#btw any resemblance to real events and or to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental hehehehehehhehehhh

[lunameimei]

it was funnier in my head

[somnianus]

On Chinese and Eastern Dramatic Acting vs Western

Part 1    Part 2

Mostly in ref to the Untamed/Word of Honor, but applies to a lot of East Asian works-

I’ve been getting the sense that people I know from the west (also being Asian-American myself) often interpret Chinese/Japanese/Korean drama and theatre to be too corny/cheesy/over-acted. A quick search on some internet forums confirms this. Maybe it’s because I used to watch a lot of C-dramas when I was a kid (Legend of the Condor Heroes/Return of C Heroes/Journey to the West/The Reincarnated Princess/etc), I personally did not notice that the acting was over the top. 

I don’t really speak for the quality of acting of these actors because I barely follow them in their careers, but I do know that some of them are immature actors or don’t have much formal training (which may cause the cheesiness above). However, Eastern dramatic acting in general does seem like a common complaint, so I decided to look into it - this is all coming from someone who JUST recently got back into watching C-dramas btw, doing my own research so don’t mind me if there’s some incorrect things down here, I am by NO means at all an expert in drama and theater (lol):

^Villains are often depicted with very exaggerated facial expressions (Above, Xue Yang, The Untamed)

Part 1

1. Chinese concept of mo vs western equivalent of “mimesis” or “imitation”

From this, an excellent chapter on Chinese theatrical concepts vs Western concepts.

Mo plays a significant part in traditional Chinese theatre, usually held to be antithetical to the realism of Western theatre because of its emphasis on theatricality. 

Mo means mimesis or imitation, but in a very different sense from the Western concept. One of the first Chinese scholars to use this term, Fu Sinian, used it to compare Western theatre to Chinese theatre:

Presenting a real event and performing an entertaining show are not compatible. The former emphasizes imitation (yige zhong mofang^b); the latter stresses spontaneity and entertainment. The former performance produces a lifelike image; the latter has nothing to produce. The former puts emphasis on the plot; the latter puts emphasis on theatricality. Therefore they are completely contradictory to one another.

This guy actually goes onto critique Chinese theater, saying it should be more like Western realism, so that there will “be no singing, and the acting will imitate people’s real gestures.” However! Other Chinese critics tried to approach Western vs traditional Chinese drama as two DIFFERENT but still valid forms of art. For example, Yu Shangyuan (1927) said western performance is “writing realistically” (xie shi) and chinese performance as “writing suggestively” (xie yi). Western dramas really rely on an accurate/semi-accurate representation of life and realism. Traditional Chinese drama and acting relied on the “symbolic and imaginative.”

Then what is mo? It is the emotional display, the emotional revelation, that is shown on stage. Starting from the Yuan dynasty, the Chinese drama was thought to be a continuation of poetry rather than its own independent stage art.

Poetry is where the intent of the heart goes. Lying in the heart, it is “intent”; when uttered in words, it is “poetry.” When an emotion stirs inside, one expresses it in words; finding this inadequate, one sighs over it; not content with this, one sings it in poetry; still not satisfied, one unconsciously dances with one’s hands and feet. [anonymous, 1975, from Shi Daxu 200 BCE]

Chinese drama with dancing and singing, was the most expressive product of poetry. The importance of mo cannot be stressed enough - it is the measure by which traditional Chinese drama was judged, how well this drama make you feel? Love, pain, loss, guilt, happiness? Plot becomes something that doesn’t matter as much (more on that later).

^Beijing/Peking Opera - highly stylized, emotive, “unrealistic” performances

To emphasize how central and important this concept is, it’s thought that a good Chinese playwright never fails to “seize a highly dramatic scene to stage an elaborate presentation of an emotional state.”

Love is of source unknown, yet it grows ever deeper. The living may die of it, by its power the dead live again. [Peony Pavilion, Mu dan ting]

This quote really shows how important it was to show these emotions on stage, to inspire the audience to feel deeply. Chinese critics believed that the best part about drama was how efficient it is to display emotion. Playwrights should “depict extreme bitterness, extreme happiness, extreme silliness, and extreme sobriety; imitate these feelings to the utmost (miao mo jin xing^p).”

Such performances are not necessarily accurately mimicking reality, but they are obtained through the “revelation” of a character’s internal emotional world.

2. Mo vs the depiction of reality or theatrical truth

The Chinese concept of aesthetic truth relates a lot to theatrical truth. In a lot of traditional Chinese art, painting, poetry, etc, aesthetic truth is not empirical, and doesn’t have to be accurate to life, or realistic. It’s a “truth that lies beyond mere superficial likeness.”

To the Chinese artist, an accurate resemblance between art and reality is not only superficial but often distorting. Chinese artists hold a dialectical view on the “form” (xing) and the “spirit” or “content” (shen) of an artistic object. According to them, xing  and shen are not always complementary. On the contrary, they often stand in opposition to one another. (referenced in the chapter above)

Traditional Chinese artists would rather represent the object with the wish that their representation matches its spirit, or abstract identity, than its actual form because a “photographic image is a shallow image.” It’s easy to draw a picture of something realistically, but it’s much harder and more satisfying to depict its nature, its feeling, its spirit.

This also naturally affects theater and dramatic performances.

Dramatic writing can be divided into two types: “a painting-like work” or a “transformed work,” in which the latter has higher artistic value because it reaches more towards the essence of dramatic object. Realistic imitations are fine, but they’re not really enough to reveal the mo or true feelings of something.

In addition, traditional Chinese dramatists believe that “all dramas are nothing but allegories. One need not ask about their origins in actual life.” You might be able to see, then, that these older playwrights and critics really fancied the overdramatic depictions of emotions.

a. The Chinese notion of theatrical truth/aesthetic truth vs European

Onto what we, as part of the Western audience, are more used to:

For Italian neoclassical critics, the pleasure of a drama hinges  on how accurate, how realistic, the depiction is. Castelvetro, the leading Italian Neo-Classical critic and creator of the concept of “the three unities,” claims thus:

We cannot imagine a king who did not exist, nor attribute any action to him.

Another Italian critic, Robortellus, said that a creative/imaginative story with no “verisimilitude” (truthfulness, in this context, realism) is less appealing than one that imitates a real-life event:

Thus if a tragic plot contained an action which did not really take place and was not true, but was represented by the poet himself in accordance with verisimiltude, it would perhaps move the souls of the auditors, but certainly less.

So basically, it’s fundamentally the opposite of Chinese theater. Italian dramatic works prized being realistic, being properly adapted from reality and real events. Chinese dramatic works, however, enjoyed the emphasis on heartfelt emotional demonstrations, or mo. Even in critical writings, the word “truth” is used, but it is usually used to modify the word “heart” or “emotion.” It is very concerned with the internal, the truthfulness of heartfelt emotional expression.

Taken these contexts, you can see why the Chinese stage/dramas are wholly “unreal” as Tao-Ching Hsu puts it. Everything, the makeup, the costumes, the props, is expressive and suggestive rather than imitative.

b. Bejing/Peking Opera, jingju

A famous example is the Beijing/Peking Opera, jingju. The makeup and costumes themselves are fantastical representations. The colors and patterns suggest different moods, temperaments, characters, and even changes in emotions. Actors would make distinct movements to depict distinct emotions with varying levels of energy. The stage itself may be sparse, because it is not as important as the expression of emotion and drama. 

The stage is sparse not because of the lack of technology or funding, but because it leaves room for the actor themselves to fully express their internal thinking/feeling/emotions. Characters can cross hundreds of miles in a few steps or may take the whole stage to cross a supposed road. This representation looks “unreal” to a realistic-minded audience, but it is very genuine to a Chinese audience.

Summary (so far)

This crucial understanding of the concept of mo (the emotional revelation), and the way traditional Chinese drama depicts life and stories, informs how their modern works are also portrayed. Coming from a Western dramatic background, where realism and plot are the most important aspects of a work, it can be very confusing, right? Even Chinese scholars began to judge their own dramatic works through a Western lens.

How does this traditional background affect modern Chinese dramas and works? I think it still has a very large effect, even though much of Western ideals about dramatic works have been heavily integrated into modern Chinese dramas.

Part 2: On Theatricality and how it transfers into Chinese Cinema

[club-roc]

The C&Me Report: Dispatch #   1

Author’s Forward

This is a work of friction, the turbid spew of a diseased imagination.  The characters, events, location, time of day, and yes even the fucking weather are all made up - except when they aren’t.  

That the submissive in the story maybe resembles someone in my past life is a bizarre coincidence that you shouldn’t read anything into.  The rumor that I may have based the -  selfish? disgusting? can we settle on sick? - narrator on myself is an unfortunate misunderstanding.  I am a considerate, thoughtful, kind, compassionate, altruistic, gentle, empathetic, loving soul - and I swear the wrath of a banshee working off a seven day drunk upon anyone who says different.

I hope you enjoy what I think is a novel approach to the old in-out.  For those of you who prefer a more traditional 3-step narrative of the form:

 boy meets girl (or whatever gender permutation gets you going)

 one paragraph (preferably less)

 boy fucks girl

this just ain’t gonna work for you.  Seriously.  But, if you choose to ignore this warning, for fuck’s sake don’t whine about it afterwards.  

One final note: if you do make it to the end, and your cursor is a short click away from registering one star, you should know that the banshee gets pissed off rather easily these days - just sayin’.

Happy trails.

Roc Daimonas

Sep. 2020

*          *          *

I have an ethical dilemma that I’m hoping that you can help me with.

Whether you come at it from a moral or legal perspective, these days non-consensual sex is kind of frowned upon.  The MeTooers are clear: she has to freely say “yes”.  Sounds easy, but sometimes Easy Street is paved with potholes.

Let’s start with the seemingly obvious: “yes” doesn’t get you off the hook if you mention that you’ve got proof that could have her swinging in Sing Sing. Nor, for that matter, any persuasive argument that includes an “or else I will … “ clause.  But what if it’s “or else I won’t”?

For example, you have front row tickets to the hot show that she’s dying to see.  Without a promise of action for afters, you won’t take her.  “Maybe (fill in her best friend’s name) is interested…?”  I think we might need a new category, “technically consensual but the guy’s a douchebag”.

Also obviously, if she’s drunk, her “yes” doesn’t mean shit.  But what if she’s sober, in fact hasn’t had a drink all day.  And she needs one, badly, sort of the way that after holding your breath for two minutes you need air, because she’s an alcoholic.  Sadly she’s broke, has nothing left to pawn, and has already been to the Plasma Donation Center twice this week.  Let’s say she loves bubbly and you have a bottle of White Star on ice.

If, under those circumstances, you tell her, “no nookie no party”, you know damn well that you’re going to get laid. (Pro tip: one glass, then sex, and only then finish the bottle).  You can get all moral on me, but she’s gonna do what it takes to get a drink, and if that’s by blowing somebody in the liquor store’s parking lot, oh well.  I’m thinking why not me, instead of some jerk who’s gonna sub a store-brand asti?

Seriously, I’m looking for feedback, let me know what you think.

BTW, I wouldn’t trade sex for a drink, I’m not that kind of asshole, and this isn’t that kind of story.  Rather, it’s actually cannabis that she wants, and I’m much worse of an asshole.  You see, I’m a sex addict, sub-category control freak, and I’ve been waiting patiently for a long time.

*          *          *

C called, Lydia was dead.  Apparently she passed out and knocked her 151 into a candle.  I hadn’t heard anything from C, hence nothing about Lydia, for about five years, but this seems less like news than the fulfillment of the inevitable.  Though on second thought, that she made it that long is impressive.

When she called, she was upset.  Not because they were friends - nobody was friends with Lydia, she saw life as 100% transactional.  No, C was upset because she was on her way to score reefer, “and I’d already given her my last $60” … could I help her?

“Sure no problem”, I told her, answered by a huge sigh of relief.  “I’ve got that much cash in my wallet, come by and get it - and don’t worry about paying me back”.

Oops.  Not exactly what she was fishing for.  “Ah, do you have any weed that I could have?”

Long.  Fucking.  Silence.  It’s been five years since I’d talked to her last, the day we broke up over - surprise! - her drug and alcohol problem. 

“Uh, Roc…”

“Let’s do this: come over for the $60.  Let’s at least get you covered on that, then you can score somewhere else.  I’ll think about the other”.

A little while later she’s on my sofa, smoking a pipe.  I have the cash and a small container in front of me.  “This is for you”, and I hand her the bills.  “You can also have this - BUT - one time only, never again.  This is about a week's supply, you can score something in that time.  Are we agreed - never again?”

Two things that I need to clarify - a week’s supply for me, if she’s on a roll, is probably about a 4 hour supply for her.  AND - if it gets them their fix, an addict will tell you anything that they think you want to hear.  

So of course, she was absolutely in agreement.  Some things never change.

And surprise!, surprise!, 24 hours later, guess who knocked on my door?

*          *          *

C no doubt spent the day coming up with all sorts of completely sensible reasons why I should give her more shit.  Most likely revolving on the fact that Lydia was the last person who would sell to her.   But she’s thrown off, I have a packed pipe on the table next to me, she can’t take her eyes off the prize, she can’t focus...I just let her stammer for a minute.  I ask if she wants the pipe?

Shit eating grin - hell yes!  I grab it and reach out towards her.  She takes it, but I don’t let go.   ‘You can have this one, no problem.  You want more, ‘present yourself’”.  Ancient code for “submit for kinky sex”.  She starts to object, I cut her off: “you can have none, one, or stand, your choice - do you understand your choices?”

Maybe she mumbles “OK”, so I let go and in no time she’s sucking down the pipe.  I get a couple beers while she’s busy, set one next to her, pop the top on mine and sip some brew.  Done with the pipe, she follows suit.   Between the weed and the booze, she relaxes, but after a bit starts starts fidgeting.  I wait for it.  Finally it pours out: “I don’t think this is a good idea”

I bust out laughing, she doesn’t see what’s so funny.  “You’re right, it’s an AWFUL idea, we just don’t agree on what’s the bad part.  So maybe we forget about it, huh?  Maybe you should just go home”.

Well, no, she doesn’t want that either…“Can’t I have some more?”

“It’s time for you to go, I’ll walk you to the door”.

She takes a deep breath, rises, and puts her hands on her head.  Her arms are in the wrong position, her legs aren’t nearly far enough apart … some things never change.  I pack the pipe.  “You want this?”, she says yes, eyes focused.  I spark the lighter and smoke it.  From her face, that’s not what she had in mind.

I pack another, walk over to her.  “First, if you want your fix, I get mine - is that understood?”  She nods.  I hold the pipe for her, spark the lighter, and long hit, all gone.  She’s holding it in, deep, and I continue, “second, anytime - and I mean ANYTIME - that you feel uncomfortable giving me what I want, just say, “take that shit and shove it where the sun don’t shine”.

Suddenly the tension’s broken, she cracks up, coughs, blows out the smoke, coughs a little more.  “You fuckerhead! - you owe me another!”

I smile.  “We’ll see.  But I’m serious.  Say that phrase and everything stops.”  She nods, but I’m not done.  “What you gotta realize is that I don’t really want to do this”.  Like Hell, but she doesn't need to know that. “You can say that anytime, BUT … once and done.  No more weed.  Ever”.  You can tell she’s not happy about that, but keeps it to herself.

I pack another, then tell her “this is a really good time to tell me that, because if you don’t walk away, I’m going to turn you into my slave.  For real.”

She’s heard that before, sarcastically says “of course you are”, tilts her head a little, mocking me with her face, her eyes.

“You heard your choices, tell me what it’s going to be”.  

To get their fix, an addict is going to tell you anything they think that you want to hear.

I hand her the pipe, tell her to use the can, have a cigarette, whatever, then get undressed and back in position.  “If you’re quick enough, I’ll pack another pipe”.  While she’s scurrying on her assignments, I try to find some rope.

*          *          *

She’s back in position, but instead of being naked, she’s got my robe on - and her socks.  Some things never change.

I pack a pipe, point out that she’s not quite undressed.  Eyeing the pipe, she tells me “brr, it’s chilly!”, her code for gimme the pipe, and let’s go to bed and fuck.  Well that ain’t gonna happen, so instead of giving it to her, I spark the lighter and smoke it myself.  She has a frustrated look on her face.

“Why don’t you turn the furnace on, and relax a bit.  When it’s warm enough, strip and return to position.  When you’re ready, I’ll get you another pipe”  She sticks out her tongue, turns up the furnace, sits, but the blower’s barely on before she’s lost the robe and is back in position.  I pack the pipe full enough that even she’s gonna need a few minutes, hand it to her.  While she’s working it, I look over the body that I once knew so well.

Five years of hard living has taken its toll, but she’s still a great looking lady.  Tall for a woman, long torso and average legs, she’s blonde, slender, tits in damn nice shape (hey - we’re all getting older, things ain’t the way they used to be, nothing’s wrong with that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t notice tits that gravity hasn’t found yet.)

She’s set down the pipe so apparently she’s done.  I walk behind her, tell her to cross her wrists, which she does it the wrong way - surprise! - which I correct, wrap the rope and tie it securely.  My feet push her legs further apart, I grab her hair and pull her backwards so she’s a little past the tipping point, take my free hand and caress her face, my lips find hers...

Our lips and tongues play as my hand finds its way to her breast, stroking the one, squeezing it, finding the nipple, pulling, twisting, back to main tittie and fondle some more, soon the other tit has my attention and it’s on to part deux.  Mission accomplished, my hand returns to her forehead, another cycle begins, this one ending at her navel. 

A couple more cycles and she’s kissing like she’ll die if something doesn’t happen, finally my hand finds her pussy, palpable heat rising from it...I touch it, she’s dripping wet ...fingers on either side of the clit, squeeze, the clitteral bud, engorged, twitches under the pressure, again and again....  She moans past our kisses, I slide the fingers in her slot…

Out again, slick as can be,  fingers strum her clit, right-left right-left right-right-left, the moan does not diminish, she’s begging me to fuck her…but the control freak in me is not ready yet, I play some more…My fingers find her snatch again and I jam them in, fast, over and over...the moan is lower as the orgasm has begun, her voice up and down as the O takes control…

Fingers out but the O continues, I strum her clit, her abs are so tight and she’s over the top again….suddenly I slap her oh so exposed pussy a half dozen times, her O just fucking explodes, she shrieks loud enough to wake a passed out banshee …

I set her down, exhausted.  I get ice water, give her a sip, she didn’t realize how thirsty she was.  I ask if she wants a smoke, or a fuck?  She perks up at fuck, “oh yes please fuck me, I am sooo horny”, so arms released, into the bedroom, onto the bed, a pillow under her ass…

I pull down my pants, off with my shorts, oh my I thought it was hard but this is impressive, it would a crime to lose this boner, and C is looking at it, can’t take her eyes off it, wants it, inside, so I climb onto her, give her pussy what it needs more than anything….

No more fooling around, dick slams into cervix and her abdomen erupts, instant orgasm, cunt even hotter and squeezing tight, won’t let go… I get an urgent message, dick to control center, situation critical, too much pressure, heat, we can’t take much more of this, we’re going to have to unload…

No.  I’m not in high school anymore, this doesn’t have to happen.  I pull the dick out, pre-cum dripping, trailing, C figures out something’s not quite right, OH NO PLEASE DON’T STOP PLEASE FUCK ME...and I jam it in, thrust as fast and hard as I can, she goes fucking nuts, my dick does the impossible, gets bigger, harder, and it’s that way with each thrust, reactors are critical, pumps overloaded, Captain she’s gonna blow!, and unlike on TV that’s what happens, hot jizz spews into eager pussy and can you say “supernova”?  Of course she can, but not now, not enough energy, ambition left to talk.  For the first time in five years, we embrace.

As usual, she’s out of bed first, runs to the john, back to me, hugs me...I wonder what she’s going to compliment first, after all it was a stellar performance...I figure she’s going to ask me to slap her pussy again next time...

“Can I have another beer and a pipe?” 

 Some things never change.