): 76.

Figure 8.3 Construction drawing for the major scenery, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

Figure 8.4 Stage floor plan, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

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For quite a few scenic designers, the above criticism was not reasonable. They countered that it would have been at least equally inappropriate if Yang, wearing modern military uniform and weapons, ran around on a bare stage. They pointed out that the audience of traditional jingju automatically focuses on the acting and will never linger on such issues as why a table that functions as a dinner table in Scene 1 can be used to indicate a wall in Scene 2. This audience acceptance of scenic convention is applicable to all jingju productions. In this particular design, the forests and mountains are painted on a piece of two-dimensional flat to provide a more direct sense of the environment in an efficient way. It is not meant to indicate how many trees there are in that specific forest. The designers were well aware of the needs of the acting, and this was exactly why no three-dimensional scenery was used and two-thirds of the stage was left empty.32 Perception-related issues are closely associated with aesthetics and will be further explored in Coda. For the current chapter, it is imperative to note that the major arguments proposed by the opposing sides of the debate seem to highlight two different aspects of scenic design in model jingju. On the one hand, the new style is realized in essentially realistic elements that contribute to a visual experience that is much closer to reality than that of traditional jingju. On the other hand, designers made tremendous efforts to accommodate acting, and their designs created ample stage space for the performers’ work. In this debate, two issues are often underrepresented: changes in model jingju’s format of literary narrative and the consistency of the productions’ visual style. On the surface, the first criticism quoted above echoes master performer Mei Lanfang’s concerns about the potential aesthetic conflict between representational scenery and jingju’s indicative style, discussed earlier in this chapter. But Mei’s newly created plays adopt traditional narrative format, with the “entering and exiting” method, whereas all scenes in Tiger Mountain—except for the beginning of Scene 5 and the ending of Scene 9—have a clearly designated and set location. In other words, changes in the format of literary narrative in model jingju offer a certain level of justification for a scenic design that enhances the specificity of each dramatic location, which was not possible for Mei’s creations during the 1910s and the 1920s. In this context, Mei’s concern that “it will eventually be self-limiting if we want to use scenery throughout every production” emphasizes the consistency in a production’s visual style when the majority of its scenes do not have a set location.33 Mei’s artistic choices and aesthetic concerns found a paradoxical resonance in the scenic design of Scene 5 in Tiger Mountain: designers’ concern that “it would have been at least equally inappropriate if Yang, wearing modern military uniform and weapons, ran around on a bare stage in this particular scene” should be interpreted in the context that the majority of other 32. Information summarized from personal interviews with Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005; Zhang Huikang, Shanghai, 14 May 2005; Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005; Cui Zhongliang, Beijing, 16 June 2005; Zhao Zhentang, Jinan, 25 June 2005; and Liang Yiqiang, Beijing, 30 June 2005. 33. Mei, Wutai shenghuo sishinian, 711.

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scenes have a set location with scenic design defining the specificity of dramatic locales, and hence the design in this particular scene is part of the pursuit of a consistent visual style throughout this production.

Lighting Design Experiments in jingju stage lighting developed in tandem with its scenic design. The introduction of gaslight in 1864 and electric light in 1882—both in Shanghai— offered significant technological support for festive dengcai, which not only illuminated the stage but also functioned as its early scenery. The first two decades of the twentieth century witnessed the establishment of onstage footlight and ceiling light for the acting area, “the former lying in the front and on the side of a proscenium stage or a three-sided stage; the latter lying behind the first border above the stage with ten or so instruments forming a line.”34 A major development in jingju stage lighting took place with machine-operated stage scenery for which lighting, through “visibility control, optical illusions, and special effect instruments,”35 was integral in the onstage spectacle. During the 1930s, projectors for images on cyclorama and neon lighting appeared on the jingju stage. Stage lighting technology gradually became an independent profession during the 1930s and the 1940s.36 Despite its active role in onstage spectacle in plays with machine-operated stage scenery, the concept of lighting in staging traditional jingju repertory typically refers to an intense wash of white light evenly distributed on stage without movement, and the same wash usually accompanies a production from beginning to end. With the primary function of making everybody and everything on stage clearly visible to the audience, the traditional lighting does not feature selective focus, modeling, or mood. This approach is best exemplified in the traditional one-act play At the Crossroads Inn (San cha kou), in which performers mime a combat in darkness. The main body of the performance consists of two characters, blinded by the darkness in a room, trying to identify the position of the other person and then fighting for survival. The audience sees them listening to the air with the utmost care, waving their arms in alert defense, and reacting swiftly to a subtle breeze caused by a movement made by the other person. The entire performance successfully creates an impression of the darkness in that room even though it is executed in a brilliant white wash of light. Like scenic design, lighting design in model jingju was separately created for specific scenes, through an elaborate process including script analysis and field trips to actual locations. Primary attention was given to the control of light qualities, including distribution, intensity, movement, and color. According to available sources on Tiger Mountain, The Red Lantern, Shajiabang, On the Docks, and 34. “Dengguang yu bujing,” 469. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid.

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Azalea Mountain, more than a hundred instruments were involved in each of the productions;37 their usual placement included the first house electric, box booms on both sides of the stage, booms on both sides of the forestage, four onstage electrics, the cyclorama electric, the onstage projectors approximately three meters downstage from the cyclorama, the balcony rail, and the side stages.38 Instruments placed in these positions provided front, side, top, and back light, as well as their combinations. According to the electrician’s cue sheets, on average at least fifty changes in intensity appear in each performance; the number of instruments involved in a single intensity change ranges from one to seventy. In addition to differently timed durations of the light cues, two to four follow spots join in each production, adding another layer of movement. Instrument schedules provide us with a long list of assigned colors, offering a fascinating contrast to the traditional white wash: light yellow, medium yellow, golden-yellow, light pink, pink, red, purple-red, orange-red, light orange, orange, lightest blue, light blue, medium blue, blue, dark blue, purpleblue, light green, green, and white. Instruments designated for special effects, such as thunderstorms, moving clouds, and rain, were in common usage. With this elaborate use of light, the primary function of lighting design in model jingju was to support the scenery through a vivid enhancement of the location, environment, time, and sometimes mood, of actions. Fu Dawei, the chief lighting designer for Azalea Mountain, particularly mentioned the light image of the bamboo in Scene 4, a significant element of the set. “The overall request for us [lighting designers] was to show the location and environment precisely. Of course, we cooperated with scenic designers. . . . For Scene 4, the color of the bamboo was very important; we paid special attention to creating an image with a variety of green colors, three major ones being tender green, emerald green, and dark green. The bamboo had to be vividly lit to show the spatial relationship and perspective of the scenery.”39 In this scene, bamboo sprouting in morning sunlight represent the growing self-defense troop and conveys an uplifting atmosphere, as described in the lyrics of the opening aria. Li (sings): Like bamboo growing apace on Azalea Mountain, Our self-defense corps trains hard and grows in strength. Down with the landlords, share out the grain, all are happy Amid red banners, battle-songs and slogans.40 37. The production books of the first four productions include detailed information including lighting plans, instrument schedules, electrician’s cue sheets, and follow spots cue sheets. Information on Azalea Mountain is from “Dujuanshan (wutai meishu wenzi ziliao).” 38. The first house electric is the first beam in front-of-house locations over the audience and the closest to the proscenium; the box booms are at short and vertical lighting positions to the side of the apron; booms on both sides of the forestage are vertical lighting positions facing the stage diagonally; four onstage electrics are on four beams over the stage, starting from the first one, which is the closest to the proscenium; the cyclorama electric is the beam diagonally above the cyclorama; the balcony rail refers to the beam secured to the front edge of the first balcony; and the side stage instruments are hung on vertical booms located between wings. 39. Fu Dawei, personal interview, Beijing, 17 June 2005. 40. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 23.

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The set comprises three soft flats painted with green bamboo stands—two on stage right, one on stage left, and all are in perspective. The instrument schedule indicates that the bamboo stand on stage left is illuminated by five instruments: a stage right side light assigned medium blue, a stage left side light assigned goldenyellow, an up-front light on the first onstage electric assigned light blue, and another up-front light on the second onstage electric with a narrower angle from two instruments both assigned light green.41 The washes of medium blue, golden-yellow, and light blue not only help to reveal the thickness of the stand but also contribute to the expected layers of green colors when medium blue darkens the green more than light blue does. The two instruments assigned light green are used for the top of the bamboo. Their intensity level is set for seventy-five degrees while all other instruments are set for one hundred degrees, thus adding a subtle layer of tender green wash on the top of the bamboo stand. Analyzing this strategy, Fu emphasized, “Our concept was sprouting bamboo in morning sunlight. The paint crew provided wellpainted scenery; on this basis, the light heightens the visual experience of a lush bamboo stand. We wanted it to look real.”42 A similar approach was applied to depicting changes in time, which often required smooth transitioning between layers of light. In Azalea Mountain, Scene 5 starts at sunset, moves into dusk, continues as the twilight develops into darkness, and finishes at night. At the beginning of this scene, five sources of colored light contribute to the image of “dusk with sunset”: angle front light with a blend of light blue and white, downstage right side light with a blend of golden-yellow and medium blue, stage right side light assigned orange-red, stage left side light assigned medium blue, and downstage left side light assigned medium blue.43 Fu commented that “the light of dusk should be recognizable. We used warmer colors, like yellow and orange-red for the stage right side, but cooler colors, like medium blue, for the stage left side so as to form a contrast. And it is consistent on both soft and hard set pieces.”44 All the instruments are set for one hundred degrees, the highest intensity, at the beginning of the scene. As the twilight slowly deepens, lights in golden-yellow and orange-red are gradually turned down until they go off. The electrician’s cue sheet has a special note for this intensity change: “This change takes place during a fairly long process; it should be smooth.”45 After the warm light fades out, a blue wash over the stage—which helps create the depiction of nighttime—fades in with five sources of colored light, including angle front light with a blend of light blue and white, downstage right side light with a blend of medium blue and light blue, and the other three sources—stage right side light, stage left side light, and downstage left side light—all assigned medium blue. All instruments illuminating the 41. “Instrument Schedule,” in “Dujuanshan (wutai meishu wenzi ziliao),” 20–22. 42. Fu Dawei, personal interview, Beijing, 17 June 2005. 43. “Instrument Schedule,” in “Dujuanshan (wutai meishu wenzi ziliao),” 20–22. 44. Fu Dawei, personal interview, Beijing, 17 June 2005. 45. “Dujuanshan (wutai meishu wenzi ziliao),” 15.

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acting area are set to seventy degrees, a lower intensity than that at the beginning of the scene.46 As night arrives, the white light from the angle front positions gradually fades out, leaving a wash of darker blue flooding the stage. During the entire scene, follow spots are used for major characters in order to direct the audience’s focus and to ensure that the colored lights will not override the basic hue of the costumes or makeup. Fu emphasized the special attention that “[the wash covering] the entire stage needs to be smooth. We made sure that light on the scenery melts in with the other areas of the stage. We were also cautious with the transitions in both color and intensity from the cyclorama area to the middle area, and from the middle area to the downstage area. Only in this way could the depth and perspective be precisely presented. Details are important.”47 Lighting designers not only approached the images of light through space and time but also considered the relationships among characters. Some recalled that they were required to accentuate the principal heroes/heroines through lighting.48 Follow spots, with different focus of iris, different voltages, and even different assigned colors became the major tool. The follow spots cue sheet of The Red Lantern indicates that in Scene 6, follow spots are used for both Li Yuhe, the principal hero, and Hatoyama, the head of the Japanese gendarmerie. While white is assigned to both of the instruments, the spotlight on Hatoyama is on flood focus, set for 100 voltage, and that on Li is on spot focus, set for 110 voltage, lighting Li with a more concentrated and intense beam. In Scene 8, follow spots are used for Li Yuhe, Granny Li, Tiemei, and Hatoyama. White is used for all the three positive characters, while light blue and medium blue are used for Hatoyama.49 The cool blue colors help underline the wretchedness of the Japanese invader and contribute to a contrast between the light signatures of the evil and the just, a common approach to follow spots in model jingju. Additionally, Fu Dawei confirmed that “sometimes two or even three spotlights were used for Ke Xiang, the principal heroine [in Azalea Mountain]. In addition to iris focus, voltage, and color, in order to highlight the principal heroine, we sometimes used brand new bulbs for her and old, alreadyused ones for other characters.”50

Costume and Makeup Design In contrast to the use of minimal scenery and simple lighting, traditional costuming and makeup are highly elaborate and contribute significantly to the spectacle of the jingju stage, which Alexandra B. Bonds vividly describes: “Fashioned from 46. Ibid., 20–22. 47. Fu Dawei, personal interview, Beijing, 17 June 2005. 48. Personal interviews with Zhang Huikang, Shanghai, 14 May 2005; Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005; and Fu Dawei, Beijing, 17 June 2005. 49. “Follow Spots Cue Sheet,” in Zhongguo Jingju Tuan, Geming xiandai jingju Hongdeng ji (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben), 335–39. 50. Fu Dawei, personal interview, Beijing, 17 June 2005.

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brilliantly colored silk fabrics and lavishly hand-embroidered with multicolored and metallic threads in exquisite floral and faunal ornamentation, each costume projects an image of unmatched elegance. When the figures attired in this brilliant dress are viewed in combination with their elaborately evocative face painting and glittering rhinestone-bejeweled and pearled headdresses, the combination creates an image of breathtaking beauty.”51 In traditional jingju, the concept of costume incorporates garments, footwear, and headwear, and the field of makeup embraces facial makeup, hair, and hair accessories; in both fields, stylization and conventionalization are the keys to understanding the sophisticated visual language revealed in characters’ appearance. The following discussion first deals with costumes and then moves on to makeup. In the realm of traditional costumes, stylization occurs in the absence of time, place, and season, as Bonds remarks: All plays, regardless of their time period, are presented with the same selection of costumes, and through these stylized costumes, time occurs both simultaneously and without chronology. Reference to location and season are also absent. . . . Although the stories in traditional Jingju plays take place in a variety of places, the costumes do not reflect the regional dress of each ethnic group. The only distinction made in this regard is that the majority Han people in the plays are dressed in Han-style costumes that resemble Ming [dynasty, 1368–1644] and earlier dress, while all minorities are dressed in the same garment of Qing dynasty [1644–1912] origin, regardless of their location or ethnicity. While Qing imperial dress was divided into two seasons, with differing fabrics . . . the seasons are not depicted in traditional Jingju garments.52

Running in tandem with this stylization is the comprehensive use of conventions in form, color, decoration, and fabric. For both male and female roles, “different choices in fabric, hue, and decoration in the making of the garments establishes the rank of the person or the role type of the character who wears them. The visual variations in costumes now project six levels of character identification: male/female, youth/age, civilian/military, upper/lower status, rich/poor and Han/ethnic.”53 Fugui yi (garment of wealth and nobility) may serve as a good example for some basic characteristics of traditional jingju garments. Despite the ironic name of “wealth and nobility,” this garment is used for the poorest characters.54 Bonds precisely describes the basic form, ornamentation, and construction of its female version (see Plate 8.3).55 51. Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 30. 52. Ibid., 28–29. 53. Ibid., 28. 54. One interpretation of the name is that characters wearing it often end up in better times, although this is more applicable for male characters than for females. See more information in Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 142–44; and Tan Yuanjie, Zhongguo jingju fuzhuang tupu [Chinese jingju costumes with illustrative plates] (Beijing: Gongyi meishu chubanshe, 1992), 98–99, 116–17. 55. Plate 8.3 is from Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 144.

Visual Communication through Design 213 The body of the garment is black silk crepe and, as with other lower-status garments, it does not feature embroidery. Instead, the fugui yi is distinguished by multicolored three- and four-sided silk scraps, a stylized version of the patched clothing of the poor. The female garment adds the patches to the qingyi xuezi [informal robe for young and middle-aged dignified female], which closes in the center front with a small standing collar that has a narrow blue border applied around the edges.56

The stylized patches on fugui yi deserves close examination. The bold choices of color—pink, blue, turquoise, and yellow—declare that there is no intention to blend the color of the patches with that of the original garment. Rather, with the black garment as the backdrop, they become the most eye-catching elements. Also, the patches are positioned randomly in the sense that they do not necessarily cover any stain or protect any vulnerable part of the garment from impairment. In traditional jingju, this garment, with corresponding conventional accessories, footwear, hair, hair accessories, and headwear, visualizes and stylizes a character’s state of impoverishment. Corresponding to innovations in scenery and stage lighting, jingju costumes also witnessed experiments with new concepts during the early twentieth century. Master performer Mei Lanfang has been credited for the invention of guzhuang banxiang (ancient-style stage images), which includes guzhuang tou (ancient-style hairstyle) and sets of new costumes designed for Mei’s newly created plays during the 1910s and 1920s, beginning with Chang’e Rushing to the Moon (Chang’e bei yue) in 1915.57 In the meantime, Mei also experimented with modern-dress plays in which female protagonists’ costumes are fairly similar to his contemporary women’s attire during the 1910s. As presented in Chapter 2, in 1954, Mei referred to his experience in A Young Girl Kills a Snake, created and premiered in 1918, to illustrate the challenges of performing jingju in modern attire. In examining the experiments of costume design in modern jingju from the 1950s to the 1970s, Tan Yuanjie, the chief costume designer of Azalea Mountain, succinctly summarizes the approach: “to write an overall reality, with partial decoration and beautification” (zhengti xieshi jubu zhuangshi meihua),58 highlighting a gradually systemized style that is generally realistic but with partial refinements that embrace indicative elements. Tan believes that Xi’er’s costume in The WhiteHaired Girl produced by the China Jingju Company in 1958, in particular her stage image after living on a mountain for years, illustrates this approach well, because “[costume designers] not only simplified and beautified the color of her tattered clothes, but also cut her cuffs and the lower hem of her jacket into the shape of

56. Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 142. 57. See a detailed description of guzhuang banxiang, including hairstyle and costume pieces, in Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 189–92. 58. Tan Yuanjie, Xiqu fuzhuang sheji [Costume design in xiqu] (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 2000), 290–92.

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willow leaves.”59 In this way, Xi’er’s ragged garments offer a realistic portrayal of her tough time in deep mountains, but her tattered clothes are aestheticized instead of being naturalistic. This approach is evident in model jingju in which, as with scenic design and lighting design, costumes were developed separately for each production through a creative process starting from script analysis and field trips. All costumes for model jingju are based on everyday garments in actual use as depicted in the scripts and clearly indicate the time, place, and season of the stories. For instance, costumes for the soldiers in Tiger Mountain closely resemble the PLA’s military uniforms during the War of Liberation (1945–1949), while those for the soldiers in Shajiabang are based on the military uniforms of the New Fourth Army during the War of Resistance against Japan (1937–1945), and the costumes for the stevedores in On the Docks are derived from dockers’ uniforms during the 1950s and the 1960s. These uniforms, with visual elements such as form and color referring to a specific historical period, help to create an image of the distinct time portrayed in the scripts. In the same manner, costumes in model jingju provide a direct indication of the specified location and season. For instance, attire for the self-defense troop soldiers in Azalea Mountain simulate the signature dress style in Hunan and Jiangxi provinces, costumes for the Korean revolutionary masses in White-Tiger Regiment closely resemble the Korean style of dress, and Li Yuhe’s scarf in The Red Lantern tells us that the story probably happens in chilly weather. The individually designed costumes with palpable reference to the time, place, and season of actions prescribed in scripts reinforce an overall close-to-realistic style, strengthened by the portrayal of characters’ social rank and financial status in a way faithful to real life. A comparison between the patches on Tiemei’s costumes in The Red Lantern and those on the female version of fugui yi, discussed above, help demonstrate the major differences in the two styles. Tiemei’s costumes often consist of jackets and trousers (see Plate 8.4).60 Patches are put in the knee area, shoulder area, elbow area, and edges of costume pieces; these places are the most vulnerable to wear and tear in actuality and would therefore logically be patched. Although the color of the patches is often a bit darker than that of the original garment, the patches belong to the same color family with an apparent intention to match colors. Compared to the contrasting patches on the highly stylized fugui yi in traditional jingju wardrobe, those on Tiemei’s costumes appear to be overall realistic, illustrating their function in a proletarian girl’s life. In the meantime, partial decoration and beautification is most evident through the design of patch shapes. Edges of patches in the knee area—the most visible patches—are nicely cut with symmetrical curves illustrating the shape of flower petals, which not only add visual interest but also accentuate Tiemei’s femininity. 59. Ibid., 291. 60. Plate 8.4 is from Zhongguo Jingju Tuan, Geming xiandai jingju Hongdeng ji (1970 nian 5 yue yanchuben), 248 and 249.

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The partial decoration and beautification in model jingju costume design required artistic choices in cut, color, and fabric, with meticulous adaptations to accommodate the practical needs of acting, thus contributing to the refinements of costumes. Focusing on the accentuation of gender and sexuality through costume design, Rosemary Roberts offers a precise analysis of Yan Weicai’s, the principal hero of White-Tiger Regiment, military uniform: “Padded shoulders increase the width of the shoulders, while curved side seams and vertical front darts mould the jacket to performer Song Yuqing’s waist and hips to create the ideal triangularised male torso, further accentuated by the belt at his waist.”61 Roberts also describes how women dockers’ costumes in On the Docks are tailored to delineate their bodies: “The inherent drabness and potential androgyny of workers’ overalls are countered by tailoring that shapes the women’s costumes to show off hips and waist, and abbreviates the bib top to show off shirts in feminine colour worn underneath.”62 Speaking to the experience in Azalea Mountain, Yan Guixiang, an understudy of Ke Xiang, recalled, “At first, we were not used to the costumes, because the jackets are shorter than normal attire in daily life. I even said to myself, ‘Isn’t this showing too much of the curve of our buttocks?’ But once onstage, I noticed that the jackets, with the ends of our cuffs rolled up, and nicely cut trousers, help tremendously to beautify our stage images by shortening the visual proportion of our torsos and elongating the visual proportion of legs.”63 The use of color also plays a significant role in decoration and beautification. Sun Yaosheng noted that the color of the military uniforms in Tiger Mountain was much brighter than the real uniforms so that the exaggerated green conveyed an uplifting energy.64 Roberts, in her vigorous explication of the “multiple meanings of red” in the costumes of model works, reveals not only how red “can be seen as symbolizing either revolutionary potential . . . or conversion to Communism . . . , or as symbolizing the upholding of the Communist cause,”65 but “the red jackets and suits of the women also carry deeply embedded cultural symbolism of woman as sensual and sexualized object of desire.”66 Although, as Roberts points out, red on the male characters is limited, her analysis of the red lining used for the snow camouflage cloaks for Yan Weicai and his deputy in White-Tiger Regiment—while other soldiers’ snow cloaks are lined with white—is a powerful illustration of the color of red serving as a visual ideological symbol of the “heroic Communist/proletarian” and a decorative signifier of “male hierarchy and status.”67 Intertwined with cut and color is the choice of fabric and material, also a major area of innovation. Tan Yuanjie identifies the cape used in traditional jingju 61. Roberts, “Gendering the Revolutionary Body,” 153. 62. Ibid., 154. 63. Yan Guixiang, personal interview, Beijing, 9 May 2005. 64. Sun Yaosheng, personal interview, Shanghai, 17 May 2005. 65. Roberts, “Gendering the Revolutionary Body,” 149. 66. Ibid., 149–50. 67. Ibid., 149.

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repertory, decorated with silk tassels and colored brown, as the direct inspiration for the capes in Azalea Mountain, which are “decorated with tassels made of green nylon cords.”68 Tan believes that this design accommodated the needs of danceacting for Ke Xiang and self-defense troop soldiers, and the color green accentuated the costume’s decorative and beautifying functions.69 Some experiments with fabric, such as the one for Yang Zirong’s overcoat in Scene 5 of Tiger Mountain, underwent a fairly long evolution. Sun Yaosheng recalls: According to the script, the story happens in mountains covered with snowy forests. If Yang Zirong’s overcoat does not look solid or warm, then it loses the sense of reality. At first I designed an overcoat with woven wool. It was thick and looked rather warm. But in a rehearsal, the actor almost lost balance when he performed the dance-acting movement of throwing one front panel aside. So, something light but appears thick would be an ideal fabric. We tried genuine leather, but it was still too heavy. At that time, we did not produce man-made fur in China but the Shanghai Textile Academy collected some information from overseas and experimented with very fine cotton yarns. Unfortunately, at first the “fur” they made was somehow straight; we had to find two barbers to perm the hair so that it looked like untanned hide of a calf.70

Similar to the case of costumes, stylization and conventionalization are central to the realm of traditional makeup. The relationship first manifests in the close connection between a character’s makeup and the role-type or, in some cases, the rolesubcategory to which the character belongs. Generally speaking, each of the four role-types is associated with a particular makeup process, makeup patterns, hairstyles, and hairpieces, all indicating a particular gender, age, social status, and level of dignity. The facial makeup of sheng and dan characters share a similar pattern consisting of a pale pink or neutral “flesh” colored foundation, eyebrows and eyes accented in black or gray, red (or pink or orange) rouge applied around the eyes and sometimes to the upper cheek, and red lips. All jing and chou characters use lianpu (facial charts) makeup. Graphic and colorful, lianpu makeup “convey[s] information about personality and character through a complex system of conventional colors and designs.”71 The standardized use of color is another manifestation of stylization and conventionalization in traditional makeup. For sheng and dan characters, more red and pink pigments are used for the makeup of young, healthy, and principal characters than for the makeup of elderly, weak/ill, and supporting characters. For jing roles, the dominant color in their lianpu is usually indicative of the character’s personality. For example, on the most basic level, red symbolizes loyalty, black is often used for 68. Tan, Xiqu fuzhuang sheji, 292. 69. Ibid. 70. Sun Yaosheng, personal interview, Shanghai, 17 May 2005. 71. Elizabeth Wichmann-Walczak, “Makeup: China,” in Encyclopedia of Asian Theatre, ed. Samuel L. Leiter (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2007), 1: 394.

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upright characters, and white is often treacherous.72 For chou roles, “the dominant feature is a small white patch of makeup around the nose, eyes, and cheek area,” which “reflects the degree of wickedness or cleverness.”73 In traditional jingju, most performers apply their own facial makeup, but the hair and hair accessories are always managed by professional personnel. As did costume design, makeup in model jingju also moved away from its traditional association with role-types and conventional use of color. The colorful hues used in traditional makeup were replaced by more neutral and realistic colors. Even though all makeup design in model jingju followed a similar pattern consisting of foundation, facial highlights and shadows, accented eyebrows, lined eye lines, and colored lips, the major alteration of technique was differentiation between positive characters and negative characters through the use of different tones in their foundation. Sun Yaosheng recalled that “we were told that heroes should never look pale. In order to make Yang Zirong look healthy and heroic, the hue of his foundation was close to the hue of other characters’ tanned cheeks.”74 A comparison of principal heroes/heroines and negative characters reveals that the former wear a warm-toned foundation, highlights are applied to the bridge of the nose, cheekbones, and the eyebrow ridge, shadows are applied to the eye sockets and under the jaw, and eyebrows and eyes are lined and accented, whereas the latter wear a much lighter-toned foundation, fewer highlights and shadows are applied, and eye bags, creases, and wrinkles are often accentuated. The contrast in facial makeup literally portrays the positive characters as bright, energetic, and good looking, and the negative ones as gray, wretched, and unattractive. In model jingju, designers contributed to the productions with scenery, lighting, costumes, and makeup particularly tailored for individual scenes and characters. With design aspects created specifically to accommodate acting, their work invited spectators to a fairly lifelike visual experience that was always in accordance with the scripts’ stipulations. After the analysis of meticulous innovation in each of the artistic components in these productions—playwriting, acting, music, and design—it is time to turn to the position responsible for putting all artistic aspects together: directing in model jingju.

72. For a detailed introduction of the use of color in lianpu, see Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 207–14; Zhao Mengli and Yan Jiqing, Peking Opera Painted Faces—With Notes on 200 Operas (Beijing: Morning Glory Publishers, 1996), 14; and Wichmann-Walczak, “Makeup,” 394–96. 73. Bonds, Beijing Opera Costumes, 216. 74. Sun Yaosheng, personal interview, Shanghai, 17 May 2005.

Plate 8.1 Scenery design rendering, Scene 5 in On the Docks

Plate 8.2 Scenery design rendering, Scene 5 in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy

Plate 8.3 Female version of fugui yi Character: Han Yuniang, in A Sorrow That Transcends Life and Death (Sheng si hen). Actor: Li Huifang. Beijing, China. 30 July 2000. Photo by Alexandra B. Bonds.

Plate 8.4 Costume design rendering, Tiemei in The Red Lantern

9 Mounting a Production: Directing

Sun Hongxun, the original performer of Wang Lianju, the traitor in The Red Lantern, recalls a rehearsal with the production’s chief director, Ajia: Sometimes Ajia demonstrated for us. In Scene 4, Hatoyama asks a series of questions while investigating Wang Lianju. “Who’s in the underground Communist Party? Who was your accomplice? Where’s the liaison man hiding? Who’s got the secret code now? Better make a clean breast of it.”1 Once, in a rehearsal, he said to me, “You see, this is how it is,” and he did Hatoyama. I remember that he walked toward me step by step while asking the questions one after another. When he asked the last question, “Who’s got the secret code now?” he grabbed me at my chest and then threw me down. Then he leaned very close to me immediately and yelled at me in a loud voice, “Better make a clean breast of it.” At that moment, he really made my flesh creep. I felt that there was no way that I could keep the secret.2

What Ajia accomplished in this rehearsal is what he considers the primary responsibility of a xiqu director: to help performers “experience” their characters within the framework of the performers’ acting conventions.3 Jingju performers portray characters with stylized acting conventions, and therefore Ajia emphasizes that their understanding of characters’ psychology, emotions, and personality should be established within the context of the acting techniques with which they are familiar. When Ajia approached Sun step by step, throwing out questions one at a time, he followed the rhythm of jingju acting, and it led the performer into the musicality with which he was comfortable, thus offering the performer a smooth transition to the dramatic situation. The first three steps approaching the actor, coinciding with the first three questions, escalated to the most critical interrogation, “Who’s got the secret code now?” and the investigator’s threat, “Better make a clean breast of it.” Maintaining the rhythm of jingju acting, Ajia’s movement and voice were also loyal to the rule of exaggeration in jingju performance. When Sun felt that the director made his “flesh creep,” his physical reaction was directly linked to his intellectual 1. China Peking Opera Troupe, The Red Lantern, 11. 2. Sun Hongxun, personal interview, Beijing, 29 July 2005. 3. Ajia, “Lun Zhongguo xiqu daoyan” [On directors of Chinese xiqu], in Ajia xiju lun ji [Collection of Ajia’s articles on theatre], ed. Li Chunxi (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2005), 283.

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understanding of the stage reality that Wang Lianju—his character—could no longer hold the secret. This rehearsal illustrates some of the special challenges inherent in directing jingju productions. The challenges are partly due to the fact that the system for utilizing directors in jingju was not established until 1952, when the Ministry of Culture issued a directive clearly demanding that “xiqu companies should establish a directorial system, in order to guarantee the improvement of the performing arts and music.”4 Appointed as the chief director of the China Jingju Troupe in 1955, Ajia was one of the first professional directors in jingju. As he states, “For the traditional xiqu repertory, the work of directing is not independent, and there is no such a position as a director. Directorial work is accomplished through masters advising disciples, in comments from the talents in writing societies,5 and from literati wellversed in lyrics and composers skilled in tunes.”6 In practice, jingju rehearsals and productions before the 1950s were organized and supervised either by the master performers playing lead roles or by cuanxide (production assemblers).7 In this context, it is significant that the period during which modern jingju—and model jingju—were developed, from the mid-1950s through the mid-1970s, coincides with the time when professional directors first began contributing to jingju creations. In this chapter, I approach directing in model jingju from five perspectives: the directors’ function, script and character analysis, mounting the work on stage, the use of minor supporting characters, and technique directors. This grouping is based on the reported activities within the directors’ major areas of responsibility. I begin with an examination of the director’s role during the creative process. In discussing the fulfilment of their directorial responsibilities, I describe the model jingju director’s efforts to help performers develop a deeper understanding of scripts and characters through analytical discussion, their collaboration with fellow artists in realizing this modern understanding through jingju’s traditional stage conventions, and their innovative usage and arrangement of minor supporting characters. In the last section, I delineate the work of technique directors for their accomplishments in designing movement, dance-acting, and stage combat.

4. “Wenhuabu guanyu zhengdun he jiaqiang quanguo jutuan gongzuo de zhishi” [Ministry of Culture’s directive regarding the consolidation and strengthening of theatrical companies’ work throughout the country], in “Xiju gongzuo wenxian ziliao huibian” [Compilation of theatre work documents], ed. Hua Jia and Hai Feng (Changchun, 1984), 40. 5. Writing societies are playwright organizations during the Song and the Yuan dynasties. 6. Ajia, “Lun Zhongguo xiqu daoyan,” 277. 7. Li Zigui, “Xiqu daoyan gaishuo” [General introductions to xiqu directing], in Li Zigui xiqu biaodaoyan yishu lunji [Collection of Li Zigui’s articles on the art of performance and directions in xiqu] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1992), 11–12. Anne Megan Evans offers by far the most thorough examination of the status and function of the xiqu director in her dissertation, “The Evolving Role of the Director in Xiqu Innovation” (University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, ProQuest Dissertations Publishing, 2003).

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Directors’ Function in Creative Process A remarkable number of directors participated in creating model jingju. During the development of each play, each major version involved a directorial team consisting of jingju professionals (performers, musicians, and composers), huaju directors, or directors of other xiqu forms. A common structural pattern of the directorial teams was composed of one chief director supported by one or more supporting directors. The chief director may or may not have been familiar with jingju performance practices, but the supporting director or directors often had professional jingju acting experience. One basic yet significant reality of directing in model jingju is that the directorial teams, including the chief directors, did not have absolute authority over their creation. Rather, they often made adjustments and revisions according to the stipulations of higher authorities. In History of Xiqu in Contemporary China, directing in model jingju is described as follows: In special historical situations, national leaders placed special importance on modern plays. This unique political status provided modern jingju with conditions in which human beings, resources, and time were centralized so as to polish the best productions; meanwhile directors lost part of their directorial authority, which meant that activities including script revisions and casting had to follow the will of administrative leaders. In addition, the directors were required to implement the administrators’ instructions, however interfering they might have been.8

Jiang Qing was most probably the primary administrative leader giving comments and opinions that covered many more areas than “script revisions and casting.” During the development of these productions, she watched dress rehearsals and public performances frequently. Her feedback covering all aspects of the performances was often delivered to the production groups in an extremely timely manner—sometimes on the same night as the rehearsal or performance—either at small meetings with key members of the production teams or at larger conferences with related officials in attendance with members of the production groups.9 Jiang’s communication with the production team of Tiger Mountain can serve as a good example.

8. Yu Cong and Wang Ankui, eds., Zhongguo dangdai xiqu shi [History of xiqu in contemporary China] (Beijing: Xueyuan chubanshe, 2005), 595. Although the Chinese wording in this description is xiandai jingju (modern jingju), according to the context, it is clearly referring to model jingju. 9. Information summarized from Xu Chen, “Yangbanxi qishi lu” [Inspirations from model works], in Dangdai Zhongguo da xieyi: neimu juan [Grand descriptions of modern China: Inside stories], ed. Du Weidong (Kunming: Yunnan renmin chubanshe, 1994), 236–328; Dai Jiafang, Zou xiang huimie—”Wenge” Wenhuabuzhang Yu Huiyong chenfu lu [Walking toward destruction: The vicissitudes of Yu Huiyong, the culture minister during the “Cultural Revolution”] (Beijing: Guangmingribao chubanshe, 1994); “Jiang Qing tongzhi lun wenyi”; personal interviews with Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005; Fu Dawei, Beijing, 17 June 2005; and Sun Hongxun, Beijing, 29 July 2005; and telephone interview with Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005.

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During a period beginning in August 1964—immediately after Mao Zedong watched the production at the Beijing Festival—and ending in November 1966, when the production was designated as a model jingju, Jiang delivered at least six talks on revisions. The transcriptions of two talks do not indicate specific dates;10 the other four were on 27 April 1965, 24 June 1965, 6 February 1966, and 4 April 1966.11 Jiang’s talks were fairly comprehensive in their coverage. The portrayal of the major characters’ musical images was one of her concerns. For instance, she brought up the question of “how to differentiate the musical images of Shao Jianbo and Yang Zirong.”12 Her concern stemmed from the consideration that “in traditional roletypes, both of them would be laosheng roles, and both are positive characters, so it is easy to make them indistinguishable.”13 She highlighted four perspectives from which to approach this problem: melody composition, metrical types, melodic progression, and musical motifs.14 Jiang also offered detailed directions on acting. Regarding the association between traditional schools of performance and acting in model jingju, she declared on 27 April 1965 that “[our attitude] towards [the application of] traditional schools of performance is yes and no. ‘Yes’ means that they serve as sources and ‘no’ means that we should not be limited by them.”15 Regarding Scene 2 when Li Yongqi’s wife is killed by bandits, Jiang’s evaluation was that “this section should make the audience cry. The current performance is not enough or appropriate. When the wife is killed by bandits, her mother-in-law should cry out ‘Baby’s ma’ with good technique in order to deliver the line in a very low voice but send it to the audience sitting in the last row in the theatre. No one should cry out loud here.  .  .  . Li Yongqi’s mother is hinting to him through this cry that his wife is dead. This will win the audience’s tears.”16 On scenery design, Jiang said, “the focus in Scene 9 should emphasize the coldness, but the current design has too many fragmentary pieces. Scenery should serve the performance instead of being independent from it. The color in this scene should be bright, and the scenery should not have too many fragmentary pieces. The overall feeling is the forests on the mountain after the Liberation.”17 She also addressed makeup: “The makeup for the hunters should look healthy and strong. They shouldn’t look clumsy.”18 She commented on specific wording of the text, as well. For instance, “The name of Shao Jianbo should be consistent throughout the performance. We can even use 10. Even though the transcriptions of these two talks do not indicate specific dates, the consistency with which specific issues are mentioned in these talks indicate that they were delivered during the same period. 11. “Jiang Qing tongzhi lun wenyi,” 115–44. 12. Ibid., 116. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., 116–17. 15. Ibid., 123. 16. Ibid., 130. 17. Ibid., 142. 18. Ibid., 144.

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‘203’ as his code name for the entire play, and only call him ‘Comrade Jianbo’ when Yang Zirong says goodbye to him before leaving for Vulture’s headquarters, so that they appear very close.”19 Specific arrangements were also critiqued when she commented, “It is difficult to conclude [Scene 6] with Yang Zirong’s aria, but it is more powerful in this way. In an aria, he can express an inner world of initial success [i.e., winning Vulture’s trust]. But there are some problems with this arrangement if this scene is concluded with an aria; I will leave it for you.”20 The transcriptions of Jiang’s talks indicate that she often provided scene-byscene commentary, with tremendous attention to detail for each aspect of production. Her comments, opinions, and suggestions served as the fundamental premise upon which revisions of the production were carried out. She would then watch the performance of revised versions and give further observations. Jiang interacted more frequently with the production teams of the five jingju among the first group of models than with the later plays’ teams, but communication with those other teams transpired in the same manner.21 While having to answer to a higher artistic authority, model jingju directors had multiple responsibilities. They served as the liaison between the higher authority and their production groups and, at the same time, supervised and organized the development of all aspects of the production, working with performers, musicians, designers, playwrights, and technicians on overall interpretations of scripts and solutions to specific issues. With so many levels of “directors,” it is sometimes difficult to clearly identify who directed which specific moment in a production. Chi Jinsheng, a director of Shajiabang, described his work in the production: “One major responsibility of a director is to unite all aspects and guide the effort to a consistent style in a production. Directors have to be good at both democracy and centralization. For example, before technique directors started to work on a movement sequence, I let them know what I needed in the movements; then I gave them freedom to work on it; after they presented initial designs, the director needed to give feedback so that the good could be kept and the not-so-good could be revised.”22 With their limited authority, many directors were still able to contribute to original arrangements and interpretations in productions. Yu Huiyong was one of them. A lead composer for On the Docks, Tiger Mountain, Azalea Mountain, and Song of the Dragon River, Yu also served as the production director for Azalea Mountain. Richard Kraus has examined Yu’s life story at the intersection of his artistic and political careers, and Yawen Ludden offered so far the most comprehensive examination of Yu’s contributions to model jingju music.23 In History of 19. Ibid., 143. 20. Ibid., 135. 21. Information summarized from “Jiang Qing tongzhi lun wenyi”; Dai, Zou xiang huimie; personal interview with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; and telephone interview with Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005. 22. Chi Jinsheng, telephone interview, Beijing, 10 August 2005. 23. Kraus, “Arts Policies of the Cultural Revolution,” 219–42; Ludden, “Making Politics Serve Music,” 152–68; and Ludden, “China’s Musical Revolution.”

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Xiqu in Contemporary China, Yu is discussed with special emphasis. “Yu Huiyong, the person in charge of the production of Azalea Mountain with the official status of Vice Head of the State Council Cultural Team,24 was highly appreciated by Jiang Qing, but despite all political issues, he was an expert in music, and participated in the creation with a general and comprehensive vision and design. He actually functioned as the chief director and contributed considerably to the success of this production.”25 During the creative process, Yu conceptualized and directed the realization of significant ideas including, but not limited to, rhymed vernacular in song lyrics and stage speech, design themes in important scenes, carefully composed musical themes, and special attention to the musicality throughout the performance.26 Yu was unique among the model jingju directors in that he also served as the chief composer of the production. With his professional expertise in composition, profound understanding of xiqu music, and original view of creating plays portraying modern lives, Yu offered critical leadership for the comprehensive innovations in Azalea Mountain: he composed the score for the entire production,27 analyzed and made suggestions regarding melodic embellishments in song for the performers,28 and emphasized the consistency of rhythm in lines, movements, dance, combat, and even lighting.

Script and Character Analysis Script and character analysis were techniques widely used by model jingju directors. Chi Jinsheng described his approach as follows: A director needs to help performers understand dramatic situations: how the story develops from the beginning, builds up to the climax, and comes to a conclusion. At the same time, he needs to analyze each character’s personality, psychology, and attitude. Let’s take Scene 5 [of Shajiabang] as an example.29 There are some New Fourth Army soldiers in this scene. In order to help performers to understand their characters, the director must analyze the characters’ personalities in detail. For instance, a young soldier is called Xiaohu [Little Tiger], and even his name indicates that this is a young, energetic, but sometimes rash, guy.30

24. Established in 1970, the State Council Cultural Team functioned somewhat like the Ministry of Culture that stopped functioning after the Cultural Revolution started in 1966. During the period from 1970 to 1976, the State Council Cultural Team was in charge of creation in literature and art. 25. Yu and Wang, Zhongguo dangdai xiqu shi, 595. 26. Information summarized from personal interviews with Li Zhongcheng, Shanghai, 18 May 2005; Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005; Fu Dawei, Beijing, 17 June 2005; Gong Guotai, Shanghai, 15 May 2005; and Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; and Dai, Zou xiang huimie. 27. Dai, Zou xiang huimie. 28. Personal interviews with Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005; and Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005. 29. Scene 5 in Shajiabang portrays Guo Jianguang and his fellow New Fourth Army soldiers holding out in the marshes; aria arrangements in this scene is discussed in Chapter 7. 30. Chi Jinsheng, telephone interview, Beijing, 10 August 2005.

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Script and character analyses were often developed through discussion—among directors, performers, and musicians—of the subtext and interpretation of lines. Two areas were given special attention: the inner life of a character in a particular dramatic situation and the specific family history or personal background a character brought to the story. “What does the character think at this moment?” and “How does the character feel in this situation?” were two of the most frequently discussed questions in script analysis. Yang Chunxia emphasized the significance of subtext. A performer must understand the rich subtext of the script. A performer must know the inner life of the character; otherwise it is impossible [to portray the character accurately]. For example, in Scene 5 [of Azalea Mountain] when Ke Xiang sings “Granny Du, cruelly tortured, is at death’s door,”31 her inner life is rather complex: Ke takes Granny Du as her own mother and has deep feelings for her. Now Granny Du is being tortured and Ke feels that it is she herself being beaten. Ke really wants to rescue Granny Du but she cannot take any action, because she is aware that the enemies are using Granny Du to lure the self-defense troop down from the mountain in order to destroy the troop. A performer needs to understand all these things. Nothing shows in your eyes until you have it in your heart.32

Detailed analysis of a character’s inner life, especially in particular dramatic situations, was carried out for each play. Many performers identify this in-depth analysis, with its special attention to details in the characters’ inner worlds, as contributing to a new dimension in their creative experience. Character analysis—including understanding a character’s internal world—is not foreign to jingju practitioners, but, in traditional repertory, it is often conducted for major or, in some cases, only lead characters. For example, in an insightful discussion of “how the concept of ‘passing-down and carrying-on’ works for” jingju, Li Ruru delineates how the repertory The Drunken Imperial Concubine (Guifei zuijiu) went through master performer Mei Lanfang’s revision—based on learning experience under his predecessors—and then through master performer Li Yuru’s interpretation, based on learning experience under multiple master performers including Mei. Both Mei and Li Yuru paid close attention to Yang Guifei’s—the protagonist—inner activities, as the royal concubine is at first summoned by the emperor for dinner but later is only informed that he has gone to see another concubine. Mei highlighted Yang’s three major psychological states, “At first, upon hearing the news that the emperor has gone to see someone else, she feels disappointed, but pretends that everything is okay to maintain her dignity. Second, after a drink, thinking about the emperor being with another concubine, she feels jealous and begins to show certain bitterness. At last, already drunk, she is out of control and keeps gulping her drink.”33 Li Yuru also developed a multilayered analysis: “Audiences 31. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 39. 32. Yang Chunxia, telephone interview, Beijing, 11 August 2005. 33. Mei, Wutai shenghuo sishinian, 39.

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come to see how a performer acts out every phase of the heroine’s changing feelings: from sober to drunk; from arrogant and joyful to disappointed to sad to furious. She is finally in a desperate situation.”34 Furthermore, Li Yuru established connections between this character analysis and her movement onstage through what Li Ruru precisely calls, “giving meaning to the stylized stage conventions.”35 With Li Yuru’s subtle and insightful analysis of the character’s psychology, with increasing intoxication and disappointment mutually enhancing each other,36 her performance of movement conventions vividly externalizes the multilayered inner world of a complex character. Commenting on the revision of the two generations of master performers, Li Ruru points out that Li Yuru “shows a stronger tendency than her tutor, Mei, to analyze a character’s inner world and the character’s relation with the given circumstances. Li’s method demonstrates how jingju in the 1950s began to feel the influence of spoken drama, which largely followed Stanislavski’s system.”37 The character analysis with an emphasis on the inner life was augmented with more details in model jingju, and the technique was applied to all characters. The in-depth analysis of inner lives for characters other than principal heroes/heroines often involved the specific family history or personal background a character brought to the story. Except for most principal heroes/heroines, the family history and personal background of other characters is often not provided in scripts. Some directors took this as an opportunity to help performers and musicians to understand the characters, including minor supporting characters. In Scene 1 of White-Tiger Regiment, Korean villagers welcome the soldiers of the Chinese People’s Volunteers with joy and warmth. To help the performers understand the deep feelings that the Korean villagers had for the Chinese soldiers, the director required that each actor performing a Korean villager work out his/her character’s own life story to explain why their characters love the Chinese soldiers so much.38 A Korean girl called Sun Hui has seven simple lines, and she appears only in Scene 1. But her life story, as narrated by the performer, is fairly elaborate, offering solid logic for the character’s actions: “My own father and mother were both killed in the bombing. I have no relatives in this world. An old grandpa in our village adopted me. Some soldiers from the Chinese People’s Volunteers lived with us for days. One day, they saved my adopted grandpa and me from the bombing; without them, my adopted grandpa would have been killed, too. So, for me, the Chinese soldiers are just like my own father.”39 During the process of composing convincing, detailed family history and personal background, actors gradually got hold of their characters and identified with them.

34. Li, Soul of Beijing Opera, 142. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid. 37. Ibid., 148. 38. Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, personal interview, Jinan, 24 June 2005. 39. Ibid.

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Detailed analysis was also carried out for negative characters with special attention to specific reasons why these characters were negative. For example, Sun Hongxun analyzed Wang Lianju in The Red Lantern in detail: We worked hard on how to make this character convincing. Many colleagues helped me. . . . We think that Wang Lianju is a traitor, but it is very important that he is not a bad guy at the beginning of the production. The reason for his change is most important. He starts as an underground CCP member, too. Later he betrays the revolution because of the weakness in his spirit; he is not as strong as Li Yuhe [the principal hero]. Another reason is his family: his grandfather was in the drug business, and his father owned a restaurant. In his own family, he has a wife and a son, and is fairly well-off. So [from this merchant, moneyed background,] his family history determines that he is not strong enough for Japanese investigations. No torture will work for Li Yuhe, but Wang Lianju cannot go through with it.40

With the shared focus on a character’s inner life and emotions in a particular dramatic situation, directors had varied approaches to character analysis, differing on whether or not to demonstrate actions and behavior for the performers. Some directors, for instance, Ajia, as described at the beginning of the chapter, sometimes explicitly and physically articulated a particular dramatic situation for performers. Others, for instance, Chi Jinsheng, pointed out that “I seldom set an example of specific movement or movement sequence for the performer. Rather, sometimes I demonstrated a movement portraying an emotion that I expected to see. And I told the performers that this movement was just my choice to express the character’s emotion; the performer needed to look for his or her own movement.”41

From Script to Stage Chi Jinsheng’s directing experience reveals perhaps the most critical challenge for model jingju directors: even though performers might acquire an in-depth understanding of their characters through detailed script and character analysis, it would be in vain if they could not convey this understanding on stage. On this challenge, Ajia says, “Xiqu performers are not like a piece of plain paper on which directors can draw as they wish, because they [performers] need to portray characters through a set of techniques. Directors would need to make an effort to adjust or even to break this set of techniques that are already in good shape, then refine the technique bit by bit, according to the characters’ requirements, and finally transform them to serve new, convincing characters on stage.”42 In directing The Red Lantern, Ajia’s directorial approach resulted in a masterful control of stage rhythm.

40. Sun Hongxun, personal interview, Beijing, 29 July 2005. 41. Chi Jinsheng, telephone interview, Beijing, 10 August 2005. 42. Ajia, “Lun Zhongguo xiqu daoyan,” 283.

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In The Red Lantern, Scene 5 is critical to portraying Tiemei’s growth. At the beginning, she merely has the knowledge that her father is responsible for some important secret codes. The scene unfolds with a series of shocks: Tiemei almost falls for a trap set by a bogus liaison man; soon after her grandma resourcefully identifies the bogus liaison man, the Japanese arrest her father; and realizing that the family is falling apart, her grandma reveals the family story to her. The scene climaxes with Tiemei’s aria declaring that the girl, having transitioned into a young but mature revolutionary, truly understands her father’s mission and is ready to continue and accomplish it. Tiemei’s performance at the end of the scene convincingly conveys a mixture of complex feelings through the combined use of music, voice, and body language, with a musicality that is loyal to both the jingju stage and the character’s psychology. The lyrics of her aria are as follows: Tiemei: (Sings “er huang yuan ban.”): Granny tells a heroic and stirring episode of the revolution, Now I know I was raised in wind and rain. Dear granny, for all those seventeen years, Your kindness to me has been vast as the sea. (Switches to “duo ban.”) Now with high aims I see my way clear. Blood must pay for our blood, Successors must carry forward the causes of our martyrs. Here I raise the red lantern, let its light shine far. Dad! (Changes to “kuai ban.”) My father is as steadfast as the pine, A Communist who fears nothing under the sun. Following in your footsteps I shall never waver. The red lantern we hold high, and it shines On my father fighting those wild beasts. Generation after generation we shall fight on, Never leaving the field until all the wolves are killed.43

This is a highly emotional and layered moment for Tiemei, incorporating grief for her dead parents, sorrow for her bitter life story, gratitude toward her adopted grandma, anger at the arresting of her adopted father, pride for her adopted father, hatred for the enemies, determination to follow her adopted father, a willingness to sacrifice her life for the revolution, and the firm belief that the enemies will eventually have no chance to escape. As the complex emotions develop, her aria accelerates, while the metrical type transitions from yuanban—the moderately paced primarymeter—to duoban—the faster piled-up-meter—and ends in kuaiban—fast-meter that is the fastest among all metrical types. 43. China Peking Opera Troupe, The Red Lantern, 21–22.

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But in a rehearsal, Ajia required that the performer insert some dance-acting after calling “Dad,” instead of continuing on to sing the last section in the fastest meter. With master performer Li Shaochun’s input and design, the finalized performance features a movement sequence accentuating this moment in the character’s inner world. At the end of the musical line in piled-up-meter, “Here I raise the red lantern, let its light shine far,” the performer stops in front of a table at center stage, with her left hand holding the red lantern’s handle, her right hand supporting the lantern’s base, with the lantern held on her left side at chest height. She calls “Dad” with profound feeling, and then the percussive orchestra begins the pattern of jinchui (tight hammering), with a compact, accelerating rhythm. With the percussive music, Tiemei moves her right foot from front to back and momentarily shifts her weight to the right foot. She then performs a yuanchang, first to downstage center, then to upstage right in a curve. Once she faces the audience again, she quickly shifts the lantern handle to her right hand and holds the lantern base with the left hand, with the lantern being held on her right side at the height of her chest. She then swiftly walks downstage at a quicker pace. During these swift steps, she first lowers the lantern slightly and then quickly repositions the lantern to chest height, coming into a pose in which she sings the last section in fast-meter with a steady and forceful voice. Liu Changyu, the original performer of Tiemei, correlates this arrangement to the dramatic situation: “These movements and song take full advantage of jingju’s methods, with necessary exaggerations. In that particular situation, if Tiemei did not run [the yuanchang] or sing, the audience would have felt something missing and [the dramatic acting] would be underdeveloped.”44 Liu Changyu’s analysis is based on her years of rich experience on stage, and it pinpoints the director’s strategic use of jingju performance techniques to convey the character’s psychological progression. The movement sequence with the red lantern held tightly in Tiemei’s hands powerfully physicalizes her elevation as a successor on the family’s revolutionary path. It serves not only as a preparation for the latter half of her aria but also strengthens its message. In performance, the acting technique of running a yuanchang in smooth, swift, and small steps is executed with the accompaniment of the percussive pattern of jinchui. The rhythm of stepping and that of the percussive pattern match. More importantly, in traditional jingju, jinchui’s percussive pattern is often used as the introductory pattern for arias in fast-meter. Therefore, the association of the percussive pattern and the aria’s metrical type contextualizes Tiemei’s performance within the musicality of jingju acting. This short section lasts for a mere twenty seconds, yet it contributes to a precise expression of the character’s inner world through concise, stylized, and powerful stage arrangements.

44. Shen Guofan, Hongdeng ji de tai qian mu hou [The Red Lantern on stage and behind curtain] (Beijing: Dangdai Zhongguo chubanshe, 2009), 79.

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The Use of Minor Supporting Characters In this discussion, “minor supporting characters” in model jingju refers to those who appear under a group title, such as “Other soldiers,” “Other villagers,” “Other peasants,” and “Several Japanese gendarmes and spies.” Usually they have very few lines or none at all. In rehearsals, there was not an umbrella term in Chinese for these characters, such as “supernumeraries”; rather, they were often referred to by the group titles.45 In traditional jingju, minor supporting characters are in identical costumes and appear as a predetermined set, with four or sometimes eight performers forming one set. Traditionally, characters such as palace maids and court servants, whose two requisite, primary acting skills were walking and chorus singing, were performed by wenhang (civil job), also called longtao (dragon set) or liuhang (flowing job). Characters such as soldiers and guards, whose primary acting skill was combat, were performed by wuhang (military job).46 During the 1950s, the practice of using professional wenhang and wuhang gradually disappeared, and performers, except for the famous master performers who performed only lead roles, started to play these parts in turn. Since then, the term longtao has been used to refer to all the characters that used to be performed by wenhang and wuhang. Similarities are evident between the minor supporting characters in model jingju and those performed by the traditional longtao: they all appear as a group onstage; they often symbolize a larger group of people with a similar social status, profession, or duty; and one of their major responsibilities is to perform travel scenes, for example, as a marching troop portraying soldiers on a journey. In addition to these functions, however, minor supporting characters in model jingju also perform unorthodox functions beyond those of longtao. This is especially true of those portraying revolutionary masses—proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers. In model jingju, the innovative development was realized by means of a special attention to crowd scenes and individually designed group dances in each production. Many crowd scenes were handled with particular directorial attention to individuals. In most cases, each of the minor supporting characters was given specific movements and lines, and the scenes were carefully coordinated so that the crowds created a milieu for the lead actors’ performances. Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain exemplifies this ensemble acting. Ke Xiang enters the marketplace that is to be her execution ground with remarkable courage and bravery. She condemns the local despots and proclaims the CCP’s revolutionary policies to her countrymen. In the end, Lei Gang’s self-defense troop rescues her. In addition to Ke, Lei, and his fellow 45. Information summarized from personal interviews with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; and Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005; and telephone interview with Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005. 46. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 14 and 16; and Huang and Xu, Jingju wenhua cidian, 35–36.

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self-defense troop soldiers, this scene includes Viper, the major local despot, and his civil guards, as well as a group of peasants. A major portion of the scene is Ke’s heroic pronouncements of the CCP’s revolutionary policies prior to her intended execution, but her interactions with her countrymen, who appear as a group, constitute a significant element of the stage presentation. When the curtain rises, market-goers, mingling with self-defense troop soldiers, are buying and selling onstage. The market-goers continue their movements and lines while the self-defense troop soldiers bide their time until Viper’s civil guards enter, announce the execution of a Communist, and then disperse the crowd. After this, Ke starts her first aria from offstage and then enters, continuing singing; in the middle of the aria, after the line “How I long . . . How I long to leap up to the summit of the mountain,”47 Ke interacts directly with the countrymen as described in the script: “Some villagers surge forward. Ko Hsiang [Ke Xiang] sweeps aside the bayonets and raises her hands to greet them. The guards drive the villagers away.”48 After Ke finishes the aria, she fearlessly debates with Viper regarding the best way to save the Chinese nation. Ke condemns the Nationalist Party’s various levies and heavy taxes and turns to exclaim, “Fellow countrymen!”49 Upon her call, “the villagers surge forward,”50 and Ke recites the revolutionary belief that “only Marxism-Leninism can save China; the working people’s saving star is the Chinese Communist Party.”51 Immediately Lei’s self-defense troop rescues Ke from the execution ground, and the soldiers welcome Ke as the party representative in the troop. At the end of the scene, Ke “mounts the pedestal to wave to the crowd. Partisans and villagers flock eagerly towards her. Together they strike a collective pose.”52 In this scene, starting from curtain rise and ending with Viper’s civil guards dispersing the crowd, minor supporting characters are divided into small groups of peddlers and customers. Although they have no lines indicated in the script, in production, each of them is given simple lines about buying and selling. The volume of the simple lines is only loud enough to be heard within the group, and the lines are accompanied with specific movements portraying typical marketplace business.53 During Ke’s aria and her debate with Viper, the villagers surge toward her twice, and their movements are meticulously choreographed. Special attention is given to the number, size, and rhythm of steps; the actors start surging forward together and stop moving at the same time. The overall direction is described as “all characters move onstage in the same rhythm.”54 At the end of the scene, villagers, 47. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 10. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid., 11. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid. 52. Ibid., 12. 53. Gao Mukun, personal interview, Beijing, 4 April 2005. 54. Ibid.

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together with the self-defense troop soldiers, flock toward Ke; their movements and the final collective pose are executed simultaneously. In addition to well-rehearsed crowd scenes, with precise ensemble acting involving carefully coordinated specific movements and lines for actors, minor supporting characters in each model jingju also perform meticulously choreographed group dances with complex blocking. These dances are an innovative extension of longtao’s performance in traditional repertory, in which actors depict travels and indicate the location of a dramatic situation through changes in their positioning via systematic and standardized blocking. For example, a traditional convention of stage blocking called zhanmen (standing at the door) is “widely used to introduce the entrance of a major character or to portray a formal and serious atmosphere.”55 A typical zhanmen has five major components: four performers—soldiers, guards, palace maids, and such—enter in pairs, and the first pair performs the first short pause at jiulongkou (“nine dragons” mouth), an area several steps in from the entrance at stage right; while the first pair walks downstage center, the second pair enters. When the first pair performs another short pause at downstage center, the second pair performs their first short pause at jiulongkou; the first pair separates, turning to the left and right respectively, and those two actors walk straight toward their sides of the stage. Meanwhile, the second pair arrives at downstage center and performs their second short pause; the first pair stands still in their positions to the side while the second pair separates, turning to the left and right respectively and also walks toward the sides of the stage, ending up beside the first pair, and all four performers wait for the entrance of a major character. After the entrance of a major character, who takes the seat at upstage center, the other four performers turn upstage, move to their new positions, turn back to face the audience, and stand still.56 In traditional jingju there are a hundred or so changes in positioning achieved via conventional blocking; fifty to seventy among these are frequently used, either alone or in combination.57 Performances of the changes in positioning primarily feature smooth walking. Occasionally group dances are used in dramatic situations such as feasts and battlefields; the routes of these group dances are all based on conventional blocking, and the dance movements are often simple. Compared to the simplicity and standardization of traditional group dance and minor supporting performances, the minor supporting characters in model jingju perform group dances with complex routes onstage, and these dances are newly designed for the specific dramatic situations as an important method of characterization. In Scene 9 of Tiger Mountain, a group skiing dance demonstrates that “soldiers and militia with Yung-chi [Li Yongqi] as their guide set out quickly, braving

55. Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 552. 56. Ibid., 551–52. 57. Information summarized from Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 545–73; and Huang and Xu, Jingju wenhua cidian, 271–76.

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Figure 9.1 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (1)

wind and snow.”58 Fourteen performers participate in this section: Li Yongqi, Chang Bao, Chief of Staff, Medical Orderly, six PLA soldiers, and four militiamen. Their movement vocabulary is a combination of elements absorbed from various sources including traditional jingju movement and Chinese folk dance, as well as skiing movements. Five major formational changes in this group dance demonstrate the movement series’ sophisticated design and serve as a dance narrative that is indispensable for the production. It begins with an introductory movement sequence, which sets the overall rhythm and atmosphere of the scene; three pairs of performers are in this section (see Figure 9.1).59 Two militiamen enter from upstage left and right respectively, meet upstage center, turn downstage, move downstage center via two leaps, turn to the left and right respectively, and exit rapidly. While the two militiamen perform the two leaps moving downstage center, the first pair of soldiers enter from upstage left and right respectively, and follow the same route as the two militiamen, moving downstage center via two leaps, turning to the sides of the stage, and running in a curved path toward center stage. As these two soldiers are leaping downstage, a second pair of soldiers enter and exit, following the same route as the two militia58. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, 48. 59. Figures 9.1 to 9.5 are from Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 248–52.

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Figure 9.2 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (2)

men. After the second pair of soldiers exit, the first pair finish their circular blocking and exit stage left and right. In the introductory sequence, the routes onstage are symmetrical, with a pair of performers traveling on either half of the stage. As the dance proceeds to the second phase, their routes, while still symmetrical, extend to the entire stage, thus further developing the sense of traveling; this section involves another two pairs of performers (see Figure 9.2). When the first two soldiers exit at the end of the previous section, a second pair of militiamen enter from upstage left and right respectively, and move diagonally toward the opposite downstage corners respectively with their routes crossing at center stage. They then cross toward the other downstage corner, then turn up and cross to center stage left and right. When this second pair of militiamen move diagonally across the center, a third pair of soldiers enter and repeat the blocking of the very first pair of militiamen except that, after meeting at upstage center, they turn downstage and then exit by gliding toward the side. After the third pair of soldiers exit, the second pair of militiamen move from the side of the stage diagonally downstage with their routes crossing again and then exit. With the message of “traveling while fighting wind and snow” fully established, the group dance develops into the third section, which features a small group (see Figure 9.3). Upon the exit of the second pair of militiamen, Chang Bao and Medical Orderly, each leading two soldiers, enter from upstage left and right respectively; the six assemble in a triangular configuration and perform a series of movements

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Figure 9.3 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (3)

imitating skiing. After the previous two sections in which performers constantly travel on stage, this section, with the six performers dancing in fixed locations, serves as a “zoomed in” observation of the soldiers in motion. When the group dance proceeds to the fourth section, it “zooms out” to feature the entire group (see Figure 9.4). Chief of Staff and Li Yongqi enter from upstage left and right respectively and join the first line with Medical Orderly; Chang Bao and two soldiers form the second line; the other two soldiers form the third line with an additional pair of soldiers who have entered; three militiamen enter and form the fourth line; and the four lines of performers spread, occupy the entire stage, and dance together facing downstage. While dancing, the formation moves to create four lines diagonally facing downstage left, transitioning to the last section (see Figure 9.5). With the exit of one militiaman, the formation consists of four rows with three performers in a row. The four rows, with the front (first) row consisting of Chief of Staff, Medical Orderly, and Li Yongqi, change relative positions, with the rows alternating thusly: 4-3-2-1, 3-1-4-2, and 2-1-3-4.60 60. Description of the blocking is summarized from Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 247–51; my analysis of the performance on VCD; and personal interviews with Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; and Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005.

Figure 9.4 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (4)

Figure 9.5 Blocking of the group skiing dance in Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (5)

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The group skiing dance in Tiger Mountain shares certain similarities with the performance of traditional longtao: the routes are a combination of both symmetrical and asymmetrical changes; performers often enter, move, and exit in pairs; and special attention is given to matching rhythm in movements. While utilizing some traditional vocabulary, the dance also includes a number of groundbreaking innovations. Overall this piece is significantly more complex than its traditional counterparts. The movement vocabulary is highly challenging and requires comprehensive skills of walking, running, jumping, and coordination. In the context of the entire production, this group dance plays a tremendously important role not only in plot development but also in characterization. Whereas the movement of traditional longtao often fulfills generic functions such as introductions to major characters, transitions between sections of performance, and identifying dramatic situations, the group skiing dance is unique to Tiger Mountain, with movements and blocking precisely tailored to the specific dramatic situation, and it exists as an independent and crucial part of the production. In each model jingju, at least one major group dance involves the participation of minor supporting characters: the marching dance and skiing dance in Scene 1 and Scene 9 respectively in Tiger Mountain; the marching dance in Scene 11 of The Red Lantern; the soldiers’ dance and the marching dance in Scene 5 and Scene 8 respectively in Shajiabang; the dance with an anchor line and the dance with shoulder pads in Scene 1 and Scene 5 respectively in On the Docks; the Korean dance, the marching dance, and the crossing-river dance in Scene 1, Scene 6, and Scene 8 respectively in White-Tiger Regiment; the dance at the close of Scene 5 in Song of the Dragon River; the drill dance in Scene 2 of The Red Detachment of Women; the marching dance in Scene 3 in Fighting on the Plain; the marching dance in Scene 7 in Azalea Mountain; and the weaving nets dance in Scene 1 of Boulder Bay.

Technique Directors The title of technique directors indicates that their primary responsibility is to design movement sequences based on techniques. For model jingju, they are the primary creators of dance-acting, combat, and group dances. Each model jingju has a team of technique directors; the head of the team was usually a member of the production’s directorial team, supporting the chief director.61 Some technique directors participated in performance, while others did not appear onstage. It is hard to exaggerate technique directors’ contributions to model jingju. In creating dance-acting, combat, and group dances, they fused traditional movement vocabulary with elements absorbed from a variety of sources, paying special attention to the new rhythms that came from the new stories of modern life, and 61. Information summarized from personal interviews with Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005; Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Liang Bin, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005; Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005; and Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005.

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created a new movement vocabulary with transitions between movements. New movement sequences were often developed collectively with performers and artists of other performing art forms over a fairly long period of revision and polishing. According to Wang Zhenpeng and Chen Zhengzhu, two technique directors for Tiger Mountain, the group skiing dance discussed above was finalized after revisions comprising more than 150 iterations.62 Technique directors in model jingju share at least two commonalities. One is that they themselves are almost always excellent performers specializing in rolesubcategories that primarily feature dance-acting or combat. For example, Wang Zhenpeng and Chen Zhengzhu, in Tiger Mountain, both specialize in wusheng roles, which primarily feature combat. Gu Chunzhang, in The Red Lantern, specializes in wuchou roles, which also have combat as a principal feature. Gao Mukun, in Shajiabang and Azalea Mountain, and Liang Bin, in On the Docks, both specialize in wusheng roles. Zhou Wenlin and Chen Xinwan, in White-Tiger Regiment, specialize respectively in wusheng and huadan roles, the latter primarily featuring dance-acting. The other common feature of technique directors is their receptivity to new movement sequences, in not only jingju but also other performing art forms, in which they have strong interest. Most of the artists listed above claimed that, even before participating in model jingju, they had a strong personal passion for refining movement sequences for both traditional and modern jingju productions. For example, Gao Mukun said, “I don’t know why, but I always enjoy refining my movement sequences. When I was a very young performer, I kept making subtle changes in my movements. I stayed late at night in our rehearsal hall. And I had a lot of fun trying different versions of movement sequences in performance.”63 Chen Xinwan was particularly emphatic, saying, “I believe that the most important thing is to learn as much as I can from all possible sources. I always loved folk dance, so I studied dancing from Koreans when we were in North Korea [during the Korean War]. Later I used a lot of elements from these Korean dances in WhiteTiger Regiment.”64 With their rich experience onstage, an unbiased attitude toward an evolution in movement sequences, and a strong interest in other performing art forms, technique directors contributed to comprehensive innovations in model jingju movement. These novel developments ranged from details such as which foot initiates a movement forward to fairly sophisticated dance pieces. By now, we have already seen the meticulous work on all major artistic aspects of model jingju. If we revisit Ma Yanxiang’s 1954 remark, “The issue of whether or not the art of our jingju should be reformed, is essentially the issue of whether

62. Personal interviews with Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005; and Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005. 63. Gao Mukun, personal interview, Beijing, 4 April 2005. 64. Chen Xinwan and Hao Jianwen, personal interview, Jinan, 24 June 2005.

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or not the contradiction between jingju’s form and content should be resolved,”65 the artistic choices mounted in the finalized versions of model jingju may be interpreted as officially approved solutions for the contradiction between jingju’s form and content in presenting modern proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers. In this context, it is imperative to further reflect on these collaborative pursuits from a comprehensive perspective: the interrelations and interactions among the artistic aspects that produce and define the aesthetic experiences of model jingju.

65. Ma, “Shi shenme zu’aizhe jingju wutai yishu jinyibu de fazhan,” 20.

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In Barbara Mittler’s A Continuous Revolution: Making Sense of Cultural Revolution Culture, firsthand interviews with acknowledged artists, writers, and scholars, as well as forty anonymous interviewees with different personal backgrounds, offer invaluable insights into drastically different aesthetic experiences with model works. Some people directly connect it to disastrous memories, as a musician born during the 1930s states, “The model works are a reminder of this very hard and very bitter time. We heard them from where we were locked up in those ‘cowsheds,’ and we found this extremely difficult to bear.”1 Some acknowledge model jingju as an important phase in the jingju history, as an intellectual born in 1958 comments, “The model works are, of course, a real step forward in the development of Beijing Opera insofar as they popularized the form and gave it an important push.”2 Some are passionate about model jingju, like a guqin player born in the 1940s who says, “The revolutionary Beijing Operas are a continuation of tradition, in terms of structure. They are just like traditional opera, using the same meters and all that— daoban, erliu, etc. Of course there is change, innovation. But the basis is really quite traditional, and the changes are made to fit the tradition.”3 And some focus on the changes in model jingju, as a photographer born in 1960 argues, “Of course, the model operas are reformed Beijing Operas, but their nature, the way they are being performed, is really not at all the same. . . . With Jiang Qing’s model operas, even if you have a very low cultural level, you are able to understand them.”4 People’s aesthetic experiences with model works—including model jingju— and their corresponding interpretations, though drastically different, all confirm one important issue: these works encapsulated, prescribed, and popularized a distinctive aesthetic and style. Different times produce not only different aesthetics but also different communications of aesthetics, and, therefore, in examining the aesthetics in model jingju, I focus on the nature and expression of beauty. In this coda, I address three interrelated questions in creating model jingju: Did the notion 1. Mittler, Continuous Revolution, 39. 2. Ibid., 56. 3. Ibid. Guqin is an ancient Chinese instrument of the zither family. 4. Ibid.

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of beauty matter during the creative process? What is considered beautiful and therefore aesthetically favored? And how is this sense of beauty communicated? I highlight two dominant aesthetic qualities in model jingju: the beauty of the sublime and the beauty of masculinity, and analyze imbalance as a primary aesthetic feature in two spheres: gender representation and aesthetic expectations. Finally, I propose that the deep roots of the imbalance in model jingju lie in the varied levels of association among the three traditional aesthetic principles—conventionalization, stylization, and synthesis—and each of the five major artistic aspects—playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing, and that, ultimately, the overarching creative directive, the Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism, was a flawed premise for model jingju.

Conscious Pursuit of Beauty One could assume that, in productions with proletarians—the poorest of the poor—as protagonists, and in productions with such a strong political orientation as model jingju, beauty would be the last thing considered. But I argue that these plays were developed within the context of a conscious and meticulous pursuit of beauty. Jiang Qing’s communications to the production team of Tiger Mountain, which served as directives for revisions, provide revealing information. On 24 June 1965, Jiang discussed the production in detail, scene by scene, with regard to problems to be solved and elements that she found less than satisfying. Although her feedback was delivered in an arbitrary rather than organized manner, this long talk straightforwardly addressed the notion of “beauty” (mei) as an important element in her deliberations. Numerous comments applied directly to acting: “the performance of bayonetfighting needs to be refined to the level of art [yishu]”;5 “the combat in the skiing scene is not acceptable; it is simply not beautiful [mei]”;6 “when Yang Zirong practices his martial art, it can be shorter, but his performance should be appealing and it should be beautiful [mei]”;7 and “in the final combat scene, the soldiers should perform splendid [piaoliang] techniques.”8 Music was another focus of her attention, as when, for example, she stated that “the melody of Yang Zirong’s arias can borrow some melody of wusheng roles. Wusheng melody sounds handsome [yingjun]; it sounds too rigid now.”9 The talk also covered costumes. She observed, “Vulture’s costumes should be prettier [piaoliang].”10 With regard to the mise-en-scène, her comment on Scene 1 was “thirteen soldiers are enough, otherwise the image will be 5. “Jiang Qing tongzhi lun wenyi,” 127. 6. Ibid. 7. Ibid., 138. 8. Ibid., 139. 9. Ibid., 128. 10. Ibid., 140.

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too crowded . . . the composition of the final liangxiang is good-looking [piaoliang]; it looks comfortable.”11 In these suggestions, enhancing the “beauty” in acting called for refinement of movement and better performance of techniques; the “handsome” in music described the temperament of Yang Zirong’s musical imagery, the “prettiness” of Vulture’s costumes required better fabric(s) and color(s), and the “good-looking” composition in the mise-en-scène referred to the balance and harmony in stage image composition. Although the exact meaning of “beauty” was never definitively theorized or defined, Jiang’s comments and suggestions indicated a strong passion for an elevated artistic level that would greatly enhance both visual and aural audience appreciation. The significance of Jiang, a highest authority over literary and artistic creation, calling for a conscious pursuit of beauty cannot be overemphasized. Although the word “beauty” rarely appeared in any official discourse on model jingju, Jiang’s suggestions clearly pinpointed it as a major criterion for determining the artistic level of a production. From Mao’s 1942 “Talks” to Jiang’s “Summary” in 1966, the criteria for ideal literary and artistic work were, in Mao’s words, “a unity of politics and art, a unity of content and form, a unity of revolutionary political content and the highest artistic form possible,”12 and, in Jiang’s words, “the unity of revolutionary political content and the best possible artistic form.”13 Jiang’s directives on revisions reveal that, given the prerequisite of satisfying the criterion for “political content,” beauty was at least one of the central issues in the effort to create the highest and best possible artistic form. Interestingly, this conscious pursuit of beauty echoes the basic aesthetic value in traditional jingju; as Elizabeth Wichmann theorizes, “Everything within the world of the play must above all be beautiful.”14 Indeed, beauty is the key in the jingju world: “In training schools and rehearsal halls, the criticism heard with much the greatest frequency, directed at song, speech, dance-acting, and combat alike, is that the particular sound or action being performed is incorrect because it is not beautiful. And the highest praise that can be given a performance is to say that it is beautiful. Ultimately, beauty as an aesthetic value connotes conformance to the aesthetic aim and principles of Beijing opera—anything that is not within the aesthetic parameters of Beijing opera is not beautiful within that world.”15 The parallel of attention to the issue of beauty in model jingju and traditional jingju invites further thought. On the level of abstract conceptualization, it indicates that “beauty” transcends ideology and politics. Xu Fude, a designer for Tiger Mountain and On the Docks, believes that this is nothing but a natural choice. 11. Ibid., 129. 12. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 78. 13. “Summary,” 33. 14. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 2. 15. Ibid., 3.

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“The reason is very simple: no matter the social class, beauty is always attractive. This is universal; the good-looking is simply what appeals. It cannot be replaced by anything else. For example, in the field of design, no matter whether you go with a stylized style or a realistic style, you want something beautiful.”16 On a more concrete level, however, while the attention to the issue of beauty is evident in both traditional jingju and model jingju, the essential qualities and artistic expressions of beauty may not be the same in each. For example, Jiang’s specific suggestions regarding acting and music in Tiger Mountain emphasize that Yang Zirong and the PLA soldiers, though portrayed with techniques and elements partly borrowed from traditional practice, should appear different from traditional characters yet still be artistically appealing. It is this difference that contributes to the essential qualities and unique expressions of beauty in model jingju.

Two Striking Aesthetic Qualities In model jingju, what I will call “the beauty of the sublime” and “the beauty of masculinity” are strikingly prominent. The beauty of the sublime transcends the mundane issues and concerns of individual commoners, foregrounds the interests of a much larger group of human beings, and passionately praises the devotion of an individual to lofty ideals and higher causes. It manifests primarily in the general motivations and specific actions of the principal heroes/heroines. These stories of proletarian heroes/heroines fulfilling impossible tasks are reflections of the overall goal: the liberation of all mankind from oppression, a motif elevating the heroes/heroines above the quotidian. In Tiger Mountain, Yang Zirong’s lyrics announce that he wishes to “Let the red flag fly all over the world, / Be there seas of fire and a forest of knives, I’ll charge ahead. / How I wish I could order the snow to melt,  /  And welcome in spring to change the world of men.”17 Li Yuhe declares on his execution ground in The Red Lantern that “I long to soar like an eagle to the sky, / Borne on the wind above the mountain passes / To rescue our millions of suffering countrymen— / Then how gladly would I die for the revolution.”18 In Shajiabang, Guo Jianguang confidently affirms that “With battle drums rumbling and the red flag unfurled, / We’ll recapture the region south of the Yangtse at one stroke.”19 Fang Haizhen, in On the Docks, asserts that “to serve the people of China and the world whole-heartedly and entirely. That is our highest ideal.”20 In WhiteTiger Regiment, Yan Weicai swears, “We pledge ourselves to fight to the finish to defend the eastern outpost of socialism, for the victory of the Chinese and Korean 16. Xu Fude, personal interview, Shanghai, 25 May 2005. 17. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, 21. 18. China Peking Opera Troupe, The Red Lantern, 35. 19. Peking Opera Troupe of Peking, Shachiapang, 28. 20. “On the Docks” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, On the Docks, 38.

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people. We shall win glory for the motherland!”21 Jiang Shuiying argues in Song of the Dragon River that the interest of the proletariat should always enjoy a higher priority than that of any individual, so that by “burying imperialists, revisionists, and anti-revolutionaries, all mankind can be liberated.” In The Red Detachment of Women, Hong Changqing argues that “only by liberating all mankind may the proletarian liberate themselves.” Zhao Yonggang confirms in Fighting on the Plain “with power of the people’s war, we welcome a magnificent new China.” In Azalea Mountain, after recalling the tragic death of her entire family, Ke Xiang describes her maturation as follows, “Like a sudden storm the Autumn Harvest Uprising, / A bright lamp to show the way, lit up my heart.  /  I saw we must take up arms to win liberation; / I joined the army, the Party, to fight for the poor.”22 Lu Changhai in Boulder Bay, wounded yet determined to capture pirates in collusion with the Nationalists in Taiwan, rhetorically states, “To cleanse this globe for a bright sunlit future today we must wipe out all pests and monsters.”23 With the grand vision of the ultimate liberation of all mankind, the principal heroes/heroines undertake daunting tasks with tremendous bravery and wisdom. For the oppressed and exploited, they have the most profound empathy; for class enemies, they have the utmost hatred. They are extremely calm and wise in harrowing situations; when put at risk, they never hesitate to sacrifice anything, including life, to achieve their goals. To their fellow comrades, they are most patient, warm, and considerate; when confronting their enemies, they do not give an inch. Their courage, wisdom, bravery, and capability are superior to those of all other characters. They are not only soldiers fighting for an ideal world for all mankind but also models of revolutionary perfection. The beauty of the sublime as an aesthetic quality in model jingju is directly related to what Mao Zedong advocated in his 1942 “Talks”: “literature and art in conceptualized form” satisfy people better than those in their natural form, because “while both are beautiful, literature and art that have been processed are more organized and concentrated than literature and art in their natural form; they are more typical and more idealized, and therefore have greater universality.”24 After revisions during the 1950s, Mao’s remark became even more explicit when quoted in Jiang’s “Summary” in February 1966, “Life as reflected in works of literature and art can and ought to be on a higher plane, more intense, more concentrated, more typical, nearer to the ideal, and therefore more universal than actual everyday life.”25 Positioned on this higher plane, principal heroes/heroines personify all qualities of ideal proletarian revolutionaries, and they are characterized as spiritual nobility.

21. Shantung Provincial Peking Opera Troupe, “Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment,” Chinese Literature 3 (1973): 33. 22. Wang, Azalea Mountain, 16. 23. Ah Chien, “Boulder Bay,” Chinese Literature 4 (1976): 113. 24. McDougall, Mao Zedong’s “Talks,” 70. 25. “Summary,” 37.

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Favoring the sublime, or transcending the issues and concerns in the daily lives of commoners and advocating devotion to higher considerations, provides an intriguing contrast to traditional jingju, in which characters, whether aristocrats or beggars, are portrayed with a somewhat worldlier approach. Traditionally, characters live in the mundane world in which abstract notions such as politics, justice, and morality are often interpreted and depicted through conflicts in a character’s personal life, through interactions within the private sphere, and through solutions supported by earthly philosophy. In this world, interpersonal relationships manifest in the interactions among particular individuals: characters are constructed through their relationships with friends, sworn brothers/sisters, family members, employees, rivals, and enemies. Among all these relationships, family, including its related obligations, serves as the fundamental concept and the basic unit for all of an individual’s social relations. In a way, there is no essential difference between a military general’s loyalty to the emperor and a servant giving up his life for his master. The former is devoted to the father of the country, the latter to the emperor of his household. Although this parameter does not deprive traditional jingju of characters with outstanding courage, wisdom, bravery, or capability, it must be noted that, except for gods, characters answering higher calls—such as the ultimate meaning of life—are rare. Compared to the principal proletarian heroes/heroines of noble spirit in model jingju, traditional characters, even the nobility, are more often portrayed as involved primarily with the mundane concerns of their families or personal lives. In model jingju, the beauty of the sublime is intricately associated with a perceived beauty in masculinity. In pursuing the spirit of a new era in which the onceoppressed proletarians are now in charge, the beauty of masculinity as an aesthetic quality manifests in both an accentuated manliness for positive male characters and in increased masculine elements in female character portrayal. For the principal heroes/heroines, the loftiness and purity of their convictions are substantiated by the physical forcefulness conveyed in each aspect of performance. Yang Zirong in Tiger Mountain is an excellent example of a principal hero. As noted in Yang’s costume and makeup renderings, he must be “young, vigilant, forceful, serious, tall and strong, and neat.”26 Yang’s singing style is “vigorous, bright, unostentatious, and genuine.”27 His speech is always resolute, his dance-acting movements vigorous and nimble. In the one-on-one combat with Vulture in the final scene, he defeats the enemy with outstanding combat skills. Using song as an important tool to convey the sense of a new era, Tiger Mountain’s production team once contrasted Yang’s song with the song in traditional jingju, starting with a description of the traditional practice:

26. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 308. 27. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji,” 36.

Coda 245 In sheng melody, they were fond of melodic embellishments including man chanyin and man huayin [slow glide-tone],28 as well as frequent changes in dynamics; in enunciation, they were always unwilling to get rid of the old habit of using Huguang pronunciations and Zhongzhou speech-tones and rhymes.29 It is not difficult to imagine that musical images “portrayed” by this singing style are inevitably graceful ladies, elegant scholars, and [are full of] old and decayed courtliness.30

In contrast, “in Yang Zirong’s melody, the singing techniques—in which strength is complemented by grace, with strength being the primary method, and pauses are combined with continuity to emphasize his forcefulness and handsomeness—are used to portray his brave and vigilant personality; also used is chest voice strengthening the thickness of his vocal timbre, in order to portray his grand vision and vigorous attitude.”31 Tong Xiangling provided further information regarding this development process: “Originally, the lyrics in Scene 5 were rather poetic, like ‘Dazzling snow, misty fog.’ So, the composers followed the poetic style. And in my song, the melody sounded very poetic and gentle. This was really incompatible with Yang Zirong, who marches forward courageously, braving wind and snow.”32 In the search for the sense of a new era, implementing changes involved the cooperative efforts of playwrights, composers, orchestra, and actor. In order to change this situation, the first step was that playwrights provided vivid lyrics. Later, that line became “I press through the snowy forest, spirit soaring!” Now the lyrics themselves are a vivid portrayal of the character’s forcefulness. The composer used erhuang-lead-in-meter set one octave above the original pitch range. In my song, for the last two written-characters, I took this farther, and sang an octave higher than the tones in the score. In 1969 when the film was produced, Yu Huiyong added the orchestra with Chinese instruments combined with Western instruments. All these contributed to Yang’s extremely powerful image.33

Female characters in model jingju are—without exception—positive. These women are leaders, key supporters, and indispensable participants in the mass struggle for justice and a better life for the proletarian. They are female creators of a new order and female masters of a new era. The most thorough review of model jingju’s important contributions in gender representation appears in Rosemary A. Roberts’s Maoist Model Theatre: The Semiotics of Gender and Sexuality in the Chinese Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), in which she vigorously argues against treating

28. Man huayin is produced by singing a decelerating, smooth glide among pitches with very small variations. 29. Huguang pronunciations refer to the pronunciations of the dialect in the Hubei area. Zhongzhou speechtones and rhymes refer to the speech-tones and rhyme categories of the dialect in the Henan area. They are the foundation of singing and heightened speech in traditional jingju. 30. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji,” 35. 31. Ibid. 32. Tong, “Yang Zirong” yu Tong Xiangling, 90–91. 33. Ibid., 90.

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the masculinization of women as synonymous to the erasure of their femininity.34 Sharing Roberts’s attention to nuances in gender representation, I have proposed that female character portrayals in model jingju present a careful integration of toughness and gentleness, thus demonstrating a uniquely revolutionary femininity.35 Paradoxically, this revolutionary femininity was realized by drawing significantly from practices and techniques that used to be assigned to male characters, then fusing them with performance elements traditionally assigned to women; these “drawing” and “fusing” activities took place in varying approaches to different aspects of performance. The ideal singing style of female characters in model jingju is “vigorous, bright, guileless, and unostentatious, conveying the sense of a new era.”36 In performance, this style manifests in a new vocal timbre that is a combination of small-voice and big-voice, an approach to enunciation with special attention to the portrayal of characters’ decisiveness, carefully executed melodic embellishments, and dynamics noticeably more forceful than their traditional counterparts. As examples in Chapter 7 illustrated, melodic techniques and melodies for traditional male roles—xiaosheng, laosheng, and even jing—became convenient sources of strategies that conveyed the sense of new women in a new era and were fused with female melodic techniques and melodies. Perhaps Yang Chunxia, the original performer of Ke Xiang, describes this revolutionary femininity in song most precisely: “Her [Ke Xiang’s] status and personality require that her song is decisive and firm, yet mild and profound. . . . [I]t should be tough outside, gentle inside.”37 Compared to the adjustments in aural dimensions, even more masculine elements were integrated in the physical portrayal of female characters. In the body language of their dance-acting and combat choreography, a portion of the traditional female movement vocabulary is abandoned, and a movement vocabulary and a larger extension of movement, traditionally reserved for male characters, are sometimes used in the performance of female characters. For example, traditional basic positioning and gestures of palms, fists, and hands for male characters serve as the templates for both male and female characters in model jingju. For hand positioning, the one with index finger pointing out and thumb holding the tips of the middle, ring, and small fingers is the only one frequently used by all female characters. This is in significant contrast to traditional practice in which at least ten basic hand and finger gestures are frequently used,38 and some master performers were able to perform more than a hundred.39 That female characters in model jingju 34. Roberts, “Gendering the Revolutionary Body”; and Maoist Model Theatre. 35. Xing Fan, “Revolutionary Femininity in Performance: Female Characters in Beijing Opera Model Plays during China’s Cultural Revolution,” in New Modern Chinese Women and Gender Politics: The Centennial of the End of the Qing Dynasty, ed. Chen Ya-chen (New York: Routledge, 2014), 51–72. 36. Xiao, Geming xiandai jingju xuechang changshi jieshao, 3. 37. Liu, Xiandai jingju “yangbanxi” danjue changqiang yinyue yanjiu, 286. 38. Wan, Xiqu shenduan biaoyan xunlian fa, 64–67; and Yu, Zhongguo xiqu biaoyan yishu cidian, 35–39. 39. Li, “Mao’s Chair,” 6.

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completely abandon the traditional hand gestures probably stands at one extreme of the spectrum of retained traditional movement vocabulary. But compared to movements adapted from traditional male character vocabulary for the new male characters, far fewer were borrowed from the traditional female movement vocabulary for proletarian female characters in model jingju. The application of traditional male characters’ movement to female characters’ body language is also manifested in the much larger size of movement. In traditional repertory, particular role-subcategories require specific sizes of movement and, in general, those for female characters are smaller in size than those for male characters. For example, yunshou (cloud hands) is a basic movement sequence with essentially the same movement arrangement for all role-subcategories. It consists of parallel circular and independent movements of the hands and arms with accompanying movements of the neck, eyes, shoulders, and torso, all coordinated by the area between the rib cage and the top of the pelvis and involving shifts of weight back and forth between the feet. The basic movement arrangement of yunshou is set, but each performer needs to follow the specific movement size of his/her role-type specialization. For jing roles, the highest level of the right hand during the movement sequence should be higher than the performer’s head. For laosheng roles, it should be at the level of the performer’s eyebrows. For wusheng roles, it should be at the level of the performer’s forehead. But the highest level of the right hand for dan roles should not be higher than the performer’s nose.40 In model jingju, however, women’s movements are larger in size, with limb positioning straighter, and the movement size of the principal heroines is close to that of their male counterparts. In these productions, female characters, in particular the principal heroines, are not only on the same intelligence level with the principal heroes but are also equally capable physically.

Imbalance in the Expression of Beauty Intricately linked with the beauty of the sublime and the beauty of masculinity, the two dominant aesthetic qualities, is the notion of imbalance in model jingju’s expression of beauty. It is a critical aesthetic feature that sets model jingju apart from the traditional aesthetics of the jingju world, in which masculinity and femininity complement each other in contributing to the harmony between the yin and the yang, and both leading and supporting roles—including those involved in fights between the honorable and the evil—apply the same aesthetic system of practices in performance. In model jingju, certain aspects are heavily out of proportion, and it is the consequential imbalance that results in aesthetic challenges. The accentuated masculinity in model jingju, while contributing to the sense of a new era, underlines its difference in approach from traditional jingju, in which the 40. Zou, Shenduanpu koujue lun, 30–31.

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beauty of femininity is the focus in the portrayal of female characters. Moreover, the beauty of femininity is equal in importance to the beauty of masculinity. In a spectrum with ultramasculinity at one end and ultrafemininity at the other, the various role-subcategories in traditional jingju fit in different positions along this spectrum. Taken together, they contribute to a balanced picture of the feminine and the masculine. In traditional jingju, the portrayal of female characters must adhere to an integrated and comprehensive set of rules for acting, music, costumes, and makeup. The central purpose of this portrayal is to strengthen the femininity in both interior and exterior features of the characters. Wudan and daomadan roles, usually female warriors and female generals, are probably the least feminine among all the female characters. However, their melodies, vocal timbre, speech, body language in danceacting movement and combat, costumes, and makeup are all executed within the parameters of the traditional set of rules for jingju’s female characters. Rarely do they employ artistic elements belonging to their male counterparts,41 which is a much more common practice in model jingju. Associating gender identities in model works with traditional aesthetics from a semiotic perspective, Rosemary A. Roberts suggests that, “taking gender as a continuum with ultra-femininity at one extreme and ultra-masculinity at the other, what happened in the Cultural Revolution was not the erasure of gender and sexuality from public and particularly literary, discourse, but a shift of gender parameters along political lines, with the parameters for ‘the revolution’ shifted towards the masculine end of the gender continuum and the parameters for the ‘counter revolution’ shifted towards the feminine end. Within each political category, revolutionary and counter-revolutionary, relative gender differentiation was maintained.”42 Based on this precisely drawn gender continuum, I offer further insights. “The revolution”—positive characters including principal heroes/heroines, major supporting positive characters, and revolutionary masses—are the absolute majority of the characters in model jingju. In the meantime, with rhymed written-characters from masculine categories dominating in their song lyrics and speech, and with accentuated manliness in the portrayal of positive male roles and increased masculine elements in the performance of female roles who are all positive, “the revolution” leans heavily toward the masculine. With this group’s supremacy in both quantity and

41. When it occurs in traditional jingju, it is always considered an unusual touch that a performer brings to character portrayal. For example, in The Pearl-Fire Flag (Zhenzhu liehuo qi), a production about Shuangyang Princess of the Shanshan, a kingdom located in the northeastern area of the Taklamakan Desert, two female characters perform a combat sequence with movement conventions for wusheng and wujing roles. Master performer Liu Xiurong confirms that it is a unique choice to portray the princess’s ethnicity. Feng Jie, Jingju mingxiu fangtan (xubian) [Interviews with jingju masters (sequel)] (Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 2013), 287–88. Also, master performer Bai Yuyan uses acting techniques of wusheng roles in Liang Hongyu, a production about a woman general living during the twelfth century. In an interview, Bai clearly identifies this approach as an example for “exclusively unique techniques that a good performer can handle.” Feng, Jingju mingxiu fangtan (xubian), 50. 42. Roberts, Maoist Model Theatre, 23.

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power, “the counterrevolution” is in no position to maintain the balance between the masculine and the feminine in model jingju. In the above discussion of the two aesthetic qualities, only principal heroes/ heroines appear as examples. The reason is simple: the primary mission of model jingju is to create proletarian heroic models, therefore the principal heroes/heroines are portrayed as the absolute and best embodiment of beauty. The rigorous aesthetic protocol regulating these principal heroes/heroines is a deviation from traditional practices in which a set of aligned aesthetics are consistently required of, and applied to, all characters, and in which both positive and negative characters conform to the same aesthetic values. In traditional jingju, “the characters included in each of the several role types and subcategories may be good or bad, strong or weak, intelligent or stupid.”43 Elements of costumes, makeup, music, acting, scripts, and other related artistic components, used for both positive and negative roles, are conventions serving the same aesthetic principles. Differences in stage presentation only exist in the level of sophistication, with the leading roles—both positive and negative—being presented on a comparatively grander level, which may include better fabrics for costumes, more elaborate decorations on costumes, and, more importantly, oftentimes by better performers. Even though the emphasis on leading roles in model jingju is not at odds with the practice in traditional jingju, the inconsistency in aesthetic constraints applied to the principal heroes/heroines and the negative roles characterizes the imbalance of aesthetic expectations in model jingju. This is perhaps most obvious in the visual dimension. In traditional jingju, a makeup design, or facial chart, with asymmetrical designs may signal that a character is somewhat negative or is a good person with unattractive appearance. With standard colors commonly used for all facial charts and with a consistent abstract and exaggerating style, asymmetrical patterns—even those for negative characters—conform to the same overall aesthetic as other types of facial charts. In addition, positive and negative characters wear conventional headdresses, garments, and footwear from the same traditional wardrobe, and are presented in the same wash of light on stage. In model jingju however, negative characters are often illuminated with follow spot lights in cold colors, the color choices for their costumes are often dark and drab, and their makeup literally paints them gray and colorless. Together with acting that usually contains few songs, comparatively less dance-acting and combat, and limited space for characterization, negative characters as a group do not exhibit the favored aesthetic qualities in model jingju. Unlike supporting roles in traditional jingju, they perform their aesthetic responsibilities by providing contrast to the principal heroes/heroines: they are expected to set off the principal heroes’/heroines’ grandness, brightness, and loftiness by being treacherous, dark, and low in a literal, visible, and direct manner.

43. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 7.

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Deep Roots of the Imbalance in Aesthetic Expression The aesthetic qualities and features discussed above—specifically, the imbalance in gender representation and aesthetic expectations in communicating the beauty of the sublime and the beauty of masculinity—have deep roots in the overarching directive for creating model jingju, the Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism (2RR in Combination). As introduced in Chapter 4, the 1966 “Summary” stipulates that important manifestations of Revolutionary Realism include characters and stories portraying proletarian workers, peasants, soldiers, and themes focusing on the continuous revolution led by the CCP and Mao Zedong Thought. At the core of Revolutionary Romanticism is idealism and, in particular, heroism and optimism. Many scholars have offered vigorous criticism of the 2RR in Combination. Some delve into its essence, exploring model works’ political aesthetics. For example, Li Song proposes a sharp interpretation of Revolutionary Realism: that it is “fabrication,”44 because of its ignorance of “the logic in daily life, human psychology, and true feelings.”45 Li further highlights three critical manifestations of Revolutionary Romanticism in model works: creations both originating from and in service of subjective political intentions, prescribed focus on the ideal in writing, and admiration of prevalent ideology that possessed a fervent passion for a utopian society.46 Some, associating the relationship between theatre and reality with China’s surge toward modernity in the twentieth century, pinpoint the 2RR in Combination as the centralized prescription under which the pursuit of modernity is replaced by the pursuit of revolution. For example, the introduction of History of China’s Contemporary Theatre: 1949–2000 concisely summarizes, “During the majority of these fifty years [1949–2000], theatre has been subservient to politics, its functions as a political instrument overpowering its artistic aesthetics and its ‘humane’ orientation either completely or partly deprived for its ‘political’ orientation.”47 In this argument, “reality” as reflected in these theatre—including model jingju—is portrayed via the approach of “Pseudo-realism,”48 thus negating the modernity in theatre created under the 2RR in Combination as the creative principle.49 Some comb through the underrepresented genealogies of literary theories in the PRC, with special attention to the birth of and debates around the 2RR in Combination. For example, Hong Zicheng contextualizes Chinese literature from the 1950s to the 1970s within the process of cultural unification—instead of cultural diversification—with the May Fourth Movement as the beginning of the unifying tendency, and analyzes the “straightforward aestheticization of politics,”50 namely, 44. Li, “Yangbanxi” de zhengzhi meixue, 195. 45. Ibid., 198. 46. Ibid., 198–203. 47. Dong Jian and Hu Xingliang, eds., Zhongguo dangdai xiju shigao, 1949–2000 [History of China’s contemporary theatre: 1949–2000] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2008), 17. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. Hong Zicheng, “Guanyu wushi zhi qishi niandai de Zhongguo wenxue” [On Chinese literature from the 1950s

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“to treat ‘what it should be’ the same as ‘what it is in reality’”—embedded in the 2RR in Combination—as a primary feature of the radicals’ approach to literature from the late 1950s to the 1970s.51 Obviously, how to combine the 2RR was imperative, both to the theory itself and to practitioners. The most direct, practical advice in the 1966 “Summary” is that, “while depicting the cruelty of war, we must not exaggerate or glorify its horror. While depicting the arduousness of the revolutionary struggle, we must not exaggerate or glorify the suffering involved.”52 But it did not answer the question of how to accomplish the task. As the above excerpts reveal, the examinations of the 2RR in Combination as manifested in model works have paid close attention to script-based textual analysis and thematic concerns, with some reference to artistic aspects, though only treating these last as isolated topics. In this context, I propose that a three-dimensional approach—that is, how model jingju’s performance text works based on interactions among all artistic aspects, with each of them embracing the 2RR in Combination—will offer further insights into the intricate relations between the overarching creative method and aesthetic features of model jingju. In explaining the 2RR in Combination, Zhou Yang, generally acknowledged as the most authoritative interpreter of Mao Zedong’s cultural theories, rhetorically asked in his 1960 report to the Third National Congress of Literary and Art Workers, “Is it not precisely because he is inspired by noble ideals that a proletarian revolutionary fighter braves all dangers with resolute fortitude? To us there is no limit to the task of transforming the world; today’s ideal is tomorrow’s reality.”53 The focus of this approach, as Walter J. Meserve and Ruth J. Meserve argue, is that “the expression of the ideal which the Chinese communists believed would, by necessity, become the real.”54 Both Hong Zicheng and Li Yang have noticed the significant role that symbolism plays in model works. Hong describes a “tendency of transformation from ‘to write about the reality’ to ‘to symbolize’” in the “expression, rhetoric, or, in other words, literary style” during the 1950s–1970s: “a romantic imagination of the ideal society,” which is realized through “symbolic (accompanied with passion) ‘creation’ of the imagined society, the interactions among people in this society, and the psychological states and behavioral manners of the new people in this society [the ‘proletarian heroic images’].”55 Li, with the same identification of this transforming tendency in Chinese literature from the 1950s to the 1970s, with a growing emphasis on symbolism, links it to jingju being “a symbolic art,”56 by to the 1970s], Wenxue pinglun [Literature Criticism] 2 (1996): 70. 51. Ibid., 71. 52. “Summary,” 36. 53. Zhou Yang, The Path of Socialist Literature and Art in China: A Report Delivered to the Third Congress of Chinese Literary and Art Workers, on July 22, 1960 (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1960), 36–37. 54. Walter J. Meserve and Ruth J. Meserve, “Revolutionary Realism: China’s Path to the Future,” Journal of South Asian Literature 27, no. 2 (Summer, Fall 1992): 36. 55. Hong, “Guanyu wushi zhi qishi niandai de Zhongguo wenxue,” 73. 56. Li Yang, Kangzheng suming zhi lu: Shehuizhuyi xianshizhuyi (1942–1976) yanjiu [A journey of fighting against fate: A study of Socialist Realism (1942–1976)] (Changchun: Shidai wenyi chubanshe, 1993), 298.

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which Li refers to jingju’s nonrealistic style.57 The attention to jingju’s style is quite necessary. In artistic creation, the 2RR in Combination caused the greatest aesthetic challenge in model jingju, because a convincing portrayal of the ideal has to be somewhat real on the jingju stage. This requires that major artistic aspects need to remain somewhat true to the aesthetic principles of jingju—conventionalization, stylization, and synthesis—and this is the essence of maintaining the jingju style. However, the major artistic aspects of model jingju align with each of the aesthetic principles in different fashions. Conventionalization, stylization, and synthesis are the foundation of traditional jingju aesthetics. “Together, these principles provide the basic fabric of Beijing opera performance—the overall patterns (guilü) that characterize each aspect of Beijing opera performance, as well as the relationships among them.”58 In model jingju, these principles established parameters within which innovative approaches took place. The following discussion first addresses conventionalization, the principle closely related to the most specific units and elements of practice. It then moves on to stylization, the principle that invites explorations in styles on a more comprehensive level, and finally ends with synthesis, the principle drawing special attention to the interrelationship among the various aspects of the performing art. Jingju practices are systemized through the conventionalization of basic units for each aspect, and conventions are the most basic units of its visual, aural, and physical language. Dance-acting is based on conventions regarding the movement of hands, eyes, body, and steps, as well as those that govern the use of costume pieces such as beards, feathers, wigs, and water-sleeves in movement. Combat includes conventions of hand-to-hand fighting, the usage of weapons such as swords and spears, and acrobatic leaping and jumping. Musical accompaniment and composition deal with conventions governing the use of modes, metrical types, and percussive patterns. Dressers handle conventions of headdresses, garments, and footwear. Character portrayals are often based on role-types that are conventional categorizations. Through professional training, traditional jingju practitioners acquire both the knowledge of conventions in acting, music, makeup, and wardrobe, and the principles of sequencing these conventions in performance: they are then able to further rearrange these conventions in developing a character. In creating model jingju, the innovative approach to traditional conventions is crystallized in Jiang Qing’s directive “Use conventions, avoid conventionalization.”59 This directive is manifested in all major artistic aspects, and an overall pattern can be discerned: the deconstruction of the traditional system of conventions, and the liberty of selecting appropriate traditional elements and fusing them with new ones, be they borrowed from other performing arts or newly created. In practice, as discussed in Chapter 6, on the one hand, it requires a certain extent of stylized 57. Ibid., 298–311. 58. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 3. 59. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Yuanyu shenghuo gaoyu shenghuo,” 56.

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refinement and an opposition to naturalistic stage presentation; on the other hand, it calls for vivid portrayals of specific dramatic actions and opposes a formalistic approach. Decisions were made on a case-by-case basis. In some cases, to deconstruct meant to destroy, and led to abandonment. In other cases, deconstruction led to breakthroughs and nurtured innovative and alternative practices. If we compare and contrast the practices in the five major artistic aspects discussed in Chapters 5–9, it is not difficult to see that, with the prioritized task of keeping a palpable jingju flavor, music and acting in model jingju embraced significantly more elements absorbed from traditional conventions than did playwriting, design, and directing. The varying degree of traditional convention usage in different aspects of model jingju corresponds to the different levels of stylization among the major artistic aspects. As Elizabeth Wichmann says, “Stylization refers to the divergence between the behaviors of daily life and their presentation on the stage—that is, the representation of those behaviors in performance, within a particular style.”60 In traditional jingju, all parts of performance harmonize with each other, and the prerequisite for this harmony is a similar degree of stylization in each part. In Chapters 5–9, we have already seen that the representation of daily life is indeed uplifted and refined in each aspect of model jingju—playwriting, acting, music, design, and directing. Yet, when compared, they present different degrees of stylization: among them, music, the most abstract by nature, is probably the most stylized; design, with information and elements necessarily specific to particular scenes and characters, and therefore much closer to daily life, is the least stylized; playwriting, acting, and directing (in particular the use of group characters and space) fall somewhere in between. The combined use of roundness, straight lines, and angles in performance may help illustrate the “half stylization” in acting and directing. Roundness is generally identified as “the most basic physical, visually perceived characteristic of stylization” in traditional jingju.”61 As Ouyang Yuqian maintains, “We can say that not a single dance movement in jingju is not round . . . and it is an art of drawing circles.”62 Elizabeth Wichmann further comments that “roundness applies to posture and movement, both of various parts of the body in isolation and of the entire body in or through space. Straight lines and angles are to be avoided; positive aesthetic value is perceived in the presentation of a three-dimensional network of circles, arcs, and curved lines.”63 In model jingju, while roundness is applied to a large portion of posture and movement, the radii of the arcs are generally longer, and the radii of the arcs in female characters’ posture and movement are similar to those of male characters. More importantly, postures and movements, including those in and through space, are sometimes connected with straight lines and angles. For example, in the group skiing dance in Tiger Mountain (see Figures 9.1–9.5), traffic 60. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 4. 61. Ibid. 62. Wang Shiying, Xiqu danhang shenduan gong [Movement vocabulary techniques of female characters in xiqu] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 2003), 18. 63. Wichmann, Listening to Theatre, 4.

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patterns are a combination of circles, arcs, curved lines, straight lines, and angles. In general, the bigger curves, straight lines, and angles in performance help to portray the decisiveness and bravery of the characters, an urgent situation, or the swiftness of stage actions. In model jingju, we see the result of synthesis—similar to that in traditional jingju—in which “song and speech in performance occur simultaneously with the dance-like movement of the performer; dance-acting and combat are interwoven on the stage with melodic and/or percussive accompaniment.”64 When major artistic aspects are put together in model jingju, however, their interrelationship becomes a multifaceted, complex issue. The artistic aspects do not interact with each other in a consistent fashion. The opposing notions regarding the interrelationship between acting and design in Scene 5 of Tiger Mountain, as introduced in Chapter 8, address the issue of compatibility between the two artistic components. In this travel scene, Yang Zirong, on his way up to Tiger Mountain, performs dance-acting sequences with movement vocabulary drawn from traditional jingju, military movements, folk dance, and refined horse-riding movements. In an empty space occupying approximately twothirds of the stage, his performance takes place in front of a two-dimensional soft flat with a painting of a forest; on the cyclorama are the projected still images of the sky and the faraway mountains. For some critics, the realistic images of mountains and forests aesthetically conflict with the stylized dance movement sequences on stage. But for designers, this scenery does not conflict with acting because ample space is purposefully left for the travel scene. The opposing arguments, as Chapter 8 points out, highlight two different aspects of scenic design in model jingju, whose overall purpose was to ensure both a realistic impression and ample performance space for the actors. But the real question goes beyond the one specific scene: with ample space for acting granted by the scenery, can the close-to-realistic scenic style allow a consistently neutral aesthetic space that embraces the more stylized acting throughout the production? I argue that the answer is no, because the interaction between acting and design in Tiger Mountain varies in degree throughout the production. In scenes with mostly indoor action, such as Scene 3 and Scene 7, in a small log cabin in the former and at Li Yongqi’s home in the latter, the close-to-realistic stage designs do not do much more than allow the actors to inhabit convincing portrayals of the characters’ locales. In Scene 5, however, the design accomplishes more functions. The visual experience of observing the still images on the cyclorama—the sky and the faraway mountains—and the two-dimensional soft flat with a painting of a forest directly reinforces the setting (locale, season, and environment) noted in the script (see Plate 8.2). More importantly, even though an audience member may not consciously relate the images to romanticism, the scenery visually conveys nature’s 64. Ibid.

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grandness. There is no doubt that these images specify and clarify the dramatic spirit of the scene, and also offer an identifiable—and circumscribed—aesthetic space on stage. And, in Scene 8, the stage design has even more significance and consequence. Yang Zirong delivers the production’s core aria at the beginning of this scene. Alone at the enemy’s headquarters, the principal hero is under a severe time constraint, yet an unforeseen situation warns him that a trap has been set. In this impossible situation, Yang is cautious, calm, and determined. The enemies are tricky, but he will push on with courage and wits. The task is extremely dangerous, but Yang handles it with extraordinary bravery. The path is long, but the future is bright: the principal hero convinces us that the task will be successfully fulfilled, and that nothing and no one can stop him. After a short opening section, which is quoted in Chapter 5, the protagonist continues singing: (Changes to “kuai san yan.”) I must never forget to be bold yet cautious, And succeed through courage and wits. The Party’s every word is victory’s guarantee, Mao Zedong Thought shines forever. (Changes to “yuan ban.”) Tiger Mountain is indeed heavily fortified With forts above and tunnels below. The leadership’s decision to use strategy is right, A direct attack would mean heavy losses. After seven days here I know the disposition well, I have the secret report concealed on my person. Now at daybreak, pretending to take a stroll, I’ll send it out .  .  . (Notices something.) Why have the guards suddenly been increased? Something’s up. This message— If I don’t get this message out, I’ll miss the opportunity and ruin our attack plan, And let the people and the Party down. (Changes to “er liu.”) Lunar New Year’s Eve is fast approaching. I mustn’t hesitate, I must push on, Though the grass be knives and the trees swords, Down to the foot of the slope. What though the mountain be tall? Standing in the cold and melting The ice and snow, I’ve the morning sun in my heart.65 65. “Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy” Group of the Peking Opera Troupe of Shanghai, Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy, 39–40.

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In the Chinese language, “morning” and “sun” are the last two written-characters of the aria; the melody of these written-characters alludes to the song “The East Is Red” (“Dong fang hong”), “arguably the most famous hymn on Mao Zedong.”66 Barbara Mittler vividly describes the stage presentation of this moment: “The phrase culminates into a rising glissando in strings and winds concluding with the ascending, more and more transcendent sounds of the glockenspiel. Mao’s apotheosis in musical terms is further underlined by Yang’s wide-open shining eyes and the reddening of the sky in the background.”67 Instrument schedules and electrician’s cue sheets indicate that the effect of “reddening of the sky” involves at least ten major lighting instruments. With a swift intensity change within the short time frame of the song’s last two written-characters, two instruments project a rosy, morning glow on the cyclorama, and the rest of the instruments project light smoothly on the principal hero, the stage, and the scenic pieces.68 At this moment, the principal hero’s inner world is externalized. In addition to the aural experience of the “The east is red; the sun is rising” melody, audience members witness the morning sun in Yang’s heart made manifest through the visual effect produced by lighting instruments. Here, stage design goes far beyond regulating the aesthetic space on stage—it dominates. Synthesizing acting and music was another major aesthetic challenge in creating model jingju. It was raised as an urgent issue during the creative process resulting in the first five model plays. As Tiger Mountain’s production team stated, “Jingju is a comprehensive art. In this complex of practices, dance and music (including song and orchestra) are the closest to each other. . . . In [our] creation and practices, a frequent problem is their order of priority and how to serve this order.”69 Their strategy was to give the highest priority to song: “Among song, dance, and orchestra, dance and orchestra are secondary to song, and orchestra must accompany song and dance, instead of dominating a performance.”70 Even though the production team explained this strategy in the context of revealing the inner world of proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers, their order of priority—with song being the first, dance the second, and orchestra the third—was faithful to that in traditional jingju. The five productions designated as models during 1973 to 1976—The Red Detachment of Women, Fighting on the Plain, Song of the Dragon River, Azalea Mountain, and Boulder Bay—evidence vigorous attempts to synchronize aural and physical components in performance. An overarching musicality, synchronizing song, speech, dance-acting, and combat, as well as governing interactions among characters, became the primary strategy by which to refine performance. In 1976, 66. Mittler, “Cultural Revolution Model Works and the Politics of Modernization in China,” 66. 67. Ibid. 68. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben), 363–74. 69. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu, “Yuanyu shenghuo gaoyu shenghuo,” 57. 70. Ibid.

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Boulder Bay’s production team proposed the concept of “the normalization of performance” (biaoyan guifanhua). The normalization encompassed four components: strengthened musicality in rhymed vernacular speech, increased dancing in movement patterns, uniform rhythms in stage presentation, and orderly, well-structured stage compositions.71 As Yang Jian states, “These four aspects, to put it straightforwardly, are to emphasize musicality in ‘speech,’ dance in ‘dance-acting,’ rhythm in ‘performance,’ and symmetry in ‘composition’; overall, it is to strengthen song and dance in performance.”72 During normalization, a musicality that goes beyond music—combined vocal and instrumental sounds—becomes the soul in performance. As discussed in Chapter 5, rhymed vernacular speech allows smooth transitions between speech and song. In Boulder Bay, this particular speech pattern is treated as arias in rehearsals.73 In practice, rhymed vernacular speech, mostly in couplets and with similar rhetorical devices, and nearly identical metrical rhythm in each couplet, allows a consistent musicality throughout the production. This consistency further facilitates increasing the dance in the movement accompanying speech and song. With physical movement for dance, dance-acting, and combat created and arranged with a consistent musicality, multiple characters appearing in the same scene may apply a uniform rhythm in performance. As discussed in Chapter 8, the overall directorial approach in Azalea Mountain was “all characters move onstage in the same rhythm.”74 While following the same rhythm in performance, in Boulder Bay, positive supporting characters often collectively follow leading characters’ performance but with smaller stage-steps and simplified gestures, and negative characters often use movements in opposite directions—usually downward—to set off leading characters. Yang Jian colorfully designates the former as “the form of a myriad stars surrounding the moon” (zhong xing peng yue shi) and the latter as “the form of the enemies overpowered by the heroes” (di fu wo yang shi).75 At this point, if we revisit Jiang Qing’s 1965 comments on Tiger Mountain, quoted in the first section of this chapter, we see that the “normalization in performance” proposed in 1976 offered theorized solutions to most of the challenges that creators faced a decade earlier. However, the paradoxical consequence is that, based on the deconstruction of traditional jingju’s convention system and the avoidance of conventionalization, the four components of normalization gave birth to a new set of conventions. Yang Jian comments that “from modern plays to [the first group of] model plays, then to the second group of model plays, it is a process 71. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Panshiwan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Boulder Bay Production Team], “Nuli gesong renmin zhanzheng, suzao minbing yingxiong xingxiang” [Strive to praise people’s war; portray militiamen’s heroic images], Renmin wenxue [People’s Literature] 2 (1976): 26. 72. Yang Jian, “Cong ‘geming xiandai jingju’ kan chuantong xiju de zhuanxing” [Observations of the transformation of traditional theatre through “revolutionary modern jingju”], Xiju [Theatre] 3 (2003): 53. 73. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Panshiwan Juzu, “Nuli gesong renmin zhanzheng, suzao minbing yingxiong xingxiang,” 26. 74. Gao Mukun, personal interview, Beijing, 4 April 2005. 75. Yang, “Cong ‘geming xiandai jingju’ kan chuantong xiju de zhuanxing,” 53.

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from [random] experience to [forming] patterns, from [forming] patterns to [summarizing] principles, and [finally] from [summarizing] principles to [normalizing new] conventions.”76 In 1966, Jiang Qing assigned modern jingju the revolutionary task of storming the “most stubborn of strongholds” of the feudal culture: traditional jingju. By 1976, with the concept and theory of normalized performance, a new, solid stronghold had been established by model jingju. The creative experience of Boulder Bay was published in February 1976, eight months before the Cultural Revolution abruptly came to an end. Thereafter, there was no further development or manifestation of this performance theory. What might have happened to model jingju? In a discussion of Revolutionary Realism as “China’s path to the future,” Walter J. Meserve and Ruth J. Meserve offer an intriguing reflection on Tian Han’s Ballad of the Ming Tombs Reservoir (Shisanling Shuiku changxiangqu), a play composed with the combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism: The last scene is a fantasy of the Ming Tombs Reservoir when the Chinese people will be living in a communist society. The shores of the reservoir are a big garden of leafy trees and flowers. A group of Young Pioneers are listening to a woman who is telling them how she and hundreds of thousands of others did their bit in building the reservoir. But the children find it hard to understand why carry-poles and baskets had to be used to move earth when, as they well know, such work is always done by machines. Not far from the reservoir there are palatial rest homes and a station for launching rockets in which people can travel to the moon. In the communist society where everyone is living a happy life even the old men seem to become young again.77

Walter J. Meserve and Ruth J. Meserve pinpoint a fundamental paradox here: “Tien Han’s [Tian Han] children in this scene are his projection of that future ‘communist utopia,’ doomed to the failure that has plagued all utopian societies: stagnation, i.e., the failure to generate an understanding of the past to inspire the present ‘utopia’ to maintain its existence when there are no more goals to reach and no future.”78 In model jingju, the normalized performance in 1976 certainly indicates a stabilized form, with gradually conventionalized practices. Would it have led to stagnation if the Cultural Revolution—and the revolution in jingju—had continued? On the one hand, I beg to differ, because I have learned not to underestimate the creativity of jingju practitioners; on the other hand, I cannot but agree, because the overarching directive and fundamental principle of this revolution were the very obstacles that hindered its progress.

76. Ibid. 77. Meserve and Meserve, “Revolutionary Realism,” 37–38. 78. Ibid., 38.

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266 Bibliography Shandongsheng Jingju Tuan Qixi Baihutuan Juzu [Shandong Province Jingju Troupe Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment Production Team]. Geming xiandai jingju Qixi Baihutuan zhuxuanlü yuepu (1972 nian 9 yue yanchuben) [Principal melodic score of the revolutionary modern jingju Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (September 1972 version)]. Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1973. ———. Geming xiandai jingju Qixi Baihutuan zongpu (1972 nian 9 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (September 1972 version)]. Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1977. Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team. “Strive to Create the Brilliant Images of Proletarian Heroes.” Chinese Literature 1 (1970): 58–74. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Haigang Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe On the Docks Production Team]. “Fanying shehuizhuyi shidai gongren jieji de zhandou shenghuo” [Reflecting the battle life of the workers’ class in the socialist age]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 5 (1972): 50–58. ———. Geming xiandai jingju Haigang (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju On the Docks (January 1972 version)]. Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1974. ———. Geming xiandai jingju Haigang zongpu (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju On the Docks (January 1972 version)]. Beijing: Renmin yinyue chubanshe, 1977. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Panshiwan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Boulder Bay Production Team]. “Nuli gesong renmin zhanzheng, suzao minbing yingxiong xingxiang” [Strive to praise people’s war; portray militiamen’s heroic images]. Renmin wenxue [People’s Literature] 2 (1976): 23–28. Shanghai Jingju Tuan Zhiqu Weihushan Juzu [Shanghai Jingju Troupe Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy Production Team]. Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben) [Revolutionary modern jingju Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (July 1970 version)]. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1971. ———. Geming xiandai jingju Zhiqu Weihushan zongpu (1970 nian 7 yue yanchuben) [Comprehensive score of the revolutionary modern jingju Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (July 1970 version)]. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1971. ———. “Manqiangreqing qianfangbaiji” [With full passion and in all possible methods]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 2 (1970): 31–40. ———. “Nuli suzao wuchanjieji yingxiong renwu de guanghui xingxiang” [Strive to create the brilliant images of proletarian heroes]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 11 (1969): 62–71. ———. “Yuanyu shenghuo gaoyu shenghuo” [Be from life; being higher than life]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 12 (1969): 52–59. ———. “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 11 (1969): 33–61. Shanghai Jingju Yuan [Shanghai Jingju Company], adapt. “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy]. Juben [Scripts] 12 (1964): 1–28. ———. “Zhiqu Weihushan” [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy]. Hongqi [Red Flag] 8 (1967): 75–97. Shanghai Jingju Yuan Yituan [First Troupe of Shanghai Jingju Company], adapt. Zhiqu Weihushan [Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy]. Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1958. Shanghaishi Longjiang song Juzu [Shanghai Song of the Dragon River Production Team]. Geming xiandai jingju Longjiang song zhuxuanlü yuepu (1972 nian 1 yue yanchuben)

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Interviews Personal interviews Cai Yaoxian, Beijing, 5 February and 3 May 2005 Cao Baorong, Beijing, 4 February 2005 Chen Xinwan, and Hao Jianwen, Jinan, 24 June 2005 Chen Zhengzhu, Shanghai, 26 May 2005 Cui Zhongliang, Beijing, 16 June 2005 Fu Dawei, Beijing, 17 June 2005 Gao Mukun, Beijing, 4 April 2005 Gao Yilong, Shanghai, 20 May 2005 Gao Yiming, Shanghai, 23 May 2005 Gao Yuqian, Beijing, 24 December 2004 Geng Jinqun, Beijing, 15 June 2005 Gong Guotai, Shanghai, 15 May 2005 Ji Junneng, Jinan, 23 June 2005 Liang Bin, Shanghai, 26 May 2005 Liang Yiqiang, Beijing, 30 June 2005 Li Chang, Beijing, 31 March 2005 Liu Jidian, Beijing, 26 July 2005 Liu Ruyi, Jinan, 22 June 2005 Li Zhongcheng, Shanghai, 18 May 2005 Lu Hua, Jinan, 21 and 23 June 2005 Lu Songling, Beijing, 9 June 2005 Ma Ke, Shanghai, 21 May 2005 Ma Yong’an, Beijing, 1 March 2005 Shen Jianjin, Beijing, 26 April 2005 Shen Liqun, Beijing, 18 April 2005 Sun Hongxun, Beijing, 29 July 2005 Sun Yaosheng, Shanghai, 17 May 2005 Wang Zhenpeng, Shanghai, 29 May 2005 Xu Fude, Shanghai, 25 May 2005 Yan Guixiang, and Tan Xiaozeng, Beijing, 15 April 2005 Yan Guixiang, Beijing, 9 May 2005 Zhang Huikang, Shanghai, 14 May 2005 Zhang Jianmin, Beijing, 7 December 2004 Zhang Xinhai, Shanghai, 16 May 2005 Zhao Yingmian, Beijing, 19 March 2005 Zhao Zhentang, Jinan, 25 June 2005 Zhou Wenlin, Jinan, 22 June 2005 Zhou Zhuoran, Shanghai, 26 May 2005 Zhu Wenhu, Shanghai, 27 May 2005

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Telephone interviews Chi Jinsheng, Beijing, 10 August 2005 Yang Chunxia, Beijing, 11 August 2005

Index

1964 Beijing Festival, 69–71, 78, 90, 91, 100, 221 2RR in Combination. See Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism acting in model jingju: and breakthroughs in role-types, 130–32; and breakthroughs in schools of performance, 136–38; and breakthroughs in the old form of jingju, 138–53; as a major artistic component, 3, 10, 11, 79, 217, 240, 253; interaction with music in defining aesthetics, 256–57; interaction with playwriting and design in defining aesthetics, 203–8, 254–56. See also combat; dance-acting; role-types; schools of performance; song; speech aesthetic expectations, 11, 240, 249–50 aesthetic qualities: beauty of masculinity, 11, 240, 242, 244–47, 248, 250; beauty of the sublime, 11, 240, 242–44, 247, 250; in jingju, 118, 241, 253; in model jingju, 7, 11, 153 aesthetics in model jingju: beauty of masculinity, 244–47; beauty of the sublime, 242–44; experience with, 239; imbalance in aesthetic expectations, 249; imbalance in gender representation, 247–49; notion of beauty, 240–42; roots for aesthetic challenges, 250–58 Ahn, Byung-joon, 65 Ajia, 67; and Red Lantern, The, 68, 101, 218–19, 226–28; and White-Haired

Girl, The (jingju), 59n54, 61, 62; on xiqu directing, 218, 219, 226 Anti-Rightist Campaign, 47, 48, 49, 50, 53 atmospheric music (qifen yinyue), 169, 170–73 At the Crossroads Inn (San cha kou), 208 Aunt Choe, 105, 111, 114 Azalea Mountain (Dujuanshan), 2, 160, 197n5; and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 256, 257; character analysis in rehearsals for, 224; characters in, 105, 106; costume design for, 213, 214, 215, 216; creative process of, 68, 73, 78–79, 99, 101, 102; crowd scene in Scene 2, 229–31; dance music in, 172; group dance in, 236; Ke Xiang’s musical theme in each aria’s prelude, 190–95; Ke Xiang’s performance in, 130–31, 142, 144, 147; Lei Gang’s performance in 137, 139–40; lighting design for, 209–11; metrical-type composition in Ke Xiang’s core aria, 185 table 7.7; modes in, 175 table 7.4; narrative structure and language in, 116, 118, 119 table 5.1, 120–22; new metrical types in, 180, 181n55; orchestral conducting in, 163; reconstruction of, 2, 11–12; scenic design for, 202–3; sense of reality in combat in, 152–53; synopsis of, 104; technique directors for, 237; theatricality in, 114, 115; themes in, 110, 111, 112; Yu Huiyong as the director for, 222–23. See also Fu

Index 275 Dawei; Gao Mukun; Li Zhongcheng; Ma Yong’an; Yang Chunxia; Yan Guixiang; Yu Huiyong; Zhao Yingmian Ballad of the Ming Tombs Reservoir (Shisanling Shuiku changxiangqu), 258 Basic Task, the (genben renwu lun), 70, 75–76, 78, 106 beigong (back-to-back), 108–9 Beijing Cultural Bureau, 68, 71 Beijing Jingju Troupe, 68, 99 Beijing opera, 1n1, 138, 161, 198, 239, 241, 252 Beijing People’s Art Theatre, 79, 147n60 between-scenes music (mujianqu), 116, 169–70 big-voice, 55, 56, 139, 144, 246 Black Dragon Residence (Wulong yuan), 21 body language: in jingju, 39; in model jingju, 227, 246–47, 248; in Three Mountains, 43–44, 46; in White-Haired Girl, The, 62 Bonds, Alexandra B., 196, 211, 212 Boulder Bay (Panshiwan), 2, 73, 74, 102, 196; acting in, 131, 144; and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 256–58; characters in, 105, 106; creative process of, 78–79; group dance in, 236; language in, 118, 119 table 5.1, 120, 122; musical composition for, 160, 172, 175 table 7.4, 185 table 7.7; synopsis of, 104; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 111, 113 Cai Yaoxian, 138n32, 143n50, 144n53, 147n60 Cao Baorong, 160 Capturing San Lang Alive (Huo zhuo San Lang), 33 Central Cultural Revolution Group, 72, 99n2 Chang Bao: as a newly added character in Tiger Mountain, 81–85 table 4.1, 92, 93; in group dance, 232, 233, 234; in script, 106, 111; musical composition for, 176; song of, 142, 144

character analysis (in rehearsals), 61, 219, 223–26 Chen, Xiaomei, 4, 6, 7 Cheng Yanqiu, 134 table 6.2, 135, 137 Chen Tushou, 68, 71 Chen Xinwan, 151n83, 152n87, 152n89, 225n38, 229n45, 234n60, 236n61, 237 Chen Yi, 52, 53 Chen Zhengzhu, 150n78, 151n83, 152nn87–88, 234n60, 236n61, 237 chou (comic earthy male), 126, 128 table 6.1; makeup for, 216–17; wuchou (martial clown), 128 table 6.1, 134 table 6.2, 237 Chief of Staff: during Tiger Mountain’s creative process (1958–1970), 80–84 table 4.1, 93, 94; in dance-acting, 148, 162; in group dance, 232, 234; in script, 105, 107, 116. See also Shao Jianbo Chi Jinsheng, 144–45, 220n9, 222, 223, 226, 229n45 China Jingju Company, 27; and Red Lantern, The, 67–68; and the reconstructed Azalea Mountain (2005), 11–12; and the reconstructed Red Lantern, The (2001), 1–2; and Three Mountains, 28, 41; and White-Haired Girl, The (jingju), 57, 58, 213 Chinese People’s Volunteers, 103, 112, 131, 168, 180, 225 chuanju, 33, 37, 50 Clark, Paul, 3, 4, 6, 66, 68, 74, 155 class struggle, 25, 29, 53, 69, 112–13 close-curtain music (bimuqu), 169–70 coda (weisheng), 169–70 combat (acting skill), 11, 90, 129, 138, 241, 252; and model jingju aesthetics, 240, 244, 246, 248, 249, 254, 256, 257; and role-types, 127–28 table 6.1, 129; and schools of performance, 133, 134 table6.2; and technique directors for model jingju, 219, 236–37; in model jingju acting, 131, 137, 151–53; in playwriting consideration, 100, 101, 106, 114, 116; interaction with model jingju design, 196; interaction with model

276 Index jingju directing, 223, 229; interaction with model jingju music, 163, 165, 166, 168, 169, 172, 193 Combination of Revolutionary Realism and Revolutionary Romanticism (geming xianshizhuyi yu geming langmanzhuyi xiang jiehe) (2RR in Combination): as an overarching creative theory, 11, 75–76, 78; as the roots for aesthetic challenges, 240, 250–52 Communist Party, Chinese (CCP): and cultural/theatre policies during the late 1950s to the early 1960s, 47–49, 51, 54; and the Xiqu Reform, 28–30, 32, 34, 35; as the leading party in the PRC, 2–5, 8–10, 105, 106, 109, 111, 113, 170, 250; during the mid-1960s and the Cultural Revolution, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 76, 91; during the Yan’an period, 15–17, 21–22; in Azalea Mountain, 104, 115, 121, 122, 229, 230; in Boulder Bay, 104; in On the Docks, 103, 142, 143; in Red Detachment of Women, The, 103; in Red Lantern, The, 102, 145, 146, 172, 218, 226; in Shajiabang, 99; in Song of the Dragon River, 104; in White-Haired Girl, The (jingju), 58, 59 Company Commander, 105, 144, 181n55 Conference on Presenting Modern Life in Xiqu (1958), 49, 57 Conference on the Artistic Reform of Xiqu (1954), 8, 37–41, 42, 55 conventions: and conventionalization, 11, 138, 148, 212, 216, 240, 252, 257; and model jingju aesthetics, 249, 252, 253, 257, 258; as basic units in jingju, 30, 39, 58, 61; in model jingju directing consideration, 218, 219, 225, 248n41; of acting, 43, 57, 60, 138, 148, 150, 205; of design, 198, 212; of musical composition, 60, 161, 173; of playwriting, 59; “use conventions, avoid conventionalization,” 138, 148, 252 Cui Zhongliang, 201n22, 202n24, 207n32 cuobu, 131

cyclorama: in lighting design, 208, 209, 211, 254, 256; in scenic design, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 254 cymbals (naobo), 154, 157 table 7.1, 158 table 7.2, 165, 166 table 7.3, 169, 192 Dai Jiafang, 73 dance-acting (acting skill), 90, 138, 241, 248, 252; and model jingju aesthetics, 244, 246, 248, 249, 252, 254, 256, 257; and role-types, 127–28 table 6.1, 129; and schools of performance, 133, 134 table6.2; and technique directors for model jingju, 219, 236–37; in model jingju acting, 137, 138, 148–51; in model jingju directing consideration, 228; in playwriting consideration, 101, 115, 116; interaction with model jingju design, 196, 205, 216; interaction with model jingju music, 160, 168, 169, 170, 172; in White-Haired Girl, The (jingju), 60–62 Dance-Drama, Modern Revolutionary (geming xiandai wuju), 2 dance music (wudao yinyue), 44, 169, 172 dan (female), 126, 127 table 6.1, 129n6, 132, 134 table 6.2, 135, 216, 247 daomadan (martial dignified female), 127 table 6.1, 129n6, 131, 248 dengcai (fancy lanterns), 198, 208 Denton, Kirk A., 6 design in model jingju: as a major artistic component, 3, 10, 11, 79, 217, 240, 253; costume, 5, 6, 10, 94, 196, 197, 211–16, plate 8.3, plate 8.4; interaction with playwriting and acting in defining aesthetics, 203–8; 254–56; lighting, 197, 208–11; makeup, 197, 211–12, 216–17; process of, 201–2, 208–9, 214; scenic, 197, 198–208, plate 8.1, plate 8.2; script analysis for, 201, 202, 208, 214; style of, 198, 201, 202, 203, 207, 208, 214 Diao Deyi, 108, 111, 114, 136 directing in model jingju: as a major artistic component, 3, 10, 11, 79, 217, 240, 253; creative authority and director’s

Index 277 function, 219, 220–23; directorial teams, 220; from script to stage, 226–28; script and character analysis, 223–26; technique directors, 236–37; use of minor supporting characters, 229–36 dispersed-meter (sanban), 168, 178, 179 tables 7.5–7.6, 180, 181n55, 184 table 7.7 Dream of Red Mansions, A (Hong lou meng), 199 Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels (Bishang Liangshan), 4, 15, 21, 23–27, 49, 51 Drunken Imperial Concubine, The (Guifei zuijiu), 224–25 Du Jinfang, 61, 63 fig. 3.1, 63 fig. 3.2. See also Xi’er “Eight Articles on Literature and Art,” 52, 53 Eighth Route Army, 22, 103 “entering and existing” (narrative structure), 42, 46, 115, 200, 207 erhuang, 107, 123, 190, 245; as a modal system, 174; as a principal mode, 174, 175 table 7.4; in association with metrical types, 179 table 7.6, 180; in metrical-type composition in core arias, 183–85 table 7.7; modulation to xipi, 175–76, 177–78; new metrical types associated with, 181 Evening Raid on an Airport (Ye xi feijichang), 21 facial charts (lianpu), 26, 128, 216, 249 Famen Temple, The (Famen si), 22 fan erhuang, 123, 174, 175 table 7.4; in association with metrical types, 179 table 7.6, 180, 184–85 table 7.7; modulation between, and xipi, 176–77; new metrical types associated with, 181 Fang Haizhen: as a principal heroine in script, 103, 105, 113, 114, 115; as a representative of the beauty of the sublime, 242; musical composition

for, 180–81n55, 184 table 7.7, 187; performance techniques for, 131, 137, 142, 144 Fan Junhong, 59 Fan Rong, 45, 58 fan xipi, 174, 175 fast-meter (kuaiban), 38, 178, 179 table 7.5–7.6, 181, 185 table 7.7, 194, 227, 228 Fei Yuping, 173, 190n69 femininity, 214, 246, 247, 248 Festival of Modern Jingju Performances for Emulation (1964). See 1964 Beijing Festival Fighting on the Plain (Pingyuan zuozhan), 2; and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 256; creative process of, 73, 78–79, 102; group dance in, 236; musical composition for, 172, 175 table 7.4, 185 table 7.7; playwriting and script, 105, 106, 111, 114, 119 table 5.1; reconstruction of, 2; synopsis of, 103; Zhao Yonggang’s performance in, 131 Fisherman’s Revenge (Da yu sha jia), 21, 67 follow spots, 209, 211, 249 form vs. content: in Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, 27; in Mao Zedong’s 1942 “Talks,” 5, 20, 241; in modern jingju creation, 125; in jingju, 5, 30–31; in White-Haired Girl, The (jingju), 58; during the Xiqu Reform, 36–37, 39, 238 Fu Dawei, 209–10, 211, 220n9, 223n26 fugui yi (garment of wealth and nobility), 212, 213, 214, plate 8.3 Fu Jin, 2, 9, 32, 51 Gai Jiaotian, 134 table 6.2, 135, 136 Galikowski, Maria, 54, 75 Gang of Four, 73, 99n2 Gao Mukun, 11, 257n74; on performance techniques, 151n83, 152nn87–88, 153n91; on directing in Azalea Mountain, 222n21, 223n26, 229n45, 230n53, 236n61, 237 Gao Shenglin, 135, 136

278 Index Gao Yilong, 50, 79n75, 91 Gao Yiming, 79n75, 90 Gao Yuqian, 131–32, 144n53, 146, 147. See also Granny Li gender, 122; and costume design in model jingju, 215–16; and jingju music, 55, 186–87; and role-types, 126; representation in model jingju, 7, 11, 240, 244–50 Geng Jinqun, 164, 168 Goldman, Andrea S., 9 Goldman, Merle, 17 Goldstein, Joshua, 9, 200 Gong Guotai, 79n75, 93, 160–62, 223n26 Granny Du, 105, 111, 224; rhymed vernacular speech for, 120, 121 Granny Li: and association with role-types, 131–32; in lighting design, 211; in script, 102, 105, 114, 187; monologue and music of “Recounting the family’s revolutionary history” in Red Lantern, The, 145–47, 170–72; song of, 144. See also Gao Yuqian Granny Sha, 105, 111, 114 Granny Zeng, 105, 111 Granny Zhang, 105, 111 Great Ambush, The (Shimian maifu), 172 Great Leap Forward, 47, 49, 51, 52, 57, 65, 70, 76, 94 Gu, Yizhong, 77 Guangzhou Meeting, 52, 53 Gu Chunzhang, 237 Guillermaz, Jacques, 49, 54 Guo Jianguang: as a representative of the beauty of the sublime, 242; in performance, 131, 137, 142; in the creative process of Shajiabang, 100–101; musical composition for, 175–76, 183 table 7.7 gushi (player of the single-skin-drum and the clappers), 45, 154, 163–65, 168 hanju, 37, 50 Han Xiaoqiang, 106, 111, 115, 132, 139. See also Zhou Zhuoran Harding, Harry, 65

historical plays, newly written, 15, 22, 23, 24, 27, 52 Holm, David, 16, 17 Hong Changqing, 103, 105, 114, 131, 184 table 7.7, 243 Hong Zicheng, 250, 251 huadan (young lively female), 127 table 6.1, 129n6, 130, 131, 132, 237 huaiju, 102 huaju (“spoken drama,” Western-style theatre), 67, 71, 220; narrative structure of, 116; scripts as foundation of model jingju, 68, 79, 90, 102; speech and model jingju acting, 122, 147 hualian (painted face). See jing Huang Guozhong, 104, 111, 113 Hu Chuankui, 108, 114 huju, 68, 99, 102 Hundred Flowers Movement, 47, 48 instrument schedules (lighting), 209, 210, 256 interaction/interrelation: among acting, playwriting, and design in jingju, 199–200; among acting, playwriting, and design in model jingju, 203–8, 254–56; among major artistic aspects in jingju, 7–8; 41; among major artistic components in defining model jingju aesthetics, 7, 238, 254; between music and acting in jingju, 256; between music and acting in model jingju, 256–57 Jiang Qing, 46, 252, 257, 258; acting credentials of, 67; and “On the Revolution in Jingju” (see “On the Revolution in Jingju”); and the pursuit of beauty in creating model jingju, 239–42; and the “Summary” (1966) (see “Summary”); as the supervisor of model jingju creation, 67–74, 99–101, 125, 138, 148; on the revision of Tiger Mountain, 220–22 Jiang Shuiying: as a principal heroine in script, 104, 105, 111; as a representative of the beauty of the sublime, 243;

Index 279 musical composition for, 184 table 7.7; performance techniques for, 131, 144; Jia Zuoguang, 43 Ji Junneng, 165 jing (hualian, larger-than-life male), 126, 128 table 6.1, 139, 187, 216, 246, 247; tongchui hualian (“copper hammer” painted face), 128 table 6.1, 129, 134 table 6.2; jiazi hualian (“posture” painted face), 128 table 6.1, 129, 134 table 6.2 jingju, modern, 28, 78, 99, 130, 201, 213, 219, 237; as part of the PRC’s cultural reconstruction, 5, 8, 46, 51, 54–57, 64, 66–71, 94, 220, 258; challenges with, 122, 125, 148. See also Three Mountains; Tiger Mountain: creative process during 1958–1970; WhiteHaired Girl, The (jingju) jingju, traditional (the foundational performing art for model jingju), 3, 9, 126; aesthetics expectations in, 249; aesthetic principles of, 252; and innovation, 56–57; backstage personnel in, 197; conventionalization in, 252; costumes in, 8, 40, 41; femininity in, 248; hand gestures for female characters, 246; lighting in, 208; makeup in, 211–12, 216–17; melodic-phrases and melodic-passage composition in, 186; metrical types and metrical-type composition in, 178–80; modes and modal composition in, 174; mundane vs. loftiness in, 244; narrative structure and language in, 115–18; old form of acting in, 138; orchestra in, 156–57, 163, 164; percussive music in, 165–66; pursuit of beauty in, 241; role-types in, 126–30, 247; scenery and stage properties in, 198, 207; schools of performance in, 133–36; song (acting skill) in, 245; traditional venues for, 200 jingju-ness (jingju style/flavor/identity), 8, 38, 124; and modern jingju experiments during the late 1950s, 57, 58, 59, 60; and Three Mountains, 45, 46, 47; for

understanding model jingju aesthetic, 252, 253; in model jingju dance-acting and combat, 148, 150, 151, 152; in model jingju music, 161, 173, 175, 195; in model jingju song (acting skill), 141. See also “writing meaning” Jin Shan, 67 Jin Shengtan, 77 Judd, Ellen R., 4, 75, 77 Kang Sheng, 24, 72 Ke Qingshi, 54, 67 Ke Xiang: and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 246; as a principal heroine in script, 104, 105, 110, 111, 114, 115; character analysis in rehearsals for, 224; design for, 202, 211, 215, 216; in crowd scene in Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain, 229–30; musical composition for, 181n55, 185 table 7.7, 190–95; performance techniques for, 130, 140, 142, 144; rhymed vernacular speech for, 122, 123. See also Yang Chunxia; Yan Guixiang King, Richard, 4, 75, 106 Korean War (1950–1953), 103, 106, 152, 237 Kraus, Richard, 4, 222 kunqu, 33, 37, 50 laodan (older female), 127 table 6.1, 131, 132, 134 table 6.2 laosheng (older dignified male), 90, 129, 133; and model jingju acting, 131, 132, 139, 221, 246; in Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, 26n44; in jingju, 125n2, 126, 127 table 6.1, 134 table 6.2, 142, 247 large gong (daluo), 154, 157 table 7.1, 158 table 7.2, 165, 166 table 7.3, 169, 192 lead-in-meter (daoban), 107, 178, 179 tables 7.5–7.6, 183–85, 239, 245 Lei Gang: as a dramatic character in script, 104, 106, 110, 111, 112, 115; in crowd scene in Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain, 229; in music composition, 192, 193,

280 Index 194; performance techniques for, 137, 139, 142; rhymed vernacular speech for, 120, 121, 122. See also Ma Yong’an leitmotifs, 162 Liang Bin, 236n61, 237 liangxiang, 60, 62, 131, 162, 167, 203, 241 Liang Yiqiang, 197n5, 207n32 lianpu. See facial charts Li Chang, 202n24 Lieberthal, Kenneth, 52 Li Lifang, 137 Li Lun, 22, 23 Lin Lü, 55n38, 57 Li Qi at Changting (Li Qi Changting), 137 Li Ruru, 4, 6, 8, 9, 36, 37, 224–25 Li Shaochun, 60, 61, 63 fig. 3.1, 63 fig. 3.2, 129, 228. See also Yang Bailao Li Song, 7, 68, 250 Liu, Siyuan, 32, 36, 37 Liu Changyu, 136, 228. See also Tiemei Liujia Village (Liujia cun), 21 Liu Jidian: and Red Lantern, The, 172, 173, 188–90; on Three Mountains, 41, 44–45; on White-Haired Girl, The (jingju), 60 Liu Ruyi, 180 Liu Yunyan, 6 Liu Zhiming, 25, 26, 49, 57, 79 Li Xiao, 50 Li Yang, 251 Li Yongqi, 80–86 table 4.1, 106, 111, 221, 231, 232, 234, 254 Li Yuhe: as a representative of the beauty of the sublime, 242; as a principal hero in script, 102, 105, 112, 114, 172, 226; design for, 211, 214; in performance, 131, 136, 142, 146, 147; musical composition for, 167–68, 183 table 7.7. See also Qian Haoliang Li Yuru, 35, 57, 224–25 Li Zhongcheng, 140n39, 223n26 longtao (dragon set), 26, 126; compared with minor supporting characters in model jingju, 229, 231, 236. See also minor supporting characters

Lu Changhai, 104, 105, 114, 131, 185 table 7.7, 243 Ludden, Yawen, 6, 162, 173, 190, 193, 222 Lu Hua, 163–64, 167n30, 168–69 Luo Heru, 24 Luoma Lake (Luoma hu), 21 Lu Songling, 142n46 Luyi Pingju Troupe, 22, 23, 24 Lü Peilu, 168–69 MacFarquhar, Roderick, 65 Ma Changli, 136 machine-operated stage scenery (jiguan bujing), 198, 199, 208 Mackerras, Colin, 4, 9, 74 Ma Hongliang, 111, 141, 180n55, 202. See also Zhu Wenhu Ma Ke, 79n75, 91 Ma Lianliang, 133, 134 table 6.2, 135, 136 Mao Zedong (Chairman Mao), 16, 105, 106, 182, 251, 256; and modern/model jingju, 69, 91, 100, 101, 221; and “On New Democracy,” 16, 17, 18, 78; and political wrestling within the CCP leadership, 53, 65–68; and “Summary,” 71, 72 (see also “Summary”); and “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” (see “Talks”); and traditional plays, 22; depiction in script, 80 table 4.1, 109–11, 113, 145, 146, 172; on Driven to Join the Liang Mountain Rebels, 4–5, 15; on Three Mountains, 45, 46 Mao Zedong Thought: and character portrayal, 75, 76, 182, 187, 255; as guiding ideology, 16, 71, 72, 109, 110, 250 masculinity, 240, 242, 244, 247, 248, 250 Ma Shaobo, 62 masses, 32, 83–84 table 4.1, 92, 94, 101, 106, 107, 109, 110; as the audience of literature and art, 16, 18, 19, 29; revolutionary (geming qunzhong), 111–12, 113, 214, 229, 248; view of the (qunzhong guandian), 25–27 Matanga Girl (Modengjia nü), 156–57

Index 281 Ma Yanxiang, 62, 70; and Three Mountains, 41–46 (see also Three Mountains); on reforming jingju, 8, 39–41, 237 Ma Yong’an, 137, 138n32, 139, 142n47, 144nn53–54, 147n60, 223n28. See also Lei Gang Mei Lanfang, 129n6; and experiments in costume and makeup, 213; and the Mei school, 134 table 6.2, 135, 137, 139n35; on Drunken Imperial Concubine, The, 224–25; on reforming jingju, 38–39; on scenery, 199–200, 201, 207 melodic-passages, 38, 45, 60; in model jingju, 142, 155, 161, 163, 173, 182, 186–90 melodic-phrases, 61; in model jingju, 142, 144, 173, 186–90 Meng Yue, 58 Meserve, Ruth J., 251, 258 Meserve, Walter J., 251, 258 metrical types, 38, 40, 59, 60, 81 table 4.1, 107n22; composition of, in model jingju, 182–85; in jingju music, 173, 178, 179; new, in model jingju, 180–81 Ministry of Culture, 8, 67, 219; during the Xiqu Reform, 31, 32, 33, 35; during the late 1950s to the early 1960s, 48, 49, 50, 52, 53, 57, 66 Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Bureau (Wenhuabu xiqu gaijinju) (the Bureau), 31, 32, 36, 37, 50, 53, 155 Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Committee (Wenhuabu xiqu gaijin weiyuanhui), 32 minor supporting characters, 26, 105, 219, 225; compared with the longtao, 229, 231, 236; crowd scene in Scene 2 of Azalea Mountain, 229–31; group skiing dance in Scene 9 of Tiger Mountain, 231–36. See also longtao Mittler, Barbara, 4, 6, 9, 73, 74, 155, 161, 239, 256 Model Modern Revolutionary Jingju (geming xiandai jingju yangbanxi), 1 Model Revolutionary Works (geming yanbanxi). See model works

models, proletarian heroic, 75, 249. See also principal heroes/heroines model works (yangbanxi), 78, 91, 101, 155, 195, 215; aesthetics in, 239, 248, 250, 251; and Jiang Qing, 68 (see also Jiang Qing: as the supervisor of model jingju creation); art vs. politics in, 2–3; in Cultural Revolution studies, 4–7; legacy and continuing popularity of, 1–2, 17; principles and theories for creation, 75–78; repertory, 1–2; stage dominance during the Cultural Revolution, 74; timeline of designation, 72–74 modern-dress plays, 38, 199, 213 modern plays, 8–10; at Yan’an, 15, 23–24, 27; as part of the PRC’s cultural reconstruction, 38, 47, 49–57, 62, 66–71, 79, 155, 220, 257. See also jingju, modern Modern Revolutionary Jingju (geming xiandai jingju), 1–2 Morning on the Docks (Haigang de zaochen), 67 motifs (in vocal-melodic composition), 173, 186, 187, 190–95 Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan congjun), 199–200 musicality: as jingju’s signature style, 38, 39, 62, 150, 227, 228; in speech, 46, 122, 145, 147; in stage presentation, 59, 218, 223, 256–57 music in model jingju: as a major artistic component, 3, 10, 11, 79, 217, 240, 253; experiments in orchestra organization, 155–65; innovations in percussive music, 165–69; instrumental music in, 169–73; interaction with acting in defining aesthetics, 256–57; modes and modal composition in vocal-melodic music, 174–78; metrical types and metrical-type composition in vocalmelodic music, 180–85; melodicphrases and motifs in melodic-passage composition in vocal-melodic music, 186–95. See also orchestra in model jingju; percussive passages/patterns;

282 Index xipi; erhuang; fan erhuang; fan xipi; metrical types; melodic-passages; motifs nanbangzi, 59, 60, 61, 174 Nationalist Party/the Nationalists, 79, 90, 91, 104, 105, 106, 108n24, 113, 230, 243 “New Democratic Politics and New Democratic Culture.” See “On New Democracy” New Fourth Army, 100, 214, 223 Nora, 67 Northeastern Ministry of Culture Xiqu Improvement Department, 37 “On New Democracy,” 16, 17, 18, 78 On the Docks (Haigang), 2, 222; acting and role-types in, 131, 132; and model jingju aesthetics, 241, 242; characters in, 105, 106; costume design for, 214, 215; creative process of, 67, 72, 78, 101, 102; dance music in, 172; design team for, 197n5; group dance in, 236; language in, 119 table 5.1; lighting design for, 208; metrical-type composition in Fang Haizhen’s core aria, 184 table 7.7; modes in, 175 table 7.4; musical composition for, 160, 163, 170, 187; new metrical types in, 180, 181n55; orchestra in, 156, 158–60 table 7.2; scenic design for Scene 5, 203–4, 204 fig. 8.1, 205 fig. 8.2, plate 8.1; speech (acting skill) in, 147; song (acting skill) in, 137, 139, 141, 142, 144; synopsis of, 103; technique directors for, 237; themes in, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115. See also Cai Yaoxian; Gong Guotai; Liang Bin; Xu Fude; Zhang Huikang; Zhou Zhuoran; Zhu Wenhu “On the Revolution in Jingju,” 69–70, 77, 90, 99 On the Songhua River (Songhua jiang shang), 21, 67 orchestra in model jingju: orchestral composition, 160–63; orchestral

conducting, 163–64 (see also gushi); playing techniques, 7n18, 154, 156, 161, 164–65; use of instruments in, 156–60; Zhong-Xi hunhe yuedui (Chinese-Western combined orchestra)/Zhong-Xi hunbian yuedui (Chinese-Western mixed orchestra), 93, 154 Ouyang Yuqian, 253 overture (xuqu), 161–62, 169–70 Peking opera, 1, 72, 200 Peng Zhen, 68–69 People’s Daily (Renmin ribao), 28, 51, 69, 72, 73, 91 People’s Liberation Army (PLA): costume design for, 196, 214; in performance, 125, 176, 232, 242; in script, 79, 80– 88 Table 4.1, 89 Table 4.2, 90, 91, 93, 94 percussive passages/patterns, 11, 30, 59, 164–69, 228 piled-up-meter (duoban), 181n55, 183–85 table 7.7, 227, 228 pingju (as another name for jingju), 15, 22, 23, 24 pingju (as a regional theatrical form different from jingju), 33 playwriting (scripts) in model jingju: as a major artistic component, 3, 10, 11, 79, 99, 106, 217, 240, 253; character categories according to functions in plotting, 105–9; interaction with acting and design in defining aesthetics, 203–8, 254–56; language, 117–24 (see also putonghua); narrative structure, 116; standard plot pattern, 113; synopses, 102–4; theatricality, 113–15; themes, 109–13 Pretty Xiren (Jun Xiren), 199 primary-meter (yuanban), 178, 179 table 7.5–7.6, 180n55, 181, 183–85 table 7.7, 227, 255 principal heroes/heroines, 6, 95, 123, 225; and model jingju aesthetics, 242, 244, 249, 255, 256; costume design for,

Index 283 215; in performance, 130, 137, 140; in plotting, 113–15; in relation to other characters, 77, 101, 105–11; metricaltype composition for core arias, 183–85 table 7.7; musical composition for, 162, 163, 167, 182. See also Fang Haizhen; Guo Jianguang; Hong Changqing; Jiang Shuiying; Ke Xiang; Li Yuhe; Lu Changhai; Sister Aqing; Three Prominences, the; Yang Zirong; Yan Weicai; Zhao Yonggang proletarian workers, peasants, and soldiers, 2, 18–19, 109, 110, 112, 229, 238, 256 proscenium, 200, 201, 209n38 Public Performances of Modern Xiqu (1958), 57, 58 putonghua (common speech), 117, 118, 140, 144, 186 Qian Haoliang, 136. See also Li Yuhe Qian Jiuyuan, 199 Qian Shouwei, 103, 113, 114, 115 Qiaolian, 106, 113 Qingfeng Village (Qingfeng zhai), 21 qingyi (young and middle-aged dignified female), 127 table 6.1, 129n6, 130, 131, 142, 213 qinqiang, 37, 50 qinshi (the jinghu player), 164, 173 Qiu Shengrong, 129, 134 table 6.2 Qi Yanming, 26, 51 Raid on the White-Tiger Regiment (Qixi Baihutuan). See White-Tiger Regiment Rectification Movement, 17 Red Cloud Hills (Hongyun gang), 73 Red Detachment of Women, The (Hongse niangzijun) (dance-drama), 2, 102 Red Detachment of Women, The (Hongse niangzijun) (jingju), 2; acting in, 131, 144; and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 256; characters in, 105, 106; creative process of, 72, 73, 78–79, 102; group dance in, 236; language in, 119 table 5.1; musical composition for, 172, 175 table 7.4, 180, 181n55, 184 table 7.7;

synopsis of, 103; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 111, 112 Red Flag (Hongqi), 69, 72, 73, 77 Red Lantern, The (Hongdeng ji), 2, 71–72, 101; acting and role-types in, 131–32; acting and schools of performance in, 136; Ajia in rehearsal, 218–19; and model jingju aesthetics, 242; atmospheric music in Scene 5, 170–72; character analysis in rehearsals for, 226; characters in, 105, 106; creative process of, 67–68, 78–79; dance music in, 172; design for, 197n5, 208, 211, 214, plate 8.4; Granny’s monologue in Scene 5, 145–47; group dance in, 236; language in, 119 table 5.1; metricaltype composition for Li Yuhe’s core aria, 183 table 7.7; modes in, 175 table 7.4; new metrical types in, 181; orchestra in, 156, 158–59 table 7.2; orchestral composition for, 160–61; orchestral conducting in, 163–64; overture and coda of, 170; percussive music in Scene 1, 167–68; reconstruction of, 1–2, 12; song (acting skill) in, 142, 144; stage rhythm in Scene 5, 227–28; synopsis of, 102; technique director in, 237; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 111, 112; Tiemei’s aria in Scene 2, 187–90. See also Ajia; Gao Yuqian; Geng Jinqun; Gu Chunzhang; Li Chang; Liu Changyu; Liu Jidian; Sun Hongxun; Zhang Jianmin “The Red Lantern” with Piano Accompaniment (Gangqin banchang “Hongdeng ji”), 2 Ren Jun, 22, 23 resonating cavities, 55, 56, 139 Revolutionary Realism, 76, 250, 258 Revolutionary Romanticism, 76, 250 rhyme categories, 117, 118, 119, 121, 245n29 Roberts, Rosemary A., 4, 6, 7, 215, 245–46, 248 role-types/role-subcategories (hangdang), 41, 59, 60, 125, 137, 252; and acting

284 Index in jingju, 126–30; and acting in model jingju, 130–32, 139, 142; and design in model jingju, 216, 217; and directing in model jingju, 237; and gender representation in jingju, 247–49; and jingju wardrobe, 212; and music in jingju, 173, 186, 187, 221; and schools of performance in jingju, 133, 134 Romance of the Western Chamber, The (Xixiang ji), 77–78 Sanniang Admonishes the Son (Sanniang jiao zi), 61 schools of performance (liupai), 125, 139n35, 221; and acting in model jingju, 136–38; and role-types in jingju, 133, 134; formation and development of, 133; significance of, 133–36 Second Civil War (1927–1937), the, 103, 104, 106, 152 Selden, Mark, 17 Shajiabang (jingju), 2, 72; acting in, 131, 136, 137, 144; and model jingju aesthetics, 242; characters in, 105, 106, 108; creative process and synopsis of, 68–69, 78, 99–101, 102; dance music in, 172; design for, 197n5, 208, 214; directing in, 222, 223, 236, 237; metrical-type composition in Guo Jianguang’s core aria, 183 table 7.7; modes and modulation in, 175 table 7.4, 175–76; narrative structure and language in, 116, 119 table 5.1; orchestra in, 156, 158–59 table 7.2; orchestral conducting, 163; overture and coda in, 170; reconstruction of, 2; themes in, 111, 114. See also Chi Jinsheng; Cui Zhongliang; Lu Songling; Sparks amid the Reeds (Ludang huozhong); Zhao Yingmian Shajiabang (symphony), 2 Shanghai Jingju Company, 67, 68, 79, 90 Shang Heyu, 134 table 6.2, 136 Shang Xiaoyun, 134 table 6.2, 156 Shao Jianbo, 221, 222; during Tiger Mountain’s creative process

(1958–1970), 79–94. See also Chief of Staff sheng (dignified male), 126, 127 table 6.1, 142, 216, 245 Shen Jianjin, 144n53 Shen Liqun, 79n75, 91, 142n47 “Simultaneously develop the three” (san bing ju), 51, 54 Sister Aqing, 175; and the trio in Scene 4 of Shajiabang, 108–9; as a dramatic character, 111, 114; in the creative process of Shajiabang, 99–101; performance of, 144 Sister Choe, 103, 111 slow-meter (manban), 38, 107, 108, 178, 179 tables 7.5–7.6, 183–85 small gong (xiaoluo), 60, 154, 157 table 7.1, 158 table 7.2, 165, 166 table 7.3, 169, 192 small-voice, 55, 56, 139, 144, 246 Socialist Realism, 75–76 song (acting skill), 39, 60, 137, 186, 241; and model jingju aesthetics, 244, 245, 246, 254, 256, 257; and role-types, 55, 127–28 table 6.1, 129; and schools of performance, 133, 134 table 6.2, 135; and speech in model jingju, 145, 146; enunciation in model jingju, 140–41; in five versions of Tiger Mountain during 1958–1970, 90–95; interaction with model jingju directing; 223, 228; interaction with model jingju music, 157; melodic embellishment in model jingju, 141–41; singing dynamics in model jingju, 143–44; vocal production and vocal timbre in model jingju, 138–40 Song of the Dragon River (Longjiang song), 2, 222; acting in, 131, 144; and model jingju aesthetics, 243, 256; characters in, 105, 106; creative process of, 78–79, 102; group dance in, 236; language in, 119 table 5.1; musical composition for, 160, 172, 175 table 7.4, 184 table 7.7; synopsis of, 104; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 111, 113

Index 285 Song of the Yimeng Mountains (Yimeng song), 2 Song Yuqing, 131, 215. See also Yan Weicai Sons and Daughters of the Grassland (Caoyuan ernü) (dance-drama), 2 Sons and Daughters of the Grassland (Caoyuan ernü) (jingju), 73 Sparks amid the Reeds (Ludang huozhong), 68, 69, 99, 100. See also Shajiabang speech, rhymed vernacular, 120–22, 257 speech (acting skill), 39, 46, 56, 90, 92, 137, 138; and huaju speech techniques, 147; and model jingju aesthetics, 241, 254, 256; and role-types, 55, 127–28 table 6.1, 129; and schools of performance, 133, 134 table 6.2; interaction with model jingju music, 160; musicality in, 145–47; vocal placement in model jingju, 144–45. See also speech, rhymed vernacular Spring Wind Blows Thousands of Willow Branches (Chunfeng yangliu wan qian tiao), 57 stage-steps (taibu), 38, 126, 130, 132, 257 stylization, 11, 31, 39, 50, 126, 138, 212, 216, 252–53 “Summary,” 5, 71–72, 75–76, 78, 241, 243, 250–51 “Summary of the Forum on the Work in Literature and Art in the Armed Forces with which Comrade Lin Biao Entrusted Comrade Jiang Qing.” See “Summary” Sun Hongxun, 151n83, 218, 220n9, 226. See also Wang Lianju Sun Yaosheng, 196, 203, 215, 216, 217 Symphonies, Revolutionary (geming jiaoxiang yinyue), 2 synthesis, 11, 138, 240, 252, 254 Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (Zhiqu Weihushan) (jingju). See Tiger Mountain Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy (Zhiqu Weihushan) (symphony), 2

“Talks,” 16, 36, 66; as an influential prescription, 2, 5, 22, 23, 24, 34, 95, 241, 243; commemorations of, 17; flaws in, 20–21; major points in, 17–19 “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art.” See “Talks” Tan Fuying, 136, 137 Tan Xinpei, 134 table 6.2, 136 Tan Yuanjie, 213, 215 Tan Yuanshou, 137 Tao Junqi, 31, 34 technique directors, 10, 148, 219, 222, 236–37 Teiwes, Frederick C., 48 Three Appropriates (san duitou), 77 Three Breakdowns (san dapo), 77, 125, 153 Three Mountains (San zuo shan), 28, 41–46, 57, 58, 59, 60, 62, 70 Three Prominences, the, 70, 75, 76–78, 106 Three Raids at the Zhu’s Village (San da Zhujia zhuang), 15, 23, 27 Three Set-offs (san peichen), 76–77 Tian Han, 31, 32, 36, 258 Tian, Min, 9 Tiemei: as a dramatic character, 102, 106, 111, 112, 114; design for, 211, 214, plate 8.4; in performance, 136, 144, 145, 146, 147; in Scene 5 of Red Lantern, The, 227–28; musical composition for, 164, 170–72, 181, 187–90. See also Liu Changyu Tiger Mountain, 2, 70, 72, 73, 77, 101, 197n5, 222; acting and role-types in, 125, 131; acting and schools of performance in, 137; and model jingju aesthetics, 240–42, 244, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257; characters in, 105, 106, 107; combat in, 151–52, 153; costume design for, 196, 214, 215, 216; creative process during 1958–1970 (synopses and five versions in comparison), 68, 69, 78–95, 102; dance-acting in Scene 9, 148–50; dance music in, 172–173; experiments in percussive orchestra in, 154; group skiing dance in Scene 9, 231–36; Jiang Qing on the revision

286 Index of, 220–22; lighting design for, 208; metrical-type composition in, 182, 183 table 7.7; modes and modulation in, 175 table 7.4, 176, 177; narrative structure and language in, 116, 119 table 5.1; orchestral composition in, 160, 161–63; orchestral conducting in, 163; orchestra organization in, 156, 158–59, table 7.2; overture and coda in, 170; reconstruction of, 2; scenic design for Scene 5, 204–8, 206 fig. 8.3–8.4, plate 8.2; song (acting skill) in, 142, 144; technique directors for, 237; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 109, 110, 111. See also Chen Zhengzhu; Gao Yilong; Gong Guotai; Ma Ke; Shen Liqun; Sun Yaosheng; Tong Xiangling; Wang Zhenpeng; Xu Fude; Yu Huiyong; Zhang Xinhai Tong Xiangling, 92, 125, 136, 137, 245 Tong Zhiling, 56 traditional repertory/plays (chuantong jumu), 137, 148, 180, 182, 197, 224, 231; at Yan’an, 9, 15, 22, 23, 27; during the late 1950s to the early 1960s, 47–54, 67; during the Xiqu Reform, 28, 32; narrative structure and language in, 115–16, 117; percussive passages in, 169; until the end of the 1940s, 31, 34 two-six-meter (erliu), 178, 179 table 7.5–7.6, 181, 183–85 table 7.7, 255 undulating-dragon (huilong), 107, 108, 178, 179 tables 7.5–7.6, 183–85 table 7.7 Viper, 104, 110, 120, 192, 193, 230 vocal placements, 11, 55, 135, 139, 144, 145 Vulture: as a dramatic character, 114, 162, 176, 177, 222, 240, 241, 244; during Tiger Mountain’s creative process during 1958–1970, 80–94; in performance 151–52 “walking on two legs,” 49, 51 Wang, Ban, 75 Wang Keming, 22, 23

Wang Lianju, 218–19, 226. See also Sun Hongxun Wang Renyuan, 6, 155, 190 Wang Zengqi, 68, 99, 101 Wang Zhenpeng, 150n78, 151, 152, 229n45, 234n60, 236n61, 237 War of Liberation (1945–1949), 106, 152, 214 War of Resistance against Japan (1937– 1945), 23, 102, 103, 106, 152, 170, 214 White-Haired Girl, The (Baimaonü) (dancedrama), 2, 72 White-Haired Girl, The (Baimaonü) (jingju): Du Jinfang version, 57–64, 67, 129, 213 (see also Ajia; Fan Junhong; Li Shaochun; Liu Jidian); Zhao Yanxia version, 56 White-Tiger Regiment, 2; acting in, 131, 150, 152; and model jingju aesthetics, 242; character analysis in rehearsals for, 225; characters in, 105, 106; creative process of, 72, 78; dance music in, 172; design for, 197n5, 214, 215; group dance in, 236; metrical-type composition for Yan Weicai’s core aria, 185 table 7.7; modes in, 175 table 7.4; narrative structure and language in, 116, 119 table 5.1; new metrical types in, 180; orchestra in, 156, 158–59 table 7.1; orchestral conducting in, 163, 165; overture and coda in, 170; percussive music in, 168–69; reconstruction of, 2; synopsis of, 103; technique directors for, 237; theatricality in, 114; themes in, 111, 112. See also Chen Xinwan; Ji Junneng; Liang Yiqiang; Liu Ruyi; Lu Hua; Shen Jianjin; Zhao Zhentang; Zhou Wenlin Wichmann, Elizabeth, 9, 30, 118, 129, 135, 138, 186, 198, 241, 253 “Write intensively about the thirteen years” (daxie shisannian), 54, 67 “writing meaning” (xieyi), 39, 48, 150 written-characters (zi), 40, 117n36, 144, 146; and enunciation in song and speech, 140–41; and model jingju

Index 287 aesthetics, 245, 248, 256; and musical composition, 165, 186, 188, 189, 190; and rhyme categories, 117n36, 120, 248; in rhymed vernacular speech, 120–24; in Yang Zirong’s and Shao Jianbo’s lyrics and speech in Tiger Mountain during 1958–1970, 89 table 4.2, 90–94 wudan (martial female), 127 table 6.1, 129n6, 130, 248 Wujia Slope (Wujia po), 115–16 wuju, 33 Wu Qinghua, 103, 106, 111, 112, 144 wusheng (martial dignified male), 26n44, 90, 127 table 6.1, 129, 130, 131, 134 table 6.2, 150, 237, 240, 247, 248n41 Wu Zuguang, 39, 46n74, 48 xiaosheng (young dignified male), 127 table 6.1, 131, 132, 134 table 6.2, 187, 246 Xie Bailiang, 73, 77, 78 Xi’er: Du Jinfang version, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63 fig. 3.1, 63 fig. 3.2, 213, 214; Zhao Yanxia version, 56 xipi: as a modal system, 174; as a principal mode, 174, 175 table 7.4; in association with metrical types, 179 table 7.6, 180, 181n55, 185 table 7.7; in Tiemei’s aria in Red Lantern, The, 187–90; modulation between, and fan erhuang, 176–77; modulation from erhuang to, 175–76, 177–78 Xiqu Reform, 10; banned plays during 1950–1952, 32–34; CCP’s plan for, 28–30; components of, 32–36; consequence of, 47–48; leading organizations for, 31–32 “Xiqu with Modern Themes: Performances for Emulation” (1960), 51 Xi Shi, 199 Xu Fude, 79n75, 91, 201n22, 202n24, 207n32, 211n48, 241–42 Xu Guohua, 166 Xun Huisheng, 134 table 6.2, 136

Yan’an, 4, 9, 65, 67; jingju at, 10, 15–27; period, 3–4, 9, 15, 24, 27, 70; “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” (see “Talks”) Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art, 17. See also “Talks” Yan’an Pingju Academy, 22, 23, 24 Yang, Lan, 75, 76 Yang Bailao, 58, 59, 60, 61, 63 fig. 3.1, 63 fig. 3.2, 129. See also Li Shaochun Yang Baosen, 134 table 6.2, 136 Yang Chunxia, 11, 224, 246; and schools of performance, 136, 137; on acting and role-types, 130–31; on performance techniques, 138n32, 139, 144, 147, 153n91. See also Ke Xiang Yang Jian, 74, 257 Yan Guixiang, 138n32, 140n39, 142n47, 144nn53–54, 147n60, 215, 223n28 Yang Xiaolou, 134 table 6.2, 135 Yang Zirong: and aesthetic challenges, 254–56; and the beauty of masculinity, 244, 245; and the pursuit of beauty, 240, 241, 242; as a principal hero in script, 105, 107, 109, 114, 116, 118n38; design for, 205, 207, 216, 217; from a major character to a principal hero during 1958–1970, 80–88 table 4.1, 89 table 4.2, 90–95; in performance, 125, 131, 137, 142, 151, 152; musical composition for, 162–63, 176–77, 182, 183 table 7.7. See also Tong Xiangling Yan Huizhu, 136 Yan Weicai: and model jingju aesthetics, 242; as a principal hero in script, 103, 105, 111; costume design for, 215; in performance, 131, 150; musical composition for, 185 table 7.7. See also Song Yuqing Yellow River, The (Gangqin xiezouqu “Huanghe”), 2 Ye Xiaoqing, 9 Young Girl Kills a Snake, A (Tong nü zhan she), 38, 213 yuanchang (round circles), 130, 131, 178, 228

288 Index Yu Huiyong, 4n8, 6n14, 77; and orchestra in model jingju, 93, 160–61, 245; as the director for Azalea Mountain, 222–23 Yun Yanming, 43 fig. 2.1, 44 fig. 2.2 Zhang Chunhua, 43 fig. 2.1 Zhang Chunqiao, 68, 73n43 Zhang Huikang, 201n22, 202n24, 204, 207n32, 211n48 Zhang Jianmin, 160–61 Zhang Menggeng, 58 Zhang Xiaohu, 45 Zhang Xinhai, 79n75, 90, 154, 163 Zhang Yunxi, 44 fig. 2.2, 45 Zhao Cong, 35 Zhao Dan, 67 Zhao Dingxin, 71 Zhaojia Town (Zhaojia zhen), 21 Zhao Yanxia, 56, 134

Zhao Yiman, 56 Zhao Yingmian, 201n22, 202–3, 207n32, 220n9 Zhao Yonggang, 103, 114, 131, 185 table 7.7, 243 Zhao Zhentang, 197n5, 207n32 Zheng Yiqiu, 61 Zhou Enlai, 32, 51, 52, 125 Zhou Wenlin, 150–51, 152, 236n61, 237 Zhou Xinfang, 134 table 6.2, 135, 136 Zhou Yang, 251 Zhou Zhuoran, 132, 138n32, 139, 143n50, 144n53, 147. See also Han Xiaoqiang Zhu Keyi, 118 Zhu Wenhu, 138n32, 141n41, 144nn53–54, 147n60. See also Ma Hongliang Zhu Zhaonian, 115, 116 Zou Huilan, 131