By Patrick Whiteley
I'm starting to really dig Peking Opera. I think this means I've lived in China too long. If any expat has actually been to a Peking Opera or heard it on television, they will know what I mean. Peking Opera is very, very, very strange.
Many of us have read the feature articles, and seen the colorful opera faces in magazines. We know Peking Opera is a national treasure, but when I first heard those cat meowing sounds, I wanted to run for the hills. Was somebody getting strangled?
The colorful costumes and brightly painted faces were magnetic; those drooping beards were wacky; the martial arts moves were entertaining and the freaky exaggerated eye rolls were compelling.
But when the singing started, it sounded like someone was dragging finger nails down a blackboard.
A Peking opera singer's voice rockets up so high it starts cracking and then screeches down to blur. This goes on for 3 to 4 hours. In fact, a recent Kunqu Opera performance in Beijing lasted four days.
I went to a Peking Opera show and fled after an hour. The show started at 7:30 pm and the sounds of cats being strangled carried on almost till midnight. I was frustratingly bored and simply didn't get it. It jarred my musical sensibilities and was too foreign. To me, the singing made no musical sense.
Come to think of it, I reckon all opera is irrational. Most opera buffs dress up in their best gear, sit in a theater for 3 hours and listen to actors, dressed in ridiculous costumes, sing songs in a language most don't understand.
I often hate and quickly dismiss things I don't understand. Maybe hate is too strong of a word, but after consulting the dictionary, the four-letter word aptly described my Peking Opera relationship. The Webster's says hate means "to dislike intensely or passionately".
