Rep makes ‘Chinese Lady’ unforgettable character
Despite the strenuous efforts of scholars, no one knows what happened to Afong Moy, a Chinese woman brought to the United States as a teen in 1834 to be the face of an exhibition of Chinese goods.
But Lloyd Suh's play "The Chinese Lady," which the Milwaukee Repertory Theater opened Friday night, allows us to imagine her as a hopeful spirit who never stopped trying to understand this new world into which she was thrust, despite the hardships and pain it brought her.
In the Rep's Stiemke Studio, scenic designer Collette Pollard has created an attractive box containing the room where Lisa Helmi Johanson, as Moy, sits surrounded by Chinese objects and décor. Effectively, she's in a zoo, a human captive who tells her story cheerfully to gawkers who have paid a quarter to see her.
Each segment of Suh's play begins with Johanson delivering her spiel, including the year and her age, as she progresses from 14 to midlife and well past her 80s. We learn what she's learned of the strange foods and remarkable marvels of America — and the less remarkable marvels of America, like the Trail of Tears and slavery.
In each segment, Johanson also rises and walks slowly in a circle to show off her tiny bound feet, a subject of fascination, if not fetishization, for her visitors. Moy understands her assignment is to be exotic, though this creates her predicament: She is simultaneously strange eye candy yet invisible as a human being.
Johanson's vivid portrayal of Moy elicits many laughs in the lighter moments of the play, while underscoring the tragedy of her life: Here was a woman as bright and hopeful as a teenager in a Model United Nations program who could have told America about a remarkable civilization thousands of miles away, but no one heard her.
Jon Norman Schneider brings dignity and a sly sense of humor to Atung, a Chinese man who is Moy's minder, interpreter and only confidante, who must sometimes deceive her for the sake of the exhibit, or for her own protection, but who is also moved by her spirit. They are not unlike Winnie and Willie in Beckett's "Happy Days" — a trapped woman trying to put a good face on her situation, and a taciturn man who circles around her.
Andre J. Pluess' evocative sound design plays a powerful supporting role. Director May Adrales orchestrates a stunning conclusion, with Johanson's final words ringing through time.