The one question I should have asked Meng the Director but managed to let fall through the crack, which now comes back to hunt me thoroughly, is why such a long and tedious title of his latest play. On a stretch of 9 Chinese letters, the title has a lame ambition to take a shot as setting the record for the longest one of modern Chinese theatric play. That’s Beijing has it to be: The Latest Theory of the Final Result of Love; I’d have suggested it to be “The Latest Idea of the Finale of Love.” To spell out its Chinese version correctly is a punishing gymnastic exercise for your tongue, or even a conspiracy against the unprepared: for whoever set out to discover the “theory” or “idea” through the sitting of the 2 hour play will likely to come back empty handed.

But that suits me just fine.

The opening is in a surgical room where someone thoroughly disfigured in an accident was rushed in, accompanied by the somewhat hysterical monologue of his wife and those equally disconcerting ones from the surgeons. Perhaps too eager to impose a feel of being avant-garde, it has an eerie impression of a performance art that doesn’t have a message to send. For whatever the reason, it failed to arrest the audience from the start.

The opening, however, is about the only serious fault I can find. The emotionally laden and tragically rendered second act is both touching and charging. It delivers to the full swing at the end with a full scale of screen where (the images of) raindrops lyrically dance away, accompanied by a beautiful and sad song sang right then by the girl. This is the debut of stunning visual effect – low budget ones too as Meng disclosed later, combined with musicals, and will return again and again throughout the play. The play is also full of snappy and witty lines of typical Beijing humors, some of them contributing and yet others distracting. There are many brilliant moments. But they are unevenly distributed and sprinkled every here and there, as if needing the orchestration of a master plan. The ending, itself yet another wonderfully delivered blending of multimedia visual and musicals and discourses, left me muted for several minutes. The feeling is such that finally I got a hold of a pair of chop sticks and look down, however, there is no more left in the dishes.

The central idea of the play revolves around getting into someone’s skin, or getting out of yours, by design or by accident. These are no ordinary events, but they were thrust upon what appeared to be ordinary people locked up in their dilemmas. As the skins overlap, the minds and the souls will soon be set on collision course, too. The motive isn’t purely love related, though love does have quite bit a share. The synonyms that could substitute Love, in this particular play, can make a pretty long list: lust, ego, desire, hatred, denial, betrayal, self-pity, naïve, innocent and so on. This multi-facet description of Love, though weighs somewhat tragically towards the negative end and for which effect the male hormones seem largely responsible, has its merits. The problem here, though, is that the space is simplistically broken down with each several dimensions assigned to each of the characters. The thinning of the characters makes it possible to hand-label the guys/gals in the play: this one is A+B, that one is C+D (or just E) and consequently their tracks to be played out become somewhat predictable and static.

Whether it must take a plot under the disguise of fantasy is another point I am unsure of. Perhaps too much StarTreck influence? But StarTreck-like fantasy is an ingredient most successfully employed in what I would collectively call “the digital junk food” – which we all need from time to time. For serious drama, it takes a leap of faith to ease into the setting of a fantasy, and yet another to ride along towards the climax it will eventually introduce. In a span of 2 hours, this maybe just too much to ask. To be out of the woods may not necessarily dictate dramatic actions; it may simply start by revealing that the woods really grow inside one’s soul. Actions and minds of ordinary people are full of flesh and worthy of theatric attention (for example “America Beauty”). Similarly, the yawning for the unknown branches and their consequences – the “The Road not Taken” syndrome  (Robert Frost), can take on simpler plot and yet be extremely effective (e.g. “Sliding Door”).

These weaknesses do not prevent the play to be enjoyed and appreciated. The distance Meng and his comrades have traveled is startling for bystanders like me who’ve not really been able to take a seat for over ten years. Some of the discourses in the play, though wrapped in hilarious packages, amount to no less than an open assault towards the social problems of China today and exposes the deep conscience of an artist. In some other places, forbidden words like “F***!” suddenly jump into the scene, drawing an explosive laughter from the audiences – me included. The progress, though a large portion of which can be attributed to the surrounding social context, maybe only measurable with StarTreck’s light-year; no kidding.

But the biggest achievement may lie in the advance of the theatric art itself. The blending of visual media, of lyrical chanting and folk music, of more explosive and spontaneous acting, altogether had managed to create what Meng calls the “texture.” The term is a bit too abstract, but it’s there nonetheless. How rich and ripe and ready to be felt and received is to everyone’s own grasp, and there lies its risk. At certain level, all arts are the same. If many are woven into one, to appreciate the whole requires the appetite for all of them. This can be challenging for many audiences.

All arts are the same because eventually they will be simultaneously selfish – as Meng puts it “I just have too much to say” – and utterly universal. It will assume a more open structure, and invite the audiences to participate in recreating it instead of merely receiving passively.  As the very minimum, they will be responsible for their own experience and their own interpretation. And for Chinese audiences, this is sending them to uncharted water. Many questions from the floor after the play were of the form: what does this or that part mean? People are still searching for authorities, and insecure of their own making out. Freedom is burdening in a way for those not honed to take it in their hands, and overcoming this barrier will take some time.

But that’s a necessary barrier to be torn down. For moral guidance, there is Bible and Chairman Mao’s Little Red book; for morale boost, there is, well, again the Bible and the Little Red book; for soothing comfort, soap operas fit the bill; and Viagra would take care most of anything else these days. Art is there for a different reason.

“A little grease is what makes the world go around,” one of the characters in Catch-22, Doc Donakee so declared. Likewise, a little art is what makes the world stop and feel.

Most likely it is not the bravo time yet, but we owe Meng, his crew and his play a round of applause for matching towards that direction.

张广天的《圆明园》正在东方先锋小剧场“热”演。

周六的晚场，上座率不到一半。所以这个“热”，主要在媒体，其次在天气，最后才在观众群。这很不幸，因为这个剧，有些贫，相当闹，还非常愤青，但还是很可看的。我自己最大的印象有两点。第一是演得精彩，对主要演员李梅和王玉宁很有恶顶一下的必要。当然，其他的三位美女也很养眼。虽然从剧情的要求来说漫画、脸谱式的表演居多，没有太多比较Subtle而需要展现功力的余地。第二，就是剧中引入的他类艺术（比如摇滚和百人的行为艺术）运用的不算成功。《镜花水月》的装置艺术虽然流于晦涩，但其和剧情的衔接留出了想象的空间。在《圆明园》中一说到“酸雨”，周围的黑暗中就生长出由无数只发廊的喷水器组成的森林。从天而降的人工酸雨说“酸”不酸，说“雨”还不够洗把脸的。不过，这些都是无伤大碍的小问题。

裹在CD Jazz Club里比先锋摇滚远为受用的Jazz里，看着窗外夜色中灯红酒绿车水马龙，我努力地想了一会，居然想不出太多可说的东西。给圆明园的湖底防渗贴膜“上保险套”，《无极》剧组给林子里刷上几年以后才可以失效的涂料，这些荒唐事我还是头一回听说。也算是我孤陋寡闻，不过现在这么浮躁的国情要不生产出些荒唐才是真奇怪。

《圆明园》既然说的是生态文明，那就无法不把整个人类缩成一个族群来讨论。这个族群忙得是什么呢？当然不是什么GDP，也不是什么阶级斗争，而是和蚂蚁蜜蜂无他：生存然后繁衍。要在进化长河的残酷PK之中赢得一席之地，每一个合格的基因不仅要为自己，更要为自己的下一代打拼。正因为如此，区分“圈里”“圈外”（In-group/out-group）的本领对我们来说不招而至。更严格的来说，是本能而不是本领。圈是一层层套着的，古往今来的修辞花里胡哨，所谓（修）“身”（治）“国”（平）“天下”，所谓“家庭”“事业”“国家”/民族”“亚洲”“全球”“外星人”。如果不是和小日本有那些个过节，十亿人民为亚洲的“同胞”队在世界杯上加油是没有疑问的。为了几十年前的不合理冲撞，在后一百年中就一定要过不去，除非你娶了个什么什么“子”做老婆或者嫁个什么什么“夫”做老公——在这个时候你的“圈”的顺序就按排得和以前不一样了，和周围的其他人也不一样了。把人类看作一个整体，那就不得不接受两个事实。第一，所有的纷争冲突，小到鸡鸣狗盗，大到世界大战，无一例外地都是内讧，都是为了各自“圈里”的利益对“圈外”的资源做再分配。第二，人类对生态大圈的其他成员也总是发掘和利用的关系。生态和谐的目的，只不过是为了更长远的利用。遇到一只饿狼，有谁会很雷锋地把胳膊卸下来喂它呢？除非这么做可以救你的孩子。就这么简单。

在上海苏州河艺术工厂里看到一幅作品，新郎对着新娘心里在说：我想我们不是真的相爱。而新娘是一只盛妆的大熊猫。这话说得不好听，但很入骨。合乎科学的道德和合乎道德的“科学”是两回事。Science as it is, NOT science as it ought to be. 可是脑子一热，就要搞混；搞混之后一生气，就要喊口号；一喊口号，就免不了要掉链子捅漏子。

到现在为止，对《圆明园》的媒体报道基本上是一边倒，这是蛮有趣的一个现象。艺术家关注现实鞭挞丑陋，理应激赏。而且生而为人，“我们”要义无反顾地站在环保的大旗下，但前提是“自己”不能被环保掉。这个“自己”就引出了一堆麻烦，因为每个人的小圈并不重叠。。《圆明园》的道德批判急急忙忙暴风骤雨，掩盖了问题的本质。小地痞趁火打劫，根源还是在于潜伏在每个人身上自私的基因；圆明园被列强强暴，中国那么多年的历史，很难相信咱们就没去欺负过其他小民族。五十步、百步不是问题，跨出一步才是问题。

我的另外一个老掉牙的大问题，就是艺术作品应该以什么形式参与讨论？找一个很个人的体验为例。在看这出戏的时候，我还是很投入的。可是当几个演员在观众席里站起来大声激辩的时候，我感觉自己不但没有卷入讨论的欲望，甚至都谈不上是在隔岸观火，而是在有意地退避、保持距离。我对自己的这种反应颇为尴尬。是因为“知识分子的矜持”（（见张广天的博）？过后仔细想想，可以相当肯定地说这是因为习惯。关于环保和生存，关于自私的基因和利他的道德，可以回到书房安安静静地写一个博，可以拿来邀几个同好做下酒的谈资也可以，但在热度那么高的现场还想放在脑袋里运转，绝对不可以。辩论双方的说辞固然精彩，但只能听，不可辨。Critical Thinking，或者批评，需要一个独立的语义环境，这个环境也是要“保”的。“孤独求败”是理性的思考和批判不可放弃的命根。这个原则对创作者一样适用。煽情就煽情了，愤青就愤青了，戴上“思考”的大胸章并且来Play God就走过了。如果在群情激愤中很惬意地很自觉地抛弃独立抛弃孤独，所谓理性思考的结果就会被激情的漩涡冲垮而溃不成军。狂热的群众大革命在我们的历史上已经写过多次，每一次的始作俑者都是知识分子的理性思考。但是悖论在于，只做思考不求认同又犹如自宫，这个悖论关乎知识分子的饭碗。

我以为《圆明园》里比较说明问题的一处败笔，是一个“日本鬼子”来道歉：“我是孙子！”让我吃惊的是，场上居然一片掌声。从对观众的发动和互动来说，也许这掌声已然是成功的一个标志。但是，没有什么比盲目、狂热的民族主义更可怕的了。如果要让我们自己这个圈强大，是必须要让别人来承认的，而不是自己绑一个稻草人来忽悠一下痛快一下就行的。所以，对（大部分）观众的征服，又恨可悲地代表了常识和理性的再一次溃败。我们所在的这个圈，总那么不太圆，因为我担心画圈的那杆笔，还是留一点阿Q 的影子。

还是很感谢张导，让我从想不出什么可说的发展到写出这一堆不完全是废话的废话。人这个动物要活下去而且想活得越来越好，能不断地反刍是必要的习惯。

--相关报道：

1。张广天用戏剧揭开圆明园被毁之谜

前面强调说按“官方的版本”这出戏有九个部分，是因为我压根儿想不起来、当时也没注意到有“九”个部分。每个场景都是一个小故事（更准确地说是小事故）在某个方向的投影。比如说一群连自己都搞不清要自杀还是要杀人的男女轮番做心理咨询，而医生自己好像也病得不轻。想象一下把生活中的形形色色的荒唐或者困境提取出来糊成一只气球，然后无限夸张地膨胀再膨胀，最后一声巨响，碎片满地。这些碎片，就是这一幕幕场景。拿这些碎片，再重构一个故事，就像传统的话剧一样，不但不必要，而且不可能。

看完《死无葬身之地》后，看到孟导《镜花水月》的广告。等到真去看的时候，赶的却是最后一场。匆匆忙忙买完票，才看到边上有一则媒体的报道，引了孟导的一句话，为《镜》的晦涩难懂做了个颇为触目惊心的广告：谁要是看懂谁就白来了。走进剧场的时候我心想这是什么鱼和熊掌的游戏，要对得起自己的智商和经验，就要对不起人民币和两小时的时间。

看完了之后，虽然感觉有些拖沓，但总的来说还是不错的。如果没捞到鱼，闪闪的鱼鳞还是见了不少，所以熊掌的失踪也就不追究了。回来以后搜了一下网，读到一些颇有意思的评论和报道。比如首演之后百分之九十的观众拒绝退场，强烈要求和孟导对话，把解读的权利全部交还出去不说，还要求孟导说个明白。孟导估计是没料到这个阵式，没答出个之乎者也。被剧中大段引用的同名诗作和《近景·远景》的诗人西川，相对来说比较实诚。西川对其诗作在剧中被大量的多媒体包裹之下的重新创作感到新鲜之余，明白地表示“莫名其妙”，不过转身又递了个台阶，“如果感觉有些莫名其妙就对了，因为生活本来就充满各种荒谬。”

我的一个疑问是那剩下的百分之十的观众哪去了？是提前晕出了剧场，还是如我辈自以为看到了些鱼鳞？

反正是基本上以“晕”为主题的占了多数。也有愤怒之余井喷口水的，比如《新京报》的一篇文章，以“所谓先锋，不过是装疯”为题，狠狠地发泄了一把，被愚弄的感觉溢于言表。并且批评说：“无病呻吟的自我表达和缺少内核的情感渲泄，如同风中飘荡的飞絮，上不着天，下不着地，左不关民生，右不理国事，大时代和小生活，他们都不屑于过问和着眼”。够狠的。护着孟导的发问说“懂不懂真有那么重要吗？”（《北京晚报》评论“看不懂老孟怎么办？”），赞扬了老孟继续发扬“老顽童”精神之后，鼓励大伙要耐心一点：“花点时间慢慢琢磨品味，就像小孩子得了块糖，每天偷偷拿出来舔舔才觉得甜。”还有一篇报道扯得更远，从“不懂”出发而自问，上升到中国的教育失败的高度。这篇无厘头的文字一下找不到了。

在首演结束后的对话中，有一段比较有意思：

观众：我在看这出戏时认为导演“玩儿”的成分比较多，请问您在创作时是不是随性而为的？

孟京辉：其实每个人都有自己不同的感受，但是严肃地说，从导演这方面讲，我更想把这个舞台空间当作一个个电影空间，每一部分都想找到一种点和面的结合，面和体的结合。我和演员的合作是从朗读西川的诗开始的，从某一段开始演，但是演着演着就不知道飞到哪儿去了。不过在创作上我们也有很严肃的轨迹，在遵循这些轨迹的时候，我们也会在这个过程中发现一些有趣的生活，然后再和西川的诗中优美的语言去碰撞，这个过程其实是很轻松的。

我想孟导的意思是说确实是“玩儿”了，不过“玩”是一种手法而不是态度，而且是有结构、有意识地去即兴了一把。

有很多东西，比如爵士，不即兴就是僵尸一具。那么《镜》怎么就遭遇了这么多的反弹呢？比如《北京青年报》上的“酷评”专栏有文题曰：“先锋”的内耗和呓语。文中很简洁明了地给出了因果关系：因是“孟京辉自我表达的内在动力已然被消耗得太多了”，而果就是“积累技术和想象”而“匆忙赶路的实验艺术”“也就难免总被人蔑视为形式主义的呓语了。”真是尖锐。作者对借用了很多装置艺术的舞美道具倒表示了不乏“意趣”。其实这些瓶瓶罐罐、大小甲虫的东东，如果去过几次七九八，就会觉得实在是温和的很。

我以为，“内耗”和“呓语”这两个关键词，倒是抓的很准。但是我的读法，却大不相同。

（待续）