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Annex 1
Synopsis
When they first met, Gao Yuan thought that he had seduced Xiaoyou. In fact, he was the one who
was seduced. As one who toyed with other’s affections and someone with a Don Juan outlook in
life, Gao Yuan was unwilling to accept this yet he was truly attracted by this unusual girl. Before
and after making love, she would always sprawl on his chest, listening to his heart beat.
Xiaoyou is a guide at a museum of natural history. She spends her days with dinosaurs as her
companions most of the time. Her tranquil appearance hides an inferno of emotions and a hidden
secret. Her story is a strange yet simple one. After her fiancé died, she has been keeping a close eye
on a man named Gao Yuan. She cannot resist seducing him, for the sake of listening to the beating
of the heart of her late fiancé.
These two people, united by a single heart, developed their love story in a life of chaotic clamour
and absurd cruelty. One is arrogant and unfeeling, entirely bereft of belief; the other is persistent in
finding a miracle in a fragile life. They both speak with words that come not from their hearts; they
both go against their own nature and torment each other. Nevertheless they fall deeply in love.
Annex 2
Playwright’s Notes
“Because of You, I am afraid of Dying”
Liao Yimei
At the end of winter last year, wearing a bulky anti-radiation coat, I sat at the computer writing
Amber. I had the feeling that I was beginning some sort of heated affair of the heart, that I was
experiencing a never before kind of love. It was coming closer and I was already feeling the
quivering in the air that foretells the arrival of a violent storm. It was bound to come; it will sweep
me on. But I was not worried. I waited, waited for life to draw me into the whirlwind, for life to
reveal something new to me – its immeasurable force.
Every person is an abyss. When we lean over to take a look, we cannot but feel dizzy. In Amber I
wanted to portray the complexity of human feelings. Pure and passionate emotions are easily
infectious. Yet I also know that emotion is like water in a pond; a single grain of sand will change it
even though it may still look the same. The purest emotion also has this unfathomable aspect.
When I examine my own emotions, this doubt often arises: What is it that arouses my love or hate?
That instigates our desire? That interferes with our line of vision? That leads us to love? Where
does this force come from? What sort of person, what kind of smell, what joke, what temperature
and humidity, what misunderstanding or coincidence, what type of physical being or soul, what
phase of the moon? You think that what you like is actually aimless and boring, and that what you
dislike is full of magical charm. And this, just like all basic issues of humanity, can never have an
answer, yet it creates unbounded expression and countless moving examples. Amber stems from the
most simple of endearments: My beloved.
Love is not eternal; the pursuit of love is eternal. Those Don Juans, or perhaps those false Don
Juans, those inveterate seducers – I’ve always been interested in these personalities. Of course, I
tend to like the vulnerable ones and dislike the braggers and boasters. Don Juan was one of my
favourite books as a schoolgirl. To this very day I remember him saying that his love was no more
than hatred for mankind, because love for humanity meant that he could not focus his love onto a
single beloved. Shedding the ties of love is a pleasant inborn talent. But to seek true love from those
with this talent is like finding water in the desert. If you find it, it’s extremely precious; if you don’t,
then you die of thirst. So it is that love is sorrowful, and sorrowful it may be, it is still the best story
we know.
In the play, Gao Yuan arrogantly claims that life is a game. He says that when he faces the world,
he wants to keep his distance. He wants to grasp the world like an old-timer and face it impassively
whichever way it takes him. He claims to be a hedonist even in the face of death or the inevitable
decay of life. He feels that arrogance is the bravest stance he can take. This is the choice that I made
for Gao Yuan. I’ve always been a pessimist and lukewarm in my attitude towards life. I did not
come into this life voluntarily with its purposelessness. Meaningless life is ingratiating; to go out of
your way to welcome it is laughable. We are powerless to influence life and fate; we have always
been powerless to influence them. All we can do is maintain some dignity. Of course, it is difficult
to keep desires and demands in check; not to hope for good fortune. Yet, with pessimism as our
bottom line, that is good enough for life. However, starting from last autumn I changed. I became
just like everyone else - fearful, cautious, full of wild hopes. I refused to listen to bad news, look at
bloodstains, or hear sad stories, still less to glance at ugly images. I unrealistically hoped that this
would keep my newborn infant at a distance from the ugly and the sufferings. I wanted mine to be a
lucky child. From the time I was pregnant, I stopped reading the newspapers or watching television,
because anything that merits being called news mostly involves disasters or distressing news. I
shouted for the television to be turned off, or my husband would use his hand to hide the screen
from my eyes. How could my child be considered fortunate in a world like this?
In early summer, my child was born. In my body, before my eyes, millions of tiny miracles
occurred. I was like a stunned child, sitting all day beside the cradle, looking at this very ordinary
miracle. I tried to set up a screen between myself and the world. I now know clearly that there was a
fissure in the screen. This tiny opening brought floodwaters to drown my life and changed an
independent, headstrong woman into a hamstrung mother. For the first time in my life, I grew
fearful of death. I started to think that I wanted to live forever in ignorance, not for the sake of
change but through solicitude. I have always thought that love is the most irrational of feelings, but
there are other things involved. Life is a sort of miracle. To try to explain this to someone who has
never experienced a miracle is like trying to explain the taste of a pear to someone who has never
eaten one. Life is a miracle. Even if it is fragile and ordinary, even if it cannot be explained, it is
still a miracle. Xiaoyou makes Gao Yuan sees this miracle, just like I saw the miracle of life sitting
in front of the cradle.
At the end of the play, Gao Yuan says that because of her, he fears dying. In my body of works, this
must be the one with the most optimistic ending.
In Beijing on the first day of Spring 2005
Director’s Notes
Meng Jinghui
Allow me to describe for you three rays of light. Each was deeply moving, though the illumination
was different.
The first light: morning in Yunnan
The air was fresh and damp; the landscape shrouded in mist. I opened the window to a world in
darkness; there was not a shadow of a cloud, nor a trace of sunshine. Huddled on a hard sofa in a
small guesthouse outside of Kunming, I drifted back into a muddled sleep. I heard voices in the
corridor, wind outside my window, the ticking of a clock, and a calm that seemed to brush the
surface of my dreams, smoothing the unfinished strands of sleep. I have no idea how long I
slumbered in the unaccustomed warmth of those surroundings before I awoke fully – eyes aching,
vision hazy and thoughts adrift – to the scent of damp earth. Sunshine, curtains fluttering in the
breeze, the play of light and shadow, a quivering beam of light splashed upon a wall… the
impressions seemed to flow through the room like some enchanted stream. Completely caught up in
the moment, I began to hum for no reason in particular. I felt good.
It was our first day of physical training in Kunming. The cast and crew of Amber woke up wearily,
had breakfast and set out for the rehearsal space, only to find the floors still wet from a recent
renovation. Later, I remember crossing a yellow meadow dripping with dew, sitting by the side of
the lake and watching as actor Zhang Lu, who plays the role of the Doctor, attempted to fish. I
remember that I laughed out loud when he finally caught a very tiny fish, and that the sunlight was
dazzling.
I have always been an “angry young man”. I have a high tolerance for the vagaries of the individual
imagination, tend to gravitate towards the quixotic and bizarre and hold myself to be the only
standard of truth. I can see the strangest flowers blooming from inside an ordinary suitcase or catch
a glimpse of humanity’s fleeting face in a passing mirror, yet I consistently underestimate the early
morning sunlight or the harmony to be found in nature. That morning in the mountain air, I raised
my head to look at the sky and suddenly realized how long it had been since I had been awake to
see such an early morning, such a lovely sun, such perfect clouds. My heart at peace, I was
awakened once again.
The second light: morning in Beijing
Lord knows how many cigarettes we smoked in those late night sessions. Tongues gone numb and
eyes dull with lack of sleep, I spent more than one all-nighter in conference with young stage-art
designer Zhang Wu and sound effects supervisor Feng Jiangzhou, talking about the look and feel of
the upcoming production. Exhausted and excited, arrogant and giddy by turns, a group of us talked
well into the wee hours, snapping photos of the mock-up stage model and giggling ourselves silly in
that little black box. We let our imaginations run wild with the visual possibilities, not knowing if
our brilliant ideas would turn out to be garbage, or miracles.
“Next to the script, everything else pales in comparison.” – Zhang Wu
“A hospital’s just a hospital. The important thing is to get the story across.” – Feng Jiangzhou
“The performances should spare to the point of asceticism.” – Chen Minghao
“This time, I’ll really put some muscle into it!” – Liu Xiaoye
“Overthrow the quotidian! Long live form! Hey, let’s get some breakfast… soy milk, breadsticks,
baozi and fried liver.” – Me
Emerging from the small theatre, we were blinded by the early morning sunlight. It was that sort of
light unique to winter mornings in Beijing, painful as a slap across the face. We stopped in our
tracks and rubbed our eyes, amazed to find the streets already congested with traffic and a babble of
voices filling the air. We had turned the corner of no return: the world had started without us, but all
we wanted to do was to go home and sleep. That morning, even the sunlight blinking down upon us
seemed to have a sound. Draped in happiness and fatigue, the early risers hard at work along both
sides of the street seemed adrift in this city, in much the same way that I was. Weary though we
were, we all drew comfort from the pleasure of our own creations.
The third light: an afternoon rehearsal
Life is not a singular occurrence. The myriad lifetimes that an actor experiences in rehearsal attest
to this: it is indeed possible for a person to wade the same stream, time and time again.
One afternoon in rehearsal for Amber, during the countdown to our first performance, there was a
sudden power failure in our third-floor rehearsal hall at the National Theatre Company of China.
Golden sunlight spilled through the windows of the darkened hall, throwing bars of yellow light
across the floor and sending a warm, hazy glow over the walls. In the momentary chaos, the actors
scurrying back and forth seemed to move in tandem with the light and shadow, the sweat of their
exertions and the babble of their voices muffled by that uncertain light. The space seemed suffused
with a mood of confusion and disappointment at this sudden interruption to our rehearsal. Actor Liu
Ye had been sprawled in a corner, memorising his lines. His expressions seemed to mirror his
progress: brows furrowed in concentration, lips moving as he mouthed the words, eyes determined,
then caught up in a sudden air of melancholy, fixing his gaze on some invisible point in the
distance, fragile and vulnerable, insolent and indolent by turns. He seemed momentarily lost when
the lights went out, but we soon heard peals of his familiar laughter. Someone lit some candles and
shadows flickered from behind the large red curtain of the rehearsal hall. It was a strange
atmosphere – real and unreal, drunken and sober, surreal and yet familiar. My mind was numb with
a sense of déjà vu, for I was sure that in some dream or another, I had witnessed this scene before.
That afternoon in rehearsal, I was struck dumb by the beauty of the light. It fluttered before my
eyes, gradually infecting my mood. I stood rooted to the spot, lost in my own fanciful thoughts. It
was so peaceful, so very peaceful. Once again, I was moved to awe.
Each fleeting moment has its beauty. As life travels upon the light, it has inspired me with its
beauty.
March, 2005
Annex 3
Profile of Leads & Creative Team
Liu Ye
Gao Yuan
Liu Ye is a graduate of the Central Theatre Academy specialising in performance. Probably the best
known film and television actor in China, his first film Postman in the Mountain, made in 1998,
was chosen as the audience favourite at the Montreal International Film Festival. His acting in Lan
Yu won him the Best Actor Award at the 38th Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan in 2001, and his
role in The Foliage won him the Best Actor Award at the 24th Golden Rooster Awards in China in
2004. He has appeared in countless feature and television film dramas.
Yuan Quan
Shen Xiaoyou
A graduate in performing arts at the Central Theatre Academy, Yuan Quan is an acclaimed and
experienced young stage and film actress. Her performance in the theatre production Strong Wind
was critically acclaimed. In 1999, she was named Best Supporting Actress at the 19th Golden
Rooster Awards for her work in the film The Spring Rhapsody. In 2002, she won the same honour
for her acting in The Big Foot.
Liao Yimei
Playwright
Liao Yimei is a graduate of the Central Theatre Academy in Beijing and the resident playwright of
the National Theatre Company of China. Her 1999 drama Rhinoceros in Love (premiered by the
Central Experimental Drama Theatre and re-staged in 2003 and 2004 by the National Theatre
Company of China) was the most popular play in the history of China’s small scale theatre
productions.
Her film The Chicken Poet was accepted for screening at numerous international film festivals and
won the FIPRESCI Award at the Hong Kong International Film Festival, and the special prize
awarded by the Youth Panel at the Locarno International Film Festival. Liao’s A Tender Song won
the Gold Medal at the Memphis Women’s Film Festival in the United States. She has also written
novels and scripts for television dramas.
Meng Jinghui
Director
Regarded as the most influential directors among the young vanguard of Chinese theatre and film
directors in China today, Meng Jinghui is a graduate of the Central Theatre Academy in Beijing
where he studied directing. His most recent work includes The Bald Soprano, Waiting for Godot, Si
Fan, The Balcony, I Love XXX, Comrade Ah Q, Love Ants, Accidental Death of an Anarchist,
Rhinoceros in Love, Bootleg Faust, Bedbug, Twelfth Night and Labyrinth.
He directed the film The Chicken Poet, which was invited to numerous film festivals and won the
FIPRESCI Award at the Hong Kong International Film Festival, as well as a special award at the
Locarno International Film Festival. Meng Jinghui is well known in the Chinese theatre circle for
his creativity and innovative style. His plays Si Fan, Accidental Death of an Anarchist and
Rhinoceros in Love received overwhelming response while exposing audiences to experimental
theatre in China and injecting new vitality into China’s theatre scene.
Yao Chien
Music Director
Well-known as a musician, lyricist and music director among Chinese music industry in Asia, Yao
Chien is the managing director of both Beijing and Taipei office of Virgin Music. Active in popular
music for 20 years, he has created many tunes and lyrics for numerous singers including Sandy Lam
and Coco Lee.
Jin Xing
Choreographer
Chinese contemporary dance specialist Jin Xing is a graduate of the Liberation Army Arts Academy
and a reputable dancer of Chinese contemporary dance. She set up the Jin Xing Contemporary
Dance Company which toured throughout China and abroad. She also studied contemporary dance
in New York and was the principal choreographer of the American Dance Festival. Jin Xing served
as resident choreographer for RAI-uno, the Italian television company. She taught contemporary
dance at the Royal Dance Academy in Belgium, where she also established the White Wind Dance
Company and her works were performed twice in dedicated dance recitals. For China’s Cultural
Ministry, she held training classes in choreography and modern dancing.
A strong advocate of contemporary dance and dance theatre, Jin Xing participated in many theatre
performances. She also collaborated with companies in other countries, including England and
Germany. In 2005, she will be taking her new work About Beauty to the Berlin Arts Festival.
Annex 4
National Theatre Company of China
The NTCC is the premier national theatre company of the People’s Republic of China. Formed on
25 December 2001 by the amalgamation of the China Youth Arts Theatre and the Central
Experimental Theatre, the company brings together some of the most eminent stage artists and
talents from the film and visual arts.
The company’s mission is to create and perform high quality works, it pursues both classical and
experimental theatrical arts and have mounted major productions and toured to international arts
festivals.
The company has set up a systematic and creative mode of operations to provide a platform for
creativity among theatre practitioners. The aim is to explore new forms and push the territory for
greater experimentation and development of theatre; to produce new talents and present excellent
theatre productions.
The present director and party-appointed Secretary of the company is Zhao Youliang. The Deputy
Director and party-appointed Assistant Secretary is Yan Fengqi. Wang Xiaoying and Cha Mingzhe
are the company’s Assistant Directors, and the Artistic Director is Yang Zhongjing.