Theatre in Review: Chinglish (Longacre Theatre)

	Jennifer Lim and Gary Wilmes. Photo: Michael McCabe

"Take notice of safe: The slippery are very crafty." What's that, you say? Try this instead: "Slippery slopes ahead." That's one of the wildly mistranslated signs that turn up at the beginning of Chinglish, a play in which the failure to communicate has rarely been so amusing. Here's another: "Fuck the certain price of goods" -- or, in other words, "Dry goods pricing done here."

These bizarre examples of signs mangled in the translation from Chinese into English are presented to us by Daniel Cavanaugh, an Ohio businessman speaking to an American audience on the topic of reaching out to the burgeoning Chinese market. Daniel has quite a story to tell, and it takes up the full running time of David Henry Hwang's thoroughly up-to-the-minute new comedy. Hwang finds a surprising amount of laughter in the fall of the American empire, the rise of China, and the collapse of the world's economy. He also makes crystal clear that learning to speak a nation's language is not the same thing as becoming conversant with its culture.

Daniel, the head of a display company in Ohio, is in Guiyang, China ("a small city of four million") to bid on English signage for a new performing arts center being built there. Meeting with the local culture minister, Daniel points out that signs in other such Chinese venues have gone hilariously wrong, leading to such errors as "deformed man's toilet" for "handicapped rest room" and the directive to "wash after relief." (Of course, as Xi Yan, the minister's deputy, notes, this is a knife that cuts both ways; for example, there was the American-made T-shirt with Chinese characters spelling out "I am pervert.") Then again, such confusions infect the negotiations between Daniel and his potential clients. "Here's why we're worth the money" becomes "He will explain why he spends money so recklessly."

Further complicating matters is the fact that everyone in this negotiation, including Peter Timms, Daniel's translator and guide to China, is playing with cards placed firmly against his vest. It's not long before Xi Yan is meeting privately with Daniel, offering him her assistance. Not long after that, Daniel and Xi Yan are going to bed together. From there, it's only a short trip for Daniel to the realization that this deal isn't about him at all.

As a tale of about a Westerner lost in the subtleties of Chinese culture -- something of a Hwang specialty -- Chinglish has a startlingly ripped-from-the-headlines feel. Daniel is trying to save an all-but-insolvent family business, and it's his good luck that the Chinese have an insatiable appetite for all things American -- and not necessarily the good things. When, prodded by Xi Yan, he lets slip that he once worked for Enron, interest in him perks up considerably. As a government official notes, Daniel must be very important to be involved in one of the biggest financial disasters of all time. Another, more skeptical, functionary notes that there have been bigger money pits since. "Yes," counters Daniel. "But we were the first."

This last encounter shows how Hwang's interest moves beyond linguistic tangles to take in the yawning gap between Western and Eastern mores. This is especially so of the scene in which Daniel learns that adultery means one thing to him, and a very different thing to Xi Yan, whose motives he repeatedly fails to grasp. ("Is that a funny laugh or an evil laugh?" he asks her, warily, at one point.)

There's a downside to this comedy of business manners, however; in holding his people at arm's length from each other, none of them ever acquires anything more than two dimensions. At first, it's a little surprising to see a Chinese-American playwright make such cartoons out of his Asian characters -- until you realize that the Westerners don't have much more to them. The play requires a delicate balance, relying on the comedy of cultural misunderstanding -- rather than any kind of character identification-- to keep one's interest, and it's an effort that falters from time to time. Even while enjoying Chinglish's abundant laughter and cultural resonances, it's hard not to notice that we're seeing a play pretty much populated by stick figures. You laugh at their dilemmas, but it's hard to care what happens to them.

The director, Leigh Silverman, has, probably wisely, chosen not to look for feelings where none exist, focusing her attention on timing each gag with precision and keeping Chinglish moving at a businesslike pace. Nevertheless, Jennifer Lim is a commanding and slightly mysterious figure as Xi Yan, who drives the plot for reasons that don't become clear until very late in the play, and Gary Wilmes makes a fine partner-in-crime as Daniel, whose offhand, yet sincere, Midwestern manner proves no help whatsoever in getting the deal signed. There are also fine contributions from Stephen Pucci as Peter, who has a memorable meltdown in the middle of a particularly fraught business meeting, and Larry Lei Zhang as the cultural minister, who sometimes has trouble keeping his mind on the matters at hand. (In the middle of one negotiation, his cell phone rings. He picks it up, listens, and snaps, "The People's Liberation Army! They may be good at fighting, but they're lousy at producing musicals!")

Silverman has also gotten some very slick work from her designers. David Korins' set design requires two turntables to whisk us from meeting rooms to restaurants, apartments, and hotel bedrooms and lobbies. (Korins also has a finely calibrated eye for the corporate look of many of these locations.) Everything is lit by Brian MacDevitt with his usual subtle mastery. Anita Yavich's costumes are perfectly tailored to each character. Darron L. West's sound design blends various effects (running water, police sirens, a variety of ringtones) with selections from various kinds of Asian pop music during the scene changes. In a play in which at least a quarter of the dialogue is in Mandarin, projections are the key to understanding what's going on (and getting the jokes); Jeff Sugg and Shawn Duan provide exemplary work.

It's hard not to wonder how well a piece like Chinglish -- a satire that directly addresses the decline of American power in the world -- is likely to fare on Broadway. Still, at the performance I attended, the audience seemed thoroughly amused and engaged. Chinglish won't move you, but if you're looking to find something funny about these troubled times, it may be just the ticket.--David Barbour