Several nights ago I saw my first piece of Taiwan theater! I think it qualified as Beijing Opera, for it featured three male actors dressed as women, gliding across the stage in floor-length gowns, singing in falsetto at the very tops of their lungs. It was called "Liu San-Mei," and it was about a woman (named Liu San-Mei) who suffered as an army prostitute in Japan during World War II (YIKES). When I bought my ticket (NT $400, or USD $12.00), I was certain that I wouldn't understand a word but I was okay with that. I was mostly interested in seeing what Taiwan theater was like: what the performance was like, what the actors wore, what the audience found funny, what the theater itself looked like. Et cetera, et cetera. However, I had a couple surprises upon entering the Red House Theater.
1) Tables! No black box. No stadium seating. No long rows of red velvet cushions marked B12, B13, B14. Instead, the floor was covered in tables, at which audience members sat, drank tea and ate "xiao chi," or snack-like foods. A brightly-lit bar lay toward stage right, while a cluster of theater ushers remained toward the back of the house. A stage manager with her trusty MacBook sat on a platform facing the stage. Amazed at the strange setup, I sat at an unoccupied table and poured myself a cup of tea. A girl about my age approached and gasped when she saw me. I gasped in return, for we recognized each other: she was one of the two girls who had tried to help me buy a ticket at the box office several days before. (The computers had problems on that day, so I didn't buy a ticket until the night of the performance.) She said that she was happy to see that I finally was able to buy a ticket! We chatted for a bit---each of us insisting that the other was more beautiful---before she offered me one of the "xiao chi" plates on her tray. I selected what looked like grapes, which she then placed in front of me and added cheerily, "Wu shi quai." Ah. "Xiao chi" = not free. I paid her and we waved before she moved on to her next table. Poking at my non-grapes (they had huge pits in them, making them a mystery fruit), I looked around at the rest of the audience chatting happily, tea and "xiao chi" in hand, and recognized...
2)...a jumbotron with subtitles! Ah, so I WOULD understand everything after all! The show hadn't started, but on the jumbotron were a collection of characters and something in English similar to "Welcome." (I don't remember exactly what it said.) I looked around and noticed about five "wai guo ren"---foreigners---in addition to myself. Maybe Taiwan theater gets a lot of visitors, so they use English subtitles.
The lights dimmed but the lights at the bar stayed on. Suddenly, a fog machine (yes, you read that right) came to life onstage and flooded the stage with fog, from which emerged a tall figure dressed in a long robe with sleeves that extended about four feet past the fingertips, white socks and a gigantic black wig, adorned with the most glittery eyebrows I have ever seen. The figure burst into song---or rather, burst into sound, for I have no idea if what I heard could be considered song. The voice shot toward the heavens, remaining in a uncomfortable but oddly euphonious pitch. Tiptoeing around the stage, the figure moved its hands upwards and downwards while singing, pointing the index fingers toward the ceiling, displaying the palms, then hiding both hands inside the extra-long sleeves. Sometimes, he would sing toward the sky. Other times, he would look directly at us and sing. While this was happening, both Chinese and English subtitles flickered across the jumbotron. However, something strange was happening. The figure onstage would sing for about two minutes, but the short phrase on the jumbotron stayed the same. I wondered if this manner of singing elongated the words, making them unrecognizable (and thus in need of accompanying subtitles), or if the subtitles were Sparknote-like, summarizing instead of appearing word for word.
When the song (?) ended, the audience burst into excited applause and the figure took a deep bow. The doors behind him slid open, revealing two more performers, one dressed in a ridiculous robe with an improper slit up the side, the other clothed in a more formal, boxy number. The one in the slit proved to be the show's comic relief, often getting his feet or hands stuck in the door, giving us a look that said, "What's going on?!" and creating audience hysteria during a segment in which he ferociously chopped a banana to bits with a butcher knife. The other assumed the motherly role, murmuring gently instead of yelping at the top of his lungs, his movements slow and smooth. After one 15 minute intermission, the show concluded with a costume change for each character. Suddenly, we were greeted with three gaudily-dressed, gigantically-wigged figures who pranced around the stage in a choreographed number, nothing in sync but everyone roaring with laughter. After a final ballad from Liu San-Mei, the audience exploded with ardent applause and the three actors took deep bows, the tips of their wigs touching the ground.
We all left our tables and descended down the stairs, only to find the three actors there waiting for their adoring fans. Some people posed with the wild-looking characters and I whipped my camera out too...but I was too shy! Sadly, I didn't get a Disneyland-like picture with my favorite mascot.
Pictures from the night below. Red House Theater, sneaky pictures taken inside the theater, and flyers for the show...
As all of you know, China (and more specifically, Taiwan) is a big part of my heritage. My mother was born in China but raised in Taipei, Taiwan. (FYI, my father was born in Philadelphia but raised in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida. So kind of the same.) All of my mother's immediate family still resides in Taipei: my grandparents, my aunt, my uncle, their children and their children's children. I'm going to Taipei this summer for seven full weeks (from May 28-July 15) to live with them, become familiar with their Taiwan lifestyle and finally learn to speak some Mandarin.
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