Modern theater is not exactly an art form that has flourished in Shanghai. Throughout China, traditional drama continues to reign supreme, generally dominated by heavy-handed Russian-inspired melodramatic overkill. Shanghai and Beijing have managed to emerge from the cloud somewhat, with Shanghai focusing on the odd combo of intimate slice-of-life dramas and massive historical epics while leaving the edgier stuff to the Northerners.

Until now, that is. Shanghai has in recent months seen a surprising spate of experimental productions, as well as a number of plays successful merging traditionally linear plots with more modern elements of dialogue and choreography. In addition to strong visiting productions like Roadmetal Sweetbread and Che Guevera, we've waddled through all variations of the experimental range, from the bizarre beyond comprehension of Shan Hai Jing to the delightful whimsicality of Zhuang Zhou Tests his Wife. Taking things a step higher on Shanghai's ascent to a strong modern theater is The Insane Asylum is Next Door to Heaven, which opened 27 March. The play requires a high degree of Mandarin language ability to grasp even the most blatant of its subtleties, but even for the truly lost it can prove an enjoyable rollicking ride.

The loosely structured plot follows the neuroses and interactions of eight characters, both staff and patients, at an insane asylum, played by a cast of four. The main character is Wu Suo, a pun for nothing, a whose affliction is a desperation for people to talk with him. Played by Li Liang, Wu Suo is the lonely loner, equal parts pathetic and irritating, the prototype of the high school shooter, which he later lives up to. He is befriended by Mimi (means little cat), played by Tian Shui, a big-haired VCD vendor and the girlfriend of one of the doctors at the insane asylum.

On one level, The Insane Asylum is Next Door to Heaven is a rather inconsequential comedy, setting scenarios for humorous wordplays and a steady stream of jokes. Nonetheless, it dances around the edges of social commentary, flirting with criticism without full consummation. The most pointed satire centers around the character Yang Ren, whose name when pronounced with the wrong tones means "foreigner." A lawyer who spent ten years abroad, he got a position at the madhouse because his uncle is its director. He introduces himself with a rap eulogizes his own coolness, complete with American flag bandanna wrapped around his head, and continues with a dialogue conducted mainly in "Chinglish", believing himself cool indeed. He becomes engaged in a debate with famous Tang Dynasty poet Li Bai, also a patient there, who answers his assertions in poor English with classical poetry, chanted in operatic pentameter. At the scene's end, Li Bai answers him in relatively flawless English, making the wannabe waiguoren slink off in defeat. The "fake foreigner" is becoming a popular trope in Chinese theater, and the desire to go abroad, learn English, marry a foreigner and get a passport is one of the more absurd phenomena of modern China. The same concept was executed with even more smarmy, self-degrading aplomb in Che Guevara, a Beijing production recently performed in Shanghai.

The production is tightly orchestrated and moves at a quick pace, introspective without indulging the protracted naval-staring often characteristic of modern theater. Simple set design completes the amusingly absurd choreography, orchestrated by Wang Jun. Much of the credit for the production's effectiveness can be placed on the shoulders of director Yin Zhusheng, one of the Dramatic Art Center's strongest creative forces both on and behind the scenes. Considered one of China's leading stage actors, Yin has held starring roles in virtually all major productions in Shanghai, most recently in the acclaimed Under the Red Banner.

All four actors, who incidentally all graduated from the Shanghai Theater Academy's acting department in 1993, give terrifically multifaceted performance, but actress Tian Shui dominates. Young Shanghai actresses have an irritating inclination towards artificially high-pitched voices, endless girly giggles, and the general flounces of excessive cutesy-ness that characterize the female youth of this city. Even many otherwise strong performances are marred by these affectations, making the audience feel they're not so much at the theater as at a Huaihai Lu cosmetics counter. Tian Shui's performances are a draught of fresh water in that she acts like an adult; she does not trivialize the characters or insult the audience through coyness. One of the best aspects of The Insane Asylum is Next Door to Heaven is that it allows Tian to flaunt her sophisticated versatility in three very different roles.

The Insane Asylum is Next Door to Heaven marks a departure into more complicated territory for it's author, Yu Rongjun. His previous plays, hits Last Winter and WWW.COM, explored issues of love and infidelity in the white-collar class, although there are some continued themes in terms of use of artificial snow and in finding large meanings in the little ways people interact with each other. This play is rather conservative as far as experimental theater goes, tenuously testing the waters of new dramatic styles while keeping one foot securely on the dry land of the more conventional. That it breaks new ground for Shanghai evidences how many decades behind the rest of the world Shanghai's theater remains. On the other hand, China's cultural officials remain wary of stylistic innovations, and even such soft-handed surrealism with such innocuous social criticisms narrowly escaped political censure. Moreover, Shanghai audiences are unaccustomed to modern theater, and even the subtlest shadings of surrealism with leave most confused and complaining. With its accessible messages and engaging packaging, The Insane Asylum is Next Door to Heaven may not be a watermark, but it does represent a glimmer of hope in the right direction.

Click to mail the author

art scene archive | museums | concert halls & theaters | art galleries

Click to print