The Great Star Theater and the Monkey King

For about a half dozen years, several decades ago, I dated LC, who was born and raised in Canton; he loved Chinese opera, the Cantonese version. We never missed a performance by any troupe touring from Hong Kong. They usually played at the Great Star Theater on Jackson near Portsmouth Square in San Francisco, though I remember one more elaborate production at the new theater in San Francisco’s Yerba Buena Gardens.

I started going because I was invited and I was curious, especially after seeing the film “Farewell My Concubine” in Honolulu when I was at Kokuan studying with Robert Aitken. But after my third or fourth opera, I came to appreciate the artistry and stagecraft. The singing took some getting used to. Most times, I was the only caucasian in the crowd, mostly aunties and uncles from Chinatown, plus a few immigrant families with bewildered children.

At the Great Star, we always sat as close to the stage as possible. Loren thought he was getting his money's worth when he could see the faces of the protagonists up close, even their spit. One denouement involved the unraveling of a puzzling intrigue: the eight immortals, aided by Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, escaped a terrible situation. Several players and singers were swinging above the stage on harnesses. It was very dramatic. The stage engineering was pretty basic. One of the stage lights crashed down and almost landed on me. There was only a slight pause while the stage crew swept up broken glass, and the performers picked up where they’d been interrupted. The audience wanted the climax. On the way out, I was told that I was going to experience good fortune, having narrowly escaped serious injury.