clink clink, mister ambassador

As I clinked glasses with Clark Randt, the U.S. ambassador to China, on the second floor bar at the Shanghai Ritz, in a room overflowing with drunk actors, cigar-puffing producers, circulating journalists, plates of peculiar hors d’oeuvres, unlimited wine refills, and a sufficient amount of couture, and still sweating from the opening night performance I had just finished giving no less than thirty minutes prior, I thought to myself three things:

1. “Yes! Free wine!!”
2. “I really hope I’m not getting pit stains in my new Paul Smith shirt…”
3. “What am I doing clinking glasses with a U.S. ambassador at the Ritz?!”

I suppose I could have been tipped off as to the nature of our opening night after-party and who all would be there when, on page three of our beautiful 42nd Street souvenir program, one page before the cast list that mistakenly (though quite fittingly) misnames one of the characters as “Lomaine” (I can’t make this shit up!), one can find reproductions of four endorsing and welcoming letters written for our Chinese audiences: the first is from Clark D. Randt, the aforementioned ambassador, followed by one from Mayor Bloomberg, Congressman Dingell, and Senator Hillary Clinton. Yup. H.R.C. Furthermore, I had to wonder who would be sitting in our VIP seats, located about ten rows back and flaunting white seat covers (I call them the “white seats;” bizarrely placed in a sea of hundreds of “red seats.” Think about it).

Whatever the signs, they all pointed to a successful opening and, as far as we could tell, we are set for a good run here in China. Our 1,300-seat Majestic Theatre had been packed with a buzzing, international audience who laughed at all the right spots, were with us the entire way, from curtain to curtain, bestowing upon us that welcoming sound of honest ovation. As the final curtain came down and the cast backed up, waving goodnight to our first official, paying audience, I took note of the lively yet somewhat atypical energy for an opening night.

We cheered and smiled and hugged, shook hands and slapped butts (akin to football players after a good play, though with a lot more sequins and probably a lot more gays), and all seemed to breath a sigh of…well, relief. We had been here in China for about seven months….sorry, weeks (feels like months)…and were just now, after a few too many rehearsals, a few too many pro-rated paychecks, and a few too many days off, FINALLY opening the show. And so it begins. Now we perform. Now we tour. Finally.

They like us. They really like us.

As I double-time-stepped my way downstage at the front tip of what I refer to as the “flying triangle formation" (pictured above: photo by Chris Clay) getting closer and closer to the final few bars of tapping in the encore number, I had ‘the moment.’ At first I thought I heard merely the echo of twenty-six tappers bouncing off of the acoustically assembled auditorium, but as our mass of sweaty, glistening and gleaming dancers pushed its way to the front of the stage, I realized it was not the sound of our own tapping but rather the sound of applause and cheering that drove us into our final clicks and clanks of the evening. It was ‘the moment’ when I thought to myself; “this is cool…they like us!”

I wish I could say that wanting an audience to “like us” is not of utmost importance when putting on a show, but that would be a lie. In most cases, however, when you are proud of and recognize the quality of your work and product, it generally comes as no surprise whether an audience will enjoy the show or not. In this case, however, we had no friggin; clue! Anyone can enjoy a good tap number, but can they really grasp and appreciate in one sitting an entirely new art form, musical comedy, never before introduced into the Chinese culture? It was a concern and an anxiety all of us shared. I didn’t know if I could spend a year doing a show, no matter how fabulous or exciting, to vapid and unappreciative audiences.

And so I caught myself staring offstage in the beginning of Act II, fixated on the supertitles scrolling on the side of the proscenium, wondering exactly how the script translated into Mandarin and whether or not the audience was actually ‘getting it.’ Every once in a while, however, a joke would land and we would hear laughter (sometimes when we least expected it, but laughter is laughter), or a number would get applause before the final bump, and we would share a moment, on or offstage; a smile or simple glance that said in perhaps no words at all: “they’re getting it.”

So after we had finished the show, taken our bows, and persisted to dance our little hearts out in the dazzling costumes and striking formations of the Encore dance, I felt a shiver that I later discovered was shared by everyone on that stage. It went sweeping through the cast as we stood, winded but utterly wound up, poised in our final pose of the evening, listening to the crowd go crazy and watching the audience rise to their feet, thinking to ourselves; “we’ve got ourselves a show!”

Great Wall. Not-so-great wine.

Yesterday was the last day of our first “week” of rehearsals here in Longgang. So far we have learned six production numbers (including the 9-minute long “tap ballet”) and pretty much blocked, if not sung through, over half the show. For five days’ work, that ain’t too shabby. In fact, it’s pretty impressive, and we were in much need of a day off. So instead of going to the noodle house during our lunch break, people headed past the restaurants and the man dressed in camo hawking live turtles hanging on a rope, past the man selling grapes who, after I snapped a picture of him with his cart, made some comment in Chinese that made just about everyone around me look in my direction (damn language barrier!)…we walked by the fountain where people were resting in the shade of the giant dragon statues, past the hundreds of colorful umbrellas and indifferent locals, and finally to the supermarket. In particular, to the second floor where we wine aisle was located.

For starting at 18 RMB (about $2.50) you can get a bottle of Great Wall or Great Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon (1998 vintage, thank God, ‘cause I heard that was a great year for the Jiaodong Peninsula!). The “heavy wind bouquet” and “lingering after-taste” that it boasts about on the back label perhaps are a little misconstrued, given that it tastes more like a “bouquet” of leather shoes with a lovely after-taste of…oh, what is it…blood? Yeah, not a big fan, but from the escalating noise level in our hotel rooms, it was apparently doing the trick. Besides, the bottles of wine merely headed the oncoming festivities.

Whereas the urge to “go out” was palpable after having eaten at the same two restaurants and rehearsed in the same low-ceilinged, windowless room for a week, the actual expression “go out” is quite relative when staying in Longgang, China. The reality was, in fact, that going out meant going down or going up…in the hotel. Unless we wanted to venture over to one of the two bordellos we pass on the way to rehearsals, or perhaps to the market where we felt like circus freaks being gawked at by locals, it was pretty much “which floor would you like to go to tonight?” For a Chinese meal, try floors #1 or #2. For “Western Style Food” try floor #18. For a foot, full body, or “other” massage, floor #7 is for you. Floors #3 and #4 are the “international night club,” one of our first stops of the night, though we seemed to be the only “international” people there. We did enjoy the crooning of one local Chinese man who sat alone at a table drinking and occasionally got up to sing a karaoke song; alone, in a chair, on stage, beneath the Christmas decorations and stage lights that looked as if they weren’t even plugged in.

Then there was floor #6. Thus we were introduced to the seemingly fashionable pastime of private karaoke parties in China. We all pitched in for a private karaoke room (the last one available that night) that we would have until 4am in the morning. Private waiter service, fruit plates, plush red couches, flat screen televisions with music videos from the 80’s, glass tables, lights of every color except white, gigantic stereo speakers that outclassed any surround-sound system I’ve experienced in a room no bigger than my parents’ living room…oh, and twenty-some twenty-somethings bouncing around like it was 1999 (do people use that expression anymore?) wielding wireless microphones with enough echo and reverb on them to make my dad sound like a rock star and, naturally, singing inaccurate lyrics to songs no younger than 15 years old (think New Kids on the Block, Love Shack…). If our first ‘night off’ was any indication of the ensuing year of feeling a tad isolated in a land of unfamiliarity, I think we’ll make it through. As long as we’ve got some “classic” 80s songs to fall back on.