The Jin Princess (Zhou Xiaolin) sings a haunting aria for the last of the Zhaos. Photo: Liu Jingjing

Ever since Ji Junxiang’s The Orphan of Zhao was translated by Jesuit missionary Joseph Henri Premare in 1731, premiering Chinese drama in Europe, it has, for the most part, remained incomplete to the West. 

Words without music

Like the majority of Yuan Dynasty (1279–1368) dramas, Ji’s famous work was originally performed to music. But due to omissions by European Sinologists, subsequent versions by everyone from Voltaire to Metastasio, remained devoid of melody. 

Now after almost 280 years, an National Center for the Performing Arts (NCPA) commission delivered the disappointing premiere of the world’s first operatic adaptation, now named Chinese Orphan, which closes tonight. 

The root of this epic let-down is easy to pinpoint – the unimaginative original score by composer Lei Lei and the preachy, over-simplified libretto of Zou Jingzhi.    
 
The Chinese tale, based on conflicting records, including historian Sima Qian and Confucian classic Spring and Autumn Annals, is no stranger to adaptation. Rife with affairs, illegitimate children and revenge plots, the characters are rich in potentially illustrating the complexities that cloud societal understandings of good and evil.
 
Revenger’s tragedy

At first glance, this Orphan follows convention. In order to save newborn Zhao Wu, the last of the Zhao clan and son of the Jin Princess (a brilliantly executed Zhou Xiaolin), Cheng Ying (Yuan Chenye, outshined by the second cast’s Sun Li) smuggles the infant out and sacrifices his own son in place, who General Tu (a competent Jin Zhengjian) then murders, believing he has exterminated the Zhaos. 

Fast forward 18 years, and the adult Zhao (a competent Warren Mok) takes his revenge on Tu, the man who both exterminated his family and raised him, believing he was Cheng’s son. In the end, the house of Zhao is restored and Cheng is vindicated for his loyalty.

But modern adaptations of historic dramas can be a slippery slope, proven in Voltaire’s misunderstanding of Confucianism, and again in Orphan.   

Instead of presenting a complex tale of clan struggles, self-sacrifice and vengeance, the NCPA was satisfied merely commissioning a modern Chinese morality play, a choice benevolently explained by director Chen Xinyi in the playbill by saying, “Although the world is a chaotic place, justice and evil remain entirely different.”

Banal adaptation

Zou, known for screenplays such as Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles (2005), seconded this emotion by penning a clean, uncontroversial – and consequently, utterly boring – version, where good wears heroic white and serves the people, bad wears black and throws babies off cliffs and heroes never hesitate to sacrifice for the state.  

As Lu Jia’s orchestra brayed with horn swells and crashing cymbals, the prologue encapsulated the themes. The oppressive Jin Emperor (a comic Li Xiang) abuses citizens while cackling with his right-hand man, General Tu (performed with gravitas by Yang Yi), powerful clan head Zhao Dun intervenes and assumes his role as defender of the people.  

For defying the emperor, Zhao is declared an enemy of the state, and Tu orders the complete massacre of all 300 members of his clan, accompanied by numerous tenor/baritone ménage a trios and topped with clunky choruses à la Carmina Burana.  

Musical highlights include Act I, where the Jin Princess cradles the last of the Zhaos in her arms while wailing a cold and austere aria and Cheng’s lyrical exit from the palace, placating the guards from searching him, which comes off as fun, but not funny. 

Not worth the wait

But the question remains, was this worth a three-century wait? Despite the mobile, multi-level set design (Gao Guangjian) and costumes (Li Ruiding),  the answer is still no.

Musically, its overused late-romantic devices – deep strings, brass and choruses – sound 100 years out of date.

Curiously, Lei also overlooked one of romantic opera’s greatest assets – a strong aria. Instead, the work meanders in a labyrinth of minor key modulation, occasionally landing a major to illustrate morally correct action.  
Lei Lei, daughter of revolutionary composer Lei Zhenbang, has a body of work consisting of soundtracks for 1980s TV shows. She takes the term “ending on a high note” literally, ending most solos with a sustained spike in range to signal the audience to clap.

In the end, Chen would have been better to leave the simplified storylines and sentiments for the TV series this story will likely produce, and not play down to audiences at the country’s most prestigious opera venue.  

But then again, a quick scan of the crowd toward the finale proved this “made-for-TV opera” got what it came for – tears. Though whether of joy or pain, it’s hard to say.