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A legend in Peking Opera who overcame adversity to create a new stage style
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“ Common people live with their shortcomings; geniuses use theirs to advantage.”
Words of homage for his father from artist and restaurateur Michael Chow, who was in Shanghai last week to commemorate the 130th anniversary of the birth of Peking Opera master Zhou Xinfang.
Chow, 86, often compares his father to luminaries who overcame adversity to produce great works of art and music, like French artist Monet who had poor eyesight and Beethoven who lost his hearing at a young age.
For Zhou, it was a hoarse voice.
His origins certainly destined him for the stage. Zhou’s parents were both Peking Opera performers in a Jiangsu Province troupe. He was born on January 14, 1895 and made his stage debut in a child role when he was 7.
That performance earned him the stage name Qi Ling Tong (七龄童), which literally means “7-year-old boy.” Later in adulthood, the name was changed to Qi Lin Tong (麒麟童), a name with different characters yet almost the same pronunciation, which refers to a Chinese mythical creature.
After Zhou graduated from Xiliancheng, the best Peking Opera school in old China, he reached that point of puberty where boyhood voices change. It is a critical time for fledgling Peking Opera performers because if the vocal chords don’t mature properly, a stage career can be lost forever.
Nature didn’t do Zhou any favors. His voice became hoarse and broken, a handicap in an artistic milieu that traditionally demanded high and crystal-clear voices.
But Zhou was undaunted. He practiced relentlessly to create a special singing method that sounded sophisticated yet powerful, enriching the older male characters he became famous for. The method came to be known as the Qi School (麒派), one of the most popular styles of Peking Opera. Even today, it’s hard for singers to master.
Yu Kaiyi, an archivist at the Shanghai Peking Opera Theater Company, hailed Zhou as a revolutionary of the genre.
“I found articles that Zhou wrote that back in the 1920s and 30s where he pondered the future of opera,” Yu said. “He often contemplated how Peking Opera could keep up with dramatic cultural changes around the world.”
Zhou never hesitated to absorb ideas from other genres.
In 1925, inspired by modern dramas, he introduced the role of director for the first time to Peking Opera, and he honed his stage performance by watching actors in movies.
In the play “Xiao He Pursues Han Xin by the Moonlight,” a story about a politician involved in a rebellion against the Qin Dynasty (221-207 BC), Zhou as lead character evoked strong emotions by a trembling back — an acting device inspired by American actor John Barrymore.
“Those were very brave moves,” said Yu. “Peking Opera has always been the quintessence of Chinese culture, and when you try to make significant changes, especially borrowing things from foreign cultures, you risk criticism. But Zhou was never afraid to do so.”
Zhou wed his first wife Liu Fengjiao at age 17 in a marriage arranged by his parents. After three children, the couple drifted apart.
In 1923, Zhou fell in love with socialite Lilian Qiu, whose family made its fortune from tea and jewelry, and took her as his mistress. In the late 1930s, he divorced his wife and married Qiu.
The couple had six children, three of whom rose to fame in their own careers. The eldest son Zhou Shaolin inherited his father’s talent and became a Qi School master; Michael Chow became a successful restaurateur and artist; Tsai Chin became the first Chinese “Bond Girl.”
However, Zhou himself was not a particularly doting parent. He was introverted and not adept at communicating with other people. His wife Qiu shouldered the responsibility of raising the children, five of whom were sent overseas ahead of the “cultural revolution” (1966-1976).
Like many artists and their families, Zhou and Qiu were persecuted during that era. Zhou and his son were imprisoned. He was later placed under house arrest. Zhou died in 1975 and Qiu died of kidney disease in 1968.
Despite years of estrangement from their father, the children who were sent abroad and lost contact with him, still adored him.
“My father should be remembered like great men such as Picasso and Shakespeare,” said Chow. “Yet not many people in the world know him. That’s just not right.”
In China, however, Zhou was always celebrated and revered.
“In recent years, Peking Opera has been winning back younger audiences,” Yu said. “The Internet makes it easier for young people to watch how the masters performed, and it fascinates them. Our programs to teach Peking Opera are in high demand.”
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