Doggy Style
'Whatever you do, don't move from your seats after the performance; Miss Feng will come for you. She'll take you backstage."
And so the rabbit hole opened and I tumbled into the opening night of the Uzbek National Dog Theatre's production of Cinderella in Shanghai. I had been in Shanghai for three weeks by this point, and had been intrigued by the chance to review this bizarre canine spectacular. A call had yielded press passes and entrance into an unknown theatrical quantity. Was it pantomime or theatre, carnival or best in show?
My fellow press-packer Anna Gallagher passed the time en route to the theatre guessing at the likely extent of any doggy involvement. With expectations wavering between the odd Lassie and a full cast and Orchestra - replete with canine conductor in black tie - we arrived at the theatre to fight our way through a jostling crowd of excited Chinese outside. Remarking on the Harry-Potter-premiere feel of the evening, with many of the audience in fancy dress, we arrived in the theatre lobby where we were met by the redoubtable marketing manager, Miss Feng. Distracted by the throng of spectators, she left us with allocated seats, her best wishes and strict instructions.
As the lights dimmed, bells rang and PA announcements quietened the audience. The curtains swept back to reveal a painted backdrop of a spaniel, a tiara balanced on its cocked head. The crowd murmured with a collective childlike excitement as the orchestral score announced the arrival of the guards - dalmatians in attendant livery. Now in choreographed bursts, costumed humans and dogs ran across the stage until the whole court was in attendance, waiting only for the arrival of Prince Charming. The crowd leaned forward as Jack Russell eyed Lady in Waiting, dachshund faced Clown, and poodle gazed at Matron.
Then spotlights and all eyes turned to the throne, as what could only be described as Eastern European trip-hop-pop announced the arrival of not just one Prince Charming, but two - one a striking St Bernard.
The 'play' proceeded futher into the surreal as - through the power of mime, music and dog tricks - Cinderella's story was played out against an ever-changing backdrop of the Pyramids of Egypt, a Cloud Paradise, the Jungle and many bizarre settings besides. Feeling like Aladdin on a magic carpet ride, I didn't dare close my eyes: the canine tricks were woven into the story as a large dog finished a complex flip and presented Cinderella's crystal slipper. This was enough for the five-year-old beside me, who sat wide-eyed and clapping. Yet just as the audience laughter seemed to flag, a chihuahua leapt onto the stage, with the flair and grace only a chihuahua can muster, eliciting squeals of delight from the audience. There are some advantages to being small.
As the curtains swished together for the interval, I was already missing the catchy Eurovision tunes and frenzied pace. In the meantime, Anna and I set to interviewing fellow theatregoers on the first half. Despite the large number of families in the audience, there were a number of 'wild card' spectators - including the employees of an international trading firm on a work social, a lone Shanghai University student (equipped with an industrial pair of binoculars) and a German tourist. "Dogs better than humans," Lu Hui, one of the export clerks, giggled at me.
As the play continued to rumble onwards, the audience became restless. Little XiaoXiao started to look more than a little bored with the poodles walking in a line, front paws on the back of the dog in front. As the human contortionist squeezed himself through a seemingly endless number of gold hoops, it appeared everyone was longing for their happy ending. When the curtain finally did fall, both human and canine Cinderella had made it to the ball and found true love with their Prince Charmings - and I'm not talking doggy-style. The lights came up; but as quickly as they did there were theatre marketing staff on the stage with microphones, signalling the crowd to remain seated. What had happened? The escape of a rabid dog? Fire in the building? I looked at Anna amid the commotion as the redoubtable Miss Feng appeared, with a small sandy-coloured puppy in a carry-cage. For this was not an emergency but a raffle - and this dog was first prize!
Given that the Chinese do eat dog, the raffling of the little mite raised shouts of excitement. I pressed forward to snap a photo of the winner as the dog was hurriedly presented and the lucky recipient rushed out of a side door, flanked by theatre minders to clear her a path. And that was it; the show was over, and the little girls in glittery dresses and angel wings went home. Bereft of the promised presence of Miss Feng, Anna and I jumped up onto the stage and went backstage to meet the cast. The two Cinderellas were posing side by side for pictures for the press, paw held out like hand. Behind them, dogs were sleeping in their pens and the various courtiers, nurses and pages were industriously deconstructing the rigging.
I collared the group's interpreter in the 'no-man's-land' between Cinderella stars and chaotic backdrop. He confirmed that the dogs were trained to do tricks, and choreographed with treats instead of threats. Having sold out to rave reviews back in Uzbekistan, could this only be the beginning for the bizarre troupe? I asked if the company plan to tour the UK. They'd be "delighted", if asked. So Burton Taylor, OFS and Playhouse, you know what to do.
We walked home that balmy Shanghai summer's night - and when I slept I dreamt of sequin-clad terriers and spinning poodles, in strange, Technicolor dreams that stretched the quiet evening through till morning.
14th Oct 2004