Just got back from a dress rehearsal of Monkey: Journey to the West.
I saw about half of the story, I think, up to the point at which Monkey is captured by the Great Buddha for 500 years. The rest is still a mystery, happily, to me. Here’s what I can say about the show: It’s visually stunning. It’s like taking a graphic novel and rendering it for the stage.
There’s little need for much wordiness. The exposition is clear from the structure of the myth: A powerful monkey is saddened by the fact that he will die someday. All of his romping and joy will end one day. What’s the point of carrying on? So he seeks immortality.
He travels the world to find it, including to a handful of sage and magical creatures to grant him magical devices to aid his journey. The mise-en-scène of each of these visits to sage and magical creatures is so lush. It’s pure theatrical spectacle. But there were hints at Monkey’s deeper psychology.
Though monkey is a Chinese character (the novel was written in the 1500s), he’s familiar to Western audiences in that we’ve seen him as the fool. He’s playful and powerful and kind of daft. He’s not really interested in studying, in hard work, in anything other than what he wants. Even so, he’s clever and cunning and he makes us laugh. We like that about him. We’ll like him in the U.S. He fits right in.
As I note in today’s feature about Monkey:
For the Bard, [the fool] was the everyman, the clever peasant, the scrappy wit. He didn’t have much, but he had guts and smarts. In the static social order of medieval and Renaissance Europe, the fool had no station. All he possessed he gained for himself, independently with grit, a puckish sense of humor, and “natural,” or God-given, gifts.
Shakespeare’s “natural” seems almost American, at least spiritually, which makes sense.
We like the risk-takers and mischief-makers, the hustlers and provocateurs. We have soft spots for thick-skinned kidders, visionaries, and con men: the dreamers and schemers, the fakers and fabulists. American history is filled with figures who played shape-shifters, tricksters, impersonators, and anti-heroes. We love them for their foreignness, eccentricities, and power to morally instruct, entertain, and make us laugh.
Tom Sawyer, Freddie the Freeloader, and Mohammad Ali; P.T. Barnum, Florenz Ziegfeld, and Ignatius T. Riley — the list goes on. Yorick and Puck find their modern expressions in Stepin Fetchit, Frank-N-Furter, Andy Kaufmann, and Borat, each exploiting his otherness to tell some kind of truth about us. All emerged from an Anglo-American culture that arose from an egalitarian gumbo of social differences and religious contradictions.
“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes,” the poet Walt Whitman wrote in Leaves of Grass.
[…]
Make me laugh and you’re in,” writes Beatrice K. Otto in Fools Are Everywhere, summing up the historical criteria for the fool, despite his usual traits as “irreverent, libertine, self-indulgent, witty, clever, [and] roguish.” Using humor, the fool is the shape-shifter, able to be a “companion,” “goad to the wise,” and “challenger of the virtuous,” Otto writes.
… [A]ll human toil is vanity, because we play bit parts in the theater of God’s devising. The fool’s role, though, is more significant. Amid the spiritual battles between good and evil, the fool plays the “critic of the world.”
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I can’t resist posting part of my reaction to Monkey: Journey to the West (cause no one will ever see it on my own blog). If you want to see the rest of my review, go to http://skattwin.edublogs.org, which I created just for Spoleto this year.
Just got back from seeing Monkey:
Journey to the West, and it really was every bit as amazing as I’d expect from Chen Shi-Zheng, the creator of the very moving Peony Pavilion, which played here at Spoleto a few years back. That show had the challenge of the Memminger Auditorium space, wide and with a fairly low, open ceiling. For that piece Chen created a whole Chinese traditional theatre, complete with goldfish pond. For Monkey, he’s in the Sottile Theatre, a challenge in completely different ways. The space is smaller than the company is used to working in, and the hemp and sandbag fly system must have made flying those people around a true challenge.
But I get ahead of myself. Flying performers is only one of many amazing pieces to this show. I scribbled in a little notebook all the way through; notes that now appear like the drunk wanderings of a careless monk, since I couldn’t bear to take my eyes off the stage long enough to watch what I was doing.
Monkey and his companions, including Pigsy, Tripitaka, the Dragon Prince (transformed into a horse), and the General Sandy, a character that gets far too little stage time and focus, travel through mystical lands, inhabited by demons, evil Princesses, and flying nymphs. At each scene, we are introduced to the nemeses via their acrobatics. Pole fighting, a popular element in Beijing opera (particularly in stories involving the Monkey King) is brilliantly executed here, although it gets lost amidst the other acrobatics at times. Other techniques are familiar to western audiences through groups like Cirque du Soleil. The fabric acrobatics, contortionism, balancing acts and fire twirling will look familiar to anyone who has seen that French Canadian troupe. Roller blades and unicycles were a fun surprise, but couldn’t be fully utilized on the small Sottile stage. The difference between here and more standard circus acts is that often the performers are singing at the same time.
The visuals, beyond what is provided by the constant movement and attention-grabbing activity of the performers, also provides a nice mix of east and west. Monkey is face-painted, very much like the Monkey King character in Beijing opera, while most others are merely heavily made up or wearing large head-covering masks. I found the full head masks of the other monkeys at the beginning and the men in heaven to be a little jarring and disturbing. At the distance I was sitting (just over half way back in the orchestra) they looked like Halloween masks or storm trooper helmets, and didn’t blend with the clever costumes of most characters (in whom I saw subtle echos of Julie Taylor and Cirque again). I hope to see it again from a closer seat so I can fully appreciate the costumes. Often obscured in the copious smoke and dim lighting, they appeared to be both whimsical and a bit grubby. Besides the full head-masks, other costumes that didn’t work for me were the horse costume (the tiny rear end hanging behind the performer just looked creepy) and the flesh eaters, whose fantastic body suits painted “naked” were undermined by the weird blonde wigs. Are we supposed to take this as a cultural statement?
The audience was a typical Spoleto audience. They applauded very little during the performance (I think the performers have been used to more audible appreciation for their work) but happily provided a standing ovation at the end. Some audience members seemed a bit bored by the two-hour, no intermission show, not least of which was the gum-snapping, helmet-haired woman beside me. She should thank her lucky stars for that empty seat between us. I was enthralled throughout, but not emotionally moved. That’s similar to my experience at the Beijing Opera in Beijing, and I think is not inappropriate or against the creators’ wishes. Monkey is a fantastic spectacle, a celebration of amazing talent, and an illustration of how well the most innovative and exciting performance traditions of east and west can come together to tell a beloved Chinese fable. Go. See it. Be amazed. Don’t get too entranced with one performer; remember to continually scan the stage for the multiple images presented. And bring a sense of wonder.
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