A part of China took up residence on both sides of the fourth wall at Sadler’s Wells, with all levels of the auditorium full of a predominantly Chinese audience thoroughly enjoying this performance of Wing Chun by the Shenzhen Opera and Dance Theatre.
Many Chinese cultural exports to London are concerned with some distant episode of history or folklore: the occasional seasons of Jingju (Beijing Opera) being a typical example of those ancient tales. This production is, however, of more modern making. The city of Shenzhen, which links Hong Kong to the Chinese mainland, might be a metropolis of around 18 million people but it was only created in 1979, and its Opera and Dance Theatre wasn’t formed until 2018. Although wing chun is a martial art that has roots in the eighteenth century, this eponymous dance production is less than two years’ old.
It is largely a biography of Yip Man, who rejuvenated and developed the technique of wing chun through his academy in Hong Kong, numbering Bruce Lee – the legendary film star who did more than anyone to popularise kung fu in the west – amongst his pupils.
Wing Chun is contemporary dance theatre, thematically accessorised by exciting episodes of kung fu that mix wing chun with tai chi, bajiquan and other disciplines that I’m not expert enough to distinguish. These explosive action sequences are spread out across the narrative lines, punctuating the excellent dance choreography of co-directors Han Zhen and Zhou Liya.
Wing Chun has stylistic resonances with the work of Matthew Bourne, not least in the idiosyncratic characterisations of each player in a large ensemble, all of whom has a story (the large ensemble here includes a “Bossy Landlady” a “Fish Man” and various “Street Toughs”); and in excellent mobile set designs (by Hu Yanjun, a young designer with – I would suggest – a big future) and costumes (Yang Donglin) augmented by the multimedia projections of Tang Yingjie that evoked the underlying cinematic theme, further endorsed by film-style credits rolling at the curtain call.
The production’s singular problem is a narrative that tries to do too much and confuses as a result. The essence of the complexity was to develop two parallel stories simultaneously with Yip Man’s backstory interlaced with that of a film crew making a movie (also entitled Wing Chun), some 40 years’ later. The use of surtitles (on large screens at either side of the stage) was necessary, albeit sparsely utilised and it would have been helpful to have had more real-time narrative guidance.
Nonetheless, there was much to enjoy in this scintillating production. The ensemble dance routines were excellently choreographed and tightly performed. I doubt that we will see a better integrated (or rehearsed) corps of dancers onstage in London, this year: the discipline in their synchronisation was unblemished, whether in real time, slow-motion or as still-life tableaux (without a hint of breath or tremble). Two particular group dances stood out: an all-female dance with jet-black conical sunhats as props and a ferocious kung fu themed finale. An arresting duet between Chang Hongji and Xu Tianhui (as Yip Man and his wife, Cheung Wing-sing) was an especially memorable centrepiece of the first act, notable for its fluidity and strength in the intimate, melting alignment of their movement.
The role of Yip Man is both significant and complex and Chang Hongji rose impeccably to the three challenges of dynamic kung fu action, despatching those “Street Toughs” in record time; the sentimentality in romantic interludes; and the flowing dance sequences. It put me in mind of dancing Prince Rudolf in Mayerling (one of the toughest male roles in classical ballet) but also having regular timeouts for some mixed martial arts action!
Xu Tianhui brought an understandable elegance to the role of Cheung Wing-sing. Yip Man’s wife died in middle age and there is a poignant parting as she leaves her husband (to recuperate from illness in Guangdong, never to return), with Xu Tianhui motionless on a travelator, transporting her in an arc to exit upstage. The second main female character was the unnamed director of the Baguazhang Academy, portrayed with grace and dignity by Zhang Yashu; and the secondary story (set in the 1990s) concerned a young lighting technician, Da Chun (played with youthful ebullience by Feng Haoran) and his attempts to master the art of wing chun during filming. Of the many background characters, one who stood out particularly was Wang Jian, as Head of the Bajiquan Academy, performing an outstanding danced “staff-fighting” contest with Chang Hongji.
Considerable praise is due for the outstanding new score by a young award-winning composer, Yang Fan. Its vast cinematic range was totally absorbing and descriptive from the melodious romantic themes to the exhilarating, uplifting music that enhanced the action sequences. The music continued into the choreographed curtain calls – alongside the rolling end-credits – bringing an absorbing work to an unforgettable climax.
