Kafka on the Contemporary Chinese Stage

Peng Tao*

Abstract

This article focuses on two plays performed in mainland China in recent years: Metamorphosis (directed by Li Jianjun, 2021) and Listen to your Inner Ape (adapted from Kafka’s novel A Report to an Academy, directed by Xi Wang, 2022). The article discusses how the directors incorporate Kafka’s works to portray the realities of everyday life for the Chinese people through allegories and metaphors. This approach enables us to explore the survival dilemmas and anxieties faced by modern individuals, trapped in a “cage” (as described by Max Weber) of instrumental rationality.

Keywords: Kafka, The Metamorphosis, A Report to an Academy, alienation, Li Jian-Jun, Li Teng-Fei

Kafka in China

In the West, Kafka attracted widespread attention in literary circles only after the Second World War. In mainland China, his work was widely disseminated approximately 30 years later. A collection of Kafka’s novels, The Trial and Other Novels, translated by Li Wenjun and Cao Yong, was published in 1966 (Writers’ Publishing House). The book was circulated internally as an object of criticism and only a few professionals had access to it. However, this situation began to change in 1979, when Li Wenjun’s translation of The Metamorphosis was published in the journal World Literature, along with a review article credited to Ding Fang and Shi Wen. “Ding Fang” was the paper name of Mr. Ye Tingfang, a famous translator and researcher of Kafka’s literature. Subsequently, in the early 1980s, some of Kafka’s short stories and full-length novels, such as The Castle and The Trial, were translated and introduced to China.

Mr. Ye Tingfang’s contribution to Kafka studies in China is immense. In 1988, he translated a book On Kafka, a selection of Kafka research papers from various periods over the past 70 years. Under Ye Tingfang’s auspices, the translation of The Complete Works of Franz Kafka (10 volumes) was published one after another in 1996, thus laying the foundation for Kafka studies in China. Ye Tingfang also published monographs on Kafka, such as Explorer of Modern Art, Kafka-Father of Modern Literature and The Awakening of Modern Aesthetic Consciousness.

Modern Chinese novelists such as Zong Pu, Can Xue, Yu Hua, Ge Fei and Chen Cun have said that they were influenced and inspired by Kafka. For example, Zong Pu once said, that “Kafka’s The Metamorphosis and The Castle narrate things that can never happen in reality, but they are so accurate in spirit. He amazes people that fiction can be written in this way. Stripping away the surface it is sometimes necessary, which inspired me as well” (qtd. in Shi Shuqing 463).

To various degrees, Kafka’s grotesque and metamorphic aesthetics can be seen in Zong Pu’s works, such as Who Am I, The Snail’s Dwelling and The Head in the Mud. The short story Who Am I tells the story of an intellectual who was persecuted and humiliated during the Cultural Revolution. She suffered from mental hallucinations, feeling that she had turned into a worm and kept asking “Who am I?”

Among contemporary Chinese writers, Can Xue is perhaps most deeply influenced by Kafka (some critics even called her “Kafka of China”). Her comment in the Preface to The Castle of the Soul are quite telling:

“I read Kafka’s novels by chance and perhaps it was this subconscious act that changed my view of literature as a whole and gave me a new literary conception during my long exploration… If we still want to perform a whimsical dance in our iron-like shackles, Kafka’s works will give us strength.”

Her novel The Old Floating Clouds is a masterpiece which is a homage to Kafka. The novel shows daily relationships between husbands and wives, parents and children, neighbors, colleagues and friends. This shows an inhuman world of suspicion, panic and ugliness.

Yu Hua, one of China’s most iconic contemporary writers, once said that “Kafka liberated me at a time when my imagination and emotional power were becoming increasingly exhausted” (252). His debut novel A Long Walk at Eighteen was inspired by Kafka’s A Country Doctor. The novel tells the story of a teenagers’ experience of leaving home for the first time and expresses the loneliness and fear of modern people, forming an intertextual relationship with the theme of Kafka’s work. In particular, the borrowing of Kafka by contemporary Chinese writers is realized in the specific context of analyzing China’s reality. When Kafka’s themes are combined with Chinese reality, marvelous chemical reactions occur, forming a chic literary spectrum.

The study of Kafka in Chinese academia has undergone approximately two stages since 1979. The first stage began with the translation of The Metamorphoses by the journal World Literature in 1979 and ended in 1996 with the publication of the translation of the complete works of Kafka under Ye Tingfang’s auspices. At this stage, based on the comprehensive translation of Kafka’s works, academics launched fundamental research on the art of Kafka’s novels. The most important academic controversy at this stage centered on the question of whether Kafka was a realist or modernist writer. In the cultural context of China at that time, “realism” represented a kind of “cultural correctness” and in order to pave the way for Kafka’s dissemination, Professors Ye Tingfang and Xie Yingying adopted the strategy of “realistising” Kafka. Conversely, Guo Xianggeng and Dai Jinglun argued that no matter which way you look at it, Kafka could not be considered a realist writer. Otherwise, it would be impossible to draw a line, even a very blurred one, between realism and modernism.

Since 1996, research on Kafka has become increasingly diversified. A search on CNKI, China’s largest academic online platform, revealed more than 3,000 Kafka-related journal articles and nearly 400 master’s and doctoral dissertations. The research also reveals a diversified perspective, involving narratology, receptive aesthetics, religion, comparative literature, Jewish culturology. Scholars such as Ren Weidong, Lin Hesheng, Li Zhongmin and Xie Chunping published relevant academic monographs.[1] Chinese scholars have focused on the relationship between Kafka and Chinese culture. In 2006 Professor Zeng Yanbing has published a monograph entitled Kafka and Chinese Culture, which adds a Chinese perspective to “Kafka Studies.”

Li Jianjun, director. Photo: New Youth Theatre
Li Jianjun’s Version of The Metamorphosis

On June 10, 2021, Director Li Jianjun’s The Metamorphosis was staged at the Aranya Theatre Festival, which was held in an upcoming middle-class seaside resort. During the COVID epidemic in 2020, strict shutdown policies made international travel difficult. By the summer of 2021, the epidemic subsided in most parts of mainland China. Despite being a new event of its kind, the Aranya theatre Festival attracted a large number of young audiences, partly because of the appeal of Meng Jinghui and several renowned artists and partly because the temporary easing of the epidemic’s shutdown policy unleashed the demand for travel.

The Metamorphosis. New Youth Theatre, 2021. Photo: Da Zhuang

“It’s six in the morning!” “I’m so tired, I’d really like to sleep some more!” “You have a new order.” “Your order has timed out.” On Li Jianjun’s stage, Kafka’s Gregory is a delivery man who can be seen in any Chinese city. Waking up in the morning, he found himself transformed into an insect, his body twisting and rubbing against the white screen on stage, leaving a brown liquid mark. Gregory Samsa, the delivery man, travels through the empty streets of the city during the pandemic and an inverted image of the empty streets is projected onto the screen of the stage. On the one hand, this upside-down image is seen through the eyes of the insect-turned delivery man. On the other hand, it is a metaphor for the upside-down world in the midst of the epidemic. Gregory Samsa recounted one of his experiences of delivering goods during the epidemic: he knocked on the door of a customer who had sprayed alcohol disinfectant on him as if he was an alien.

The Metamorphosis. New Youth Theatre, 2021. Photo: Da Zhuang

Explaining Gregory’s identity as a delivery man, Li Jianjun said in an interview with Beijing Youth Daily: “Initially, I envisioned for Gregory the career of a doctor, programmer, or coder, but in times of outbreaks we usually come into contact with delivery men, who have long since blended into our daily lives…”

Li Jianjun described the delivery men shuttling in the city streets and alleys as “capillaries of China’s economic arteries; this is an occupation that has a tint of modern China and is close to the audiences at the same time” (qtd. in Shirong B01). Li Jianjun interviewed the delivery men during the rehearsals and filmed a documentary about them. During the performance, the documentary featuring interviews with the delivery men turned into a monologue by Gregory:

“Last year a lot of people did not go home; they were in isolation in the house; our work went on as usual. The company gave each of us 50 masks and two bottles of hand sanitizer. I am not afraid of death. The virus seems to have nothing to do with us. I never felt afraid. I just hoped that the epidemic would pass quickly, so I could take more orders.”[2]

Owing to rapid developments in the logistics economy and e-commerce, the delivery industry has become an important support for China’s economy and urban life. The number of delivery men in China exceeded 10 million in 2020, according to the 2020-2025 China Delivery Industry Market Outlook and Future Investment Strategy Analysis Report by the China Research Institute of Industrial Studies (CRIIS). Most of those engaged in the delivery profession are young people from China’s rural areas, who suffer from high intensity of labor, long working hours, poor living conditions and irregular diets. Furthermore, they generally lack safety and security when subjected to stringent performance appraisals. According to a survey report on delivery men in a city, as many as 86.6% of frontline delivery men shared the experience of their customers complaining to them or imposing fines on them. Only 23.7% have work injury insurance, which is less than one-quarter. A vast majority of delivery men do not have pension insurance, medical insurance, unemployment insurance, housing provident fund, or other security benefits (Zhimin 21–25).

The Metamorphosis. New Youth Theatre, 2021. Photo: Da Zhuang

On Li’s stage, Gregory’s identity as a delivery man and transformation into an insect directly point to Chinese contemporary reality. Therefore, Kafka’s The Metamorphosis is not only a literary classic with rich philosophical connotations but also a lens that focuses on the problems of contemporary China. Not only does the novel raise the question of the rights and interests of the laborers endorsed by a delivery man, but it is also a metaphor for each individual’s survival under extreme circumstances (epidemic control). A man’s transformation into a bug is no longer a fictional story, but it reflects a current reality. This is not a local problem in China but a problem of the division between instrumental rationality and value rationality in the process of mankind’s progress towards modernity—it is the most intuitive proof that modern people are living in an “cage,” in Max Weber’s term (124).

The integration of cinema plays a significant role in the performance of The Metamorphosis. In several recent theatrical productions directed by Li Jianjun, films like World on a Wire, The Master and Marguerite and The True Story of Ah Q have been prominently featured. These cinematic elements can be broadly categorized into three distinct types: first, cinemas recorded before the performance (id est, pre-recorded cinemas); second, cinemas shot on-site and synchronized for projection onto a large screen, which can also be called live cinemas; and third, actors’ live performances in front of a green screen, which are synchronized by the camera and synthesized with pre-recorded cinemas into instant synthetic films. Under the influence of Henry Jenkins’ theory of “transmedia storytelling,” scholars have tried to analyze the relationship between stage performance and cinema from the perspective of the media. For example, Chen Chen says, “The two media, stage performance and cinema, share their respective narrative tasks or add the additional dimension of audience interactions. They perform their respective storylines, which together constitute a complete story world” (51).

In my view, director Li Jianjun did not aim to use cinema to independently interpret a narrative separate from the performance. Instead, his intention is to “embrace” the era of media through the medium of cinema. It is not the “media” that intrudes upon the theatre, but rather the theatre that engages with the “media,” prompting us to reconsider the reality of our existence through this lens.

In Li’s The Metamorphosis, the cinema exists first and foremost as a spatial narrative: we see on the big screen city streets, indifferent pedestrians, the green iron fence used to seal off the residential neighborhoods in the time of epidemic, the electric motorbike of the delivery man, a stray dog. The space of the stage performance and the space of the city in the cinema are integrated to form a “meaningful reality.” On the one hand, the audience watches the reality of the actors’ performances on stage; on the other hand, they observe the “reality” of everyday life, which is a manipulated “reality,” where the director deliberately chooses some commonplaces overlooked by the audience. These may be mountainous piles of express parcels on the floor of the delivery station, a few delivery men squatting on the floor, a delivery man eating a boxed lunch, an ice-cold tap, an exaggerated festive-colored balloon occupying half of the screen. The montage, collage and contrast of video images form an underlying expression of meaning.

I do not want to analyze or interpret the meaning of these images and pictures because linguistic interpretation weakens the meaning conveyed by the images. In my view, these images serve as a powerful symbolic expression, vividly portraying the theme of “alienation” found in Kafka’s novels through the lens of everyday life. At times, this effect is achieved by exaggerating and distorting the lens, as seen in the shot where a vibrant balloon dominates the majority of the screen.

In his theatrical adaptation of Metamorphosis, Li Jianjun chose not to include certain characters from Kafka’s novel, such as the tenants and maids in the household. There were only four characters on the stage: Gregory, his father, mother and sister. After Gregory turns into an insect and loses his ability to work, his sister becomes a live streamer singing on TikTok to support the family. When the big screen projected a close-up of the sister’s face wearing a wig in a beauty cam, the audience can scan the QR code as instructed by staff members in the theatre to join the live broadcast of TikTok and participate in a face-off with the actors on stage in a catchy song “The Most Dazzling Ethnic Wind.” The audience was undeniably enthusiastic about the singing face-off performance, transforming the theatre into a vibrant evening of entertainment. The director deliberately engaged with the audience, employing media to highlight the kitschy aesthetics of “entertainment to the death.” This live performance lasts around ten minutes and serves as a rhetorical pause that interrupts the regular stage show. It cleverly parodies and employs playful irony regarding the pervasive intrusion of media into everyday life.

One of the highlights of the show is a scene in which Gregory’s father throws an apple at his son, who becomes an insect. In the music of España Cañi, Gregory’s father smashes vegetables and fruit, while his mother and sister look on and applaud. The audience is invited to join the frenzy, with all kinds of juices splashing on the stage and close-ups of Gregory’s agonized face dominating the big screen. Gregory willingly accepts his father’s violence, as he feels that he has become useless because of his inability to earn money for his family. This scene of violent revelry contrasts ironically with the end of the performance.

The Metamorphosis. New Youth Theatre, 2021. Photo: Da Zhuang

Li changed the conclusion of the novel in the theatrical adaptation. Instead of dying, Gregory crashes his sister’s livestream, where he transforms into an insect and gains a massive following, becoming a figure of public fascination. The live-streaming of the insect’s daily activities generates significant financial benefits for the family. At the end of the show, there is a clip of Gregory’s father, mother and sister being interviewed by a reporter on the busy streets of Shanghai. The sister says that whether Gregory is a human or insect does not matter; he will always be her brother and she will always take care of him. The mother says that Gregory no longer has to work hard as a delivery man and that he lives a happy life. Finally, a close-up of Gregory’s deformed and exaggerated face appears on the big screen as he eats a leaf of Brussels sprouts and says, “And just like that, our family is living a happy life of wealth and freedom. My biggest fear now is not that my family will abandon me, but that one day I will wake up and become a delivery man again. . . .”

I believe that the alterations Li Jianjun made to the conclusion of Kafka’s novel do not represent a departure from the spiritual meanings of Kafka’s work. Instead, they serve as an ironic commentary on the distorted family dynamics between Gregor and his family, set against the backdrop of a media-saturated age. This adaptation critiques contemporary reality—not merely as a political statement but as a deeper examination of the core struggles faced by each of us in the audience, who seek comfort in our positions.

Drum Tower West Theatre: Listen to Your Inner Ape

Listen to Your Inner Ape is an one-actor play adapted from Kafka’s novel A Report to an Academy. Directed by Xi Wang and starring Li Tengfei, the play premiered on June 30, 2022, at the Drum Tower West Theatre in Beijing. The performance was a huge success and was well-received by both the audience and the media. Li Tengfei, the lead actor, told the press that he was inspired by Kathryn Hunter, whose performance of Kafka’s Monkey was seen online.

Listen to your Inner Ape. Photo: Ta Su

During the pandemic, Li Tengfei read Kafka’s novels and was deeply moved by them (qtd. in Liu Zhen). Though, on the face of it, the Chinese “ape” is similar to the British one, they are very different. The first is the gender of the actors, who are, therefore, physically different. Kathryn Hunter is described as “diminutive in stature and slightly lame.” “She has a deep, guttural voice, eyes like black olives and the most expressive of faces” (Spenser), whereas Li Tengfei “is a very strong man with an angsty, upwardly mobile state and he can be more rock ‘n’ roll in terms of dynamics” (Rushi). Differences in the cultural context and thematic expression are more important here. An interesting question is: why does this novel by Kafka strike a chord with modern Chinese audiences? What do they see in this ape?

Li Tengfei plays an ape with a beard, who wears a suit and bow ties. Imitating the gait of an ape as he walks to the front of the stage saying, “Honorable audience, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks to your love, I am able to come here and share with you my past, the story of having been an ape. . . .”

Li Tengfei has made a slight modification to Kafka’s text—the ape is not facing academicians but the audience. Although the subject of the narrative does not change and is still an ape, the audience changes. The audience realizes that they are watching the apes’ speech and listening to the story as real people.

Another remarkable detail is the conflict between Li Tengfei’s costumes and body. There is nothing wrong in the cut of his costume, but because of his ape-like body movements, the costume seems incongruous with his body. It is this grotesque incongruity that attracts the audience: they realize that what they are watching with interest is a man who has “become” an ape. Although the audience initially wonders whether the imitations of the actor’s ape in front of them are accurate, they soon stop focusing on imitations but focus on the particular, familiar and heterogeneous body in front of them.[3]

Walter Benjamin, in “Franz Kafka: On the Tenth Anniversary of His Death,” notes that “the most forgotten alien land is one’s own body” (112). The ape’s body seems to be a magical mirror of transfiguration, in which we see our own body. During the evolutionary process of the indoctrinated ape, we also see our own bodies being disciplined and indoctrinated. When this ape shows us his scars, we are simultaneously reminded of the wounds of the body that we ourselves have suffered. The wounds of this bodily memory begin first with all social etiquettes, with the learning of restraining one’s body. Body control runs through the upbringing of every human being. In this enchanting mirror, the present moment is paramount. Throughout the epidemic, individuals were confined and regulated within their homes. Societal laws and power originate from the constraints and disciplinary measures imposed on the body. As Mingming argues,

“The codes of law and culture can only be deciphered in the body. A person who unravels these codes through bodily touch and painful experiences can enter the orders of law and culture. Law or language thus invades every man, both within his body … and his mind. Self-restraint and self-technique are thus formed… External coercion transitions into self-coercion, external surveillance into self-surveillance” (22-23).

After humans captured the ape and locked him in a cage, he reflected, “Until then I had had so many ways out of everything, and now I had none……I had no way out but I had to devise one, for without it I could not live” (Kafka, A Report to an Academy 144).

The theme of “finding a way out” was a very realistic issue for director Xi Wang and actor Li Tengfei. When the 2020 epidemic hit, many actors started to switch to other professions and director Xi Wang wanted to become a yoga instructor.[4] During the pandemic, at a time of desperation, Xi Wang and Li Tengfei decided to rehearse Kafka’s novel. In Kafka’s novel, the ape’s lose-lose situation after his captivity moves Xi Wang and Li Tengfei deeply. Li Tengfei told reporters:

“I think everyone can have such a situation, no matter their age, in the face of the pressure of life and the work environment. They wanted to find a solution. Whether it is a small town or urban youth, I think everyone is facing the similar situation. This story is not just about interspecies interactions and survival, but also about how everyone can find themselves. In confinement and bondage, a way-out is more necessary than freedom. In search of an escape, one does not have time to think about should or should not” (in Shu’er).

A way-out is more important than freedom, not only for apes, but also for modern humans. For apes, the way-out refers to renouncing their natural attributes. For modern humans, it means embracing and catering to power and adapting to various rules of society to find their place and value in it.

Listen to your Inner Ape. Photo: Ta Su

Drum Tower West theatre’s Listen to Your Inner Ape is not an imitative copy of Kathryn Hunter but a brand-new creation. Director Xi Wang rewrote the script based on the novel, localizing some of its language. The rehearsals were extremely difficult and Xi Wang was not satisfied with Li Tengfei’s performance. One day, Li Tengfei suddenly appeared in the rehearsal hall and performed a clip from Peter Handke’s Self-Accusation. The two finally found their way. They rewrote Peter Handke’s text and collated it in the final section of the play:

I learned to shake hands and I learned to offer my own hands.
I’ve learnt to smile when I hold out my hand.
I learned to look at another person’s eyes while holding my hand.
I’ve learnt not to stare into another person’s eyes all the time.
I’ve learnt to hold out my hand and keep my head down…

Peter Handke’s text imbues the performance with a latent anger: while apes appear to joyfully flaunt their evolutionary milestones, the creators convey a starkly contrasting message of anger and defiance against societal repression. If we liken the performance to an arrow, then “finding a way out” serves as the origin of Li Tengfei’s and Xi Wang’s artistic vision, with the arrow piercing the wounds of society.

Listen to your Inner Ape. Photo: Ta Su

During the pandemic, the power and rules that bind an individual’s body gained legitimacy and everyone lived under the ubiquitous electronic surveillance. If the iron cage in which the ape “Red Peter” is imprisoned is figurative, in the age of big data, the electronic surveillance to which modern people are subjected is intangible, as if it were a vast and dense net—a net without gaps—in which modern humans’ bodies are imprisoned.

Listen to your Inner Ape. Photo: Ta Su
Conclusion

If Li Jianjun’s The Metamorphosis directly represents modern human existence during the pandemic, Drum Tower West Theatre’s Listen to Your Inner Ape is a metaphor. If Li Jianjun’s adaptation of Kafka is a product of embracing the age of the media, Li Tengfei’s performance is a return to a pristine performance.

In my opinion, Kafka is an astonishing prophet with an accurate and sensitive insight into our times and the future. His fear, confusion, loneliness, despair, anticipation, resistance, and struggle reflect the most accurate perceptions of today. In China, Kafka’s works serve as a mirror for audiences to examine their own lives, exposing the dilemmas and challenges faced by modern individuals amid societal institutions, relationships, and uncertainties.


Endnotes

[1] See Studies on Kafka’s Works, edited by Ren Weidong; Lin Hesheng, Kafka the Jew; Li Zhongmin, Kafka’s Poetics in the Perspective of Religious Culture; Xie Chunping, Huang Li, and Wang Shuwen, Studies on the Themes of Sin and Punishment and Salvation in Kafka’s Literary World.

[2] The relevant character lines from the play were compiled by Peng Tao from video recordings of the performance.

[3] In fact, the audience is far less familiar with the physical movements of the apes than the actors. Li Tengfei said that he had been in the zoo many times in order to observe the life of the apes. “The most intuitive feeling is very shocking, that black hair, that powerful muscles, that aura. . . . Most of the time, they are very quiet, lying there motionless, or sitting there to eat; but there are times when they suddenly enter a state of madness, especially half an hour before eating, they begin to agitate; running, jumping around, rolling; to eat. If a keeper walks by instead of feeding them, the whole rhythm of the cage starts to change, and the moment of their animalistic outburst is very violent.” (See, Liu Rushi, One Ape, Two Men, a Way Out and Freedom).

[4] Xi Wang and Li Tengfei were born in 1987. Xi Wang used to study acting at the Jacques Lecoq International School in France, and Li Tengfei used to have a stable job—he was an art editor at a newspaper. Because of his love for theatre, he quit his job and started to become a professional actor in 2014. In fact, both Xi Wang and Li Tengfei’s income has been very unstable. Xi Wang had previously been working as a physical acting coach for other directors, and Listen to Your Inner Ape was his first directorial endeavour. Shu’er has written a fascinatingly long and detailed account of their collaboration. See: Shu’er.

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*Peng Tao is a theatre critic, professor, and the head of the Department of Dramatic Literature at the Central Academy of Drama in Beijing, China. He holds a Master’s degree in Fine Arts from the Russian Academy of Theatre Arts. His research focuses primarily on Chekhov studies and contemporary Chinese theatre criticism. His notable publications include A Reading of Three Sisters” (2005/3), Notes on The Seagull” (2007/1), and A Study on Lin Zhao Hua’s Interpretation of Chekhov’s Works (2008), all published in Drama: The Journal of The Central Academy of Drama. Additionally, his works include A Fight of a Drunkard: About Krystian Lupa’s Production ‘Drunker Named Mo Fei’” (Stage and Screen Reviews, 2017/4) and Status, Problems, and Prospects of New Media Theatre Criticism (Drama, 2022/4).

Copyright © 2024 Peng Tao
Critical Stages/Scènes critiques, #30, Dec. 2024
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