Rain and Shine in Beijing

The play has been progressing at its usual fitful pace, with the usual irritations; this last week, as I was conducting rehearsals in David's absence, we get kicked out of the Democracy Building once ("dragon lady" insisting we had no reservations); got double-booked in our customary rehearsal room (we were able to persuade that class meeting there to take an adjacent conference room); and had to resort for one rehearsal to the corridor of the fifth floor of the computing center. This caused some consternation to the geeks passing by at intervals, especially as the scene we were rehearsing involved the actors lying prostrate and chanting to an imaginary "Great Clock." The computer folks must have thought that they stumbled into the secret rituals of some strange cult.
When the people entrusted with procuring props for us failed to do so, Molly (the stage manager) and I hit the town on Saturday in search of someone to build stilts and make sticks for us. When we finally located woodworking and construction materials shops in a dusty back alley (think Home Depot, third-world style), they acceded to our peculiar demands after much back and forth, animated discussion, and flagrant attempts to price-gouge. Apparently, I made too prosperous and Occidental (Joe's term) an impression, so the price went up the moment they laid eyes on me. But Molly and I -- she's half my size-- drove a medium-hard bargain ("...ok, if they ask 500 yuan, they'll have to throw in the painting and delivery..."). Heaven knows what they'll fabricate for us. Still, we were promised delivery by early next week.
Meanwhile, I blocked through all of the scenes that demanded athleticism (stilt-walking, roller skating, building human pyramids) and formal dancing. To say that this challenged my directorial proficiency would be putting it mildly, but we got through it, and the actors exhibited their usual enthusiasm, if not always the most spot-on physical coordination.
On Thursday night, I had been summoned back to UIBE, the Beijing University of Business and Economics, by the formidable Prof. Sun, for the finals of the Beijing-wide university short play competition. It was raining as I piled into a taxi with the students from Beida who were also presenting a scene. When I arrived at the theatre, what I assumed to be a rather low-key affair turned out to be an enormous extravaganza, with a 600-seat theatre filled to the brim, presenters in formal attire, TV game-show style, video projections, blaring music, etc. One of the solicitous students organizing the show asked me if I was one of the judges. Not to my knowledge, I replied. But of course it turns out that I was indeed, although Prof. Sun had neglected to inform me of this circumstance. (Which was a bit awkward, as a Beida team was competing as well. However, I found out that this kind of conflict of interest is not only not a problem in China, it's in fact expected that competing teams try to stack the jury in their favor. Why rely on merit if you can use influence? In fact, we were being plied with party favors and little snacks all the way through.) As we watched the pieces, all of them contemporary American plays of a signal lack of literary or dramatic distinction, Sun, sitting next to me, would render judgments under her breath in an effort to sway my opinion. "This team chose a very stupid play," she would say with admirable frankness, "they don't know what they're doing." At the end of it all, I was invited to the stage to give feedback -- Sun and I doing a kind of Mutt and Jeff number together. To my surprise, the team from Peking University won and was awarded an 800 Yuan prize. They were all convinced that it was my doing (in actuality, with scrupulous honesty, I had assigned them second place), and we celebrated at a Yunnan restaurant out the south gate long past midnight.