Opinions of the young poet Henrik Ibsen against Realism.

The young poet Henrik Ibsen

Henrik Ibsen is recognized worldwide as a revolutionary playwright and it is said that his plays, even today, are the most performed on stage after Shakespeare’s; but Ibsen, in his native Norway and in the Scandinavian countries in general, is also recognized as a poet of great talent - in fact, he is the national poet of Norway (1). The cliché of his fame in his native country in relation to the Norwegian language is the same credited to Shakespeare with English or Cervantes with Spanish, no less. But his poetry, apparently too nationalistic or local (though no great poet is local only, I would say...) is virtually unknown outside Scandinavia, and even his plays written in verse have seen their poetic characteristics "erased" from them due to the translations that have been made of them. Let's not forget that translating from Norwegian to English or, worse, to Spanish, is extremely difficult - in the case of Ibsen it was from Dano-Norwegian, as it was called in his time, when Norwegian was not yet recognized as a language but as a dialect which used a lot of Danish words to become "literary" -, the rhythm and musicality of poetry are easily forsaken in order to maintain consistency with the dramatic text. That’s a pity, no doubt.

So, if today Ibsen’s work as a poet is unknown to most of the world, much more so is the time when our famous playwright had not yet taken realism as his battle horse.

While learning the art of success for the theater (which cost him blood and tears) the young Ibsen made his living as a critic, and his views were clearly marked by his love and respect for what he considered the highest quality in theater: poetic theater. No wonder then that the revolution caused by photography and Realism in  European theater (though not yet Naturalism) wasn’t to his liking.

In the biography of Ibsen written by Michael Meyer I found some small passages and quotations about the times of Ibsen the defender of poetry in drama and ardent critic of the new realistic fashion coming from France that flooded Danish and Norwegian theatres. In these comments we see an Ibsen little known to the world, criticizing what later became his gateway to global stardom, but curiously we also discover in his critique full of conservatism a visionary regarding the levels that the Realistic movement would achieve in future, even to the present day.

 

Here's the quotation from Meyer’s book:

 

“On 11 October 1857, less than six weeks after his arrival in Christiania, we find him castigating the theatre-goers of the capital for their lack of taste. The play under review was Hans Andersen's A Country Tale, adapted by Salomon Mosenthal's Der Sonnenwendhof; and Ibsen warned his readers that it could hardly expect a long run, since "its quality is essentially poetic. This is the age", he continued, "of transparencies, of clever technical effects. Technique, in the most superficial meaning of the word, is the only thing the public is capable of appreciating, and the theatre is perfectly justified, from a financial standpoint, in continuing as hitherto to present more recent French works which have for so long constituted the basic diet of our repertory. These plays commonly display a skilled technique, which the public likes, and, which is probably even more to their taste, they have nothing whatever to do with poetry." Ibsen goes on to express sentiments which may surprise those, still, sadly, a majority, who think of him principally as a social realist on the strength of a few plays which he wrote in the middle of his career. Many people, he writes, "will regard this play as both untrue and unwholesome, because it does not bear a photographic resemblance to reality … People demands reality, no more and no less. That art should elevate is not a popular conception." The only limitation of photography, he concludes ironically, is that it cannot, except in abstract kind of way, reproduce colour; but this, doubtless, will soon be remedied, and an even greater realism will result, a tendency which art and poetry will doubtless follow in their quest for further popularity.

Two months later, in a tribute to the actor Anton Wilhelm Wiehe published in Illustreret Nyhedsblad on 13 Decemeber, Ibsen returned to the attack on modern French drama and photographic realism. Denouncing the former as "lacy weavings," which "so sadly flaunt virtuosity at the expense of art," and "can only degrade art into the vulgar emptiness of 'effect', he praises Wiehe for his "spirited pursuit, not of banal realism, but of truth, that loftier, symbolic representation of life which is the only thing artistically worth fighting for, yet the existence of which is acknowledged by so few"- (2)

 

Salomon Mosenthal, author of Der Sonnenwendhof.

Cover of Der Sonnenwendhof libretto

Anton Wilhelm Wiehe, actor of "poetic theatre"

In my head stir all these initial conceptions of Ibsen, the realist, from my first theater studies around Realism, so reading and thinking about him as an advocate of ‘spiritual reality’ through poetry in the theater sounds like an idea coming from another world.

Certainly, an unrecognizable Ibsen, but  one that actually existed, and our recognition of that phase of his creative life could help us to have a better appreciation of his complete work, not only one part of it as apparently has happened.

People change over time, artists even more so, we are inherently unstable and we follow exploratory paths, either because of a deeply artistic interest or because we’re being pushed by our own life situation; some attempt to hide their changes and the changes of others are simply deleted by history, which chooses and edits in accord of its own interest.

(1) Ibsen's poetry can be found online, translated into English: http://www.ibsen.net/index.gan?id=26645&subid=0

(2) Ibsen, A Biography By Michael Meyer. Double Day. New York, 1971. Pages 146-147.
 

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"Buy a dog, my lord"

Just a simple Ibsen's dialogue quotation from The Pretenders (circa 1863) which show, in my point of view, that ironic Ibsen of his later years. Even without thinking about the great author who wrote it, this is a charming point:

"Skule- (…) I must have someone by me who will obey me instinctively, believe in me unflinchingly, stand close by me through good days and evil, live only to give light and warmth to my life--someone who, when I fall, must die! What shall I do, Jatgeir?

Jatgeir- Buy a dog, my lord."*

* The Pretenders by Ibsen. From Michael Meyer's Ibsen's Biography. Double Day, 1967. Page 210.

Texts, photographs and videos in this Blog are all author's property, except when marked. All rights reserved by Gustavo Thomas. If you have any interest in using any text, photograph or video from this Blog, for commercial use or not, please contact Gustavo Thomas at gustavothomastheatre@gmail.com.

Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson critic of the young Henrik Ibsen

The young Henrik Ibsen (1861)

The young Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (1860)

 The young Ibsen was insecure, choleric and with a remarkable physical ugliness (at least in the point of view of many of his contemporaries), his personality was worthless for many, as Olev Arvesen writes about him when used to see him "entering L'Orsa's café punctually at two o'clock each afternoon to drink coffee and read the foreign newspapers", around 1858:

"That this man with the threadbare coat, old, soft mormon hat and profoundly unassuming mien would become one of Norway's and Scandinavia's greatest men was an unimaginable thought." (Michael Meyer, Ibsen's Biography)

But at the same time Ibsen owned a great talent for poetry, liked (and could) to write theatre and had the dream-ambition of being the greatest writer of Norway.

But around 1859, at 31, and in the beginning of his life as a playwright, theatre director and poet, he has not succeeded at all. That was the moment of Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson, who was the head of Norwegian young writers, tall, handsome and economically successful artist; it was him who Ibsen wanted to dethrone. The first fights (Ibsen’s attacks to Bjørnson) were charged of misunderstandings, jealousy and suppositions that only were in detriment of Ibsen himself. Yes, the greatest realist writer didn’t have yet that superb personality and speech what would characterize his last years of fame, a man full of cold wisdom.

After a small scandal with Ibsen’s piece The Viking of Helgeland, Bjørnson wrote a letter to Clemens Petersen elaborating a big description of the ambiance around Ibsen and a strong critic to him. It is curious for us today the remarkable tone of power as a writer and artist Bjørnson shows in that letter, more if we think of Bjørnson’s comments at the end of his life, all totally charged with bitterness and envy for Ibsen.

Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson letter to Clemens Petersen. Bergen, 5 March, 1859:

"The play (The Vikings at Helgeland) hasn't succeeded, though it may seem from a distance to have (…) Ibsen has a little clique of admirers headed by Nyhedsbladet. But every time he has to face the general public everything goes wrong and I've had to go to his aid twice, because Ibsen despite his aberrations is a poet. And I hope some day to get him to be himself and turn away from all this damned pastiche. The day Ibsen admits he is small he'll become a perfectly enchanting poet. I've told him as much pretty plainly, but the result is, he's jealous. He's done all sort of little things to annoy me, and does still. He's angry that I haven't put The Vikings at Helgeland into my repertory. (…) I haven't read his poem 'Gull Cry'; I've heard it's rather affected stuff, and was written largely because Danish monthly said he was lesser writer than me. Now that's exactly the kind of thing that always distracts Ibsen from what he ought to be and do. The point is, he's rather small and gnomish little chap, with no chest or rump, so he feels that as he has no other gifts he has to strain most frightfully when he writes. And so he doesn't write what he'd really like to, and could." (*)


These are very harsh words, but most of them could be the truth, that was the young insecure and sometimes stupid Ibsen; but what a terrible game for Bjørnson because they now only talk to us ironically about his fall and his wrong appreciation of an ambitious man, who “despites his aberration” could become not only the greatest poet and playwright of Norway but one of the greatest of the history of the world.

 

* Ibsen Biography. By Michael Meyer. Double Day, 1967. Page 161.

Texts, photographs and videos in this Blog are all author's property, except when marked. All rights reserved by Gustavo Thomas. If you have any interest in using any text, photograph or video from this Blog, for commercial use or not, please contact Gustavo Thomas at gustavothomastheatre@gmail.com.

"Legend of the red lantern" an Opera from the Chinese Cultural Revolution.

"The Legend of the Red Lantern" in a poster from 1971. China.

"The Legend of the Red Lantern" performance in Beijing, China. July, 2009.

红灯记 "The Legend of the Red Lantern" is one of the 8 model pieces of China's Cultural Revolution, and perhaps one of the most famous; its songs are still sung in Chinese households and its images have traveled the world and remain as icons of the Maoist cultural revolution itself. (1)

As part of the events that commemorated in 2009 the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China, dozens of operas that had to do with the history of this last stage of Chinese government were staged, so the operas of the Cultural Revolution could not be absent. For me it was a real opportunity to compare this productions with those who I had seen the previous 4 years, the so-called traditional operas, as well as to increase my experience as a spectator to several films and ballets I have seen in relation to the 1960's and 1970 in China .

Regardless of the topic (the emergence of a common Chinese communist revolutionary as heir to the struggles of parents), the play is a clear example of the progress (or changes) that occurred in the structure of the iron tradition of Peking Opera until the moment of its creation.

Slideshow of "Legend of the Red Lantern"

In this post I would like to simply present briefly those changes and characteristic elements that the Chinese consider essential in "The Legend of the Red Lantern" and try to exemplify them with some scenes that I could record during the performance of July 11th 2009 at the Chang'An Theatre:


- The absorption of realism on stage and in the structure of the story. First, the use of a contemporary history of China in the 1960s, referring to the past (just 20 years ago), the time of the Japanese invasion in the 1940s, to explain the existence of the revolutionary and nationalist spirit of the sons of the new republic in China in the 1960s. Costumes, makeup, scenography, everything had to be transformed; that was a huge change in the eyes of the Chinese, as they had always seen their operas with an elaborate traditional coding in both makeup and costumes (2), while the scenography was almost nonexistent. A change that somehow had taken place in the cinema and that, when operas were transported to film, they suffered a "realist" transformation, but not yet in the case of a theatrical scene.

In the following video, the main character Li Yuhua enters a Restaurant where noodles are prepared; the guests act in a way similar to reality, there are no exchanges in declamation form among themselves, nor exagerated ways to communicate, all of them do their actions in a realistic style, listening, eating, or serving food and taking orders, as in the case of the woman. It reminds me common theatrical productions in Russian socialist realist theater.

Video: Realistic scene in "The Legend of the Red Lantern" Beijing, 2009

- Keeping the use of acrobatics as a theatrical way to express a battle on stage and the use of new weapons (rifles, pistols, etc) and uniforms (no large and heavy costumes, nor high heels) also prompted a transformation in acrobatic choreography: some had much more action and, in my opinion, in the case of this play, some of the best I've seen.

Video: Acrobatics scene in "The Legend of the Red Lantern" Beijing, 2009.

- The actor maintains his traditional choreography of movements, but it is adapted to the contemporary scene. A wonderful example is the scene where the hero Yuhua Li faces the Japanese villain and, at all times, his rage and his chanting feed on the traditional way of working in traditional opera.

Video: Facing the villain in "The Legend of the Red Lantern" Beijing, 2009.

- There is a change that is difficult to show: the use of contemporary music. Now using a large orchestra (in this performance the orchestral parts were prerecorded, while a smaller group also played, using traditional Chinese instruments and modern ones). The video I've published shows a small moment when the orchestra was playing in that performance of July 11th at the Chang'An Theatre; you will see that it is not the traditional classical Peking Opera orchestra, and on the other hand you will hear there is an instrumental music that they are not playing, because the parts of the large orchestra were pre-recorded. That would be unthinkable in any previous traditional opera.

Video: modern orchestra in "The Legend of the Red Lantern." Beijing, 2009.

- The use of different accessories in the costumes. For example, in the case of this opera, more than evolved, they were transformed. While in traditional opera heroes wear "water sleeves" (extensions of the sleeves on their costumes, which allow making figures, movements and other actions with them), in this case the main character, Li Yuhua, without that kind of sleeves due to his realistic costume, handles the chains that bind him in what I consider a very interesting transposition. (3)

Video: Use of chains as water sleeves, "The Legend of the Red Lantern" Beijing, 2009.

- The addition of music outside the musical libretto. In this and virtually all cases of the model plays of the Cultural Revolution, the inclusion of "L'Internationale", the communist anthem, in the moments of greatest dramatic power. In "The Red lantern..." the anthem comes when the characters stoically decide to go to their death.

Video: "L'Internationale" in "The Legend of the Red Lantern." Beijing, 2009.

- The end with a dance or ballet, as in many traditional operas, is maintained, but obviously all the modernization of the objects and set design gives the possibility of a huge new projection covered of Chinese communist nationalism and, ultimately, show the opera as what it was, a product of propaganda of the highest artistic level. That night after the final ballet, the ballet of the victory, the audience was in an apotheosis and full of strength and joy; watching at their faces I thought I could see the memory of years of famine, of international isolation, of political fear and of the only sustenance of life and strength that theatre gave them: communist revolutionary nationalism .

Video: Final Ballet of "The Legend of the Red Lantern" (Beijing, 2009)

红灯记 "The Legend of the Red Lantern" at times seems naive and of dubious quality in its acting style, but within the context of its creation and use during the years of the Chinese Cultural Revolution it is a real gem and, from my my point of view, one of the clearest examples of a successful attempt to break with a tradition that had turned a performing expression into an anthropological oddity.

(1) A Chinese opera, in contrast to Western opera, is never watched just for the singing or for the music (the score), but for the staging it entails. The stagings of a Peking opera vary little between, when you watch one today you are virtually watching the same production with which it premiered. Thus the iconic images of the model operas of the Cultural Revolution.

(2) Even with some attempts at realist modernism in the 1920's and 1930's, which were viewed as eccentric or snob actions.

(3) You can see an example of the movement of water sleeves on a video of the most famous Kunqu Opera, Mudanting: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bl6xjCXWsM

A Strindberg portrait at Ibsen's studio

The fight between Realism and Supernaturalism (Symbolism) that becomes evident at the end of the 19th century in many aspects of art, though particularly in theatre, has an evident parallelism, I’m convinced, in the fight between their two major exponents in modern theatre: Henrik Ibsen and August Strindberg. Their theatrical currents are an encounter between conscious and unconscious, between the idea of personality and the inner self or the unconscious.

Nevertheless, the personal relationship between Ibsen and Strindberg is somewhat unknown by the readers of either authors, and in turn is a curious chapter in the history of theatre and of art in general (1). Two geniuses who never met in person but who had an intimate and dramatic relationship. Two opposing visions of theatre, of literature and of the world they lived in, with just one point in common during Strindberg’s attempt, in his first years in his writing career, to imitate Ibsen’s work

Strindberg lived a real obsession about Ibsen’s work and person, he went from being, first, an emulator and admirer of the Norwegian writer, to becoming later one of his sharpest critics. His attacks were direct, continuous and went from deep analyses of the Ibsenian work to simple and plain offenses to his social behaviour.

Ibsen never understood those attacks, or he never wanted to keep an open (nor closed) fight with Strindberg; his standing in Europe’s intellectual society was, anyhow, much higher and, when it came to comparisons at the time, he was undoubtedly the winner; he didn’t need to write a single word against the work or person of Strindberg.

Nevertheless, that indifference to the Swedish writer’s attacks didn’t mean at all that Ibsen didn’t stop to contemplate the great man and artist that Strindberg was.

When Henrik Ibsen was in Stockholm, on April 13th 1898, celebrating his 70th birthday (yes, it wasn’t his birthplace, but the Swedish government offered homages in his honour), a Swedish journalist asked his opinion on Strindberg. Ibsen described the Swedish writer, 27 years younger, as “A great talent”, adding “I don’t know him personally - our paths have never crossed - but I’ve read his work with great interest. In fact, his last play, Inferno, has left a deep impression on me.” (2)

The impression that Strindberg caused on Ibsen was such that, years before that declaration, Ibsen had, in his own studio in Oslo, a portrait painting of the Swedish artist. He didn’t know him personally, but he was taken by his image, his personality and the strength of his literary work.

August Strindberg painted by Christian Krogh, 1893. (Norwegian Folk Museum)

In 1893, while he lived in Berlin, August Strindberg posed many times for the Norwegian painter Christian Krogh, who painted seven portraits of him; one of those paintings was acquired by Henrik Ibsen, according to himself, “for the, relatively speaking, ridiculous sum of 500 crowns.” Ibsen’s studio (and his whole apartment) is kept in the Ibsensmuseet (Ibsen's Museum) in Oslo (3), but Krogh’s painting is not there anymore, as it hangs at the Museum of Popular Art of Norway.

Ibsen saw in Strindberg a powerful figure, almost mythical; the portrait by Krogh not only was hanging in his studio, but had a primary place in it, exactly in front of his workplace. He used to say that he liked to look at it while he wrote, and that it seemed the man in the portrait would look straight at him like a “madman approaching him with demented eyes”. He particularly enjoyed looking at those “demonic eyes” and, at some point in his life, he commented “He is my mortal enemy; he must hang there and observe everything I write.” (4)

Henrik Ibsen in his studio in Oslo

Ibsen’s quotations, from his own mouth, are manifestly clear, that strong impression can’t be concealed.

Ibsen’s personality, reserved as he was and profoundly correct (even during his most famous scandals) didn’t leave room to recognise in him his great personal fears, obsessions and passions, but he undoubtedly struggled with the forces that August Strindberg and his work represented; the hanging portrait in his studio is proof to the presence of the “other” in his creative life, of his struggle and, of course, of his admiration.

The theatre director August Lindberg, a friend of Strindberg’s, tells of how, when visiting Ibsen’s studio, Ibsen asked him if the portrait on his wall resembled the real Strindberg. Then, and without waiting for an answer, Ibsen got close to him and, almost whispering, maybe trying not be heard, he affirmed “A remarkable man!”.




(1) In a curious and interesting essay Barbara Lide, from the Technical University of Michigan exposes the “admiration-hate-fear” relationship between two of the greatest writers and dramaturgs of modern theatre, a strange relationship that has all the characteristics of the currents each of the belongs to in theatre.
(2) Most of my citations have been taken from the book “Henrik Ibsen and the Birth of Modernism” by Toril Moi (Oxford University Press. London, UK 2006), as well as from the article: “Strindberg’s Ibsen: Admired, emulated, scorned, and parodied” by Barbara Lide (Michigan Technological University which, in turn, is based on Strindberg’s basic biography by Meyer.

(3) The presence of Strindberg’s portrait by Krogh in Ibsen’s studio is known through direct citations from the Norwegian author, as well as from friends and acquaintances of his. The information was taken from Toril Moi’s book as well as from Barbara Lide’s essay.

Ibsen's studio. Ibsenmuseet, Oslo.

(4) One of Ibsen’s phrases (translated into English) that remain as his appreciation of the portrait is "Insanity Emergent".


Author's note: This is a personally revised translation (made by Tadeo Berjón) from my original post in Spanish..

“Salesman in Beijing”, a book by Arthur Miller, 24 years later.

I hadn’t got to even the first half of “Salesman in Beijing”, the book Arthur Miller wrote after his second visit to China in 1984, when he was invited to stage his own “Death of a Salesman”, when my hands were already reaching for the keyboard to type about every sentence I had been reading.

Miller’s text is a whole document on an era of Beijing and on theatre in general, but at the same time it revealed the experiences I’ve had in Beijing after 3 years of living here. I didn’t come to do theatre, I came to China to live it, to explore it, and to write about it and its performing arts, to get to know it; I came to learn Taijiquan and to find myself in the strange idleness of the start of my maturity; I haven’t written nor done any theatre since I’ve been here, so I’ve become another spectator of Asian performing arts and, in this case, another reader of Miller’s book.

The first impression the text gave me was one of surprising freedom with which people back then would talk about the Cultural Revolution, which nowadays is a completely taboo subject in China; actors, writers, ordinary people shared their opinions on what had happened, who they’d lived through it, and what damage it had caused while, today, in 2008, starting a conversation on the subject would only provoke complete silence, and maybe deeply intellectual sentences that would try to steer the subject away.

Even though the subject is fascinating, especially during the time it was written, reading about it sounds somewhat outdated and only seems to be of value to those interested in the China that existed during the 80’s. That China doesn’t exist anymore, and is now living the results of its change; now it’s rich and powerful, tells the world what to do, economically invades Africa and Latin-america in search for resources for its expansion. There aren’t many studies that review this transition stage, and maybe that’s reveals the importance of the kind of comments from the heirs to the revolution, comments that Miller brings to us, a revolution that extinguished Chinese cultural life for a decade.

The description of a world outside the theatre and a world within the theatre of that China from the spring of 1984 is at times delicious, an enjoyable read and full of pleasant moments and simple but deep disquisitions. What he describes about life outside the theatre is so interesting (and unique) that I remembered the documentary Antonioni made during the cultural revolution: “Chun Kuo Cina”. Chinese style service, hygiene, the ordinary Chinese spectator, the twists of language, intellectuals and food. Miller is a professional narrator of ordinary life and a spokesperson for the bewilderment of Westerners confronted by Chinese customs.

As for what he describes about life within the theatre, it’s fascinating for someone who’s done theatre or who’s lived it. I consider it a theatrical document because in this text I see direct information on how a sincere representative of the empire of realism (1), in an honest and sincere way, tries to conquer a world that does not handle realism yet (even 100 years after its birth). It’s a document because of the way is presented, it’s a work diary and travel impressions; it’s a document because of its way of presenting the staging of the play, because of its reflections and its means to reach its goal. It’s not just a document about theatre in China, but about how Americans in the end of 20th Century viewed the requirements for their theatre through one of their most important representatives.

The play, which at the time was already almost 40 years old, was going to have its premiere in the recently opened up China. In the years where theatrical postmodernism teared realistic discourse apart in Western World, Miller was trying to “teach” a new way to Chinese actors. But the realism that was being destroyed, leaving behind new forms, inevitably remained (and remains still) with its imposing commercial presence in those post-modern Western cities.


Miller was at the same time a salesman, American theatrical realism with its own “need” for Stanislavski and the ‘interiorisation’ of the actor was being sold where their was no knowledge about it. And I remembered that tale (or real-life story) where a fridge salesman becomes rich in the North Pole selling fridges as boxes for keeping food. I have witnessed, by reading Arthur Miller’s book, how he sold his “Salesman” with the currency of personality, intellectuality, cultural exchange, and the values of non-fiction. At the end, it would seem he’s victorious, that he makes the sale, but, as it happens with the main character of his play, the former successful salesman, he fails.

More than 20 years after that text was written and after that experience, we know that the revolution in the acting of modern Chinese actors was not won by Miller’s realism, it was won by cinema and TV, the bastard or next-of-kin product of realism, realist melodrama (much more suitable to Chinese tradition). Theatre in 2008 is, in China, just a handful of stupid musicals, trite comedies with TV stars and remakes of Chinese classics from the 50’s. The ever present Chinese Opera has found its new place as an adaptation through “national pride” and gets its income from touristic interests; big directors make their modern versions of traditional opera, cause scandal in the country, go abroad and are applauded as innovators and modernisers of China’s new and burgeoning market economy. But the theatre Miller came to revolutionise, the theatre of the word, of characters, of real and deep characters, a theatre of ideas (even if he denies it), that theatre remains empty, it was killed by TV and cinema, it was killed by commerce, it was killed by Tian’anmen and Falungong.

In Beijing’s theatres I’ve seen Ibsen’s, Strindberg’s and Laoshe’s (China’s “modern” author par excellence) plays, and I don’t want to see more. Modern authors have not plays to stage or don’t want to write for theatre, the theatrical spaces (those allowed by the government) are few, the public does not exist, the government reviews (censors?) and adapts every text, foreign stars (who inherited the theatre of Miller and his co-revolutionaries) are not invited to come anymore. There’s something in our way of doing theatre that makes the managers of Chinese culture nervous, “something” about words and ideas, about “reality”. How I wish I could see one of Heiner Müller’s plays in Chinese! Müller is no realist, yet none of his plays are staged.

Then, maybe there’s nothing against realism, but against truth in one of its artistic expressions.



I found the book in London, in October 2007, but I didn’t read it until I came back to Beijing, with the required state of mind to enjoy it. I was never an unconditional fan of Miller, and I think I’ve made that clear, but I must accept that the adventure he narrates is marvelous and that his text is a true treasure.



(1) You can call it 'Realism" or 'Naturalism", it doesn't matter here.