Disappearing Act

IT'S A TYPICAL Sunday afternoon at the Bashu Theatre. Every seat in the first 20 rows is filled with elderly Sichuanese wrapped in synthetic fur and clutching cups of green tea as they gossip and wait for the show to begin. In a bare room backstage, Zhang Juhua applies the final touches to her elaborately painted face: snow-white skin lit up by thick black lines outlining almond eyes and a mass of ruby red smudged in-between.

Zhang is about to play a concubine in the rendition of Iron Dragon Mountain, a typical Sichuan opera where debauchery, death and deceit are played out against the backdrop of regal China. The story follows the plight of a dead emperor's eldest son, who is convinced the concubine, a mistress of his brother, has killed the emperor in an attempt to seize the throne. Determined not to weaken the ancestral lineage with non-royal blood, and over the duration of about two hours, he attempts to disarm her. Realising the good son has unveiled her devious ways, the concubine turns her fluttering eyelashes towards him. 'All the heroes cannot pass through the gates of beauty without falling,' declares the good son's minder as his master begins to sway under the allure of the concubine's temptations.

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