Revival of the shrillest

With a blockbuster film in the making, the opening of a specialist theatre and a slot in the new school curriculum, Tom Pattinson asks whether, after a recent decline in fortunes, Peking Opera can a comeback.

On a bright Tuesday afternoon in 109 Middle School in south Beijing, a class of 40 students sings ‘We would like to be a pine at the top of Mountain Tai' in unison. They are dressed in elaborate costumes and have their faces painted bright red, black and white. These 11-year-old children are in their Peking Opera (or Jingju) class, a new compulsory weekly lesson that was introduced in 22 Beijing schools in March - a pilot project to preserve the national art form and raise its popularity among youths who are more familiar with their iPods than Monkey King arias.

Across town, in the north of the city, veteran film director Chen Kaige has just finished filming Mei Lanfang, a biographical account of China's most famous Jingju hero (see box), which stars China's hottest actress Zhang Ziyi alongside Hong Kong singer and actor Leon Lai. Chen made an international name for himself with the film Farewell My Concubine, which told the story of two male Opera performers, and Mei Lanfang has all the makings of another classic.

Meanwhile, Beijing's first theatre dedicated to Jingju, The Mei Lanfang Grand Theatre, has just opened in Xicheng district. Named after Jingju's biggest star, the theatre will show new and traditional operas that they hope will appeal to both old and new fans alike. With regular performances and local support, the theatre is a powerful sign that Peking Opera may be about to experience something of a revival.

The path to renewed popularity, however, does not run smooth, and the art form must yet overcome a series of modern-day problems if it is to remain relevant.

‘It is so important that our younger generation study it,' says Tao Siyan, Professor of Folklore at Southeast University in Nanjing. ‘Sure teenagers like trendy stuff, but we need to sow the seeds now and have people getting interested in Jingju at a young age so that they'll pass it on to future generations. We can't afford to lose something that is part of the traditional cultural heritage of this country.'

Peking Opera first rose to public popularity in the 19th Century (see box) and by the 1930s and '40s, it was taken abroad to establish itself as China's national dramatic form. In the early 1960s, however, China brought the arts in line with public policy, and Jingju was deemed irrelevant and even counter-revolutionary. The few operas allowed to perform within Madam Mao's ‘Eight Model Plays' were given new titles such as ‘Sweeping the White Tiger Regiment' and ‘Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy'.

The late '80s saw Peking Opera caught in the crossfire between traditionalists - who were opposed to shortening plays and making changes to make-up and costumes - and reformists who wanted to appeal to a more mainstream audience. By the '90s, performances had been shortened into manageable sessions, and many troupes performed for free to attract more publicity. New make-up and costumes were introduced, and with government support, China's national performance style began to re-emerge.

Tao admits that the majority of Jingju fans are elderly (it reminds them of their youth, he says) but argues that ‘with a growing awareness of culture, many young Chinese people will embrace it'. CCTV11 is dedicated to the promotion of Jingju, and Tao suggests there is no reason why it can't be spread through the Internet and even to computer games. But like Western Opera, the stage is the life force of Jingju. ‘It's totally different to sitting on the sofa watching something on DVD,' says Tao.

Thirty-year-old Li Xin, grandson of the famous Opera star Li Wanchun, comes from a family of Opera performers. A fourth generation Monkey King, he started training when he was three years old and performing when he was six. Now an advocate for change, he performs in the US with the Philadelphia Chinese Opera Society and has performed the Opera on New York's Broadway. ‘We translated the words into English but everything else remains Chinese,' he says. ‘It's incredibly popular.'

Although Peking Opera in China is performed in the country's national language, Li says many people don't understand it, especially the young. ‘The singing and dancing is very symbolic and it's essential that the audience has some knowledge of Chinese history,' says Li. ‘Most Chinese students only know about 20 per cent of their history.' Like ballet and opera in the West, Peking Opera is high culture in China, involving traditional customs and manners not practiced in daily life.

According to Li, many Jingju fans were turned off the genre after the ‘contemporary operas' of the 1960s and '70s, and performers during the '80s and '90s found it harder and harder to get work. ‘From the 60 students I originally trained with', says Li, ‘only 14 are still performing. And most opera performers only earn between 1,500 and 2,500RMB per month.'

The authorities, however, have made a concerted effort to promote what they call their national art form. ‘The government is trying to promote a lot of traditional Chinese culture,' points out Li, ‘so I don't think they will let Peking Opera die. They continue to subsidise it.'

The launch of CCTV11 - the Opera channel - in 2001, helped bring awareness to a larger audience, and has made nationwide celebrities of performers such as Yu Huizhi and Li Shengsu. ‘There are an increasing number of parents sending their kids to Peking Opera schools,' says Li, ‘far more than in the last couple of decades. The rise in celebrity status has made it a career that many young children want to enter.'

Li feels the ability for Chinese Opera to adapt and modernise has been limited in China, finding much greater success in America, where, like many other foreign countries, the art form is becoming increasingly popular. Peking Opera in Beijing is still dominated by conservative traditionalists who may be placing its very survival at risk. During the writing of this article, Time Out came across numerous obstacles, with troupes and individuals demanding up to 40,000RMB for a photo shoot, and authorities and museums refusing to provide historical information, interviews and assistance.

To really take off amongst a new generation of fans in China, Jingju has to change its attitude and modernise its image. ‘To protect and develop a traditional art, innovation is the key,' says Wang Qinghui, acclaimed critic and Jingju composer. ‘Mei Lanfang is a great example of the art form's innovation. We should continue in his step.'