Newsletter
December 2005 / January 2006

DRAMA EDUCATION ACROSS THE PACIFIC

Directing a high school production anywhere can be full of challenges.  In northeast China, in a brand new International School, it can be the mother of all challenges!

Last year, my husband Don and I set off for Yingkou, a coastal city in Liaoning province, to teach Grade 10 students the Ontario curriculum.  We would be way behind the tourist curtain, the only English-speaking foreigners in the city of 600,000.

In September 2004, we met our 38 willing pupils and set about getting to know them.  Judging by their level of comprehension, I decided that for the drama component of their year, we would work on Robert Munsch’s Paper Bag Princess.  It has simple language and universal themes, and I had a CD of the music that had been written for a production I directed at Lakefield College School.  With the principal’s blessing and agreement to produce the show, I set about making a chart for a December production for the student body of four thousand.  The school’s brand new state-of-the-art theatre was three minutes from our classroom.  Some students had stage experience and were often entertained at school events by student singers and instrumentalists.  The kids were excited, everyone was cast in the seven stories, and rehearsals began in early October.

But it was a huge challenge for all of us right from the start.  The students were used to being told how to do everything; they had never been asked to develop anything on their own.  As I speak no Mandarin, constant translation was necessary by Vivien Ho, my Chinese co-teacher.

We talked through every story, noting characters, setting and themes, always staying aware of any resonance in their own culture.  Then, script in hand, we began to put each scene on its feet.  This occurred during class time.  Don was teaching regular classes, while I took each group into our huge empty office next door for rehearsals.  We had a CD of the songs, and—since these students were used to karaoke—lip-synching came easy.

Not as easy was breaking down barriers between boys and girls.  Dating is forbidden in high schools in China.  So any contact with the opposite sex meant that students broke into fits of giggles.  We only had forty minutes every day and time was precious.  Many of the students made great progress: barriers were broken, songs were learned, and action was improvised after weeks of coaxing and cajoling.

For two months we worked diligently on every scene.  I had asked for a school calendar so holidays and days off could be charted into our rehearsal schedule, and kept waiting for it to appear, but to no avail.  Sometimes, we would be called by mobile phone an hour before a class was cancelled, or conversely if a class suddenly had to be taught on a Saturday or Sunday.  Such decisions happened at the whim of the principal.  School ran Monday until Saturday from 7:00 am to 7:30 pm.  Once the students settled into the brand new residence on campus, classes were held until 9:30 pm every night.  Students were always sleep-deprived and hungry.

Stumbling blocks had to be overcome in all sorts of ways.  The show called for a lot of physical movement but since students were graded on the neatness of their uniforms, getting down on the stage floor wasn’t an option!  Nothing was done to provide working props or set pieces.  Promises were made and dates set, agreed on and bypassed.

In December, with still no evidence of any support for the production, we were all feeling disheartened.  The production date was postponed until January, before the Chinese New Year and the big month-long break from school.  Still no one could tell us when that would be, or when costumes would be ready, or props would arrive, or lighting and sound equipment booked.

Disenchanted, I carried on, hoping that the new deadline would produce some visible production results.  Meanwhile, shy kids were becoming quite adept at their roles, and magical transformations for many students were starting to materialize.  One student who started out as a dour and reluctant participant started getting good responses from her peers and surprised even herself with her new-found skills.  Another student, always the observer and loner, turned a small cameo into a splendid take-off on his favourite performer, Humphrey Bogart.  Encouraged by the response from his delighted peers, he began adding more and more to his role.  Almost all remained eager to tackle new challenges and struggled diligently with language difficulties.

Delays and set-backs were now commonplace, and students seemed to accept it as normal.  The principal instituted a new Orwellian discipline regime forbidding any laughter or talking in class, during break or lunch, or even in the bathrooms.  Black-clad discipline enforcers prowled the corridors, peering into every room, and hauling students out into the courtyard for intimidation in front of the whole student body.  Daily marching was enforced more strictly.  It seemed that all the drama work on loosening up the students had been for naught.  Then mysteriously after the spring break, the new discipline regime was abandoned.

Finally after a showdown with the head of school, I did get a commitment to put the major show to bed and produce one scene for Mother’s Day, the new target date.  Murmel, Murmel, Murmel was the chosen story, and after March, rehearsals began again.  Thankfully, the tiny cast agreed to continue, fuelled by the promise that the scene would be televised to 42 million people in the province.  This was a huge coup for the owner of the school, as she wanted to show the city and the province that she had two foreigners teaching at her school.

I finally went shopping myself and purchased props and set pieces.  Then, as the date came closer, the owner of the school appeared with a friend and—without consultation—changed the ending of the scene, demanded that both Don and I appear at the end of the story, and added six more characters—totally changing both the spirit and the meaning of the once whimsical little play.  My protestations about copyright fell on deaf ears.  I demanded that performers be left as originally cast.  After intense discussion, we agreed upon a compromise.

The day for the presentation arrived.  We were bussed to the outdoor site in front of the Children’s Palace where a huge stage with mammoth lighting and sound equipment awaited.  As soon as we arrived, another stranger appeared and, without checking with me, began applying Chinese Opera makeup to the player’s faces!  The innocent little Canadian story had now been totally hijacked!  Now totally dispirited, I wished that I had never agreed to allow the kids to participate in this mockery.

But then suddenly, just as we were getting ready to go on stage, a thunderstorm ripped off the backdrop, shredding it to pieces!  Rain pelted the stage, sending the crew scurrying to salvage sensitive electrical equipment.  The show was summarily cancelled.  Completely downcast, the cast and crew boarded the bus back to the school.  I myself have never been so grateful that my show was not seen by millions!

Bea Quarrie has directed over 250 high school, community and professional theatre productions, some of which have represented Canada in far off places like Japan, Venezuela, Germany and Aruba.  A performer, director, adjudicator, and arts advocate, she believes strongly in the transformative power of the Arts.  She was the Community Theatre Coordinator at Theatre Ontario from 1986 to 1988.

The Story of My Life will showcase at CanStage in a December workshop presentation.  For more information on the Canstage New Play Development program and public presentations of new works, please go to their website: www.canstage.com