A poised figure traversing the turbulent times

1  The White-Haired Girl: Tying Up a Two-Foot Red Ribbon

        In the 1960s, when the slogan “nationalizing ballet, revolutionizing it, and aligning it with workers, peasants, and soldiers” was put forward, Beijing presented The Red Detachment of Women（红色娘子军）, while The White-Haired Girl （白毛女）became Shanghai’s calling card. As the first dancer to portray Xi’er （喜儿）in China’s ballet version of The White-Haired Girl, Cai Guoying （蔡国英）personally experienced the entire creative process. What insights did she gain?

        Cai Guoying says that The White-Haired Girl was a product of state administration and institutional involvement. Massive national investment in funding and resources guaranteed the production’s quality. At the time, she was still a student, yet she had the rare opportunity to work alongside many masters throughout the entire creative process, witnessing firsthand how they devoted themselves fully to work and reflection. This was an exceptionally valuable life experience.

        Among the many artists involved was dramatist Huang Zuolin （黄佐临）, who devised an artistic structure in which the White-Haired Girl’s hair color changes four times. This provided choreographers with vivid visual thinking and led to the creation of four representative solo dances. The stage image of Yang Bailao （杨白劳） had no precedent in Western ballet; it was only through the guidance of Peking Opera master Zhou Xinfang （周信芳）that elements of traditional operatic movement and posture were incorporated, shaping a vivid peasant character. These countless memories accompanied Cai Guoying as she grew and remained with her to this day.

        After completing the black-and-white film version of The White-Haired Girl, Cai Guoying fell seriously ill and missed the production of the colour movie version. During the Cultural Revolution, The White-Haired Girl was elevated to the status of a “model production.” Rather than becoming a star performer, Cai was sidelined. In 1967, when Mao Zedong watched The White-Haired Girl in Beijing, Cai Guoying was the only dancer ordered not to enter the capital. It was only in the mid–Cultural Revolution period that she again had the “possibility” of performing.

        Most of the time, she was effectively put on ice. When performances became intensive, she was scheduled to rotate onstage with other dancers playing the White-Haired Girl. Once in Guangzhou, despite suffering from haematuria so severe that her vision was affected, she was still required to complete her scheduled performances. The black-and-white film version of The White-Haired Girlwas even shot by calling her directly from her hospital bed to the filming location. She became a “standby Xi’er,” lingering on the margins of the model-opera tide.

        By temperament, Cai Guoying never became politically fanatical during the Cultural Revolution. In its early stage, she briefly aligned with the “conservative faction,” and witnessing the rapid reversals between left and right factions left her stunned. Amid political turbulence and factional struggles, she neither followed trends nor joined camps, and thus never stepped onto the ranks of frontline performers.

          Any regrets?

        No. Cai Guoying says that this enforced idleness instead allowed her to detach from reality. Living on the margins gave her more time to read and have greater clarity of mind.

2  New Experiments: The Sprouting of Neoclassicism in Shanghai

        After the Cultural Revolution ended and China opened up in the 1980s, Cai Guoying became director of the Shanghai Ballet. She choreographed modern ballet works such as Soul, Ah Q, and Revelations of Earthly Customs, whose concepts and movement vocabulary were highly original for their time. Hu Xiaobang (胡晓邦), then chairman of the Chinese Dancers Association, wrote in Wenhui Daily: “This group of young people dares to think and act, embodying the spirit of a new era.” How did these refreshing works emerge so suddenly?

        Cai Guoying says that without earlier reading and the accumulation of knowledge, there would have been no works for the 1980s. Although audiovisual materials were still scarce in China at the time, books and journals circulated, allowing her to encounter the concept of modern dance through written texts.

        “The early 1980s were a rare new period for China. The country’s future direction had not yet been determined. Intellectuals were filled with longing for a new era, and artists eagerly rushed to see foreign classical and contemporary works. Wherever an internal screening had a good reputation, people flocked there. There was a powerful hunger for knowledge and innovation. Social mechanisms also allowed artists to freely collaborate and collide.”

        The productions that left the strongest impression on her included Rural February and Mayerling by the Royal Ballet, as well as Onegin and The Taming of the Beast by the Stuttgart Ballet.

        In the 1980s, Cai Guoying introduced George Balanchine’s neoclassical ballet training system to the Shanghai Ballet, and foreign choreographers were invited to bring their works to Chinese stages. At the same time, the company focused on cultivating dancers, sending them abroad to compete. Chinese dancers won prizes frequently in Moscow, Paris, Varna, Jackson, and elsewhere. Competition rules sometimes required contemporary dance pieces, which objectively gave rise to a new wave of works.

        “These international contacts and exchanges allowed me to see different choreographic approaches,” she says. “Revelations of Earthly Customs borrowed the multilayered techniques of symphonic ballet. Ah Q and Soul broke away from traditional narrative dance-drama forms.”

        International cultural exchange opened up a new landscape for Chinese dance.

3  A New Harbour: Viewing the Cultural Scene from the Waterfront

        Good times did not last long. In 1989, the Tiananmen Square incident occurred. Even before that, the “anti–bourgeois liberalization” campaign had already dampened the arts. Amid the confusion of reconstruction in the early 1990s, Cai Guoying chose a new harbour: Singapore.

        After arriving in Singapore, she taught at the Practice Performing Arts School and the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts. The busy and fragmented nature of teaching did not change her long-standing habit of watching performances and reflecting on them. Over more than a decade, which performances impacted her most?

        She first mentions the Israeli modern dance company that performed at the Victoria Theatre in the late 1990s. Dancers repeatedly climbed walls, constantly searching for new footholds. The performance evoked the Israeli people confronting harsh realities. The dancers’ sturdy physiques and immense physical exertion expressed a powerful vitality. Dance, she realized, need not be lyrical or sentimental. Experimental symbolism could be tightly bound to reality.

        Another unforgettable experience was the Japanese Kanagawa Theatre Company’s production of Shakespeare’s Medea at the Victoria Theatre in the early 1990s. “Shattering” would not be an overstatement. This performance expanded her thinking about artistic forms and reshaped her understanding of what “theatre” means.

        When discussing modern dance in the East, Lin Hwai-min’s works inevitably become a focal point. In Moon Waterand Cursive, Cai Guoying sees Lin’s efforts to integrate Chinese language, martial arts, and tai chi breathing into a modern dance context. Lin deliberately avoids common postures, structures, routines, and even expressions found in Chinese dance, allowing the individuality of his works to stand out. In Moon Water, the use of mirrors and water enriches the work’s meaning. Comparatively, the dance elements of Cursive are less visually compelling.

        She first saw Lin Hwai-min’s work Legacyin Hong Kong in the early 1980s, and since then has followed every performance she could, whether live or on film. How will Lin proceed from here? She believes the road ahead is difficult, but deeply worth anticipating.

4  A New Milestone: Creative Impulse and Its Outlet

        While working in Singapore, in addition to choreographing showcase works for local dance students, Cai Guoying continued to create. In 1994, the Singapore Buddhist Federation invited her to choreograph Compassionate Passage Across the Sea of Suffering. In 1997, she returned to the Shanghai Ballet to create Flower Rite.

        In Compassionate Passage Across the Sea of Suffering, dialogues between two monks lead into several philosophically rich dance segments. Cai Guoying says that although she is not a Buddhist, she holds deep respect for religious figures. In times of adversity, people often find stability and transitional strength in religion. This personal experience was also the creative impulse behind the work.

        After Flower Rite was performed at the Shanghai Spring Festival, it was selected as a closing gala piece. Looking back years later, Cai Guoying believes the work emphasized the romance of flowers, while the ritualistic power of mourning was not strong enough. This regret, she feels, awaits future revivals for further enrichment.

        For Cai Guoying, creation begins with a vague inner impulse, one that constantly seeks an outlet. But the realization of a work also depends on corresponding conditions, like suitable dancers, music, stage design, and timing.

5  Postscript

        Time flies; decades have passed in the blink of an eye.

        How does Cai Guoying view all that has faded like passing clouds?

        She says: each generation does its own work. When given the opportunity to act, do your utmost. When you step down from a position and others take over, the new successors will surely work hard to realize their own ideas, and we should learn to appreciate that.

        Listening to Cai Guoying recount her story is like drinking tea.

        Is the tea strong or light? Hard to say.

        There is a Chinese saying: “Once a person leaves, the tea goes cold.”

        Yet when hearing old stories, one is still stirred; when facing reality, dreams remain.

        The cup of tea Cai Guoying poured has never turned cold.