• Fifty-Two •

Yomei told Father Zhou about the plays she had been directing. He was pleased to hear about them, saying they were excellent choices—politically safe, because both plays had already been accepted in the Soviet Union. He had always advised her to have more political awareness so that she didn’t take up any problematic project. Yomei knew he had the recent movie The Life of Wu Xun on his mind. Perhaps he was still shaken by it. In late May of the previous year (1951), an article had appeared in The People’s Daily denouncing that movie. It was said that the article had been approved and edited by Chairman Mao himself. It criticized the movie as a model of reconciliation with feudalistic and reactionary forces. Wu Xun, the hero in the movie, is illiterate and has witnessed how the poor are taken advantage of by the rich, who are educated and literate, so he starts saving in order to sponsor free education for the children whose families cannot afford to send them to school. Even when he is reduced to a beggar, he never changes his mind or course of action and even begs people to kick and punch him if they pay him. Finally, after three decades of panhandling, he has saved a small amount of money, which he uses to start a free school. When he dies, Emperor Guangxu bestows on him the title the Begging Saint. The article sponsored by Mao condemned Wu Xun as someone who lacked fighting spirit and compromised too much. He is a picture of passive reconciliation.

Early in 1951, soon after the movie had been released, it was shown in the small auditorium inside Zhongnanhai, where Liu Shaoqi, Zhou Enlai, Zhu Deh, and other national leaders all saw it. They raved about it, particularly about the masterful performance of Zhao Dan and his wife, Huang Zhongying, both having been top stars for decades. Through “grapevines” in the Zhongnanhai compound, Mao heard about the enthusiastic responses of the other leaders and felt unhappy about this feudalistic story. Hence the negative article that appeared in The People’s Daily.

Knowing Father Zhou was afraid of Mao, Yomei said, “I don’t understand how come Chairman Mao has become so interested in arts in recent years. He was not like that back in Yan’an.”

“True, the only arts that used to interest him were poetry and calligraphy,” said Premier Zhou. “Someone else must be behind the campaign against The Life of Wu Xun.” He looked rather exhausted, with new rings around his eyes.

Yomei said, “I see. It must be Jiang Ching taking vengeance on Zhao Dan and Huang Zhongying.”

“Why did you say that?” he asked.

“The couple used to be huge stars in Shanghai, and Jiang Ching wasn’t qualified to carry their shoes.”

“Don’t say this to others,” interjected Mother Deng.

“Have you heard of James Yen, who’s in the United States?” asked Father Zhou.

“No, I don’t know who he is,” said Yomei.

Mother Deng chimed in, “He started the Movement of the Mass Education and received funding from the U.N. and some U.S. foundations.”

“So some people believe that The Life of Wu Xun is a eulogy of a man who has been viewed as a present-day Wu Xun,” Father Zhou said.

“That feels like a malicious stretch,” Yomei said. “He’s far away, in America.”

“You must be vigilant in your directing work,” he went on. “Don’t assume that the world of arts is pure and autonomous. In our country and our time, everything can become political. In fact, I shouldn’t have said Chairman Mao was interested only in calligraphy and poetry. He has been obsessive about controlling the arts world. Remember the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art?”

“Yes, we all studied his speech delivered at that conference.”

“What he expressed are the tenets of our Party’s policies on arts and literature. Be careful not to overstep the rules he specified in that speech: art must serve the people and must be part of the revolutionary apparatus.”

“OK, I will keep that in mind. Thanks for reminding me, Dad. But Chairman Mao’s view is basically derived from Lenin, who demanded that artists work as propagandists of sorts.” At heart she had issues with such a view, because an artist ought to play more roles than that. For instance, Balzac declared he wanted to become a recorder or scribe of his time. In other words, he didn’t have to be an active participant in history. Art ought to be its own autonomous office.

The premier said, “Yes, clearly Chairman Mao’s view was borrowed from Lenin, but don’t tell others that.

Evidently he’s not satisfied with the status quo of our arts and literature. He wants to make better use of them.”

“So Jiang Ching actually represents her husband?”

“You’re a smart girl. Do keep that in mind when you’re dealing with her.”

“All right, I’m glad that the two plays I’m working on are from the Soviet Union. At least they are politically safe.”

Yomei had also noticed that more critical articles about the Wu Xun movie had appeared in various newspapers. Likewise, Zhao Dan and Huang Zhongying were denounced and condemned for acting in it as leading man and lady. They were treated as remnants of the old China and would have to receive thorough ideological reform so as to become useful artists in the new society. Yomei had known them sixteen years before, in Shanghai, and respected them. In their mistreatment she saw how vicious Jiang Ching could become, so from now on she’d better give that woman a wider berth.

Still, for months she wondered whether to invite Ching to the dress rehearsals of both The Government Inspector and Little White Rabbit. Jin Shan said she should. If Yomei felt uncomfortable about that, he could have an invitation sent to Jiang Ching in the name of the National Youth Art Theater. But Yomei was not convinced. She told her husband that if Ching disliked something in the plays, she might demand that Yomei change it before the premiere. That woman would definitely take offense if someone disobeyed her. In any event, they mustn’t invite trouble, so Yomei simply wouldn’t update Ching about the new productions.

Since Beijing People’s Art Theater also participated in The Government Inspector, Yomei was able to premiere the two plays almost at the same time in the spring of 1952. Both were well received. Because the Gogol play was a collaboration of the two theaters and was another adaptation, critics didn’t give it the kind of attention a new play deserves. Instead, they raved about Little White Rabbit, saying it was masterful and a sui generis work in China’s theater and should secure Sun Yomei’s reputation as a founder of children’s drama in the nation. Such high praise unnerved her, though she got excited when a major movie studio offered to make a film of the play. Lily saw Yomei’s Little White Rabbit and loved it, saying it was richer and more meaningful than Mikhalkov’s original. Her remarks reminded Yomei that however effusive the praises were, the play was an adaptation, not really an original work. She had to be coolheaded about this.

Yomei with the film crew of Little White Rabbit

Soon she received a letter from Jiang Ching, who had also seen Little White Rabbit and liked it very much. Ching enjoyed the beautiful choreography, which combined children’s dances with ballet and should serve as a model of how to blend such foreign elements into China’s own dramatic arts. Ching also viewed the play as a landmark work that laid the foundation of children’s drama in China. She reminded Yomei of their conversation a year and a half before, and hoped Yomei could collaborate with her. “Together we can revolutionize China’s theater and ultimately usher in a new epoch in the history of our arts,” Ching wrote. “I’m still looking forward to hearing from you.”

In spite of the kudos, the letter disturbed Yomei. She intuited that Ching might not leave her alone and must be determined to take advantage of her directing skills. She wrote back to thank Ching for her generous words and also pointed out that Little White Rabbit was merely an adaptation from a short Soviet play, so she couldn’t possibly be a founder of China’s children’s drama at all, even though she’d love to strive toward that goal. As for any collaboration with Ching, she eschewed the topic. She told herself that even if Jiang Ching forced her to work for her, she wouldn’t give in. She had to develop her artistic projects independently, without anyone else’s interference.