A marriage between Taiwanese opera and Russian drama is amazing enough. Moreover, the play was staged in a modern indoor theater format, which differs considerably from the traditional less-structured outdoor staging of Taiwanese opera, usually at temple-sponsored events and aimed merely at "celebrating the gods and entertaining the people." These innovations marked one small step for the Ho Lo troupe, but one giant leap for Taiwanese opera.
"Of all the traditional forms of drama in Taiwan, why is it that only Peking opera is innovating? When will we see Taiwanese opera versions of Medea or Macbeth?" Thus wrote Professor Chung Ming-te of the National Institute of the Arts in an article entitled "Reflections on Chinese Operatic Versions of Western Classics."
Then, at the end of last year, came the performance by Ho Lo. This not only provided an answer to the query posed by Chung, it also provided an "alternative" experience for the audiences who had only seen Taiwanese opera on traditional outdoor stages in front of temples.
Out through the in-door
In a high-ceilinged modern theater, the seats are packed with people. Half-hidden in the performance pit is the Taipei Municipal Chinese Classical Orchestra, directed by Chen Chung-shen, himself a skilled player of the dizi (Chinese flute). The sounds of instruments being tuned blends with the low murmur of audience conversations. There is an air of anticipation permeating the theater. The curtain goes up, ranks of stage lights go on, and the show begins. . . .
In an elegant garden with a small bridge, a trickling stream, overhanging willows, and a small pavilion, the magistrate of Tainan Prefecture hosts the wandering student Shao Zidu. The magistrate mistakenly believes Shao to be an official sent by the emperor, and is hoping to marry his daughter off to Shao. The daughter and the student fall in love at first sight. Amidst the strains of the zither-like guqin, the girl performs a fan dance, while the student accompanies her with a sword dance.
Later, a corrupt official threatens to expose Shao's mistaken identity. The intense exchange between the two captivates the audience. When there is a pause that lasts a minute or so, there is not the slightest sound on stage or off, with only the faint whirr of the air conditioning disturbing the silence.
This is virtually unprecedented for the traditional forms of Taiwanese opera. At free outdoor temple performances, people show little interest, much less cough up money to sit in rapt attention. Taiwanese opera has served mainly to attract people by creating a raucous atmosphere, rather than demanding appreciation as an art form. So how did Ho Lo succeed in so entrancing its audience? And what was so alluring that 70% of the seats were sold?
Knights in shining armor
As for what is so attractive about Ho Lo, die-hard Taiwanese opera fan Chi Yueh-oh, who comes from Miaoli County but now teaches in the Tunhua Primary School in Taipei, offers this description: "They are like the knights in shining armor I've always dreamed of." She saw them once, and was immediately hooked.
The 40-year-old Chi began watching Taiwanese opera by going with her father to temple shows when she was just child. Other times she was carried on her mother's back to see indoor performances in a theater. And it was Taiwanese opera that her sisters and sisters-in-law listened to while they wove straw mats at home. She still recalls her father comparing the style in which the xiaodan (genteel heroine) always walked as being as delicate as "clouds drifting past the moon." Like many lovers of Taiwanese opera, her fondness for the drama was intermingled with the taste of candied plums from the temple-gate marketplace and with memories of the triumphs and tragedies of the performers in their off-stage lives. It wasn't necessarily the drama itself that was so appreciated.
It is this nostalgia that causes Chi to bring out a chair and watch every time she hears the gongs and drums announcing a performance, even after moving to Taipei. But then you sit there from eight until ten, and what do you get? There is more pop music being sung than traditional Taiwanese songs. The xiaosheng (male lead) comes out wearing shades. The caidan (female comic role) is-as seems to always be the case these days-wearing a negligee of the most eye-catching variety. The plots are fractured and predictable: There's always a good person who is wronged, while the evil guy invariably gets his just desserts. This type of perfunctory and adulterated performance naturally does not satisfy Chi Yueh-oh, who explains her attendance with the old proverb: "The child may have scabies on its head, but it is your child after all."
Originally, Taiwanese opera was performed outdoors to "celebrate the deities and entertain the people." But, with the rise of films, TV, and other forms of leisure, not only has Taiwanese opera lost much of its audience, it has even lost its venues as temple shows increasingly use inexpensive film showings or risqu* song and dance acts. As a result, drama troupes have had to settle for less and less in pay. But, with this kind of cut-throat competition, naturally the quality of the performances suffers. These days, if there are three people watching, that's a successful gig.
Lin Mao-hsien, a professor in the Department of Chinese at Providence University, has long been working to promote Taiwanese opera. He always shows films of Taiwanese opera in class, and takes his students to temples to see live outdoor performances. Most of the students who elect to take his class already have a certain fondness for traditional drama. Yet, even they wander around to buy food from nearby vendors within a few minutes of the start of the show. So how can anyone possibly expect ordinary people to sit still for two hours? These days, outdoor performances serve only to "celebrate the gods"-they signally fail to entertain the people. And no matter how much scholars may extol the virtues of Taiwanese opera, they cannot win back its former domain.
Forgotten excellence
Watching as outdoor performances integrate popular music and striptease into their shows, Liu Chung-yuan, a Taiwanese opera lover and producer of Taiwanese opera TV programs, can sympathize with their predicament. What he cannot stand is the equating of Taiwanese opera per se with the vulgar and low-class. That is why he established the "Ho Lo Culture Company," and began in 1993 to produce "refined" Taiwanese opera for performance in the National Theater.
In fact, there was a time when Taiwanese opera was extremely "refined." Nearly a century ago, Taiwanese opera went from being a type of street performance to the outdoor stage. Being sung in Taiwanese-as opposed to the archaic spoken Chinese of Nanguan and Beiguan opera or the Beijing dialect used in Peking opera-it quickly swept the island. It was even staged indoors at times.
In those days everything was at a high standard of performance. Performers had to undertake formal study with a master for three years and four months. The troupes did not hesitate to spend exorbitant amounts on props, costumes, and new scripts and songs. There were also dynamic scenery and props such as "real rainwater pouring down" and "the bottomless coffin" (so the "deceased" could get out and suddenly pop up elsewhere). Beforehand, actors would parade on the streets in full costume to promote the show. At the performance, audience members-who had to buy tickets to get a seat-watched with rapt attention. And in appreciation, they not only threw money, but even gold rings or bracelets, onto the stage.
Chiang Wu-tung, father of Ho Lo's star attraction, the xiaosheng (male lead role) Tang Mei-yun, was a renowned Taiwanese opera actor who was known in his day as "the valedictorian of opera." Tang recalls that when she was small she watched her father practicing his martial arts moves. He had a profound mastery of tumbling and of fighting postures and could perform with four different weapons at a time. He was known to have gone through three pairs of pants just to master a single movement. Ho Lo director Liu Chung-yuan says, "Our goal today is to bring back to Taiwanese opera its original unadulterated and refined character."
But what, after all, is "refinement"? Might not refined-even, one may say, "elitist"-Taiwanese opera lose its grass-roots links with the broad public?
From ad-lib to fully rehearsed
In the past, Taiwanese opera companies always performed "live drama." That is, an elder storyteller would relate the overall story line to the performers, but usually the exact words and songs used on stage were decided by the performers themselves in an ad-lib way. The quality-or lack thereof-of this form depended entirely on the skill of the performers. Those with rich experience could be spontaneously dazzling. A drama could be traditional or flamboyant at any given moment, depending upon the decisions of the performers as they improvised any one of dozens of possible scripts. "Those ad-lib outdoor performances are a great place to hone your craft," says Tang Mei-yun. But the problem is that quality is hard to maintain, varying as it does with the skills and moods of the performers. It is common in this format for the performance to decay to a vulgar and perfunctory level; one has to trust to luck to see a good performance.
For performers used to the outdoor stage or TV, indoor theater is a challenge. For example, when a character makes an entrance, every step from the wings to center stage is the focus of audience attention. Actors can't get away with strolling around as they can in the more free-wheeling outdoor shows. Nor can they do a retake like on TV-there is no room for error. Despite this, there is nothing more intoxicating for a true lover of his or her craft then to engage in give-and-take with a worthy counterpart on the stage. Tang Mei-yun bemoans the fact that at casual outdoor shows, "However good the pass you throw, it always ends up that you have to catch it yourself." And she ought to know: She was the first person ever chosen as best xiaosheng performer for two years in succession in local Taiwanese opera competitions, and her family runs an outdoor opera group of its own.
To go into the realm of indoor theater is to enter the world of "the specialist." The script is the final determinant of the spirit of the drama, and the director has full control of the structure. Every part of a drama depends on coordinated staging, lighting, and costumes; as well as on specialized input from the producer, art director, director, and musical director. Months of rehearsals are required to get the dialogue, movements, and dance steps right. Only with considerable exchange of ideas between performers and director can the most "dazzling" and explosive parts be perfected, and only then can an exciting opera be staged.
The wrong verdict
Let's go back to Ho Lo's first production, The Wrong Verdict.
A young man, Liu Jianping, has only recently become an official by being the top candidate in the imperial examinations. He had been supported by his father-in-law, State Minister Yan, a straightforward and principled man. Before Liu leaves to return to his hometown, Yan asks him: "How will you judge cases involving a crime committed by a person of high rank?" Liu decisively affirms: "Officials must serve the people. No matter whether a person is of noble rank, or even a friend or relative, the law cannot let them off or admit of sentimental considerations."
However, as this newly crowned top imperial exam candidate is approaching his home, he is stopped by a fisherman who appeals to him to right a wrong. The accused turns out to be his brother-in-law, which is to say the only son of his benefactor. Investigating the case, he finds this man had stolen another man's wife and killed her mother. In such cases, the death penalty is virtually automatic, but he can not in good conscience leave his benefactor, an upright official, with no heirs to carry on the family line. So instead Liu has his brother-in-law merely beaten; the fisherman's daughter is returned home, but Liu covers up the murder.
Little does Liu expect that the brother-in-law will hate him and try to kill him by pushing him into the river. Unsure how to handle the situation, Liu returns quietly to the capital to consult his benefactor. Liu tells State Minister Yan that he could cover up the attempted murder by saying that he had fallen in the river by himself. Yan laughs bitterly and says, "If you had wanted to do that, you wouldn't have come to see me." Having said that, the stern-faced elderly man collapses like a puppet whose wires have been cut.
At the climax, Yan presides over a new trial of his only son and personally sentences him to death. When Yan sings the words "Let the trial begin," the high-pitched and desolate tone of the singing betrays both his righteously unyielding character and also the profound sadness of an old man losing his only son. The feeling is sharply different from the moment earlier in the play when the youthful and enthusiastic, but inexperienced, Liu Jianping sings the same words.
Courtroom drama Taiwanese style
"Ho Lo performances are heavy on 'dramatic meat.' There is conflict and climax, with tension building to push forward the theme," explains art director Chen Te-li. All innovation starts from new scripts. They must be closely connected to the lives of the audience and be insightful.
This is why Ho Lo has always performed original plays, with its long suit being dramas set in the courtrooms of imperial magistrates that nonetheless satirize bizarre aspects of modern Taiwanese society. Most of their plays, from their first in 1993-The Wrong Verdict-through The Feast of the Swan, The Imperial Plaque, and The Lost and Found Imperial Hat, to The Imperial Watchdog, have all been of this variety. Their most recent production, Fate is Not Determined by Heaven, satirizes the so-called spiritualists and their superstitious followers who have been prominent in recent scandals in Taiwan. The cost for a well-crafted script and for the director's fees is over NT$100,000, or 1/15th of the total production budget.
Chi Yueh-oh, who has seen The Wrong Verdict 30 times, is impressed by the dramatic power shown by Ho Lo, which she ascribes to their realistic portrayals of human nature. There are no clear-cut good guys and bad guys; the good have their weaknesses and the bad their attractive or humorous aspects. Moreover, the plots are full of twists and turns, which nonetheless are both intellectually and emotionally consistent. This is what veteran actors mean when they say, "Whatever kind of people are on stage, those are the kinds of people who will be in the audience."
"In the past, the focus of traditional opera was on the singing and movements. Now audiences demand more. The coherence and content of the plot are increasingly important, so the intellectual challenge is correspondingly greater," explains Chen Yung-ching, a lecturer in drama in the Department of Foreign Languages at Chunghsing University. That is why, on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, whether the form be Peking opera, Taiwanese opera, or local opera from other provinces, given the dearth of appropriately sophisticated scripts in the Chinese repertoire, many companies are turning to adaptations of Western classics. This trend indicates the determination and vitality of practitioners of traditional drama as they seek to innovate and adapt.
A mere youth
In fact, Taiwanese opera has, so to speak, a tradition of innovation.
In contrast with Peking opera, Sichuan opera, Nanguan, and other ancient forms, Taiwanese opera is rather youthful. In the early days, when the forerunner of Taiwanese opera moved from street shows to the stage, many aspects were borrowed from Beiguan, Jiujia, Fuzhou, and "Tea-Picking" opera styles. The most important influence, however, has remained Peking opera.
Indeed, many people feel that Ho Lo's Taiwanese opera is really more like "Peking opera in Taiwanese." The fact is inescapable that much of Taiwanese opera has its roots in Peking opera.
In the early days of the Japanese occupation period, Peking opera troupes from Fuzhou and Shanghai often came to Taiwan to perform. The highly structured movements, clever moveable scenery, and meticulous make-up and costumes all became object lessons for Taiwanese opera, then still in its early development. Moreover, some Peking opera performers remained in Taiwan, and were hired as performers or instructors in Taiwanese opera companies. Lu Chien-ting, the father of Ho Lo's current senior laosheng (older male role) performer Lu Fu-lu, was with the Shanghai Peking opera company; he stayed in Taiwan to teach drama.
Many of today's Ho Lo performers were trained in Peking opera. The laosheng character actor Chen Sheng-lin, who played the role of State Minister Yan in The Wrong Verdict, got his start studying Peking opera at the Minghsing Company of Hsinchu, practicing singing into a sound-absorbing wall while watching his shadow to perfect his gestures. Tang Mei-yun formerly studied martial gestures under Chang Hui-chuan and Liu Kuang-tung, two elders in the Kuokuang Opera Company. Any way you look at it-performers, audience, attitude-Ho Lo has been a crossroads for interchange between Peking and Taiwanese operas.
An artistic sponge
But for Taiwanese opera, which has less of a burden of "tradition," Peking opera was not the only place from which ideas were absorbed. In the process of its codification and consolidation, Taiwanese opera also absorbed the best of local dramatic forms.In Ho Lo's The Emperor, The Shou-tsai, and The Beggar, the beggars' parts include elements drawn from the "cart drum" traditional processional performance.
In rehearsals for the "cart drum" part, Ho Lo's actors, versed only in the more rigid and structured gestures of Taiwanese opera, could not at first attain the soft and curving postures typical of the cart drum performance. Some of the actors looked like they were dancing the cha-cha, while others, messing up their footwork or gestures, moved like zombies. In the show, not only did the group of beggars have to perform the cart drum and "cloth-horse" dances, Tang Mei-yun-as head of the beggars-had to sing a folk song, "Tune of Hengchun," accompanying herself on the yueqin stringed instrument. "This is the great thing about Taiwanese opera. When you add something new, everybody thinks that it fits right in," says Tang.
In The Wrong Verdict, there is a scene where a character plunges into the ocean to save someone who is drowning. Balancing on one leg, she dives in, then twirls in wave-like motions. "Hsiao Mi" has fully mastered this dance. Capable of playing a variety of roles, Hsiao Mi was the main pillar of the old "Yihsia Opera Company," which was once praised as the "treasure of Taiwan." She entered Yihsia when she was 14 years old. She trained in ballet and folk dancing for eight hours a day. Later she did Taiwanese opera on TV. Though she is petite, her more than 20 years of experience means that when she gets on stage she is the consummate performer. She still has fans who follow her around to her shows.
Art director Chen Te-li feels that the only test of successful innovation is whether the drama is more beautiful, and offers deeper insights into human nature. If that means it becomes a different dramatic form, there's no harm done. Chen, now past 70, is very open-minded, and is often the oldest audience member at shows by progressive theater companies like Left Bank.
In addition to scripts, Ho Lo does not neglect the gestures and singing so emphasized in traditional drama. This is, after all, opera. Thus Ho Lo is even more exhaustive in innovating and arranging music.
Innovation: music to the ears
"When the old songs are no longer adequate to evoke a particular emotion, then there's no choice but to write new pieces," avers Ho Lo administrative director Ko Ming-feng, who plays sanxian and yueqin (both guitar-like instruments). He points out, for example, how in one case a new style was produced by combining the high-pitched singing of Beiguan with the rapid single drumming of a Peking opera song to sing a genteel duma-style melody (one of the characteristic Taiwanese opera styles).
In the work Phoenix Egg, when the father of the female lead is about to be executed after being entrapped by a villain, she uses this new duma style to sing: "I cry out Father; Heaven and Earth appear to me miserable and cruel. Tears flow like spring water, soaking my cheeks. Heaven! How can you not see that my father is innocent and is to be beheaded? Earth! How can you not know that my father has been wronged?!" The high wail of the singing displays her outrage, the single drum beating fast expresses her anxiety, and the duma melody captures her tragedy and powerlessness.
In The Imperial Watchdog, the daughter discovers on her wedding night that her husband to whom she is attached for life is no high official, that his supposed status was a case of mistaken identity. A heart filled with beautiful dreams is shattered in an instant. For this moment, music director Liu Wen-liang specially wrote a high-pitched, a-cappella duma-style tune, creating a mournful mood. After much internal struggle, the young girl decides to stay with the young student in his wandering life. The two then sing "This Life, This World, Forever Together." At the beginning, the two sing alternately, but eventually they blend together in harmony, bringing to the fore the deep feelings of a husband and wife sharing good times and bad. In so doing, they also bring to the fore a new performance technique for Taiwanese opera.
Xiaodan (heroine) specialist Wang Chin-ying, who plays the role of the daughter, is a well-known TV performer who got her start in radio broadcasts of Taiwanese opera. In radio, with no subtitles, no facial expressions, and no body language, everything depended on clear enunciation of words and unambiguous emotional expression in one's voice. She comments, "People say 'singing is more important than any other talent; if you can't sing, don't bother coming.' In Taiwanese opera, you have to be able to sing so that people are moved to tears; that's the only right way to do it."
No matter whether they be old melodies or new, pieces from other forms of opera or folk music, even pop songs or Western operatic style, once these various styles are drawn into Taiwanese opera, they naturally take on the flavor of the Taiwanese form. "There is still a great deal of room for experimentation in Taiwanese opera, and fresh and eclectic musicality is part of its basic nature," states Ko Ming-feng.
sponge opera
Taiwanese opera is like a sponge, absorbing the best of other art forms. And Ho Lo is like a magnet, drawing people from all different origins together in one place. Just check out the program of The Imperial Watchdog: Art director Chen Te-li once hosted his own TV program, and is now the director of programming at Greenpeace Radio. Director Chiang Chien-yuan was a member of several operatic companies like the innovative Contemporary Legend Theater as well as of a modern dance troupe.
Meanwhile, the career paths of the cast read like a synopsis of Taiwanese opera history: Some come from Taiwanese opera backgrounds in radio, TV, and outdoor shows. There are others from Ilan County's Lanyang Taiwanese Opera Company, former students of Liao Chiung-chi (the premier 'tragic heroine' specialist in Taiwanese opera), and people from Peking opera and dance companies. The bringing together of people from diverse backgrounds is also one of the special features of Taiwanese opera: "As long as they are good, then send them in!"
Nevertheless, the impermanent nature of the drama company-with the performers all on different paths-reveals the key weakness of Taiwanese opera today: a lack of skilled people and the difficulty of maintaining "refinement." Another Taiwanese opera troupe, Ming Hua Yuan, has chosen to go the way of elaborate mechanized staging and an emphasis on comedy. Ho Lo, in contrast, devotes great attention to movement and singing. For outdoor performances, Ming Hua Yuan's shows are fun and create a great atmosphere. For indoor shows, Ho Lo's psychological dramas can hold the audience's careful attention.
As for innovation and experimentation, Ho Lo's parameters are defined by the requirement to maintain the elegance of the songs and movements of Taiwanese opera; that done, anything else is permissible. In this respect Ho Lo is more like the Contemporary Legend Theater, a Peking opera troupe, than the Lanyang or Hsinchuan Taiwanese opera troupes, which stress fidelity to the "way of the ancients."
Always fans for a good show
It is the day of the Lantern Festival. Ho Lo has been invited by the government of Tantzu Rural Township in Taichung County to put on a show. It is an unusually sunny winter's day, and on the athletic field many elderly men and women are playing croquet. On the stage, the sound and lighting guys are getting everything secured and checked. A staffer walks by carrying 70 boxed lunches. Backstage, the scene is different from the old days: There are no blankets and pillows, and no children crying and running around. Instead, the makeup artist is combing the hair of one performer while, off to the side, the costumer dresses another. Laosheng (elder male role) specialist Chen Sheng-lin, his make-up complete, sits amidst the props and scenery meditating with eyes closed to focus his energy. The director, who is to put in a cameo appearance later, strides back and forth practicing his high official's walking style.
Steadily, the seats below fill with the people of Tantzu Rural Township. Four "Friends of Ho Lo" from National Taipei College of Business walk through the crowd selling Ho Lo posters, postcards, and videotapes.
"I haven't been to see Taiwanese opera in years. I heard this one cost NT$400,000 to put on!" says one granny. "Hsiao Mi, Wang Chin-ying, and Tang Mei-yun are all going to be here," oozes one excited young mother holding her baby, reeling off the names of stars she had seen on TV as if she were counting the family jewels.
The gong sounds, and the play begins. The nearly 1000 stools are filled to capacity, and children crowd up front by the stage to watch the fun. The play moves along flawlessly, with lots of laughter and applause. . . . Suddenly the generator blows, and the whole site is plunged into darkness. Ten minutes later, repairs completed, the electricity comes back on, and the audience shouts its approval. Tang Mei-yun, playing the role of the student Shao who is mistaken for an imperial official, amidst the bustle and noise, improvises a statement: "There's only one thing to really fear: That the players will not want to continue, while the audience is not willing for it to end. So I guess we have no choice but to carry on with it!" The audience, agreeing completely, responds with a burst of laughter.
It's been a long time since there was this much excitement over outdoor Taiwanese opera.
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New wine, new bottles. This poster for the Ho Lo Taiwanese Opera Troupe is eye-catching. (photo courtesy of Ho Lo)
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In modern indoor theater staging, there is a highly specialized division of labor. The photo shows a stage-design diagram for The Imperial Watchdog. (photo courtesy of Ho Lo)
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Rehearsal, positioning, practicing of fixed dialogue-free-wheeling outdoor Taiwanese opera, lacking the same rigor as indoor theater, has traditionally had none of these.
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Senior actress Wang Chin-ying guides students at the Fu Hsing Dramatic Arts Academy in doing make-up. Young and old are working on behalf of Taiwanese opera.
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Veteran actor Chen Sheng-lin sits behind the stage scenery collecting her thoughts in preparation for the performance.
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Reinforcements on the way for Taiwanese opera-students in the Taiwanese opera curriculum at the Fu Hsing Academy of Dramatic Arts practice their moves under the guidance of veteran performer Liao Chiung-chi.
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Breaking past the emphasis on acrobatics and special effects, Ho Lo emphasizes psychological dramas with conflict and contradiction. (The photo, courtesy of Ho Lo, is from the play Butcher Chuang-Yuan.)
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Ho Lo's trademark is using farcical plays set in imperial-era courtrooms to satirize modern social phenomena. The photo shows a scene from The Imperial Watchdog, in which the wandering student, mistaken for an imperial censor, confronts an official who is unmistakably corrupt.
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A good show will always find an audience. It's been a long time since outdoor Taiwanese opera was surrounded by such excitement.
Chen Ren-yeong returned to his hometown of Kaohsiung after years away. T o refamiliarize himself with the place, he joined in environmental protection work. He hopes to bring the Ai River back to its former state and revive those warm memories of yesteryear.
The Kaoping River is the main source of drinking water for the Kaohsiung- Pingtung area. Its severe pollution causes those who come within olfactory range to blanch.
Tsai Hsing-e looked on at the tree-planting activity at the mouth of the Kaoping River sponsored by her group last year. Do the growing trees symbolize that there is hope for the revival of the river as a whole?
New wine, new bottles. This poster for the Ho Lo Taiwanese Opera Troupe is eye-catching. （photo courtesy of Ho Lo）
In modern indoor theater staging, there is a highly specialized division of labor. The photo shows a stage-design diagram for The Imperial Watchdog. （photo courtesy of Ho Lo）
Rehearsal, positioning, practicing of fixed dialogue--free-wheeling outdoor Taiwanese opera, lacking the same rigor as indoor theater, has traditionally had none of these.
Senior actress Wang Chin-ying guides students at the Fu Hsing Dramatic Arts Academy in doing make-up. Young and old are working on behalf of Taiwanese opera.
Veteran actor Chen Sheng-lin sits behind the stage scenery collecting her thoughts in preparation for the performance.
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