A lyrical and loose theatrical reflection on Chinese philosophy of Daoism and the experience of Sino-British people
Is it Zhuangzi who transforms into a butterfly in his dream? Or is it the butterfly that, in a dream, dreamt of itself transforming into the fleshy being of Zhuangzi?
Written by Daniel York Loh as a semi-autobiography and directed by Alice Kornitzer, Kakilang’s production of The Dao of Unrepresentative British Chinese Experience explores a Sino-British experience that feels remote yet suddenly recalled after the COVID-19 pandemic, highlighted in the production through the racist chant “Chinese Japanese dirty knees,” which hadn’t been heard for a long time.
However, The Dao of Unrepresentative British Chinese Experience is of no simple
politicisation. Instead, it gently wraps its bitterness in both psychedelic punk-rap melodies, as well as a subtle and lyrical exploration of Daoism, a Chinese philosophy of harmony and nature. This is challenging in a way by incorporating Daoism into identity politics: It’s difficult to avoid the necessity of activism when discussing issues of mixed-race, the systematic racism in Britain, and Chinese identity. Yet, at the same time, Daoism is notoriously famous for its philosophy of non-action.
This is indeed frustrating at times when the audience struggles to find the underlying
connection between the fragmented narrative of Cloud (mainly played by Aruhan Galieva), a half British half Chinese young man, who grapples with his identity, and all these dream-like philosophical debates emerging anywhere randomly throughout the show. Let alone all these riffs – melancholic, sad, angry, and provocative – signified by York Loh’s punk red hair and short skirt. He humbly stands aside on stage, caressing his guitar, almost like a fleshy embodiment of Zhuangzi, in the form of a band.
The seeming disconnectedness begins to makes sense when Cloud come to London for the first time, visiting Chinatown. He wanted to find a home but failed, realising he has no home. A pivotal question occurs: representation matters – does it really? “I have ultimate say about how I am represented” becomes merely another form of laziness, avoiding the proactive act of speaking for and as oneself. Its tyranny and unbound craving for a role model also suffocates the possibility of de德. De, another core concept of Daoism, denotes not only one’s internal moral power, but also the capability of using that power to creative and re-affirm one’s own dao道 – to present, not to be represented.
Now the fable of zhuangzi-butterfly starts to unfold: Zhuangzi or butterfly, it does not really matter. What really matters is the way and process of transformation, where lies at the heart of Cloud’s unique, not-so-typical British-Chinese story: drug-using, shoplifting and rehabilitating. He encounters a racist Catholic priest and “takes back in control” his meta-theatrical authority from a white-centric police sergeant who manages to take the stage and only cares about western narratives.
The show also ventures into some other layers, including a London-based “Lord Obscure” (Melody Chikakane Brown) who gives Cloud a quest to find pangu盤古, the creator god in Chinese mythology, and a podcast-style voiceover commentating stage happenings that instantly reminds you of The Stanley Parable. These game-like theatrical treats are generous in a way, but feel somewhat too detached from its primary constructive concepts, straying too far away.